#they covered their face with an egg mask

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

This man, I swear! 😂

Vincent Price as Egghead - Batman (TV) 1966-67

[mewguca]

assorted doodles including oc stuff. hi

[ohodie]

SETTLE DOWN!

luke castellan x reader

★ “for crying out loud, settle down!”

ABOUT - you hate his guts. he hates yours. but you���d by lying if you said you didn’t want to make out with him until his lips start bleeding. and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like that idea.

WARNINGS - sexual references, sexual comments, enemies to lovers, steamy makeout scenes, no explicit smut. both luke and reader are very horny and very mean sooo two red flags lol

A/N - please don’t make fun of my english/australian vocabulary. i know americans don’t use the word ‘fit’ but LET ME LIVE IN PEACE!!!let me know if you’d fancy a part 2 <3

WC - 3.7k words

it’s hard to recall when exactly your distaste towards luke castellan first developed.

maybe it started off as rude comments and shoved shoulders, or simply the act of tripping over each other's shoes, paired with a few nasty glances. either way, you hated his guts.

this sentiment was obviously returned by luke, who was eager to constantly egg you on and rile you up. maybe he found it amusing- watching the ever so calm and collected eldest daughter of the hypnos cabin going absolutely ballistic whenever luke did something slightly annoying. he loved the way her mature and gentle persona shattered as soon as he provoked her.

it was rather strange how quickly they let their masks slip, letting themselves shout foul obscenities at each other as soon as a conflict arose between the two of them. it was like being near each other was the primary catalyst for their arguments and squabbles- not the actual contents of the disagreement itself, but the players involved.

curiously, luke’s terrible attitude was never extended to anyone other than you. around everyone else at camp half-blood, luke was the perfect gentleman. warm and welcoming to anyone who happened to walk past him, a great swordsman, well-kept, respectful and polite, the list goes on. he was perfect. but as soon as his eyes met yours, his entire body shifted. he became something colder, something ravenous- something hungry. he was out for blood, he just didn’t understand why.

you were slumped over a picnic table near the cabins, tiredly observing all handful of half-blood kids from various cabins making friendship bracelets.

it was dark out, the moon and the embers of the nearby fire acting as the sole providers of light for the camp that night.

truthfully, you didn’t want to be there. you would rather be in bed, coddled up between your sheets for hours before heading down to the infirmary to help out the younger kids with their sleeping troubles. maybe afterwards you could go down to the theatre and join in on a few songs with the apollo kids, or even practice sparring with clarisse.

whatever it was, you didn’t want to be there. not with luke castellan’s eyes studying your every move. you didn’t need to lift your head to know he was looking at you- you could feel it. the arrogance was radiating off him and you could smell his pride from across the picnic table. your nose easily picked up on notes of wet grass, a neutral deodorant, pure spite, and vanilla candles.

after what seemed like an eternity, you eventually shot your head up to meet luke’s unwavering gaze.

“someone’s sleepy.” he smirked, his voice calm and cold. he looked satisfied; content with watching you slowly rise in anger as he began to coddle you and patronise your every move.

you ran a hand through your hair, fixing the messy state it was in after laying down for so long. “i’m not sleepy, just bored.” you retorted, letting your hands hold up your head as you stared deeply into his eyes, not breaking eye contact.

luke played along, refusing to blink as he picked up on the competitive gesture. “bored, huh?” he mused, shooting you a cocky grin as he leaned forward over the table. “you’re never satisfied, are you, princess?”

you rolled your eyes, letting your pupils meet the back of your head as you stifled a groan. you slowly covered one side of your face in your hand, hiding your pink cheeks as a result of his use of the nickname ‘princess’.

“don’t you have a loser convention to get to?” you asked, referring to the cabin councillors meeting that he was supposed to be at.

luke shrugged, looking to his side as he watched a young demeter boy making a bracelet. “got cancelled. now i get to look at your pretty little face for an hour straight.”

“i’m going to bed.” you grumbled, standing up from the picnic table, an unfinished friendship bracelet left discarded. you walked away, hearing little to no protests from the rest of the table.

luke’s eyes met the bracelet you left behind, studying it for a moment. the colours were cute and the beads were placed strategically along the string, creating an interesting and visually pleasing combination of textures and shapes. luke’s hand wandered over to the bracelet, quickly snatching it before securely tying it and stuffing it in his pocket.

luke wasn’t sure why he stole the bracelet. maybe he thought he could taunt you with it, or maybe he could just wear it for shits and gigs. it was a pretty bracelet- why wouldn’t he want to wear it?

a week passed by, and it was time for capture the flag.

luke had consistently come out of the games a champion, securing his place as the best swordsman at camp half-blood whenever possible.

you were tired of it. you promised yourself that when the opportunity arose, you would beat him to it. you would earn the praise he revived so effortlessly.

your determination to win capture the flag was also partially encouraged by the events of the previous tuesday.

you, luke, and a few other older demi-gods were forced to monitor the younger campers on a trip to the nearby lake. simple, right? wrong.

things went south fast when luke ‘accidentally’ nudged your shoulder a bit too hard, forcing you to fall into the lake. luckily, you were a strong enough swimmer and were able to get back on land safely.

“sorry about that, y/n. maybe next time you should keep out of the way?” he leaned in close, whispering in your ear.

luke smirked lightly as his dry hand rubbed the soaking wet and now transparent fabric covering your shoulder. his lips softly grazed your neck as you released yourself from his grip, shooting him a dirty look.

“you should watch your step, castellan. things like this happen to anyone.”

luke scoffed, looking you up and down as he took in the sight of your shivering body. “do they now?” he asked, his head turning to follow your figure as you walked past him.

as you walked away, luke couldn’t help but study your body as it became revealed by the fabric of the camp t-shirt sticking to your skin. how could he not admire the way he could see the vague outline of a lacy black bra underneath your top? or the way your wet hair was framing your angry little face? how you stared him down as your friend offered you a towel.

if you weren’t so acutely aware of how your figure was on full display, you would’ve pushed him in as well- but you were way too infuriated to even get close to him at this point… as well as the fact you didn’t think you could handle the idea of him taking off your shirt in front of you, all wet as his hair let water droplets roll down his torso.

maybe you could handle hitting him with a baseball bat a few times, but the idea of his face all beaten and bloodied was strangely appetising as well.

in all fairness, luke’s actions were not unprovoked. it’s not like you didn’t also tease him and fuck around with his temper.

for example, the very day before the incident at the lake, you had used your abilities as a daughter of hypnos to put him to sleep… for 19 hours, causing him to miss out on camp activities and lose hours of valuable training time.

you felt pure bliss watching him as he stepped out of the hermes cabin, confused and disoriented as hoards of campers instantly surrounded him.

“are you okay luke?”

“i heard you were in a coma!”

“we thought you were a goner,”

luke blocked out the concerned comments of his peers as soon as he caught you gazing over at him from the deck of the hypnos cabin.

with that ‘i got you good’ smirk plastered across your face, luke knew he had to get you back. getting to see your semi-exposed and cold, shuddering body in the process of doing so was only a bonus.

he felt a high from getting to see what he caused. what he did to you. it made him hungry for more. how else could he anger you? get you to show him more? how could you return the favour? would you? he didn’t know if you realised the effect you had on him- but he was going to do anything in his power for you to feel it too.

but those incidents were nothing compared to what was about to go down.

2 hours into capture the flag, and you had managed to fool and scare off enough members of the blue team, causing many individual members to go off track. those hours practising sword fighting with clarisse were definitely worth it.

you leaned against a nearby tree, closing your eyes for a moment as you fiddled with your sword. lost in thought, you heard something coming. more specifically, someone. you didn’t even have to open your eyes to know who it was.

“oh, hey castellan. isn’t it past your bedtime?” you asked, rubbing your eyes open as you lazily swung your sword back and forth.

luke scoffed, taking a step towards you. “i think i like you better when you’re drenched in lake water.” he smirked, looking into your eyes without breaking contact. he couldn’t look away. it wasn’t even because he wanted to intimidate you; he simply couldn’t stand to have you exit his field of vision. not right now, at least.

you look a step backwards, getting into position as you use your shield to protect yourself. “are you gonna try to maim me or what?”

luke took another step forward, mirroring your stance as he took the defensive. “and hurt your pretty little body? i’d rather die.”

you turned red, your mouth agape as you processed what he had said. “excuse me?” you spat, your voice breathy as your eyes widened.

“you heard me,” he smiled innocently, deceiving you before beginning to attack. you blocked every move, pacing around the area as you swung your sword at him. “you’re such a fucking prick!” you grumbled, trying to catch your breath as you struggled to mark him with your blade.

“language, princess.” he scolded, still smiling at you as he continued his attempts at disarming you.

that was the moment when you realised something.

you can play dirty.

not with your sleep-themed party tricks or your weak little fists, but with the power of unpredictability. the element of surprise.

you let him get closer to you, pretending to settle down before him. luke chuckled at the sight of your loosened grip on your shield and increasingly tired eyes, noticing the way your footsteps shuffled backwards and forwards.

“someone’s getting tired-“ his cocky sentiment was quickly cut off by the feeling of your hands tightly gripping his arm- his shock only furthering as your teeth dug into the soft skin on his wrist.

he instantly dropped his shield, his sword still held firmly in his other hand. you quickly released him from your bite, taking a step forwards as you put your weight on his shield. “ow- what the fuck?!” he stammered, looking up at you with red cheeks and a bleeding hand.

you were stumped. you hadn’t thought further than getting rid of his shield. “i didn’t mean to break skin to be honest. sorry.” you shrugged, picking up his shield and throwing it far away while he was still frozen in shock.

luke continued looking at you, silent as he became overwhelmed by the feeling of a ruthless war finally coming to an end within his mind.

obviously, he found you attractive. you were a pretty girl. sure, a lot of girls at camp half-blood were pretty. but for some odd reason, he thought you were much prettier. the type of pretty girl that deserved to be called cute nicknames every day and covered in gentle kisses every night. he wanted to kiss you softly, hold you tightly, say you looked gorgeous, make you tacky beaded bracelets that were the same colour as your eyes. he wanted to make you feel loved.

but he also thought you were a brat. always teasing him and only him. driving him insane with targeted comments and insults. purposefully making him look stupid in front of the younger campers and even patronising him for it. luke wanted to put you in your place. he wanted nothing more than to push you onto his bed in the dead of night, marking you as his. he yearned to hear your strained voice whimpering his name as he towered over you. he wanted to exchange knowing glances and pretend nothing had changed, despite the images of your hands gripping his bedsheets as you let out stifled moans etched into his mind.

luke often wondered how the two could overlap. how the fuck could these two perceptions of this one girl coexist? but luke didn’t wonder how it was possible to think about anymore, he didn’t care about that. now, he wondered if it was possible to act on both of his separate desires for her. he wondered if she even wanted him as much as he wanted her- if she wanted him at all.

“hey, i said i was sorry for making you bleed!” you called out, snapping him out of it.

“stop sulking! what, do you want me to kiss it better or something?”

luke blinked for the first time in what felt like centuries, shrugging as he let a sly smile creepy onto his face. “oh, im not sulking.” he insisted as he stepped closer towards the shorter girl.

he extended his wrist out towards you, a deep and bleeding bite mark engraved into the skin. “you gonna kiss it better, or…?”

you turned red, shaking your head. “i was just joking, castellan.” you murmured coldly, trying to avoid his gaze.

he kept his hand extended towards you, temping you to just take it and kiss it to get him to leave. “fucking loser…” you grumbled, holding his hand in yours as you gave his wrist a soft kiss.

“there, better?” you scoffed before luke’s hands began to tightly grip your wrist, spinning you gently onto your back as he pushed you to the ground, hovering over you. luckily, you still had your sword in your hand. you quickly moved it in front of you, holding the blade close to his neck.

“be careful, princess” he cooed, his sword digging into the dirt ground, standing upright in is position as the skin of your right thigh pressed against the blade. his hands gripped your shoulder and waist, keeping you bound to the floor as you began to squirm under his grip. “ugh, are you kidding me?!” you huffed, your face red from the feeling of intimacy between the two of you arising.

luke was basking in it, relishing the moment as he became almost addicted to the feeling of your skin against his. he let out a hitched breath, his eyes trailing down her frame as he finally realised just how close they were. the vulnerable yet stubborn look in her eyes set off a switch in him. you watched him curiously as he suddenly became a flustered mess, quickly scrambling off of you and standing up.

you lifted your back off the ground, using your hands to rid yourself of the dirt that had accumulated on your shirt.

“are you gonna explain whatever the fuck just happened, luke?” you asked, calling out to him from your spot on the ground.

he rolled his eyes, turning around to face you. “shit, y/n- are you fucking stupid?” he questioned, his voice reeking of irritation and frustration. you furrowed your brows, standing up as you approached him, sword and shield in hand. “oh, alright. forgive me for wondering why the dickhead who threw me into a lake a few days ago was pinning me to the ground in the middle of capture the flag for no reason?” i explained, seething as i pushed him back by the shoulders.

“what the fuck is your problem?” you asked again, letting yourself back him up against a nearby tree.

the game didn’t matter to you anymore. what mattered was getting to the bottom of why this prick was fucking around with you. sure, you liked how it felt being pushed against the ground. you liked the feeling of his blade pressing against your thigh. but you liked the boy more than his actions. you hated yourself for it, of course. this was the dude who’s been teasing you about and pushing you around for 3 summers straight- so why the fuck did you think he was the fittest guy you had ever laid your eyes on?

why did you want him to run his hands through your hair? suck on your neck till it went purple? why on earth did you spend countless nights dreaming about him holding you close as he slept next to you?

you were the eldest hypnos daughter at camp half-blood. you could’ve changed your dream easily; came up with literally any other fantasy at the drop of a hat- but you didn’t. you let it continue. because as much as you hated to admit it, you liked him. you wanted him bad. every last inch of him.

luke let your words echo through his mind for a bit. ‘what is my problem?’ he thought, his expression blank as he stared at you. “i don’t know, y/n! maybe my problem is you?” he said, his voice strained, yet still snarky and somewhat dramatic.

you rolled your eyes again, stepping forward. you kept your hands on his shoulders, pressing him further against the tree he was pinned against. “i’m your problem?!” you asked angrily, holding your sword against his neck once more.

“yes! you make me feel fucking weak.” luke confessed, gripping your wrist tightly as he pushed your hand away in order to create some space between his neck and the sword. “i can’t control myself around you.” he exclaimed, pushing his hand against yours as you retracted the blade from his neck.

“you bring out the worst in me, and i hate you for that.” you arched your brows, leaning forward. “that sounds like a you problem.” you quipped, defeatedly pushing the top of the blade of your sword into the ground as you let your newly free hand grip his chin- forcing him to look down at you.

luke’s hand wandered over to your face, his thumb softly grazing your bottom lip as you tilted his chin downwards, letting him look you in the eyes.

“don’t act like you don’t get exactly what i mean, princess.” he cooed, his voice low as his fingers traced over your lips and cheekbones, his other hand gently caressing your jawline as his fingertips wrapped around your neck.

you grumbled, standing on your toes to reach his height. “you’re a prick.” you scoffed, your eyes fluttering closed as you eagerly kissed him on the lips, his cheeks turning red as he mirrored your movements. he let his hands run through you hair, his other hand resting on your waist as he turned you around- pushing you against the tree now.

his hands ravenously scattered across your delicate frame, trying to feel every curve and dent on your face, back and waist. you pressed your body against his as his hands travelled across your form, closing any and all distance between the two.

after a few straight minutes of violently making out, you pulled away for air, staring into his eyes as your lower lip trembled in shock. you both tried to steady your breathing, lost in each other's eyes as your heartbeats returned back to normal.

“i’ll kiss you again if you turn around and let us win.” you said quickly, the offer seemingly the first thing you could think to say.

luke stayed quiet for a moment, before bursting out into hesitant laughter. “i mean, that’s a pretty good offer…” he said softly, letting his fingers trace your facial features as he studied the colour of your eyes.

“sure.” he said, a little smile on his face as you both leaned in again, the kiss a lot more passionate this time around. you held a clump of his hair in your hand, lightly pulling on on it as luke’s fingers jumped between gripping your neck and shoulders- the other hand running up and down your waist and hips.

you felt his knee hit the bark of the tree, slightly bent as it lightly pressed against the inside of your thigh. that’s when your hands began to grip the back of his shirt, your lips gliding down to the side of his neck. quiet moans escaped luke’s lips, only encouraging you to keep going. he moved his hand downwards, tracing circles into your hips as he moved his other arm hand upwards, cupping the space on the side of your breast with his thumb, lightly rubbing your ribcage.

the moment was only increasing in intensity- before luke was cut off my the sounds of someone calling his name. he quickly pulled away, leaving a gentle kiss on your lips before stepping back.

“right, time to hold up my end of the deal.” he chirped up, leaving one more needy kiss on your forehead.

“oh, by the way-“ he paused, before quickly pulling the bracelet you made the week before out of his pocket. “did you want this back, princess? or can i have it?” he asked cheerfully, his voice low as he looked over you.

“keep it.” you said hastily, your cheeks a vibrant shade of red. luke nodded, giving you one final kiss on the lips as he put the bracelet on the same wrist you had bitten earlier. he gave you a subtle wink and a smile, before jogging away- leaving you frozen in place.

you could hear him talking to his friend from a distance, noting on how he lied to effortlessly- saving your arse over a few kisses.

needless to say, the red team won capture the flag. but luke couldn’t bring himself to care about losing. how could he care about anything other than y/n and her hands and her smile and her eyes? her witty comments and remarks? the way she tilted her head up to look up at him? the way his face fits perfectly in her palm? how could he care about anything else ever again?

[royalarchivist]

Jaiden: How did you guys even find out that, um... Chayanne's admin plays Cucurucho? [Reading chat] Ohhh, accidentally played the soundboard as Chayanne? That's hilarious actually. I wanna see the clip of Phil reacting to that.

Jaiden: I love– I love the way that Phil laughs, it's just such a hearty, genuine laugh. The few times that I've made him laugh, I've felt really good about myself! [Embarrassed laugh] Because he makes me feel much funnier than I am, you know?

Jaiden talks about silly QSMP moments and laughter. 💜

[ Full Subtitle Transcript ↓ ]

—

TRANSCRIPT

Jaiden: How did you guys even find out that, um... Chayanne's admin plays Cucurucho? Did they just tell- tell Phil? Did- were they just hangin' out? [Reading chat] "The same username"? Ohhh. [Reading chat] "It was a mistake"? ...Wait, what was the mistake? What do you mean "it was an accident"?

Jaiden: Ohhh, accidentally played the soundboard [Laughs] as Chayanne? That's hilarious actually. [Laughs] What di- what did he say, was he just like, "Ha ha ha"? [Laughs]

[Old clip of Bad, Fit, and the Eggs] Bad: –have one of the things I'm looking for. Chayanne: [Cucurucho voice] HA HA HA Bad: What was that? Fit: You heard that too, right? Chayanne: [Cucurucho voice] NO Bad: ...What the fudge was that. Fit: Wait–

Jaiden: [Reading chat] "He said 'no'" [Laughs] That's so funny. [Laughs] I wanna see the clip of Phil reacting to that. I love– I love the way that Phil laughs, it's just such a hearty, genuine laugh.

[Clip of Phil laughing]

Jaiden: The few times that I've made him laugh, I've felt really good about myself! [Embarrassed laugh] Because he makes me feel much funnier than I am, you know?

[Old clip of Phil and Jaiden] Jaiden: Oh, that's awesome! And then it– [She gets snagged by the machine] Jaiden: Oh– Ahh! Phil: Be careful! Jaiden: AAAAAᵃᵃᵃᵃᵃᵃ — [Her screams fade as she's dragged away] Phil: [Laughs] There she goes! [Hits his desk and laughs]

[Another old clip plays] Jaiden: [Singing along to "It's Been So Long" from FNAF] It's been so long, since I've last seen my– Phil: What is happening? [Laughs, then laughs more seeing Jaiden's mask] PFTTT– [Laughs] Jaiden: [Laughing] Phil: Jesus Christ–

Jaiden: It's just like, such a good laugh! I wish I had a– a like, more-hearty laugh. You know? You know what I'm talking about? My laugh is kinda like... Uh, you know how you guys compare Foolish's laugh to like, the... window cleaner? Like a– [Squeaky window-cleaning sound]

[Short clip of Foolish covering his face with one hand and making the squeaky laugh he's known for, slapping the arm of his chair as he keeps laughing]

Jaiden: I can't do it– [Laughs] It doesn't sound like that. I think mine is like... Because like, I do like, "Hee hee hee!" and I also like, breathe in, like– [Squeaky sound] You know? So I think– My laugh kinda just sounds like... Like, after you spray the window, and you're like, cleaning it. Like, wiping it down with a cloth. You know? That's what my laugh sounds like. I wish it was more of like a, "Ha ha ha."

[Short clip of Cucurucho saying "HA HA HA"]

Jaiden: But, I mean, I'm not complaining. I don't think– I don't think "laugh anxiety" is something that I wanna– is not a path I would really wanna go down. [Quiet laugh] It's like- sometimes, you just gotta pick your battles. [Laughs]

Jaiden: [Reading chat] "You have a good laugh" Thank you. [Quiet laugh]

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ keep it on the low !!

ᝰ.ᐟ if there's one thing every celebrity needs to master, it's the art of the soft launch. building up the anticipation by teasing your fans, leaving little easter eggs that only the two of you could possibly pick up on, playing coy whenever questioned about your relationship status... looks like you and him could write the how-to guide on this art form. alternatively: a headcanon post on how the two of you soft launch your relationship. ( sfw + fem!reader )

features osamu miya, kiyoomi sakusa, wakatoshi ushijima, tobio kageyama, tooru oikawa author's notes blue lock version!

౨ৎ OSAMU MIYA. you are: a famous influencer notorious for being bad at cooking. you could burn water at this point. it's okay, though, because at least your makeup tutorials and your day-in-the-life vlogs are always entertaining and fun. you always joke that you feel bad for your future husband, convinced that a life of takeout and restaurants is the only sustenance your future family is going to know. you posted: a tiktok of a man cooking in a kitchen that isn't the familiar one your fans have seen from your vlogs. he's wearing a black apron, a black t-shirt that hugs his biceps, and the veins in his forearms pop out as he quickly dices the vegetables on the cutting board. you don't show his face, but you do caption the video when he tells me it's okay i can't cook <3. suspiciously enough, the owner of onigiri miya has his own tiktok page where he posts cooking videos, and his kitchen looks exactly like the one you're recording in. matter of fact... osamu miya always wears that plain apron, too...

"thank you for the meal!" your feet don't hit the ground when you're sitting on this stool, and you're literally kicking your feet as you stare down gleefully at the plate of food he's prepared for you. the meal is great, and for dessert, you decide to read the flood of comments tagging miyaosamuofficial on your latest video. you won't confirm or deny, but when osamu convinces you to stay the night, you know that you'll be more than happy to share a when he cooks you breakfast <3 video next.

౨ৎ KIYOOMI SAKUSA. you are: a cheeky pop princess. with your promiscuous persona, your flirty songs laced with sexual jokes, and your minidresses that you flounce around in while on stage, you're the girlie that has parents gasping when they take their daughters to one of your shows. while there's been speculation that you're already in a relationship, since clearly there has to be someone inspiring all these ovulation songs, you've never confirmed anything. you performed: a special dance routine at your latest concert. while you normally wear extremely bright colored bodysuits or pastel babydolls, tonight you're dressed in a sparkly black and gold getup. all your male dancers are wearing fitted black shirts with three golden scratches down the back, and you make a show of grinding against one of the dancers, running your nails against his back. you're staring into the crowd, smiling cheekily. that same night, grainy footage is captured of kiyoomi sakusa standing in the crowd, watching the whole show. the mask he's wearing covers his facial expression, but he barely blinks throughout the entire show, as if he doesn't want to miss anything.

"and there's a special guest here tonight." your chest is rising and falling from how out of breath you are after an hour and a half of nonstop singing and dancing. this is your ending speech for the concert, and the crowd is going insane. "i really hope he enjoyed tonight's show as much as i know all of you did. the love songs... they all are about him." the screams from your fans are deafening, and kiyoomi's glad that his mask covers the blush that creeps on his face as he hears your confession.

౨ৎ WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA. you are: literally ushijima's wife. you're a fairly private person to begin with, and it's not like you two have been married for long. you've been engaged for nearly a year, and you do attend most of his games, but ushijima specifically requests that the suite you watch him from doesn't get filmed. he wants to protect your privacy as much as possible, until you're okay with being shown to the public. he posted: a picture of you smiling on christmas day as you open up a gift from your husband. the boulder on your finger can be seen from a mile away, and as dorky as ever, ushi captions the photo with a happy wife happy life 👍🏻

"what does this mean?" ushijima shows you his phone screen, and you squint at it before laughing. one of the tweets tagging ushi reads leave it to ushijimawakatoshi to fucking hard launch his wife one random xmas morning. "it means you posted about our relationship out of the blue. usually people soft launch before they confirm anything." "soft launch?" his eyebrows furrow adorably as he tries to piece together what you just told him. "like, if you were to soft launch us, you would post a picture that maybe doesn't show my face but people might infer that you're in a relationship based off the photo you took." "that's dumb." he says, in his familiar ushijima cadence that had you falling for him. "i'd never take a photo of you without showing your face. why would i want to hide you?"

౨ৎ TOBIO KAGEYAMA. you are: japan's favorite nepo-baby model. with a face card like yours (and connections from your parents), it's no wonder why you're gracing every billboard in the city, and you're the spokesperson of a premier skincare brand. your fame gets you international publicity, and you're selected for the latest skims campaign. with an entire country in love with you, it might be a hard pill to swallow for your intense fanboys when they find out you're in love with japan's best setter. he posted: so many reposts of your campaigns. tobio still wants to support you, even if he knows that you two can't go public with your relationship just yet. he's actually branded (and sometimes mocked) as one of your biggest fanboys, and it doesn't help that during your skims campaign, he reposted every single ad featuring you.

"tobio, baby, you're so sweet, but you don't have to repost every ad." you tell your boyfriend, watching as clicks repost to yet another one of your photoshoots. "but i want to." he says. you kiss his cheek happily. "and that's exactly why i stayed back and did some extra photos on the skims set, just for you. these are pictures you might not want to repost, though." tobio isn't sure whether his eyes should stay glued to the personal photoshoot you did just for him, or to the real life you who's ready to show him what the set looks like in person.

౨ৎ TOORU OIKAWA. you are: currently visiting your beloved boyfriend in argentina. people know that you two are together, even though neither of you have confirmed it explicitly. it's pretty obvious, though, considering you're constantly seen with him, and he talks about how lucky he is that his girl is his number one supporter. someone posted: a viral video of a toned man wearing aqua blue swim shorts taking pictures of a beautiful girl laying down on a beach towel. not only are the two of you so hot that you look fresh out of a perfume ad, but to have a boyfriend so devoted to getting your best angles? iconic, truly. fans don't even realize that it's you and oikawa until someone points it out.

"tooru, are you taking multiple photos or just one?" you try not to move your lips too much when you speak, uncertain of when he's going to snap a pic. "you trained me well." tooru whines. "obviously, i'm taking several at once." "and make sure the lighting is good!" you remind him. "it doesn't matter how i take the photos, baby. you're still going to look good in them, regardless." "aw... are you sweet talking me because some of the pictures are blurry?" when your boyfriend starts showering you with more compliments, you know the pics are definitely not going to be instagram-worthy. he's lucky he's so cute.

[honeyryewhiskey]

but, i'm a cupid!

or, you’re a cupid, you can’t help the natural call to make two beings fall in love. even if it means bringing critters into the bunker when no ones looking.  cw!! fluff, spn lore on cupids is bland so yes i’m adding to it, grumpy x sunshine trope 1.3k words

the bunker had been under a quiet hum for quite some time now, sam in the library organizing and filing while dean sat in the war room looking for cases. the older winchester had nearly forgotten about the little angel cas left in their care a few weeks ago. a cupid, to be precise. 

at first he absolutely refused, claimed they weren’t a daycare for heaven’s flight crew. but cas, being a busy man, simply left the brothers standing in the bunker with a smiley little cherub. unlike most angels dean has met, you were sickeningly sweet, incredibly helpless at times, and though he would never admit it— adorable, too. 

you tried to be helpful, like quietly stepping in to do the chores sam and dean argued over. but it’s not like you really knew what you were doing. like the time dean tiredly shuffled into the kitchen one morning, opening the cupboard to find bacon, milk, and eggs stashed in there. when he started on an angry roll of name calling, it was your tear filled eyes and pouty lips that made him shut up quick. that afternoon was spent teaching you what food goes in the fridge. 

or the time you tried to fix up the impala, completely unaware that spray paint doesn’t cover up scratches. when dean strolled into the garage, expecting to take a sweet sunday joy ride just to find his baby had been vandalised, his shouts damn near shook the entire bunker. when he found you with paint stained fingertips and that pathetic wobbly lip, his anger dissipated. you settled on a promise to never under any circumstances ever touch baby again. 

now, as he sits before the glow of sam’s laptop, the quiet begins to feel entirely unsettling. he leaves his spot, heading for the library. when he doesn’t see you taking on your usual little helper tasks with sam his brows furrow. 

“have you seen the little bird?” 

sam looks up from his pile of books and paper, “no,” he shrugs, “i thought she was with you.”

that damn cupid is up to something, he thinks to himself. 

with a sigh dean turns, setting off to sweep the bunker. the kitchen is quiet, empty. at least the food is safe he assures himself. heading down stairs into the hall of bedrooms he finds your room empty as well. as he heads towards the dungeon, the last place he’d expect you as you once described it as dark and spooky, a muffled giggle stops him in his tracks. 

he waits, listening, as he hears it again coming from sam’s bedroom. he quietly approaches the door, gently pushing it open to find you kneeling on the ground with your back to the door. 

“what the hell are you doing, lovebird?” he crosses the room, standing over you and what he can now see to be a pair of brown fluffy rabbits. 

startled, you look up at him with wide eyes, “nothing.” you smile. his heart does that stupid little flutter that seems to only happen when you smile at him like that. all sweet with a pinch of mischief. 

“right,” his brows knit together as he points at the rabbits, “this is nothing?” 

a little humph leaves your lips as you rise to your feet, crossing your arms and looking up at dean with a determined scowl across your face, “i’m matchmaking, if you must know. these two have been hopping around outside for days and i could practically smell how much they need each other.” 

he looks between you and the critters a few times, “yeah, no, we’re not doing this. no rabbits— no animals of any kind allowed in the bunker.”

 his heart pangs as you jut out your bottom lip, eyes growing glossy. damn this pathetically cute little thing. his hands instinctively cup your face, “hey, hey, lovebird. no crying, remember?” his voice gruff, barely masking his annoyance.

you sniffle, biting your cheek to stop the tears brimming your lashes. you can’t always help the crying, cupids are naturally empathetic creatures with no qualms about showing their emotions. dean thumbs your cheeks, giving a light squeeze to one side. 

“but i’m a cupid!” you cry out, “i can’t help wanting to help them fall in love.” 

“rabbits don’t fall in love!” he drops his hands from your face, trying to find his words despite the absurdity of yours. “they mate, like the saying, ‘mate like rabbits’ there's no love happening here.” 

you stare up at him, wiping stray tears as some terrible thought makes your face turn sour. “so, like you?” your voice reflects the absolute devastation you feel at the realization. 

“oh what now?” dean groans.

“they’re like you! mating with no love.” you whimper. it’s no secret dean moves about women with everything except love. it was one of the first things you noticed about him, a spider's web of potential love stories that never takes because he’s swatting them away before anything divine can happen. you could have easily fixed this, but something about dean getting sweet with another woman makes your heart feel heavy. besides, dean asked you specifically not to matchmake with humans while you were on earth. so, the itch to use your skills was killing you and a perfectly innocent set of rabbits happened to be right outside the bunker. 

dean shoots you an incredulous look before shaking his head, “alright, i’m gunna pretend you didn’t just say that, little bird. we’re getting these things out. now.” he brushes past you, reaching for the rabbits far too slowly and aggressively, making them scurry off in opposite directions. 

“great!” you shout, “you scared them! now they’ll never even mate!” you drop to your knees, cooing gently at the fluff hiding underneath the bed. 

dean paces behind you, eyes squeezed shut as he musters up all the patience in the world, “hold on,” he stops abruptly, tilting his head to you, “why are you in sam’s room?” 

a shy smile finds your lips at you meet his quizzical gaze, “sam doesn’t say no nearly as often as you do. i thought if he saw how cute the bunnies are, he’d be on my side and i’d get to keep them and their love babies.” 

as much as dean would love to think your words fill him with nothing but anger and annoyance, your innocently sharp manipulation is rather fascinating. you were right, sam doesn’t like to say no and he was more fond of having pets than his older brother is, but dean would have put an end to this little scheme one way or another. 

as you lie half under the bed now, reaching for one of the rabbits, dean notices the little black droppings peppering the room. sam’s room.

“actually, lovebird,” he smirks, “why don’t we leave those two alone for a bit, see if your matchmaking skills really can work on the wildlife.” 

your excitement at his words makes you scramble off of the ground, peering up at him with a hopeful smile, “really? you think it’ll work?” 

“mhm,” he grins, stealing your hand in his, “let’s give ‘em some space, i’ll watch that reality show you love and let you tell me which ones are fated souls and all that cupid stuff you talk about.” 

➹

you sat with your legs crossed on the couch, dean beside you with a beer in hand and an amused grin as you raddled off all the little quirks that are tell-tale signs of a cupid’s work. on the other side of the bunker there's a clunk of commotion that startles you, but dean hardly reacts, his grin morphing into a satisfied smirk. 

“what was that?” you grab dean’s arm, shuffling closer to him.

“give it a sec.” he responds cooly. within seconds sam is stomping into the room, bewildered and clearly annoyed. 

“why,” he huffs, “are there rabbits shitting all over my room?” 

“oh no.” you whimper, sinking deeper into the couch, hiding your head under dean’s arm. 

“the little angel brought you a gift, sammy,” the older winchester let’s out an uncontrollable laugh, watching his frazzled brother with pure amusement, “don’t you just love it?” 

y'all i am not used to writing without angst or an emotional overtone so pls lmk if this sucks lol

[heliosunny]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Dr.Ratio x Reader

The egg sat ominously on the table, smooth yet pulsing with an eerie glow. You had won it from a bizarre machine. The moment it hatched, you were expecting... something monstrous, something draconic, anything. But what actually emerged...is a statue.

Or at least, that’s what you thought at first. The figure before you was unnervingly still, clad in intricate blue and black robes with golden embellishments, a stone mask covering his face like some ancient artifact. You blinked. He remained unmoving. The air crackled with an unspoken tension.

“...How did a statue come out of an egg?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

A faint chuckle echoed through the room. Slowly, the figure’s fingers lifted to remove the mask, revealing sharp eyes, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Charmed, truly.” His voice was smooth, laced with amusement as he placed the mask aside. “Though, I must admit, I wasn’t expecting my first impression to be likened to a mere sculpture.”

You took a cautious step back. “So... you’re not a statue?”

“Not quite.” He stretched, joints cracking, as if shaking off years of immobility. “I assume you are my first observer. A pleasure.”

His tone was lighthearted, but something about the way his gaze dissected you, scanning every inch of your form, felt calculated—like he was assessing you.

Over the next few days, the man who introduced himself as Dr. Ratio—settled into your space with unsettling ease. He observed, questioned, and tested you in ways that left you both intrigued and wary. Chess was his weapon of choice, each match less about winning and more about how you thought, how you reacted under pressure.

“A move made in haste” he mused one evening, watching as your knight fell to his trap. “Tell me, do you always act on impulse?”

You frowned, realizing too late that your strategy had crumbled. “Maybe I just don’t take chess that seriously.”

“Ah, but you should. Every decision you make, no matter how small, is a reflection of your core nature.” He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “And I am most interested in uncovering yours.”

It wasn’t just chess. He subtly tested you in conversation, in mundane activities, noting every hesitation, every lie, every truth you didn’t mean to reveal. It was a game to him, a puzzle where the final picture was you.

You had assumed Ratio was more of a strategist than a fighter—until you saw him in action.

The moment you both stepped into the dungeon, creatures lunged at you from the darkness. But Ratio didn’t flinch. With a single powerful strike, he crushed an attacking beast beneath his fist, his movements fluid yet devastating.

Intelligence and strength. A terrifying combination.

A hulking monster towered before you, only to be obliterated by his attack—its body dissolving into pixels before it could even land a hit.

“Did you think I was all talk?” Ratio smirked, watching your stunned expression. “Brains and brawn are not mutually exclusive.”

You swallowed hard. It was one thing to know he was calculating. It was another to realize he could just as easily overpower you if he so desired.

Despite his sharp wit and overwhelming power, he seemed to genuinely enjoy your company. On the way back from the dungeon, he spotted something that caught his interest, a detective game challenge set up in the town square. Intrigued, he suggested you both participate.

At first, you assumed he’d solve everything effortlessly, but you soon realized the game was designed to be tricky, requiring not just logic but an understanding of human nature and intuition—something even he struggled with. You noticed a crucial detail he overlooked and gave him a small but significant clue. He paused, considering it, before smirking. "Ah... so that’s how it is. You’re sharper than I thought."

Working together, you cracked the case, winning a special dinner prize. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but as you sat across from him, enjoying the meal you had earned together, you noticed something different in his gaze. Satisfaction. Not just from solving the game, but from being beside you.

Morning light filtered through the curtains of your shared apartment, casting soft shadows across the wooden floor. You stirred awake, blinking against the warm glow. The quiet hum of the city outside signaled the start of another day. As you stretched, the thought of breakfast crossed your mind, and you climbed out of bed to prepare something simple.

The sound of sizzling eggs filled the kitchen when Dr. Ratio emerged, still looking somewhat drowsy, his usually meticulous appearance slightly undone. His eyes flickered toward you, then to the food.

"You're up early" he noted, rubbing the back of his neck before settling into a chair at the small dining table.

"Someone has to make sure you eat properly" you teased, setting a plate in front of him.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he picked up his fork. "I could survive just fine without you, you know."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really? Last time you tried making breakfast, the kitchen nearly caught fire."

He clicked his tongue but didn't argue, instead taking a bite and humming in approval. "Fine, you win this round."

As you both ate, the morning news played in the background. The casual chatter between you ceased when a sudden alert blared through the broadcast. A news anchor appeared, expression grave.

"A dangerous fugitive has escaped custody late last night. Authorities urge citizens to remain indoors and travel cautiously."

You frowned. "That's concerning…"

Dr. Ratio leaned back, his gaze sharpening. "You're not going anywhere alone, then."

You blinked at his assertiveness. "I can take care of myself."

"Mm." He twirled his fork between his fingers. "Humor me."

True to his word, he stuck by your side the entire day, even for trivial errands.

Eventually, the evening news announced that the fugitive had been captured, and life returned to normal.

"Well, that’s over" you sighed, stretching. "You can stop hovering now."

Dr. Ratio smirked but didn’t deny the accusation. "I just got used to keeping an eye on you. Can’t drop habits so easily."

"You form a habit that quick?"

"Yeah, someone just asked to get into a bath with me earlier and now they're questioning me."

"That was a joke!" You blushed

"I take everything coming from your mouth seriously."

"You-"

With things settled, you both decided to head back into a dungeon the next day, expecting the usual trial of combat and strategy. However, when you reached the deepest floor, instead of facing some grotesque beast, you were met with an unexpected sight.

A massive stone structure stood at the center of the chamber, engraved with intricate carvings and glowing sigils. A podium rested at its base, a single parchment laid upon it. Dr. Ratio approached first, picking up the paper and scanning its contents.

His lips curled into a grin. "A quiz? Now this is interesting."

"A quiz?" You peered over his shoulder. "That’s… new."

"Indeed," he mused. "Seems like the dungeon master was feeling creative."

The parchment detailed a series of puzzles, some mathematical, others riddles, and a few logic-based challenges. At the bottom, it read:

"Only those of sharp wit may claim the treasure beyond."

Dr. Ratio’s confidence was palpable. He rolled his shoulders before settling in, his keen eyes dancing over the first question.

"Alright, let’s get to work."

The first riddle was deceptively simple:

"I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?"

You hummed in thought before answering, "An echo."

Dr. Ratio snapped his fingers. "Correct."

The next question involved a series of logical deductions, tracing paths from one point to another. He breezed through it effortlessly, his finger gliding along the diagram as he mapped out the solution in mere seconds.

"Impressive" you admitted.

He smirked, not looking up. "Naturally."

As the quiz progressed, the difficulty increased. One puzzle had numbers arranged in a cryptic pattern, another required translating an ancient dialect. There was even a section that tested memory recall, flashing sequences that had to be repeated perfectly.

One question in particular stumped you:

"There are three doors. Behind one is a deadly trap, the second holds a monster, and the third leads to safety. You can ask one yes-or-no question to a guard who always tells the truth or a guard who always lies, but you don’t know which one you're speaking to. What do you ask?"

You hesitated, but Dr. Ratio simply exhaled, his expression unreadable. "Simple. You ask either of them, ‘If I were to ask the other guard which door leads to safety, what would they say?’ Then, you pick the opposite door."

You blinked, piecing it together. "Oh. That’s… clever."

He tilted his head toward you. "Wouldn’t have expected anything less from me, would you?"

The final test required a combined effort. It displayed an intricate cipher, shifting symbols that changed every few seconds. You managed to catch the repeating patterns, pointing them out, while Dr. Ratio swiftly deciphered the hidden meaning.

When the last answer was submitted, the stone structure rumbled, and the sigils glowed brightly before fading away. A hidden compartment opened, revealing a well-preserved chest.

Dr. Ratio glanced at you. "Shall we?"

You nodded, and together, you pried it open. Inside, various treasures gleamed, but what caught your eye was a neatly wrapped package. Unfolding it, you revealed an ornate board game—engraved with intricate designs and shimmering pieces, it looked centuries old yet perfectly preserved.

"A rare strategy game" Dr. Ratio mused, turning one of the pieces between his fingers. "Now this is a worthy reward."

You smiled. "Guess you’ll have to teach me how to play."

He let out a soft chuckle, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Oh, I intend to. And I won't go easy on you."

You had no doubt about that.

Dr. Ratio had barely stirred when you left the apartment that morning. He was still recovering from the last dungeon run, a particularly grueling battle that had left both of you drained. You figured he could use the extra rest, so you slipped out quietly, not wanting to disturb him.

But by the time he woke up, something felt... off.

He reached for his communicator, half-expecting a message from you, but there was nothing. No update, no location ping, no casual remark about what you were up to.

Frowning, he stretched, rubbing the back of his neck as he got out of bed. Maybe you had just gone to the market? Or taken a walk? But something gnawed at him—an irrational unease he couldn’t shake. He reached out again, sending a message this time.

No response.

His brows furrowed. He sent another. Then another.

Still nothing.

His fingers clenched around the device as he tapped into the dungeon trackers, scanning for recent activity. His heart nearly stopped when he saw it—your name, registered in a dungeon… alone.

And you hadn’t come out.

Without a second thought, he grabbed his coat and bolted out the door.

The entrance of the dungeon pulsed with an eerie glow. The system confirmed that you were still inside. His jaw tightened as he stepped forward, conjuring his spellbook in one hand while flexing his other. There was no time to hesitate.

The moment he crossed the threshold, enemies lunged at him. He struck hard and fast—raw power and refined technique in perfect balance. A crushing blow to one, a well-placed incantation to another. His eyes were sharp, his mind sharper, every step calculated.

He moved like a storm, tearing through the opposition with a mix of brute strength and precise strategy. His body ached from the previous battle, but he didn’t care. His only thought was you.

Then, he found you.

Trapped behind a collapsing barrier, you looked up at him, relief flooding your eyes. “Dr. Ratio—”

The moment he saw you—alive, safe, his breath hitched, but his face remained composed. He reached out, fingers barely brushing the edge of the barrier before it sparked violently. He clicked his tongue, analyzing it in an instant.

“You’re lucky I’m a genius” he muttered, his voice tinged with something almost… desperate. “Stay back.”

With a swift motion, he activated the spellbook, feeding calculations into the structure. His eyes darted over its runes, deciphering, manipulating, deconstructing. He worked fast—faster than he ever had.

A crack formed. Then another.

And then the whole thing shattered.

You barely had time to react before he pulled you forward, crushing you against him. His grip was firm, almost bruising, like he was making sure you were real.

“You...” he exhaled, his voice low, tight with emotion, “are never going into a dungeon without me again.”

You blinked, startled. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t care.” His hold tightened, his forehead resting against yours for a fleeting second before he pulled back. “It won’t happen again.”

There was no room for argument. And as he led you out, one arm wrapped around you protectively—you realized he wasn’t just saying that as a precaution. He meant it as a vow.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Been thinking about this, bunny!reader with Ghost and Konig at the same time somehow, that poor woman ain't gonna survive

Oh!! She is going to die!! Being a bunny with Ghost or Konig is bad enough - these are predators with zero regard to your comfort. They might like you, even love you, but it just means they would be just barely careful enough to not kill you...they wouldn't care about silly things like making you comfortable! You're literally just a chewing toy to them, and it's the hottest and the most dangerous experience of your life. Ghost is taking you from the back, his dick is only slightly smaller than Konig's - and his shadowy tentacles are groping your asscheeks and making you spread wider, whining as he is forcing his cock in your underprepared ass. You might be extremely aroused from the slime that constantly leaks from Konig, but you still can't relax properly - can only cry and wiggle, as Simon covers you in bite marks. He only partially takes off his mask, not wanting for his competitor to see his face fully..but it's enough to kiss you, to bruise your lips and force some of his shadow tentacles inside of your mouth, pass Konig's tendrils. Konig is taking your pussy, his need to breed is to strong to resist. It's a good thing you're just a pretty dumb bunny - you're constantly in heat, constantly wigging your fluffy cotton tail and pressing your ears closer to your head, wanting for the big, strong predators to mark you. You are terrified of them, but Konig is filling your tummy with his eggs and your desire to breed is satisfied...he is leaving bruises on your plump hips and forces his tentacles even deeper, making sure that not an inch of your body is not covered in his fluids. He growls in your ear and you tremble - with them, it's only a matter of time when they snap, when they'd decide that you need to be punished properly. They would take care of you after, cleaning your poor, abused holes and laughing as they twitch around nothing, your hips buckle into their fingers as they clean you up. Poor, dumb bunny - they are shackling you to the nest, making sure you wouldn't escape even when they are filling you with their combined tentacles, never leaving your holes alone for long enough...

[sheepispink]

Milkin’ and Cookin’ ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི part 3 of Sweet as Sugar (bakery!au, simon x reader)

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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: Ghost— or well, Simon— notices how much you seem to dread your upcoming trip to the local farm. You seem to hate the idea of driving alone, especially with that rickety car of yours.He never thought he’d say it himself, but, one day off work wouldnt hurt, right?

A/N: (British)english glossary: Boot means the trunk of a car for all you americans. This chapter is actually so British it’s funny

————————————————————————

You always dreaded these trips; it took far too long to get to that farm, and even though you loved to see the sheep there, it was a painfully long drive with all the harsh bumps and the like. Your car wasn't made for that, though you wouldn't dare complain much, knowing that your parents wouldn’t be able to afford those expensive cars made for the bumpiest land of Wales. Even so, it was your turn to pick up the fresh produce that made your bakery so popular in the first place.

“It’s just.. really far, and it always seems to rain whenever I go.” You complain to Simon as he nurses a cup of tea in the empty shop, not quite off duty for another two weeks, but he somehow finds time, to come by anyway. It’s empty since it’s near closing time but you didn't need to kick him out when all he was doing was keeping you company as you wiped up a coffee stain from the table.

“How far is it?” He asks, his gruff voice a sheer contrast to your lighter one, almost like smog covering the air.

“It's a two hour drive, but it’s worth it; they have some of the best eggs and quality milk around.” You hum, not thinking twice before you grab a tissue and hand it to him, letting him wipe the small crumbs from his typical order. Despite how he refused to take it off in front of his fellow soldiers, who knew him for way longer than you have, he always pushed his mask up to his nose around you, even if it looked a little silly sometimes and he almost caught you giggling. His lips were scarred, not that you looked at it that often, in a way that looked dehydrated, but you had a feeling it was for a different reason. You could see another scar peeking near his cheek, but it never really showed properly, and you promised yourself you’d try not to stare when he did reveal his face every now and then.

His body was a different story, though; you were shivering and he’d still roll his sleeves up, a few tattoos sneaking past his elbow but not quite yet. He confessed he planned to get a whole sleeve, but a mission came up suddenly, and healing tattoos never went well with that. “When’re you heading down anyway?” He says, dabbing at the crumbs on his lips before finally pulling down his mask once more. “Thursday. We’ll have to close the shop on Friday so we can restock.” He nods thoughtfully before eventually standing, and you grab the cup before he can even place it on the counter, heart freezing for a moment when your fingers brush. “I’ll take that. Back to duty?” He nods in return, slipping his leather gloves back on again and picking up his jacket from the chair. “Training, debriefs, the usual.” He leaves a tip at the table, something you’ve insisted he doesn't have to do, but he says it’s for his ‘overtime’ at your cafe. Besides, the last time you ran after him to give him the money back, he had already disappeared down the street, unable to be found again.

It’s Thursday morning, and you’ve dragged yourself out of bed at five am to allow enough time to get ready and start packing your car with crates, making sure you’ve counted it many times for the right amount for all the usual produce. As you told Simon before, you weren't exactly anticipating this ride, but it was what had to be done, even if you’re half awake. Well, at least the roads are empty. Closing the boot door, your hands clasp over your mouth, essentially muffling your own scream when you realise the masked figure that was ominously standing there was actually the Lieutenant himself as he steps into the porch light. “..Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya” His voice is visibly awkward for once, eyes glancing elsewhere, and you laugh nervously, still recovering from a pounding heart. “It’s.. fine. Almost thought I'd get robbed, just um.. say hi next time?” You watch him nod quickly in return, his hands shoving into the pockets of his jeans. Oddly casual.

“So why’re you here anyway?” You question, grabbing a few of the groceries and spices the farmer had asked you to bring down for him. After all, he didn't come down to town very often. “You need a lift to your base or somethin’ ?” That makes him chuckle, a cooler bag of seafood in his arms, farmer’s favourite apparently.

“I came to help you.” That causes your eyes to widen in surprise, watching as he easily places it in the back seat before nicking the keys from your pocket. He leaves you standing in confusion whilst he climbs into the driver's seat,the rickety truck starting up with a heavy growl. “This rusty thing is a Land Rover? Hard to believe tha’ “ He mutters gruffly, ignoring the look of offense on your face as you climb up into the passenger seat. “I can drive you know, if you’re gonna keep complaining!” You exclaim, nose wrinkling up as you turn to frown at him. He stifles a chuckle, eyes rolling beneath the mask as he reaches over your body, clicking your seatbelt in for you.

“Don’t bite my arm off now; I'm going, I'm going.”

The drive goes by smoothly, even with only one of his hands on the steering wheel. Only now have you actually looked over him since he terrified you. He’s got a thick jumper on and a zip up hoodie on top of the jeans you noticed earlier. “Starin’ at my bad fashion sense?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you snicker, relaxing in the seat as you shift your focus more directly over to him. You’re practically curled up on the seat, legs folded on the seat. “No, no, I'm no better either.” He glances over your own worn trousers, covered in straw and muck from your last visit. It was safe to say you both had the right idea, as any nice clothes would’ve likely been ruined by the time you left, if not as soon as you got there. Even so, he can't help but find the sight oddly domestic, a small grin forming beneath the mask at your hair pulled back and the fingerless gloves on your hands. Cute.

It’s ten o’ clock when you arrive due to a large pothole causing you to take another, rockier route. Directing him, he pulls into the small driveway and parks the truck as the farmer exits, a haybale over his shoulder. He looks no older than about fifty three, a wide grin on his face as you step out of the car. “Lass!” He exclaims, the Scottish man patting you so hard on the back you almost cough, and you make a dramatic sigh in return even if you’re unable to hide the grin creeping up.. “Good to see you too, Mr.Wheatley. I’ll put the things in the usual places?” He nods, leaning on a wooden pillar, the paint peeling off already. You head to the backseats, grabbing the crates for him when you suddenly hear a low whistle and what sounds like a large thwack. You turn on your heel, instantly feeling the embarrassment that will soon come as the farmer gives you a smirk, looking between you and Simon, who can only stand there awkwardly as he places down another bag. “Now who is this lad?” He asks, and you carry over the cooler bag, trying to seem unaffected but flushing nonetheless.

Simon can't help but find it adorable how you stand in front of him, almost like trying to shield him from the farmer’s mischief—it’s the same protectiveness you’d expect when someone’s partner is insulted. Except Simon is far larger than you in both height and muscle, and so he doubts anyone would be bold enough to insult him anyway. “He’s a friend of mine who came to help me out.”

”Just a friend?” The farmer raises his brow, tilting his body to peer round you at the masked man still setting up all the things the pair of you brought.

”Take the damn seafood!” You grumble, plopping the heavy cooler bag in his arms as he chuckles, entering the house to leave you alone.

“Mr Wheatley basically runs this farm on his own, ever since his brother passed last year. His wife lives here too, but she doesn't attend to much other than feeding the chickens—she’s actually a writer.” You explain, carrying around one of the crates as you lead Simon to the chicken coop. The air is much fresher here, even if it smells mostly like hay and animal poo, but the point still stands. Ghost nods along to your words, watching as you check the eggs before picking them up before following your same action. “Is that why you collect what you need yourself?” You nod in return, crouching down to pick up a chicken and carefully move it so you could grab another egg.

“That, and for quality checking.” Lifting up the egg to him, you show him the crack running up along the side, about to explain other things you check for when you yelp, falling forward on the dirt and causing the yolk to splash on the icy ground. “Ow!” The culprit stands behind you, clucking as it watches your movements and follows. He has to forcefully stifle his chuckles when you squeal again, desperately shooing the chicken who seems intent on pecking at your butt. “It’s trying to eat me!”

“I don't know; I think he likes you.” You’re met face to face with said chicken when the Lieutenant grabs it, keeping it just a short distance from your face as he teases you. “Simon!” You yelp again, and quickly you scramble back up and out of the chicken coop, the chicken still clucking away in his large hands.

For the next three hours, he follows you around like a lost puppy, which you find rather amusing yourself. He’s never been in a situation this unfamiliar before, and whilst he’d usually take initiative, he’s a bit afraid of accidentally getting you the wrong items. Instead he chose to hold the crates for you, using his strength to support you even when he couldn’t fathom how you milked a cow so easily. “So you have like a 1% chance of killin’ me when I drink yer tea?” He raises an eyebrow as you explain the dangers of unpasteurised milk, knowledge you picked up when you started working more shifts at the bakery. At his question you have to practically stave off the facepalm, shaking your head at his words as you now measure out the amount of milk your bakery will need until the next visit. “We only use fresh milk for our baked goods; this way the oven burns off any excess pathogens.” He probably should’ve guessed that, but it was worth the face you hadn't even known you pulled. “But, if you’re looking for a new way to kill your enemies on the field, I guess unpasteurised milk holds a good chance.”

“I am not throwing milk bombs at anyone.”

That makes you snicker, his grumpy self returning as you poke fun at his job again–only an hour ago you had giggled at the horse poo and asked if that was his duty. Even you know he can't hold it for long, especially when you poke him in the side with that cheeky grin. “I think you’re just scared your cap’ will hire me on the spot.”

You’re walking back to the car, the final crate full and ready to pack when it starts drizzling down, water pattering on the floor around. “Huh.. but I checked the weather forecast this morning..?” Only now had you glanced up at the darkening clouds, a soft frown sporting your face. “You really shouldn't be surprised with British weather.” He says gruffly, placing the final crate into your boot whilst watching the drops fall from the sky onto the concrete below. “Not the worst, but a storm might be brewing up.”

“Get over ‘ere you two, or do ye wanna get soak’d?”

Instinctively, you grab his hand and pull him into the warmth of the farmer’s house. Although the rain is falling so heavily now that it’d be likely impossible to drive home—for the next hour or so at least.

“Sorry..” You sigh, sitting on one side of the table, your hands warmed by the mug of tea you both prepared. He clutched his own, though his gloves protected him from the majority of the cold. Still, you can't help but feel like you inconvenienced him somehow, even if he had insisted on coming himself. “Are you sure this is okay, y'know, for your job?” He just gruffly nods, brown eyes moving to watch how aggressively the water patters against the glass. “I’ll drive us back in the evening. Don't fall asleep on me.” You grin cheekily, crossing your legs as you stand, placing your now empty teacup in the sink. “No promises.”

The banter is cut off when your stomach growls, your hands instinctively clutching it, a sheepish grin forming on your lips. “Didn't eat much for breakfast. Fancy a jacket potato for lunch?” He nods and stands to join you as you reach into the cupboard, pulling out two large potatoes. He takes them from your hands, washing them in the sink whilst you start grating some of the cheese.

“So how’d you know the farmer? I mean, you act close enough to be his niece.” Ghost comments, cutting a cross into the potato, and he can’t help but feel oddly warm at the way you easily fell into a routine.

“When I was about seventeen, I did some work experience here, ‘cause of university applications and stuff. His daughter grew very sick, and with the nearest medical services three hours away, I volunteered to nurse her back to health instead.” His eyes soften as he watches you, the way your eyebrows tug together as you concentrate. “Did you end up going to uni?” You shake your head this time, sliding over the plate of cheese before crouching in front of a cupboard in search of baked beans.

“I knew my parents couldn't afford it, so I didn't bother. The only reason we got the bakery was because the lady who previously owned it had left it in such a pitiful state it was rather cheap.” He pulls. out the steaming potatoes from the microwave, pressing into the potato to open it before fluffing it up with a fork. “Before that it was either working here on the farm or part time at the coffee shop down the road.” He hadn't realised someone as sweet as you could have that hand dealt to them; of course, it could be worse, but still it was different from the stories he usually heard. You grab a knife and spread butter across both of the potatoes, catching him off guard before you load up the baked beans and cheese. “Is that much butter really needed?”

Practically seconds later, he has his mask pulled up to his nose, scarred lips wolfing down the fluffy potato as he grunts. “I could eat this every day, flippin hell.” You laugh, taking a bite out of your own, the warm gooeyness of the cheese and baked beans warming your insides. Probably not the best dish, but definitely not a bad one. Though for him, who's used to eating dehydrated MREs with only the taste of cardboard—it’s practically luxury. “How bad is the military food?” You raise a brow, scooping another spoonful of the beans on his plate when he finishes his share. “Not bad,” The words are muffled by his full mouth, a sharp swallow quickly clearing his throat as he wipes his chin with a napkin. “On base, it’s fine; definitely not a lot of flavour, but it does the job. That’s why your bakery is such a trea’ love. Haven’t had food that tasted that good since Soap hosted a Christmas party.”

“Soap?”

”Member o’ my team.” He nods gruffly, stealing a baked bean off your plate and popping it in his mouth. His arms lean on the table, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the great muscle practically spilling over.He doesn't usually mention things about his work or his friends, so you decide not to pry for now.

Once you finish your plate, he takes the dishes to the sink and begins to wash them, whilst you grab a fresh towel to start drying them off. You tilt your head as you rub the plates with the towel, your mind wandering elsewhere. He’d been so nice to you recently, and all you’d done is give him a free tea a couple of times; you couldn't help but feel as if you should give him something in return. Couldn't you pack a lunch for him? It’d be in a nice container, a healthy sandwich loaded with meat and salad, a smaller version of his typical sausage roll on the side too. For dessert you could give him a muffin, or a little tart and then you couldn't possibly forget a flash of hot tea too. How would his coworkers react? You can almost imagine their faces when he opens it, randomly appearing with a pretty little box. A hand lands on your head, snapping you out of your stifled snickers, as it protects you from a cupboard opening just above you. “What’re you thinkin’ about now?” His voice is laced with suspicion, watching how you look far too amused despite the lack of jokes he’s made. That can only mean you’re up to something. “Nothin’, just thinking about what you’d like for lunch.” He raises a brow at that, but you quickly grab your keys from the table and pull your boots on. “C’mon, i want to get head back before it gets too cold.”

The ride back is quiet, almost silent if not for the soft hum of the radio. You decided to connect your phone to it, not really wanting club hits playing and rather something slower. It’s not awkward, though; more of a comfortable blanket over the pair of you as he drives through the narrow roads. Determined to talk for a bit, you showed him a few of your favourite songs and then some childhood favourites too. He nodded along, even gave you a few he often heard around. Tiredly, your head starts to droop closer and closer against the window, and you almost jump when Ghost lets his hand rest on your knee. “Sleep if you want. You’ve been up since early.”

“You’re always up early, though—how are you never tired?”

He can only shrug, knowing he probably shouldn’t delve into the aftereffects of his missions, even more so down the PTSD route. “Got used to it, I guess. Don't worry about me, okay?” Thankfully, you’re too sleepy to question down that route, asking him whatever tired question meets your mind until you’re quietly snoozing in the chair. It was probably his fault for cranking up the heating in the first place, making you all cosy like that, enough for you to completely fall asleep. He turns the music a little bit higher and finally relaxes his shoulders. He should really hang around you more; he hasn't felt this good in years.

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Prev Next

A/N: please comment ideas for the name of the penguin plush from ch2, he will make a return!!! I was thinking pingu but i wanna involve u guys too.

Taglist:

@bieberismysoulmate @hidden-treasures21

[bi-writes]

i have brain rot about simon riley and need to write this down somewhere -> thinking about childhood-bestfriend!roommate!ghost x fem!reader

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 1/?)

slight nsfw (18+) thoughts ahead...

it's your first day of work at your new job. you took up something at the diner nearby, a 24/7 little place that served greasy eggs and day-old coffee in cracked, porcelain mugs. the floors were sticky, half of the menu was crossed out in scratchy black ink, you had to wear this god-awful uniform, but the pay was decent and the cooks were kind.

the diner had a theme, and that theme meant you were buttoning up a terrible uniform. a red and white striped dress with a frilly white apron wrapped around your waist. it cinched at the waist, the skirt was too short, and the neckline showed off too much cleavage, but you needed the money, so damn the uniform.

your hair was slicked back, showing off your light makeup and red lipstick. you fit the hat over your head and slipped the white sneakers on before grabbing your bag and coming out of your room. "and where are y'going lookin' like that, luv?" you froze, closing your eyes and sighing as you gripped your purse tighter.

"im going to work. im gonna be late." "that right? let me look at ya."

you turned around, opening your eyes. simon was standing there, leaning against the kitchen doorway holding a fresh cuppa. you swallowed hard, trying to be subtle as you looked him up and down. black cargo pants, compression shirt rolled up to his elbows, hood over his dirty blonde locks, a surgical mask covering his pretty face.

he put the mug down and straightened his posture at the sight of you. his dark eyes honed in on your figure in the dress, but he tried to hide the way his pupils dilated at the sight of the low neckline. if he moved just right, he could see the white lace of your lingerie peeking out from just under the lapels.

"bloody christ..." he hissed, clicking his tongue.

"shut up, simon, okay? im gonna be late. i know i look ridiculous, i--"

you gasped a little when you felt warmth against your neck. his palm caressed your jaw, fingers tightening around one side of your face. his hand nearly took it all, your cheek smushed against him as he examined you. his eyes grazed over your long lashes to your soft blush to the red of your pouty lips.

he thought it might look nice on him everywhere else. kiss marks on his neck, his chest, his scars, the inside of his mouth--

"dont look ridiculous," he corrected you. "look like a fuckin' doll."

you sucked in your breath as he smoothed a thumb over your bottom lip, his finger coming back a little pink with your lipstick. so pink, so cute, so adorable, just like your glazed, doe eyes and the sight of your tongue sliding along your teeth. you were holding back a whine, that much was obvious.

"simon..."

his other hand moved up, tracing along the edge of the lapel and just barely skimming over the lace of your bra. you held back a shiver, and you felt a warmth bubbling inside of you when you noticed him lean a little closer, his eyes peeking cheekily down the valley of your breasts.

"you let me know when your shift is over," he murmured, letting you go slowly. he knocked his knuckles under your chin, making you look right into his eyes. "im gonna need to walk you home, luv."

"you don't need to do that--"

"wont be taking no for an answer," he narrowed his eyes. "bloody beasts will eat up a pretty thing in this fuckin' dress."

your lips part slightly, your eyes half-lidded as you wonder what it might be like to push the mask up and lick into his mouth, taste the ash on his tongue and the warmth of his breath.

"beasts like you, simon?"

"aye."

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

15 Degradation

Zhongli x Reader / NSFW / Enemies to Lovers / Angst & past death / Set in the beginning of the Archon War / All the Yakshas and Guizhong are alive / Zhongli is called Morax in here / Reader served a god that was slain by Morax / Canon was hijacked for plot purposes

"Despicable…" You moan, back arching as he resumes tormenting you.

Your captor chuckles at your feeble attempt. "Say it with more conviction if you truly believe it to be true."

You despised this person, yet here you were, drunk on the pleasure he's been poisoning your mind with. The knife you had tried to pierce him with sat on the bedside cabinet like a harmless prop, forgotten.

He was the reason your people no longer had a home, forced to scatter like fallen leaves in the wind. Your god was one of the many that perished under his spear, leaving you to take refuge in the enemy's land. Rather than assimilate into the masses, you chose the path of vengeance. It was a fool's quest, because how could you, a mere mortal, hope to claim the life of a god? You were a fragile egg hurling itself at a boulder.

"You're nothing... ah... but a glorified killer..." You managed to say, but the words held little effect due to that pathetic moan.

How did you end up here, in a state worse than dead? Death was supposed to be the ending to your despair and the reward for your devotion. You were never afraid to die. During this brutal war, it was always lurking around the corner, stalking out its next prey. You were certain that if you failed, it would simply claim you next.

Your people were fierce and resilient, but the war had taken a toll on them. Many starved and were killed during violent clashes with other gods. Morax granted your god's dying wishes and welcomed them into the Guili Assembly with open arms. It did not take them long to forget that the livelihood and stability they currently enjoy was all because of the sacrifice their god had made. Even if every single one of them forgot, you were his high priestess. You had to remember on their behalf. How could you ever forget the humiliation on his face as he begged the enemy to have mercy on his people with his dying breath?

"Hmm…" He hums. "So much bitterness from such sweet lips."

Just like that, your mask was off. A few minutes ago, you were still uttering false praises to him, doing everything in your power to get into his good graces. Your lips were practically dripping with honey, thanking him for taking you in, so eager to repay him in the only way you knew how.

"You vile—Ah!" You cried out as he sucked harshly on your clit. The silk belt tying your wrists to the bed post dug into your skin as you struggled against it. "Just kill me, Morax!"

He paused, lifting his head from between your thighs, eyeing you with those bewitching amber eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light. His handsome face was covered in your glistening slick. Droplets of your traitorous arousal slid down his jaw, joining the sloppy mess below.

"That would be a pity. You've done nothing wrong, given that that the blood of the god you served is on my hands. In fact, I commend your courage to avenge him. The execution leaves much to be desired…" He pauses to draw his tongue along your wet slit. "But it was an honest attempt."

A moan involuntarily slips from between your lips as your body writhed from the stimulation. Why you had not yet been sentenced to death, you could only guess. A swift and bloody gash across your neck would've done it. If his goal was to coax a surrender out of you, his method was rather underhanded, but so was your approach, so you couldn't blame him.

You had tried to seduce the enemy and succeeded. Now you were just reaping the consequences of your actions.

"You…ah… You're wasting your time on me…" You managed to say in between whimpers.

The drag of his wet muscle against your sensitive walls had your back arching and toes curling. It was almost as if he was determined to return the deed, give you a taste of sweet release just as you had moments earlier. If he were not the person you were seeking vengeance on, you might’ve allowed yourself to enjoy this.

Your moans grew more desperate. There was no holding it in any longer. The pleasure was too much for you to contain. You could only let it overtake you, rushing out and right into his waiting mouth.

"The way you pleasured me, did your god teach you to do that? Did you pleasure him with this eager mouth of yours often?" He mused as he got up from between your legs.

"It was my honor to—"

You winced as he took the opportunity of you parting your lips to speak, pushing his fingers into your mouth and playing with your tongue which had nowhere to hide.

"I'm sure it was. I can see why he delighted in you." He tugged his fingers from your lips, tracing a wet trail along your neck, following with his lips.

"My loyalty will never be yours, Morax. Not now, not ever." You looked him straight in the eye.

He chuckled. "Overconfidence is a fickle thing, darling. Who's to say you won't change your mind? Do you truly believe your god would choose to leave you in the hands of someone as despicable as you say?"

You drew in a shaky breath as his lips hovered over your skin. His eyes watched you as you stubbornly averted your gaze. He was being infuriatingly gentle when you were just expecting him to treat you harshly and have his way with you. Instead, he took his time, teasing and seducing you. You drew in a shallow breath when his lips descended on your chest. His hand returned to your neglected pussy, finding your dripping folds and sinking between them. You instinctively pressed your thighs together. Moans spilled from your lips uncontrollably. Just when the surmounting pleasure was about to push you over the edge again, the god pulled away and withdrew his touch. Your mind was in tatters, shredded by the promise of pleasure that he had planted in your traitorous body. He reached down, thumb coaxing your bottom lip free from your bite.

"So reluctant." He mused, stroking the side of your face with the back of a finger. "I will hear it from you eventually, but I wonder what you will ask for. Will it be your freedom, or something else?"

"You'll set me free just because I ask?" You pant.

"If you promise not to repeat the foolish mistake you made tonight."

"I can't promise that." You replied right away.

Morax chuckles. "Understandable."

He gets up and pulls his robes back on. In a matter of seconds, the god is dressed as impeccably as before you had tugged off his belt, like you had never entered his tent.

"Untie me!" You demand him when it was clear he was about to leave.

"Have you changed your mind so soon?"

Your face grew hot as realization settled on you. Morax was not releasing you until you gave him your word. What a petty god. Your chances of succeeding now was nonexistent, not that it was ever probable to begin with. What was the point of keeping you tied up if he wasn't fearing for his life?

"I've already pledged myself to another god." You answered, unashamed.

"Your god is dead." Morax reminds you.

"It doesn't matter."

The god's brows furrowed.

"I will never serve you, Morax. You might as well kill me."

He never touched you after that day. You were still tied to that bed, but at least you were clothed. In fact, Morax had stopped visiting you altogether, probably moving his resting quarters elsewhere. The military encampment was alit with rumors of you. The soldier who brought you food and stood outside the tent tried to make conversation with you, but you refused to eat or engage with him.

Finally, after you had passed out due to lack of nourishment, Morax returned. When you regained consciousness, you were back on the bed and propped up against a stack of pillows.

"Is this how you repay the god you claim to be loyal to? By wasting your life away?" His deep voice was soothing to your ears, but you would never admit that.

"Why do you care?" You turned your head, refusing the spoon held up against your lips. "I can follow him into death if I want. Who are you to stop me?"

"The one your god, who you hold in such high regard, entrusted you to."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Don't gild yourself Morax. You're just a cold-blooded murderer."

His hand froze in midair. So you might’ve gone a bit too far with that claim, but the words had already escaped your lips and it was too late to take them back.

Morax had many supporters and allies, unlike your god, who was perhaps too distrusting and proud to join forces with another. It wasn't until his death that he finally asked for help, for the sake of the humans who followed him.

"Do you truly think that lowly of me?" He asked you gravely.

"I'm just a follower of a dead god. My opinion shouldn't hold any weight." You smirked, but the expression looked pathetic on your gaunt face. "Why haven't you sentenced me to death yet? Could it be that the great Rex Lapis enjoys being ridiculed?"

"It's certainly not pleasant to be constantly cut by such a sharp tongue, but I must admit, your dedication to your god is quite touching."

"If you think keeping me alive is going to convince me to abandon him and follow you instead, you're awfully naïve."

Morax put down the spoon, laughing heartily at your words.

"That is a first. Naïve…" He repeats the bizarre word. "As the God of Contracts, it would be unfitting of me to punish you for honoring your contract to your god, despite his death freeing you from it."

"I never asked to be freed. You murdered him!"

Morax's eyed darkened as all laughter fell from his face. He sighed.

"I will free you. You may attempt to take my life as many times as you please, but I must warn you. If you fail, there will be consequences."

Your eyes widened in shock. Even the follower of an enemy god knew what these words meant. A contract with Morax was something to be coveted, but what on Teyvat was this one?

"What… consequences?" You asked warily.

"It will not be anything you can't handle. On the contrary, a few of my adepti have been restless as soon as they caught wind of your attempt on my life. They will not be so kind to you if you were to cross them so I advise you to keep your intentions to yourself."

Something was extremely off about this contract right from the beginning. You felt like a mouse lashing out at a bored cat. Morax's Overconfidence was expected. Your vengeance was a joke in his eyes, perhaps endearing even. The way he looks at you, as compassionate as his gaze was, it only added to your crippling guilt and sense of helplessness.

Almost every other night in your bed, you would curl up and weep as you relive the day your god was slain. Sometimes, you would dream of yourself kneeling in front of him, begging for forgiveness. He was dead. You, as his most devoted priestess, should be too. If he was evil, forced you to serve him against your will, made you commit atrocities that would have you clawing at your chest at night, then perhaps you would gladly serve a new god.

After being set free, you stayed in the Millelith encampment as Morax expected. His adepti, as well as the soldiers who were aware of what you had tried to do, were reluctant to accept your constant presence, but Morax ensured that no one dared to lay a hand on you. Eventually, you managed to befriend some of them and managed to learn some lesser known things about the god they followed. One of Morax's closest friends was the god of dust, a weak god if judging by power alone. She had forged an alliance with Morax early on and managed to combine their efforts as their people mingled and settled in the Guili Plains. Even the more reclusive adepti banded together, fighting the war alongside him. Though he was a powerful god, you couldn't deny that the Guili Alliance was much stronger than he could ever be on his own. There was only so much a single god could do. You couldn't help but imagine how different things would've been if your god had considered joining forces with Morax instead of challenging him, but alas all of these thoughts were meaningless with him dead.

"Bonanus, do you think those dead gods curse the land because they're bitter for being pitted against each other in this ridiculous dogfight?"

The hydro yaksha sighed. You always asked her questions like this, but she never minded. She was perhaps one of only people who was qualified to answer them.

"Not all gods curse the land." She said. "Havria never cursed the land either. Even though some of her own people died as a result of her death, it's very different."

He also did not lay down a curse when he died.

"I was one of the Yakshas that Rex Lapis sent to monitor the area after your god was slain." She continued after your silence. "Your god… He truly cared about your people. I can't say the same for all of the gods slain during this war. It was a pity…"

Every soldier at the encampment and most of the adepti called him Rex Lapis out of respect. You were the only one calling him Morax.

It's been almost a month since your last attempt. He was expecting it at this point. Maybe he even secretly looked forward to your attempts, curious to find out how you would go about it. Would the weapon be different? Or would you try to use poison? Each time, Morax seemed to be letting you get away with more, but each attempt would predictably end with your failure. If his adepti knew what was actually going on inside his tent, they would not be so friendly with you.

"Are you a masochist? Why didn't you stop me?" You yelled at him.

The pointed end of your hairpin was embedded in his flesh. You were bent over his body, one hand against his bare chest and the other one holding the pin against his neck. Blood was still seeping out from that gash, an unnatural glimmering gold compared to the vivid crimson that yours was.

"You won't be satisfied until you have this buried in my heart, won't you?" He asked you instead of answering your question.

The expression on his face was unbothered, as if you trying to kill him time and time again was just a minor inconvenience. You had him bleeding and pinned to his bed, but it was clear by how relaxed he was underneath you, this god did not feel threatened by you in the slightest.

"If you know that, why are you still letting me get this close to you? Are you an idiot?"

You tried to withdraw, but he had wrapped his hand around yours, preventing you. His hand maneuvered yours, guiding the tip of your bloodied pin right over his chest. The droplets of molten gold glided over his skin, trailing along his muscles.

"Go on." Morax dared you.

Your eyes widened, panicking. His grip was tight, painful even.

"Madman…" You muttered under your breath as you tried to pry his hand off.

The embellishments along the pin cut into your palm. It wasn't until an unsightly drop of blood slid down your wrist that he let you go, allowing you to drop the pin. It clattered onto to floor, echoing the obnoxious beating of your own heart.

You quickly untangled yourself from him, but couldn't escape. Every time, the punishment was the same as the first. He would always make sure you faced the consequences.

"I gave you the chance, dear. You did not take it." He reminds you as he pulls you back into his arms, trapping you underneath him.

Maybe it wasn't actually the attempt on his life that Morax was indulging in, but serving the punishment he promised you each time you failed. Why did you keep on trying even though the ending was never any different? You would never succeed, no matter how many times he let you close enough.

"I have given you every chance to leave, but you insist on coming back to me each time. What is it that you truly want?" Morax asks you.

"Why do you keep sparing my life then?" You could only deflect with a question of your own, because there was no rational answer to his.

"I would love to ask you the same." He mused. According to your actions, or rather lack of actions, you didn't even want to kill him anymore.

Morax brings your bleeding palm against his lips. A tingling feeling coursed up your spine. In a matter of seconds, the fresh cut was healed, leaving only a faint discoloration. He didn't even bother to tend to his own wound, which was still dripping. Splatters of his golden blood decorated your neck and chest.

He began to stroke your thigh, carefully parting your legs and guiding one over his hip. His fingers dipped into your wet heat, immediately tugging a gasp out of you. Your pussy clamped down on his long digit, shamelessly demanding for more.

You moaned softly as Morax grinded himself against your entrance. It felt so good, you couldn't help but wrap your other leg around his waist, pulling him closer.

"If you want it, you need only ask for it, dear."

"I'll n-never… betray…" You were still stubbornly clinging onto that shred of dignity.

"Oh, I certainly don't doubt that." He chuckled. The sound vibrated against your skin. Heat stirred underneath, giving it an alluring flush.

He added a second finger, pumping in and out of your squelching hole at an increasing pace. The friction was a lit fuse eating through your rational thoughts.

"Does it make you feel wretched if this doesn't happen under the circumstances of a punishment?" His lips brush against your ear, each word piercing through your foggy mind. "A traitor. That's what you are if you sleep with the enemy."

The lascivious sounds drifting from your lips, the trembling of your body, and the copious amount of slick dripping from your hole were all undeniable evidence of your arousal.

"Your body belongs to your god. It would be treacherous of you to allow me inside, won't it? Look at how tightly you're squeezing. I'm afraid this cunt of yours is not as faithful as your lips."

"Just… get it over with… Morax!" You cried out in exasperation.

"You have your limits and I have mines. I will not take you by force." He continued to torture you, riling you up in every way short of shoving his cock inside.

"With everything you've done…" You panted. "What's the difference?"

His fingers have been inside you. His tongue as well. He's seen and touched every inch of your skin and tasted the sweat and tears on your cheeks as well as the arousal between your legs.

"Say it." Morax demands.

You press your lips tightly together as he pulls out his fingers and rubs his hardened cock against your sensitive folds. Soft whimpers escape from you as his tip catches on your slit repeatedly, but never enters.

His deep voice climbs ever so slightly in pitch as he struggles to reign in the urge to shove his cock deep into you, fill you to the brim in a single brutal thrust. His hand wanders, finding your clit.

You moaned as pleasure ripples through your body. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you firmly in place as he coats himself in your slick.

"Just Look at how wet you are. Say that you want it. Please…" His warm breath tickles your skin while his face is buried in the crook of your neck.

"Are you… begging me…?" Surely you were imagining that breathless plea.

"I too can satisfy you." He whispered.

"Morax…"

"Say it!"

"You're unbearable." You groaned.

"Is that a yes?" He asked.

You nodded, writhing as you succumbed to his persistence. "Yes!"

Immediately, you could feel his tip pushing into you. Your moans filled the air as your walls stretched to accommodate his immense girth. Morax's cock bullied its way in until it was completed sheathed within you.

After months of wavering pretense, you could no longer keep up the act. The moment your affirmation left your lips, the depravity you had been holding back spilled forth.

"Gods you're tight." Morax hissed as you clamped down on him, restricting his movement. "Relax your hold, dear. Are you trying to squeeze the life out of me?"

"Wouldn't that be… just perfect?" You teased him against your better judgment.

You cried out as he plunged his cock into you after pulling out almost completely. Raw pleasure coursed through you like a tidal wave, drowning out everything except the sound of his cock moving inside you. The sensations had you bursting at the seams. Your mind was completely blank, your lips parted, and your skin flushed.

"Careful dear. I would hate to accidentally kill you whilst trying to bring you to a finish." He whispered against your ear after calming down a bit.

"That doesn't sound… too bad." You managed to say between moans. "For someone like me."

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" He grunts as he increases his pace even more. "To die while impaled on my cock, with my cum filling your womb? Your god would surely scowl in disgust if he knew how willingly, how well you're taking me right now, wouldn't he?"

"Morax… too fast…" You sobbed, fingernails digging into his arm.

"Is this already too much for you?" He cooed, reaching down to rub your clit. Despite his words, he slowed down to a gentler pace. "I expected more from you."

You glared at him, but the tears in your eyes only made you look all the more pathetic. "Even my god was more gentle when he—"

"If you want gentle, then I will show you gentle. There's no need to compare me to someone who's no longer able to fill this needy cunt of yours."

"Who's fault is that?" You seethed.

"Mine." He replied, stroking your cheek tenderly. "So allow me…"

This time, Morax held true to his word. Every thrust was painfully gentle and slow, so slow that you began rolling your hips upward to encourage him to go faster.

"F-faster…" You whined. "Please…"

With a barely noticeable curl at the corner of his lips, Morax quickened his place. His breathing also grew shallow again. You moaned softly, the pitch and urgency of each sound escaping your lips rose as he pushed you closer and closer towards the edge.

"I'm almost there…"

"Come for me, darling. I'll be right behind you." He coaxed you in such a tender voice.

You tensed, body convulsing as your walls clamped down on him relentlessly. Your arms wrapped around his neck as your thighs tightened around his waist. The thread inside you snapped, releasing a surge of warmth that gushed around his cock. He let out a groan, also reaching his climax. Thick, hot cum shot deep into your womb, painting your insides and mixing together with your own release, finally trickling out from where the two of you were still joined. He tugged himself free of your suffocating warmth, releasing a flood of cum. Even now, your walls were still fluttering, desperately clenching onto nothing. He almost had the urge to stuff his cock back inside out of pity.

"Rest now. Leave the rest to me."

Morax pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you from behind. The sound of his steadying breath drifted into your ear, lulling your tired body to sleep.

"I cannot bring back your beloved god, but I can promise you this. From this day onwards, every god I defeat shall be sealed away instead of slain. This war has resulted in too much grief, too much bloodshed. I too wish for its swift end. Forgive me for the wrongs I am no longer able to undo." He sighed, voice barely audible even though you were laying there right against him.

A drop of saltiness seeped into the silk pillow underneath your head. As a mere human caught in these tumultuous times, you had always known how lucky you were to be born in a village overseen by a merciful god.

The injustice that had plagued you for the past year ever since his death finally drained out of you, tear by tear. So Morax had killed an innocent god. Perhaps he had killed a dozen even. Did he have a choice? He did not call this war into existence. Perhaps there were higher gods even he was a mere pawn to, gods who had set this land ablaze with suffering and strife. He too was simply doing what he could to protect the humans who called his domain home.

The encampment gradually warmed up to you once you put down your burdens. Even Cloud Retainer eventually let go of her urge to 'quash' you when it became clear you no longer had the desire to kill Rex Lapis. The first to notice was Yaksha Bonanus, who you often spoke to about your past. You smiled often and found ways to be helpful within the Millelith camp. You were no adeptus, neither where you brilliant like Guizhong. If you were a great warrior like Xiao and Bonanus, perhaps you'd be helpful in that way. You were only decent with a sword when forced to use one. Tending to wounded soldiers and gathering herbs were tasks you had always been adept at, so you volunteered for that post. It was one of your responsibilities as priestess, before the god you served died. These were now your people and Morax was now your god.

You still refused to call him Rex Lapis, but he did not mind it at all. It turns out, a good many of his close friends still refer to him directly by the name Morax. That was something you would've never expected of the god you previously served. He was a proud god, so proud that you were never permitted to call him by name, despite being his closest confidant.

"Morax." The name tasted familiar, sweet even on your tongue.

It certainly feels different from calling your supposed lover 'My Lord' every time he takes you to bed. You stretch as you get up from Morax's bed. The encampment was always bustling, no matter what time of the day it was. There was always something to do and you were always filled with motivation. Ever since you started getting involved, you realized exactly how purposeless your life had been in the months following the death of your previous god. Morax had not simply spared your life repeatedly. He had saved it. Those memories were bittersweet now, but you were grateful for them. You would always be, for the rest of your life, however long it would be.

Author's Note: This took way too long. Got stuck because my brain kept screaming OOC. Finally ended up with something I liked so here you go. This list is probably going to continue into 2025 at this point. I kinda like having a list of prompts to draw from. Gets my brain worms going. Except when I get stuck of course, like with this one.

[whereserpentswalk]

Like to give your creature a pat on the head. Reblog to get them to come to you. Tag your friends to increase their power. Look under the cut to see what it's like to meet your creature.

The vampire: She first comes to you as a shadow entering your room but takes fleshy form as she comes to the seat of your bed, wearing men's clothes from centuries ago. Though she is not of this world anymore you can tell that she once was human, even if such humanity is long forgotten. Her mouth shifts, from something massive and monstrous, with many fangs and moving parts, to something more humanoid, though still with sharp steel fangs in place of teeth. She sings to you and old forgotten song, of gods only spoken about by humans in taboo whispers, and fleshes you look of her ever-young bright red eyes. You begin to harmonize, your voices meeting as equals, as she begins to rest on your lap, and let herself be pet like a cat. You feel the shape of her body, it's so cold. She begs for your blood in song, and you give it to her as you pet her head, her mouth opens up to its monstrous size again, but she's so loyal and submissive as she drinks from your hand, like a bird eating right out of your palm.

The ghost: The room fills with red, as red and a blood moon, and red as a fresh beating heart. Spirits rise and you see something ancient lash towards you, hir hands like a mantis's claws, hir face like a skull yet featureless save for two dark eyes, hir red body covered in bug like limbs and tentacles and shimming egg cases. Sie turns hir head to look at you and sie rushes at you like a deadly predator but passes through you, eldritch ghostly wires wrapping around hir like chains to pull hir back to you as sie bows, defeated, begging with only a look not to be banished. You're not sure if sie is terrifying, pathetic, or honorable, but as you put your hand out sie seems somewhat honored to be allowed to stand up. You wonder what sie's thinking but you don't think to ask, it's only barely dawned on you that such an inhuman creature has a mind like yours, that sie is sentient, that hir race was much like yours when they were still alive. You just look at each other for a good amount of time, not sure who is more powerful.

The angel: They first come to you in an empty subway station, the ruins on the ground barely keeping you safe from them. Yet they look forlorn, like they would not have the energy to hurt you. Their form is pale and ghostly, white and colorless, the only mark of brightness being the blood that stains their hands, and wings. Chains weight down their slender body, as a veil hides their face. For a small moment they spread their six great wings, showing you their true size and power even in their cursed state. Eye sockets open for you for a brief moment, all over their body, all of them empty. Terrifying as they are none would deny that they are in great pain. You reach your hand out and gently whisper "it's ok" as they slow down and look at you as if they have not seen such sympathy from a creature in a long time. They extend a hand for you to hold, and you grab it, pet it for a slight moment, and you can feel a long dead fire seep through your veins. "It's ok." "It's ok."

The faceless woman: Deep beyond the city limits, where no light shines save for the stars, you see her, spiderwebs and shadows her friends, and faeries and dead gods her masters. She looks like a human at first, tall and long haired, in a ragged suit that covers her flesh. But then you see her head, and where her face could have been there is only a black pick, a hole that no normal human could survive to have. It looks at first like the void is of pure darkness, but inside it you have catch a glimpse of countless teeth like a lamprey's. She seems to laugh though she has no mouth, amused that a human would think to approach her, but you approach her even more, wondering what she even is. She suddenly gets excited as she sees something in your eyes, sees that you won't back down. You offer her some raw meat, a sign of good will, as you put it in her hands, she consumes it by causing it to melt into dust in her hands. She looks at you, as an ally, an accomplice, if she could, she would have smiled.

Paladin: She stands before you, bowing strangely, so submissively, though she's so obviously strong enough to rip you apart. It's strange to think this creature is actually in your room, that she's actually yours, that she was once a human like you. You can see where the plate and chain is fused to her neck, her hands eternally attached to her sword and flintlock, her eyes looking up at you wish a strange sadness. There's blood on her face and hair that will never wash out. As you come closer she seems afraid of you, like you could ruin her in ways that she could never hope to ruin you, despite her power and prowess. You ask if you can pet her head and she nods, you aren't sure yet if she could speak to you if she wanted. When you so gently pet and stroke her face and hair, she seems so happy, so happy to have someone treat her in such a way. You tell her that she's doing well, that she did a good job, it seems like she needed to hear that.

Autumn faerie: He looks down at you from the tome that he walked out of the world around them blackened until he's all that you're able to see. A smiling mask rests on his face, and far more cover his body, the only clothing on his strange body, almost human, almost extremely not human, bright wings sprouting from the flesh of his back. He looks at you, studying you, like he already knows so much about you but now he finally gets to see you. Is he impressed? He at the very least seems as if he's satisfied. He hands you a mask, you don't know how, but it looks like you, not literally, it looks more like an animal then a human, but it looks like your true face, like just as you summoned and bound him with his true name, he gets this from you in his return. You put on the mask, the deal is signed at it rings with pleasure, you'll never be the same again.

Harpy: You first see zir on a fire escape, the lights of the buildings around zir shining like stars against the starless night sky. You can only see zir eyes at first, shining gold against the darkness of zir body. But you call zir into your apartment with a forgotten tongue and watch a ze lands near you, so very alien but so very close. Zir body is marked by feathered wings, and zir form are like a bird's from the waist down, blue and white and gold as if they were painted, you can tell zir body was crafted directly by the gods themselves. You call upon zir with a song long forgotten and wondered what the look in zir eyes means. Though ze is beautiful ze has taken lives, and though ze is humanlike in some regards to zir shape, zir movements are so alien. You let zir carry you, and it feels strangely good to be held, and let zir fly with you, above the city streets, looking down at things most will never see, at birds and clouds flying past you, and at the world below, so many people, and somehow you feel safe with the wind rushing past your hair.

Incubus: You see him, sitting in an empty office building. His humanoid form is slender and short and more pretty than he is handsome, the only reason you think of him as male being his flat chest. You can he's now human from the raven's wings and scorpion's tail on his back, the branching horns and snakes for hair on his head, his sharp teeth and the stars shaped pupils. The clothing he wears is loose and comfortable, as if it was chosen in a state of depression. You expected more confidence when you summoned him. He backs away from you afraid, afraid of what you'll do to him. It looks like monster hunters got to him before you had a chance to, he's lucky to even be alive. You set out some rat's souls for him to eat so he'll trust you more, and you assure him that it's ok, that he's safe. He starts crying a bit as he looks at you, and after he finishes eating you offer to hug him. He lets you and you feel his body be surrounded by your arms. He's afraid but enjoying the affection so much as you assure him again that you won't hurt him.

Golem: They sit by you in abandoned mall, displaying so much power as they move steel pipes to the side to get closer to you. Their strength mired by the way even the smallest rip seems to be something them need to avoid. You look at them, their body so perfectly created, like human sized origami, the letter of life on their head being the only thing that marks their pure white paper body. You ask them to follow you, but they won't follow, a single puddle blocks their path, no obstacle for you, but even a being of their power has weaknesses. You slowly clear it, putting objects you can find over the puddle until finally they can follow you out into the light, still afraid of the sky you hand them an umbrella, just in case...

Undead: You first see him in a dark alleyway that the sun cannot meet him in. You wonder how many dimensions he's been to, how many dimensions he's been from, before he got here. He looks at you with three eyes of different colors. Skin stitched together across him, of different colors and textures and levels of rot, clothing resting on him from several different lives. He chatters, first in one voice asking where he is, where he could be. Then another voice questions you, wondering who you are, why you'd want to see him. Another voice looks at his own face in a piece of shattered glass and screams in terror. For a moment you think he'd attack, you're not sure if the spell would protect you. But he doesn't, he just looks at you for a while, confused perhaps. You ask him if he wants to follow you, and he seems to. Within his storm of countless voices, he decides to ask you, almost with all at once, "who am I." After thinking for a while you decide to answer, "You're you."

Demon: You stand in a closed down amusement part, the sea beside you shining like in the moonlight as he rises out of the water. He's massive; larger than you expected. His body a pale white as he rises out of the newly boiling water, his three heads eat long and sharp toothed like an alligator's, his eyes as red freshly cut meat, seven tattered wings on his back expanding to nearly cover the sky. He laughs, you're not sure how sadistic or how genuine it is considering the unreadable expressions of his reptilian heads. He charges at you with his teeth gnashing and blood pouring out of each of his mouths. But the spell blocks him like a shield made out of the air. As he fails to attack you more, he becomes frustrated, then tired, and rests on a rollercoaster. He seems to respect you knowing you were able to bind him like that, and regardless of if he likes it or not, he's yours now.

Shapeshifter: She slowly walks towards you out from the tunnel, she experiments with forms to see how you react; a small white kitten, a robotic humanoid woman, a long-haired demoness, a woman made out of blue slime. You can tell she's seen a lot of creatures before, that you're not her first master, she's known vampires, and werewolves, and demons in her time. It doesn't seem like many of them have been kind to her. You call to her and bring her closer with your magic. Slowly you watch her, you just wait as she changes her form, getting more experimental with the bodies she's willing to take. You just look at her, letting her be herself, letting her show you her art. Eventually she settles on something that feels like herself, something that she can be comfortable following you home with.

[driftwood-draws]

reconnecting to therianthropy ideas

hello y'all! first post! so recently i had a friend ask me how they can get reconnected to therianthropy, so i made a list and i thought i'd post it here!

-take walks in the woods or wild space -listen to a stream running while sleeping -sometimes when i sleep, i curl up into a ball on top of my covers -watch documentaries about your theriotype -go swimming in a lake and play on the shore if you have an aquatic theriotype -listen to your theriotype’s vocals -eat meat, if you’re a carnivore, or eat a salad if you’re a herbivore -take a cold shower and pretend it’s a waterfall -i’m dragonkin and being on the prow of a boat feels an awful lot like flying, but other options are standing facing the wind with arms outstretched, watching flying POVs with a fan pointed at you, and daydreaming, i guess -make a mask out of cardboard or buy a base (it’s okay if you can’t!) -lay in the sun outside -play with a pet, if you have one -if you have a lupine theriotype, play Wolfquest 3 Anniversary Edition on Steam. i’ve heard it has amazing graphics and hunting! -chew on something rubbery. i have an inflated rubber egg that i love to chew on -make a tail out if yarn. it takes a LOT of time and effort, but it feels good once completed -put glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling to simulate the night sky -watch Wolfwalkers, Brother Bear, Nimona (all relate to shapeshifting into a creature) -read Warriors if you have a feline theriotype -read Nat. Geo. magazines and articles -i like wearing sunglasses on my head because it feels like i have ears, but you could also wear a hat or a headband -draw your theriotype -if you have a nocturnal theriotype, try pulling an all nighter (if your parents will let you) -try hunting one of your stuffed animals (close the door in case you shift -climb a tree! -look up videos on how to get a shift by meditating (i personally don’t meditate but i’ve heard it works) -if you’re home alone, put a bowl of water or soup on the floor and eat/drink it like your theriotype would -if you can, try to get a tag to hunt something for real! when i hunt, it really connects me to nature (if you can’t, don’t sweat it) -go on a hike and try to act like your theriotype -make a den in your room or backyard -paint rocks or shells -decorate your room to match your theriotype -do quads, if your body allows. don’t worry about having the perfect form or jumping high, just have fun! you feel more natural the more you do it (i find going up stairs or uphill to be easiest) -find alterhumans in your area and make a pack -look at therian boards and concept art on pinterest -make a paw imprint in clay then hang it up -make a hidden therian/otherkin symbol in your room

thanks for reading my ramble! if you have more ideas, please feel free to comment!

stay wild 🐾 -drifty

[poetsblvd]

BIRTHDAY PRINCESS ꪆৎ CL16

“Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall.” He murmurs carefully gliding across the wooden flooring towards your bedroom.

Hands holding onto a breakfast tray filled with a vast selection of your favourite fruit, coffee, eggs and of course your birthday cake.

Strawberries, cherries, blueberries and bananas all cut up and prettily put into a pearly white bowl.

Sitting in the very middle of the tray a gorgeous white chocolate, lemon and raspberry bento cake iced in pink with the words ‘happy birthday, mon amour’ steals the show.

He’d be lying if he said he made it himself, God only knows what would have happened to you and your poor stomach should he have made a Charles special birthday cake.

His teeth still rung from his last attempt at a making a homemade meal for date night, pizza? More like chewing gum.

“Leo, Leoooo, viens, réveillons la princesse d'anniversaire!” The puppy excitedly wags his tiny tail, trotting on his legs and nuzzling into Charles’ feet. ( Come along, let’s wake the birthday princess up! )

Pushing the door open with his hip he grimaces as the cool door comes in contact with his bare skin, he looks to make sure you’re still asleep and smiles when he notices you covered under the large mound of the duvet with Leo laying at your feet having jumped up to snuggle near you.

He places the breakfast tray down and rushes softly and carefully to bring in the prettiest bouquet of pink flowers wrapped in brown paper and sealed with a soft white bow.

You’re the light of his life, he thinks as he moves towards you, seating himself on the edge of your side of the bed with a clear view of your cheeks smushed into the cool pillow — that he’s sure you unconsciously flipped not too long ago — and eyes covered with a silky champagne coloured eye mask.

He runs his knuckles down your cheek, unable to contain himself from feeling just a little bit of you in the calm of the morning.

“Mon trèsor, it’s your birthday. Joyeaux anniversaire.” The words are whispered and cool against your cheek, as he smears kisses over the tiny shred of skin peeking through the covers.

“Aren’t you so excited?” He smiles indulgent and kind to your whining in the morning, chuckling as you pull your head from the pillow and into his lap.

Stroking your hair softly he whispers kisses wherever he can find, “Come on darling girl, J'ai tous tes favoris ici, Leo aussi” ( I have all your favourites here, Leo too.” )

Separating your head from his lap — albeit reluctantly — he gets up to bring you the breakfast he’s prepared, that is most definitely edible, he checked too!

“See!” Rising slowly and pulling off your sleep mask, you blink at your boyfriend and the breakfast that he’s brought with him, eyes clumping with remnants of sleeping and working hard to clear any bleariness you smile at him all gentle and sweet, sending his heart into a right tizzy.

Grinning at you he cocks his head upwards a bit towards your headboard silently asking you to sit up, then placing the breakfast tray on your lap and joining you by your feet, next to a now dozing Leo.

“Happy birthday, amour.” Handing you flowers with one hand he rubs your leg with the other.

You smile bringing them up to your nose. “Thank you, Charlie.”

“Leo would tell you happy birthday too, but he’s very tired you see.”

Laughing at your sleeping dog you nod. “Is he?”

“Oh yes! It’s very hard to nap while someone’s making noise in the kitchen, Leo’s an absolute star for doing so without waking up.” He exaggerates his words with finesse, stroking Leo’s head and smiling up at you.

You giggle hands coming over your face as a bashful expression takes over Charles, he’s sure that no matter how long you two date he’s always going to be in awe of you, in awe of everything you do and say.

He’s sure the you could make the simplest thing in the world better, and he’s thankful everyday that he has the ability to make you laugh and bring you pockets of joy in your saddest moments, and further sweeten your happiest of days.

And this is the ideal ‘happy day’. It’s a birthday, your birthday. And he’ll be damned if it isn’t perfect.

He gets up slowly, walking over to you a lighter in his hand. “Cut the cake amour!”

He lights the candles on the cake and sings softly, “happy birthday to you…”.

He pecks your nose and pulls his phone out, positioning it towards you he snaps a few photos and continues singing softly as you smile over at him.

“Je t’aime tellement.”

“Je t’aime tellement aussi Cha, merci!” He moves forward and kisses your knuckles feeding you a bit of the cake.

“You don’t have to thank me my love, ever.” You smile pulling him in for a kiss, noses brushing and smiles joining, pulling away to laugh only when you feel the patter of a now awake Leo.

“Of course, he wakes up when he smells the food!”

“Oh Charlie, I hope this isn’t another pizza incident.”

“No! I checked this time amour I promise!”

“Okay Cha.”

And when you both fell ill the next day Charles swore it was the sushi you had for dinner and absolutely not the three day expired milk he unknowingly mixed in with the eggs.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

love note , this is super cute and fluffy, and i’m so tired cause i’ve written this at 4:30 am, but thank you sm for requesting!! i hope you liked this <33

[pixii33]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐃♡𝐠𝐬 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Plagued Yandere x Plagued Reader part 1

Summary: you were no longer a human. You were a rat. Something for them to experiment on for their own sick pleasure. You hate everything. God why it's always happening to you? What did you do to deserve this? But just beside you is a man. A man who don't even know his name and yet he's so hopeful. As if he believes you gonna be save...

Warning: torture, unknown virus, abuse, amnesia.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. And yes I'm inspired by The Plague Dogs. Original gif by @kieraknightley. Hope you enjoy!

The door to her cell clanged open, and she was yanked from the remnants of sleep. Her eyes shot open, the same as every other day, staring at the blank, cold walls around her, the air thick with the smell of rot. The guards entered with heavy, careless footsteps, their faces hidden beneath gas masks, those black eyes like hollow pits staring back. Always covered, always distant.

She hated them. Every last one of them.

The guard threw a metal tray onto the ground by the door, the slop on it sloshing onto the filthy floor. He didn’t even bother looking at her. None of them did. She glared up at him, her hands clenched into fists by her side. It took everything in her not to spit on the tray, not to lash out. The heavy door of Egg’s cell creaked next to hers, and she could hear him scrambling up, his voice weak, hopeful.

“Thank you!” Egg’s voice was filled with too much sincerity for this hellhole. She could hear him thanking them every day, like a child grateful for scraps.

The guards only laughed. One of them stepped forward and kicked Egg’s tray, sending it flying into the dirt and filth. She heard Egg's soft gasp, the shuffle as he hurried to clean up the food. "Pathetic," one of the guards spat, his voice muffled by the mask. "Still pretending to be grateful. Like we give a shit."

She glared at them, her heart pounding in her chest. Bastards. All of them. Their mocking words, the way they looked down at her and Egg like they weren’t even human anymore, burned inside her. She pulled her knees to her chest, locking her jaw, refusing to touch the slop they'd left her. The smell alone made her stomach churn.

“You should be grateful,” another guard sneered, crouching just far enough from her reach, “for the food, for us keeping you alive. Without us, you'd be rotting by now.” His gaze flickered to Egg’s cell. “Or worse, like that freak over there.”

He stepped closer to the bars, his breath coming in harsh, shallow bursts behind the mask. She could feel his gaze on her, even if she couldn’t see his eyes. “What’s wrong? You don’t want it? Worthless slut.” His voice was thick with contempt, the words dripping with that familiar venom.

Her jaw tightened. She could feel her pulse pounding in her head, the fury rising up through her like a storm. She wanted to lunge at him, rip the mask from his face, spit every hateful thing she’d ever thought right into his eyes. She wanted him to feel the same helpless rage she felt every single day.

But then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Egg.

He was watching her, his food forgotten for a moment, his wide, innocent eyes filled with worry. He shook his head, just the slightest movement, like a silent plea for her to stay calm. To let it go.

Her breath hitched. The anger in her chest twisted, turned into something else. Something that left her feeling hollow.

She bit her tongue hard, tasted the iron of her own blood, and looked away.

The guard laughed, his voice harsh and brittle. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, and then he was gone, his boots pounding away down the corridor.

They left eventually, their laughter echoing down the hallway. The door slammed shut behind them with a final, metallic thud. Her gaze lingered on the untouched tray in front of her. For a moment, she didn’t move. Just sat there, legs pulled tight against her chest, staring at the cold stone floor. Her heart was still beating too fast, the remnants of that anger still coursing through her veins like a poison.

Egg’s voice broke the silence. “It’s good today. Really good.” He was already eating again, his fingers picking at the slop, oblivious to the fact that it was barely fit for a stray dog. She could see him through the bars, see the way his face lit up at the smallest bite, the way he savored it like it was something real, something substantial.

Slowly, she dragged her own tray closer, wrinkling her nose at the smell. She poked at it with one finger, barely able to stomach the thought of even tasting it. The mush was cold, congealed. Bits of unidentifiable meat and vegetables floating in a grayish slop. It looked rancid. The smell alone was enough to make her sick. “You like this?” she muttered, glancing over at Egg, who paused with a piece of it halfway to his mouth.

He nodded eagerly, his pale eyes wide with that same, childlike innocence she never understood. “Yes,” he said, his voice soft, “it’s not so bad. Better than nothing.”

She stared at him, at the way he seemed almost happy, even with the bruises on his arms, even with his bald head and the rot creeping up his foot. He was breaking down, piece by piece, and still, he was grateful.

She sighed, pushing the tray toward the bars between them. “You want mine?”

His head snapped up, surprise lighting his face. “Really?” he asked, his voice full of that strange, childlike gratitude. “You’re sure?”

She pushed the tray toward him, not bothering to answer. What was the point? He’d take it anyway, with or without her permission. He always did. And part of her—despite herself—was glad for it. Glad that at least one of them could still find joy in something, no matter how small or disgusting.

She watching as he pulled it into his cell with a quiet, “Thank you.” He dug in, as if it were a feast, as if it were something worth eating.

She pulled her knees back to her chest, glaring at the wall across from her, feeling nothing but anger clawing at her insides.

She leaned her head back against the cold, rough wall of her cell, eyes half-lidded as she watched Egg devour the food like it was a feast. His thin fingers scraped at the last bits, collecting every crumb from the tray. She wondered, not for the first time, how he could still find joy in this place. This pit of cruelty, where people were thrown away like garbage, left to rot from the inside out. The scientists didn’t care. The guards didn’t care. No one cared. Yet here he was, thanking them for scraps like it meant something.

It didn’t make sense to her, but then again, nothing about him made sense.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in. The air in the cell was thick and sour with the scent of decay—her own body betraying her, just like his. Every day, the virus crept a little further into her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she would end up like the others. Bald. Rotted. Forgotten.

“Sir, I’ve been hearing things,” she had said, standing stiffly in front of her commanding officer’s desk, the cold metal of her dog tags brushing against her chest as she shifted her weight. Her voice had been careful, measured, though she could feel the unease creeping under her skin.

“Things?” he’d drawled, not even looking up from the reports in front of him. He was a big man, intimidating, with cold, flat eyes that never softened for anyone. The room had smelled of cigar smoke and sweat, suffocating in its familiarity.

“About the virus. The researchers—they’re talking about using humans now. They said they needed criminals for the tests. But these people—” she hesitated, trying to find the words, “they aren’t volunteers. They’re just taking them.”

He hadn’t flinched. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face. Instead, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk as he finally looked up at her. “And? They’re criminals. Who gives a damn what happens to them?”

She had stared at him, a knot of anger forming in her chest. “They’re still people, sir. They deserve—”

“They deserve nothing.” He had cut her off sharply, his eyes narrowing, his voice growing harder, more dangerous. “They’re trash. Nothing more. And if they die, then they die.” He laughed then, a hollow, humorless sound that made her stomach turn. “Good riddance.”

Her hands had curled into fists at her sides. “We should tell people, warn them. They could protect themselves, take precautions. It’s not right to keep this from them.” The words had left her mouth before she could stop them.

He had stood up so quickly the chair behind him scraped against the floor, his towering presence looming over her. The air had shifted, heavy with tension, with that familiar threat. And then—before she had even registered what was happening—his hand cracked across her face, the sting of it snapping her head to the side. Her skin burned where he hit her, but it was the coldness in his eyes that hurt more.

“You’re getting too comfortable, soldier,” he growled, stepping closer, so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat of his body pressing into hers. She had swallowed hard, trying to push down the panic rising in her throat. “You speak when spoken to. Nothing more. Do you understand?”

Her jaw clenched, but she had nodded, the sting of his slap pulsing on her cheek. He gripped her chin then, forcing her to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing the reddened skin he’d just struck. She had wanted to jerk away, to spit in his face, but she knew better. She’d learned better.

“There’s a good girl,” he cooed, his tone sickeningly soft as his hand moved down to caress her cheek, his thumb pressing too hard against her skin. Her stomach turned in disgust, but she stood rigid, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise. His face had been so close to hers, the distance between them shrinking until she could feel his breath on her lips. “You should know your place by now. I don’t need you thinking for yourself.”

Her skin had crawled at his touch, her heart hammering in her chest as she forced herself to stay still, to not flinch. His fingers were rough, calloused, every brush against her face a reminder of how powerless she was in that moment.

She had hated him. Hated every second of it, hated the way he looked at her, like she was nothing but a tool to be used, a piece of meat. And she had hated herself more for not pulling away, for not fighting harder.

God, I should have killed him there.

A scrape of metal on concrete pulled her back. Egg had pushed the empty trays toward the bars, wiping his hands on his tattered pants. He sat back against the wall of his cell, his legs folded beneath him, a small smile tugging at his lips. His feet, one of them wrapped in old bandages, were still raw and rotting, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you for the food,” he said again softly, more to himself than to her. His voice always held that strange, gentle tone. It was like he lived in a different world from her—a world where hope still existed.

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The bile rose in her throat just thinking about it. There was no hope here. Only survival. And even that was slipping away.

The silence hung between them, broken only by the faint dripping of water somewhere deep within the prison. She could feel Egg’s eyes on her, could sense his need to say something, but she wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Not today.

She opened her eyes again, staring through the bars at Egg. His pale face was turned toward her, his wide eyes still full of that same, infuriating innocence.

“Do you think…” he began, his voice soft and hesitant, “do you think today could be the day?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What day?”

“The day they let us out,” he said, almost hopefully. “Maybe… maybe they’ll find my family. Maybe they’ll come for me.”

She stared at him, her lips pressed into a hard line. He’d said it before—many times. It was always the same fantasy. That somehow, someone would find him. That his wife and children would come through those doors and save him from this nightmare. It made her sick to hear it.

“They’re not coming,” she said flatly, her voice sharp enough to cut through his delusion.

Egg blinked, his smile faltering for a moment, but only for a moment. He recovered quickly, nodding as if he hadn’t heard her. “I know,” he whispered, but there was a distant look in his eyes, like he didn’t believe it. “But maybe…”

Maybe.

She hated that word.

It was late, well past midnight, the lights in the barracks casting long shadows over the cold concrete floors. She had stayed back to finish some paperwork, her shoulders stiff from hours of tension, her eyes burning from the fluorescent lights overhead. The others had left hours ago, their laughter and chatter fading as the door clicked shut behind them. She had been alone for what felt like hours.

Then came the sound of footsteps behind her, slow and deliberate. She knew those footsteps—sharp, heavy boots that echoed down the hall.

Her fingers froze on the papers as she stiffened, already dreading the encounter. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was. His presence was always a weight, always something that pressed down on her.

“You’re still here?” His voice slithered out, the tone too casual, too familiar.

She forced herself to keep writing, focusing on the feel of the pen in her hand. “Finishing the report, sir.”

He moved closer, and she could feel his eyes on her back, like a predator watching its prey. “You work too hard,” he said, a mock concern dripping from his words.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, but she didn’t turn. “Just doing my job.”

“You’re a good soldier, Y/N.” His voice was closer now, just behind her, and then she felt it—his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “But you should know when to relax.”

She went stiff, her breath catching in her throat as his fingers dug into her skin, the pressure uncomfortably tight. She wanted to shrug him off, to pull away, but she stayed still, forcing herself to breathe evenly.

“Sir, I’d appreciate it if you—”

The slap came without warning, sharp and brutal, the sting of it blooming across her cheek as her head snapped to the side. The chair wobbled beneath her, and she barely caught herself before falling.

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N,” he snarled, the warmth draining from his voice in an instant, replaced with cold anger.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse loud in her ears as she brought a hand to her face, feeling the heat of the slap still radiating from her cheek. She tried to push away from the desk, but he was on her in seconds, his fingers gripping her jaw with bruising force.

“Look at me,” he hissed, pulling her face up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. The cruelty there made her stomach turn. “You think you’re special? You think you’re above this?”

“Sir, don’t—”

His grip tightened, and her words died in her throat as he leaned in closer, so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat of it against her skin. “You’re just a tool. Just another fucking soldier. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Her stomach twisted as he dragged his fingers down from her face, trailing them along her neck, his breath hot and sour as he pressed closer. She pushed at him, but his body was a wall, unyielding.

“No one’s going to save you,” he whispered, his voice sickeningly soft. “Not out here.”

His hand moved lower, fingers slipping beneath the edge of her uniform, and panic surged through her chest. She shoved harder, desperate, but his hand wrapped around her wrist, pinning it to the desk with a force that made her cry out.

“You’re my bitch,” he whispered.

The pressure, the smell, the hands that wouldn’t stop moving—it was suffocating. Her world shrunk to the feel of him against her, the cruel grip on her wrist, and the terror that choked her.

And then—

She woke up with a sharp intake of breath, her body drenched in sweat, heart pounding like she’d just run miles. Her chest heaved as she blinked rapidly, trying to push the nightmare away, but the phantom touch of his hands lingered, the sound of his voice still echoing in her ears.

For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the filthy ceiling of her cell, trying to pull herself back to reality. It was just a dream. Just a dream. But it had never felt like a dream—it was a memory, twisted, haunting her over and over again.

She turned her head, and through the dim light, she saw Egg sitting up, his legs crossed as he watched her with that same innocent concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his wide eyes blinking at her in the dark.

She clenched her jaw, pushing herself up to sit, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her fingers still trembled as she raked them through her hair, her breath shaky.

“Shut the fuck up, Egg,” she snapped, not bothering to look at him. The last thing she needed was him asking questions.

But Egg, as always, just laughed softly, the sound too light, too out of place. “You’re so mean,” he said, his tone teasing but without any malice. He seemed oblivious to her anger, to the frustration simmering beneath her skin.

She didn’t respond, just kept rubbing her face, trying to shake off the nightmare.

“I miss my wife,” Egg said suddenly, his voice wistful, like he was sharing a precious secret. “She’s so beautiful, you know? And my three kids—they’re waiting for me. We live in a small house, but it’s cozy. We’ve got a dog too. You’d like him. He's real sweet.”

She blinked, slowly lowering her hands to her lap as she stared at him. He was smiling again, that same soft, distant look in his eyes as he raised three fingers toward her. “Three kids,” he repeated, like he was proud of it.

She frowned, unsure how to react. Part of her believed him—he spoke with such conviction, like he really did have a family waiting for him on the outside. A wife. Kids. A dog. A cozy little house.

But how could someone like him have all that? How could someone in this rotting hellhole dream of such things?

“What about you?” he asked, looking at her expectantly. “Do you have anyone waiting for you?”

She clenched her jaw, her body tensing again. Her life outside? What fucking life? She didn’t owe him that. She didn’t owe anyone anything.

When she didn’t respond, Egg’s brows furrowed slightly, his confusion evident. “You don’t have anyone?” he asked, as if that idea was impossible to him.

“Keep your head up your own ass, Egg,” she spat, turning away from him and lying back down, staring at the wall. She didn’t need this shit. Not from him.

Egg just chuckled, unbothered. “You’re so mean,” he whispered again, the fondness in his voice unsettling in its innocence.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out his words, trying to pull herself back into sleep. But the memory of the dream clung to her, as did his quiet, persistent voice.

When she woke, it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Her eyes fluttered open, but the world around her was hazy, distorted, as if she were underwater, drowning in a nightmare that refused to end. The light above her flickered一too bright, then too dim-casting eerie shadows across the room, dancing over figures she couldn't quite make out.

She tried to move, but nothing happened. Her arms were pinned, her legs too. A sudden wave of terror washed over her as the realization sank in-she was tied down. Strapped to a bed. Panic surged in her chest, her heart thudding painfully in her ribs. Her muscles strained, burning with effort, but it was useless. She couldn't move.

Her throat felt tight, like something was pressing down on it, and when she tried to scream, her mouth wouldn't cooperate. No sound came out. Not even a whimper. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't scream.

Her vision was blurry, but she could see the outlines of figures moving around her. They wore masks, their faces obscured, just shadows of men and women- scientists. She could hear their voices, muffled and distant, like she was underwater, the words coming and going in waves.

"Increase the dosage."

"Prep the subject."

"It vitals are spiking–"

A hand brushed over her arm, cold and clinical, and she shuddered inwardly, her skin crawling beneath the touch. She could feel the sharp pinch of something digging into her, like metal, slicing into her skin. Pain flared through her body, white-hot and unbearable. Her nerves Screamed, but her voice refused to come. She was trapped in her own body, her own skin, a prisoner in this nightmare.

What are they doing to me?

The thought was frantic, wild, desperate, but there was no escape. Every inch of her burned-her arms, her legs, her chest, her head. It was like her flesh was on fire, melting, tearing apart from the inside out. The sensation was unbearable. She wanted to thrash, to rip herself free, to claw at her skin until she could feel something else, anything else-but she couldn't.

They were talking, their words drifting in and out, but they might as well have been speaking another language. She couldn't focus on anything except the pain, the overwhelming, unrelenting pain.

A needle slid into her skin, and for a moment, everything went white. Her mind screamed, her body convulsing, and the world blurred around her, warping into something unreal, like a fever dream. She wanted to rip herself apart, wanted t scream, to beg them to stop, but her mouth wouldn't move.

She was suffocating. Her body was betraying her. The straps holding her down dug into her flesh, the pain mixing with the agony coursing through her veins. It felt like her skin was being torn off, layer by layer, exposed and raw, the air itself an assault on her senses. She could feel the sharp edges of instruments scraping against her bones, prying her open.

God, please stop! she screamed in her mind, her thoughts a frantic, wild plea. Please stop, someone, make it stop!

Her eyes darted frantically, trying to find anything to focus on, something that wasn't the excruciating agony tearing her apart. But all she saw were the masked faces, the glint of metal tools, the flashing lights above her. The lights flickered, fading in and out, casting long shadows that twisted into grotesque shapes on the walls.

Time lost all meaning. Minutes bled into hours, hours into an eternity of pain. She couldn't remember a time before the burning, before the tearing, before the relentless torture. The world outside of her agony didn't exist anymore.

They were cutting her apart, but nothing was bleeding. She could feel it-feel them pulling at her skin, at her bones, but she was still whole. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. Her mind was unraveling, and she wanted to scream, wanted to claw at her own head to make it stop, make it all stop.

She could see their eyes through the masks一cold, dispassionate, like she was nothing more than a lab rat, just another experiment. They didn't care. They didn't care that she was in agony, that every part of her was screaming, begging for mercy.

And then-

The needle.

It swept over her, like a wave crashing down, pulling her under. Everything went silent. The pain was still there, but it was distant now, far away, like it belonged to Someone else. Her eyelids fluttered shut, the world around her fading into darkness.

And then there was nothing.

No sound. No light. No pain.

Just oblivion.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

The safety on his gun was turned back on with an inaudible click as Jason let the tension leak out of his body.

It wasn't often that someone broke into one of his safe houses, especially one that he hadn't used in a while, so seeing as some of his silent alarms went off he raced over ready to put a bullet in some wannabe robber or maybe a goon sent by another crime lord trying to start something.

Instead he found a prime bat adoption bait sitting in the living room floor, bare stomach pressed to the side of a ginormous egg. It didn't look like any egg hed ever seen either with midnight blue fuzz covering the whole thing. "Hey kid."

The kids head whipped around, startled by a strangers voice. "Who are you?" He asked incredulously, hugging the monster egg closer to himself, "How did you get in here? This place has some serious security."

Jason gave a short laugh, "Yeah, I know. I'm the one who put it there." He watched with mild amusement as the color drained from the kids face.

"You're the apartment owner? I thought he was supposed to be some big scary crime lord!"

"I'm not scary to you?" It wasn't uncommon for people to be intimidated by him. He was, as Steph put it, 'built like a fridge'.

The adoption bait stared into his eyes for a few torturously long seconds before simply saying, "No."

Huh.

"So, whats up with the egg?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

"Thats my line, Todd." A voice said from across the room. Both him and the little intruder snapped there attention to the window where Robin was perched. Jason fought back the urge to chastise the little bat for using his real name seeing as he was out of costume at the moment. After all he was here as Jason Todd, normalish civilian man who came to see why his house was broken into, not Red Hood. Jason almost wished with was some goon working for a big bad even if it would have meant his secret identity was busted, he would have been at least dealing with that instead of Damians inevitable animal custody battle with the kid. Speaking of which.

"Hey kid, whats your name?"

"Danny Fenton." The kid-Danny, tilted his head. "I think."

Robin raised an eyebrow, causing his mask to sift with it, "You think?"

Danny nodded, "Yeah. Got blasted with something a few weeks ago and I don't remember much before that." His grip on the egg had loosened a bit and Robin chose this as he time to strike. Bird boy tried to lift the egg up out of the intruders impromptu blanket nest, but seemed to have misjudged the weight of the egg that was as big as both children's torsos and Danny was swift to take back his egg.

"What do you think you're doing?! Thats mine!" Egg dad hissed.

"Tt. I will be better able to care for the creature. You should just hand it over now. Do you even know whats in there?"

"No! Neither do you!"

Jason knew Robin couldn't refute that so he chose now to step in, "Where did that thing even come from?

He watched as Dannys scowl turned into a beaming smile as he told them about how he was hiding behind a dumpster for warmth when this egg just fell out of the sky and with quick thinking, managed to catch it with a bed of ruined pillows from a recent villian attack. "So you can't take my dragon egg away. I'm the only reason it didn't become a failed street omelet." Danny held his hands on his hips while giving Robin a smug look.

Before the demon brat could say anything or, more likely, try to wipe that smirk off the other kids face, a new person swooped in through the window. "You think its a dragon egg?"

The kid seemed unbothered by the Batman questioning him and just replied with, "Yeah! Look how big it is! Its gotta be a dragon!"

Bruce looked like he was about to have an aneurysm, "You found a large egg of an unknown, potentially supernatural creature and decided to incubate it?"

"Yeah!"

Jason decided he liked this kid.