#but I refuse to draw 2 sets of ears

[bra1nw0rmz]

Doggy boys…. (And 2 cats)…………. Dies

[mythicalmaven]

19 Lando fluff and smut please

Secret Desires - Lando Norris

Loved writing this! <3 If you guys want a part 2 where the whole ordeal continues (including Lando’s awkward encouter with Max) let me know!😂❤️

Masterlist ↳pairing: Lando Norris x female!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 4,6K ↳Summary: In which the reader is Max Verstappen's twin is Lando's friend & he accidentally confesses some things to her while he's drunk. The day after when he apologizes, it leads to something more. ↳content warnings: friends to lovers, reader is Max Verstappen's twin, lando is drunk and accidentally confesses something to the reader, suggestive content, flirting, dirty talk, sexting, sending nudes, phone sex, masturbation (both f! & m!), praise kink, fluff, smut, 18+ (MDNI!), confessing feelings ↳prompts used: 19 - "Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you.. with my hand down my pants"

You sighed deeply, sinking back into the comfort of the guest bed in your older sister's house, the covers wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The room felt different compared to your Monaco apartment, but it was cozy, filled with the nostalgia of growing up with your family as you saw the pictures hanging on the wall. Pictures of your parents, of you and your twin brother Max, of you and Victoria & so on.

You traded your own bed for the guest bedroom at Victoria's house back home in the Netherlands for the week, to spend some time with your sister again to catch up. After a long night of chatting with Vic, you finally decided to call it a day, though sleep was far from your mind.

Just as you were about to close your eyes to at least give sleeping a try, your phone lit up on the nightstand, a soft buzz drawing your attention. You reached over lazily, expecting a random notification, but your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name flashing on the screen: Lando

Your best friend, your partner in crime, and the guy you’d been secretly in love with for longer than you’d care to admit. The guy who made your heart race with a single smile and had you questioning your sanity every time you felt his touch linger just a little too long. Even though you refused to admit it to anyone with a passion. Stating that the way you felt about Lando was nothing more than two flirtatious friends. You knew you were lying to yourself and your facade was starting to crumble. And now he was texting you, at this hour?

Unlocking your phone, you were met with not one, but several messages from him. You squinted at the screen, reading the texts slowly as they loaded, your eyes widening more with each one.

Lando: Y/n… Lando: Fuhk.. why are you sooooo hotttt? 🥵 Lando: Do yhu have any idea howw many tiems I thout about you… with my hnd down my pantss Lando: *1 image attached* You felt your face heat up instantly, a wave of flustered shock washing over you. He send a photo that you had posted on your story on Instagram today, a photo of you in a cute bikini set at the pool at Vic's house.

What the hell? Lando was… Was he really saying what you thought he was saying? Your mind spun, trying to process the drunk, typo-riddled texts. You knew he must have had a few too many drinks tonight; he mentioned going out to a party with the grid earlier. But this?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart racing as you tried to think of a response. A thousand emotions crashed through you at once—embarrassment, confusion, a thrill of excitement. You could barely breathe.

You: Lan, you're drunk as fuck. Go to sleep 😂

you typed back quickly, hitting send before you could second-guess yourself. You barely had time to process your own message before another one from Lando popped up.

Lando: Drunk on love 🤭

Your heart did a somersault in your chest, and you felt your cheeks burning even hotter. What was he doing? Your pulse thudded loudly in your ears as you stared at the screen, fingers frozen above the keyboard, unsure of what to say. Before you could collect your thoughts, your phone buzzed again, but this time, it was a call.

Max’s name flashed on the screen.

You answered, bringing the phone to your ear. “Max, what the hell—”

“Sorry dat ik zo laat bel,” (sorry for calling at this time) Max's voice was low and slightly slurred with a laugh. “Maar ik zag dat je online was, dus dacht, jij bent nog wakker. Wilde je alleen even een seintje geven dat de kans vrij aannemelijk is dat je vannacht nog dronken appjes krijgt van Lando.” (But I saw that you were online, so I figured you were still awake. Just wanted to give you a heads up that it's very likely that you'll receive some drunk texts from Lando tonight)

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh of your own. Of course, your twin brother knew exactly what was happening. “De kerel is echt gewoon laveloos en hield zijn mond maar niet dicht over je. De hele rit terug naar zijn apartment bleef hij maar zeuren over hoe hij je moest appen over iets geheimzinnigs. Dacht ik waarschuw je even.” (The guy is absolutely hammered and he wouldn't shut up about you. Kept yapping about how he had to text you about something secretive. Thought it would be nice to warn you)

“Te laat, is al gebeurd” (too late, he already did) you replied with a chuckle, glancing back at Lando's messages. “Had al zo’n vermoeden dat hij dronken was haha.” (I already figured he was drunk)

“Dacht ik al,” (I thought so) Max chuckled. “Hou het een beetje netjes, ja? Ik wil hier niet meer van weten dan ik al doe.” (Please keep it decent, yeah? I don't want to know any more about this than I already do)

You could almost hear the grin in his voice. “Maar ik moest hem echt thuisbrengen, de jongen was niet meer te houden.” (But I just had to bring him home, couldn't keep him at bay anymore)

“Dank je, Max,” (Thanks, Max) you said softly, biting your lip. “Je bent een goede broer.” (You're a good brother)

“Altijd,” (Always) Max replied. “Ik moet wel weer ophangen nu, voordat ik Kelly en P wakker maak. Succes met je dronken vriendje.” (Gotta hang now tho, before I wake up Kelly and P. Good luck with your boyfriend)

“Max, hoe vaak moet ik nog zeggen dat Lando en ik gewoon vrienden zijn” (Max, how often do I have to tell you that Lando and I are just friends) you said, rolling your eyes.

"Als jij jezelf niet zo voor de gek hield, waren jullie al lang samen" (If you didn't keep lying to yourself, you two would have dated a long time already) and with a last chuckle, he hung up.

You flopped back onto your bed, your mind racing, Lando’s texts still staring at you from the screen. Your fingers shook as you picked up your phone again, reading his words over and over, your stomach flipping with nerves and something else, something hotter, more dangerous.

With a deep breath, you tried to shake it off. Lando was just drunk, you told yourself. He didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything… Right? But the way your heart fluttered at the thought of him thinking about you like that, the way your skin prickled with excitement at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way…

You forced yourself to put the phone down, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the wild thoughts racing through your mind. It was late, and you needed to sleep. But as you drifted off, your dreams were anything but peaceful. Lando's words echoed in your mind, and you found yourself imagining all the things he might have done while thinking about you, the way he might have said your name, the way his hands might have—

You woke up, flustered and breathless, your body tingling in a way that was all too familiar. The morning sun was peeking through the curtains, but all you could think about was Lando, and the way his words made you feel things you’d tried so hard to ignore.

Around the same time, somewhere in Monaco, Lando jolts awake.

"Fuck" the single word comes out as a hiss, his head pounding from the hangover. His phone screen glares back at him, a series of messages and a notification from Max catching his blurry gaze. He squints, his heart starting to race as fragmented memories of the night before come flooding back.

He fumbles to unlock his phone, praying he didn’t do what he thinks he did. But the evidence is right there, the bold lettering of your name above the most mortifying message he could ever have sent, full of typos, but easily desiphered as 'Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you… with my hand down my pants?'

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his messy curls, anxiety flooding his system. What the fuck had he done? His fingers move of their own accord, tapping out a frantic apology.

Lando: Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry.

You: Good morning to you too. How is your headache? 😉

He cringes at the situation, a mix of playful and mocking. His mind races, grasping at straws to somehow make this situation less embarrassing.

Lando: I don’t even remember sending that. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, pretty sure I wasn't thinking at all. I didn’t mean it.

A lie. He did mean it. But he’s not ready to admit that just yet.

You: Oh, you definitely weren’t thinking, lol. But hey, maybe you should apologize to Max too, since you apparently spilled some beans about me to him. 😆

Lando’s eyes widen, horror painting his features. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. He types back, heart racing.

Lando: What did I say? Please tell me I didn’t—

You: Relax, nothing too scandalous. Just enough for Max to find it disgusting.

Despite himself, a small laugh escapes his lips. He can picture Max’s reaction, the exaggerated gagging, the inevitable jokes he’ll have to endure.

Lando: I’m so sorry. Are you mad at me? I don’t want you to think I’m some idiot who can’t control himself.

You: Nah, I’m not mad. You were drunk, it’s not like you meant it anyway, right?

He swallows hard, your words hitting too close to home. A dry response forms on his screen.

Lando: Yeah, sure.

But deep down, he knows it’s not true. He’d thought about you like that more times than he cared to admit, a dangerous longing simmering beneath the surface of your friendship.

You: Hey, at least now I know I looked hot in yesterday’s bikini post.

Heat floods his cheeks. You’re playing it off, but there’s a hint of something in your words, a subtle curiosity. He swallows, fingers hovering over the keyboard before he types back, heart pounding.

Lando: Stating the obvious.

He can’t help the grin tugging at his lips as he imagines your reaction. It’s risky, but you don’t seem upset, and he’s willing to test the waters.

You: Oh? So you think I’m hot?

Lando: Didn’t know that was up for debate.

He’s toeing the line, the thrill of it sending a spark through him.

Lando: U really not mad? I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.

You: Mad? Nah. Flattered, maybe.

He blinks at your response, surprise mingling with a rush of arousal. Flattered? His mind reels, thoughts scrambling as he tries to figure out what to say next.

You: I have to admit tho, when I first got that message, I thought you’d sent something different than my own instagram post…🤭

His breath catches, heart skipping a beat. The implication is clear, and he feels himself growing hard at the mere thought of you expecting a more explicit photo from him. He shifts uncomfortably, typing out a teasing response.

Lando: So, you’re saying you opened it anyway, even though you thought I sent you a spicy picture? 😉

You: Shut up.

He laughs, imagining the flustered look on your face. It’s too easy to picture, and he leans back against his pillows, biting his lip.

Lando: Where are you?

You: In bed. Why?

Lando's breath got caught in his throat. A dangerous idea takes root in his mind, one that’s equally thrilling and terrifying. He knows he should stop, should draw the line before it goes too far. But something in your responses, the playful edge, the hint of curiosity, makes him want to push further.

Lando: Just curious. 😉

His mind races, and before he can second-guess himself, he snaps a quick photo. It’s not much,—just him lying back on his bed, shirt unbuttoned halfway, his abs on display and his hair a mess. He was still wearing the same outfit as yesterday, apparently not changed out of it. But there’s something undeniably suggestive in the way he looks at the camera, the flush on his cheeks, a knowing smile on his lips as he sends it with a caption.

Lando: I can send you one for real if you want to see one.

His heart hammers in his chest as he waits for your response, the seconds dragging by agonizingly slowly. Then your reply comes in, teasing and playful.

You: Kinda daring coming from the guy who was apologizing 10 minutes ago for accidentally sending his best friend a text about thinking about her with his hand down his pants😉

Your words send a thrill through him, the boldness of it, the way you’re not backing down. He can’t resist pushing a little further, fingers trembling with anticipation.

Lando: You didn’t seem too disgusted by it.

The moment stretches out, his breath catching as he waits for your reply. The tightness in his dress pants becoming significantly worde.

When it comes, it’s more than he expected. 

You: I wasn’t. Actually, it was kinda hot.🫣

His eyes widen, arousal spiking as he reads your words again and again, disbelieving. Is this really happening? 

Lando: Yeah?

You: Yeah.

He swallows hard, a wicked idea forming in his mind. He glances down at the growing bulge in his pants, his arousal straining against the fabric. His hand moves almost on its own, snapping a quick picture of his hand palming himself through his dress pants, the outline of his erection unmistakable.

Lando: What about this? Still hot?

Your response is almost immediate.

You: Fuck, yes.

The words send a shiver down his spine, desire flaring as he imagines your reaction, the way you must be looking at your phone. He wants more, needs more.

Lando: Your turn.

There’s a pause, then a photo comes through. His breath hitches at the sight of you, flushed and flustered, the soft curve of your cleavage visible just above the red lace of your bra. It wasn't too naughty, but enough to send Lando reeling. 

He groans, his hand moving down to rub himself through his pants, a low moan escaping him as he imagines what’s beneath that thin fabric.

Lando: Fuck, babe, you’re killing me.

You: Good.

The playfulness in your response only fuels his desire, and he knows he should stop, should take a breath before this spirals out of control. But he doesn’t want to. Instead, he hits record on his camera, aiming it down at his crotch as he begins to palm himself through the fabric.

The video is short, just a few seconds of him rubbing himself, a low groan slipping from his lips. He ends it with a whispered “fuck,” his hand slipping beneath the waistband of his pants to give himself a teasing stroke before the video cuts off.

He sends it without thinking, heart racing as he imagines you watching it, the way your breath might hitch, the way you might bite your lip.

You: You’re really enjoying that, huh?

His breath hitched at your words, every sensation heightened as he slowly works himself up and down inside his dress pants, unable to contain the soft groans leaving his lips.

Lando: I do. Feels amazing... I wish you were here with me.

His hand is shaking now as he types out his next message, his arousal growing with every word.

Lando: Show me more.

There’s a beat of silence, and then another picture comes through. This one is more daring, more revealing. You’re under the blankets, one leg exposed, the other hidden beneath the covers. The waistband of your red panties is just visible above the edge of your blanket, your hand resting suggestively on your lower stomach, fingers reaching just into your panties.

Lando: Fuck, babe, that's so hot

Lando's breath catches as he stares at the photo you sent, his mind racing with all the things he wants to say, all the things he wants to do. He decided to take the leap and press the button to send you a facetime request. You accept it almost immediately, his heart pounding as your face fills the screen. You look flustered, lips slightly parted, and he swallows hard.

“Hi,” you say, your voice breathless, almost shy.

“You’re really fucking beautiful, you know that?” Lando murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he admired your flushed face.

You blush, your eyes darting away from the screen for a moment before you look back at him. “I think you’re the one who’s supposed to be embarrassed right now, not me.”

He grins, the playful tone of your voice sending another jolt of arousal through him. “Oh, trust me, I’m plenty embarrassed. But I’m also…” He hesitates, his gaze dropping down for a moment before he meets your eyes again, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier tone. “... really turned on.”

Your breath catches, and he watches as you shift on the bed, the movement causing the camera to reveal a little bit more of your cleavage and the red lace bra you were wearing. His eyes are drawn to the exposed skin, mesmerized by your body.

“What are you wearing?” The question slips out before he can stop it, his eyes dark with desire.

You glance down at yourself, then back at him, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Not much.”

He groans, his hand tightening around his phone. As he speaks, his other hand drifts back down, brushing over the ever-growing bulge in his pants again. “Can I see?” The words are thick with anticipation, his voice trembling slightly as he palms himself, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure through him. He bites his lip, letting out a quiet moan that he can’t quite suppress.

You hesitate, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you consider his request. Then, slowly, you change your camera angle and pull the blanket down just a little, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the red lace of your panties, the soft curve of your thigh. Lando feels a jolt of arousal shooting through him, and he has to bite back a groan. It’s just enough to tease, to make him want more. 

“Fuck, Y/N…” His voice is rough, strained, as he shifts on the bed, the fabric of his pants suddenly feeling too tight, too restrictive. His hand presses harder against his length, his breath hitching as the friction sends sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

You giggle, your eyes sparkling with a mix of nervousness and excitement. “You like what you see?”

“Like?” He shakes his head, his eyes glued to the screen. “I fucking love it.”

Your cheeks flush a deeper red, and you lean back a little, giving him an even better view of your body. His mouth goes dry as he takes in the sight of you, the way the red lace clings to your skin, the hint of cleavage peeking out from beneath your bra. He can see the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the anticipation, the arousal clear in your eyes.

“Your turn,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough to send his heart racing.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still holding his phone, he shifts back on the bed, his other hand moving to the waistband of his pants. His fingers fumble with the button, his hands shaking slightly as he pops it open, his eyes never leaving your face.

Your breath hitches as he unzips his pants, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers. He pauses for a moment, his eyes flicking up to yours, seeking permission. When you nod, he slides his hand into his boxers, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale as he wraps his fingers around his length.

“Fuck…” The word slips out as he strokes himself slowly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he forces them open again, needing to see your reaction. His voice trembles, laced with a mix of desire and restraint, each moan escaping his lips growing louder as he quickens his pace.

Your eyes are wide, your lips slightly parted as you watch him, your hand moving down towards your panties on their own accord, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric “Fuck, that's hot, Lando…”

He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his boxers now pushed low enough to reveal his cock, hand moving faster, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him. “Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Please.”

You bite your lip, waiting just a moment before you slip your hand beneath the waistband of your panties, a soft gasp escaping you as your fingers make contact. The sight of you, the way your body arches slightly, the soft, breathless sounds you make, is almost too much for him.

“Fuck, babe, you’re so fucking hot…” His voice is barely more than a growl as he watches you, his own hand moving faster, the pleasure building inside him, threatening to spill over.

“What would you do to me if I was right there?” you ask, your voice a breathless whisper.

His eyes darken, his grip tightening around himself. “I’d start by kissing you, slowly… working my way down your body.” His voice is rough, each word laced with longing. “I’d touch you everywhere, make you feel so good. Then I’d…” his words getting cut off by his own moan.

“Tell me,” you encourage, your own voice trembling with need.

“I’d bury my face between your legs, make you scream my name,” he groans, his strokes becoming more erratic as he imagines it, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. “F-Fuck, I want you so bad.”

You moan at his words, your fingers moving faster as you picture it, your body aching for his touch. “Lando, I…”

“Keep going,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me what you’d do to me.”

“I’d touch you,” you breathe, your voice trembling as your fingers move in sync with his. “I’d wrap my fingers around you, just like you’re doing now… make you feel so good, Lan”

He whimpers at your words, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he imagines it, the sensation of your touch almost too real. “Fuck, Y/N, I need you…”

“Imagine it’s my hand, Lan” you whisper, your voice laced with seduction. “Imagine I’m right there with you…”

His moans grow louder, his hips bucking into his hand as he follows your words, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. “I’m so close…”

“Me too,” you whisper, your breath hitching as you feel the pleasure building, your body trembling with anticipation.

“God, you’re amazing,” he pants, his voice filled with praise as he watches you, every movement driving him closer to the edge. “You’re so perfect… I want you so bad…”

Your voice is a breathless moan as you reach the brink, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure consumes you "F-Fuck, Lan, I'm coming"

“Fuck, baby, I’m right there with you…” His voice is ragged, his body tensing as he teeters on the edge, every muscle tightening in anticipation. You watch, breathless, as his hand moves faster, more desperately, his grip tightening around his length.

Then, with a strangled moan, he tips over the edge. His hips jerk, and his head falls back against the pillows as he cums, thick ropes of it spilling out and covering his abdomen. You can see the way his abs contract with each pulse, his hand still working himself through every last wave of pleasure, milking himself until he’s spent. His eyes remain locked on yours, his breathing heavy, a mixture of satisfaction and lingering desire in his gaze as you both ride the waves of your shared climax.

For a few moments, the only sound is your ragged breathing, both of you staring at each other through the screen, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy in the air.

“Fuck…” He laughs breathlessly, his head falling back against the pillows as he runs a hand through his hair. “That was…”

“Amazing,” you finish for him, your own laughter bubbling up, your cheeks still flushed, your body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. “Holy shit, Lando…”

“Yeah.” He grins, his heart still racing as he looks at you, the reality of what you just did slowly sinking in. “Are you… okay?”

You nod, your smile softening as you look at him. “Yeah, I’m okay. More than okay.”

His heart swells at your words, relief flooding through him. He’s about to say something else when you shift on the bed, the blanket slipping down a little further, giving him a glimpse of your bare shoulder.

“Lando,” you murmur, your eyes meeting his through the screen, a mischievous glint in your gaze. “If that was just a taste, I can’t wait to see what happens when we’re see each other again.”

The promise in your words sends a shiver down his spine, his mind racing at the thought of having you, really having you, right in front of him. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you have no idea what you’re doing to me…” His voice is a low whisper, his eyes still dark with desire.

“Maybe I have an idea,” you tease, your smile widening as you settle back against the pillows, your gaze never leaving his. “When I fly back to Monaco in a few days, maybe you should pick me up from the airport... and then we can do this again, but then in real life”

His heart skips a beat at your words, excitement and anticipation flooding through him. “You mean that?”

You nod, your smile softening, your eyes filled with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. “Yeah, I mean that. I want you, Lando. All of you.”

His breath catches, the sincerity in your voice, the way you’re looking at him, making his heart race. He knows, in that moment, that this isn’t just about sex, about fulfilling a desire that’s been simmering beneath the surface for years. It’s about more, so much more.

“Y/N… there’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his voice steady but laced with emotion.

Your gaze softens, sensing the seriousness in his tone. “What is it, Lando?”

He hesitates for just a moment, gathering his thoughts before he continues. “I’ve been in love with you for so long. It’s not just about my text last night or about what we just did. I've been feeling like this for a while. It’s everything. Every time we’ve laughed together, every time you’ve supported me, every time I’ve seen you smile... I’ve been falling for you more and more.”

You feel your heart swell at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. Finally ready to admit it out loud. “Lando... I’ve felt the same way. I’ve just been too scared to admit it.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief washing over him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I’ve wanted to say something for so long, but I was afraid I’d ruin what we have.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” you say softly. “If anything, you’ve made it better.”

A wide smile spreads across his face, his eyes shining with emotion. “I’ve never been so thankful for getting drunk.”

You laugh, the sound light and filled with joy. “Me neither, Lando. Me neither.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, both of you just taking in the reality of what’s been confessed.

“So… when I fly back to Monaco in a few days, maybe we could start something real?” you suggest, your voice hopeful.

“I’d like that,” he replies, his heart swelling with happiness. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s a plan,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips.

"God, I wish I could kiss you now" he whispered, a small hint of disappointment in his voice.

And with that, you both know that this is just the beginning of something truly special, something that’s been waiting to happen for far too long.

Sequel

Masterlist

[lalunanymph]

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: suggestive content, toilet talk, mentions of injuries, hostility, tension, repressed emotions, isekai-ed reader, reader is in princess cerena's body, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo

⟡ masterlist

ACT 2, SCENE 1: THE INFIRMARY

The fading sun spilled over your mother’s deep set smile, the sight of paddy stalks swaying in the wind instantly bringing relief to your worried soul. 

You found yourself lying on the engawa with her, the veranda stretching out as far as your gaze could comprehend; your eyes lazily following the last of the brilliant orange sunset rays weaving through the idyllic pink and purple skies. Your mother laughed at something you said, and you clinked your cup of rice wine with hers, drinking deeply and heartily, content and fully at peace with where you are now.

“Wake up,” she suddenly whispered into your ear, nudging your shoulder. 

Like a mirage in the middle of a shimmering desert, her face disintegrated in front of you, warm eyes turning a crystalline, cold blue.

The magnificence of the splendid skies fade into timbered ceilings, flickers of shadows from the fireplace belching out heat dancing across the latticed wood, drawing your bleary focus towards the pockets of dark intermingling with light.

You groaned, shifting on the hard mattress, and heard a rustle from your right. 

The same blue eyes that haunted you in your dreams wavered into view, Satoru’s face hovering above yours.

You screeched, grappling for something—anything to defend yourself with—pure fear lighting up every nerve ending in your body with a vivid cocktail of adrenaline and terror.

“Calm down, woman,” Satoru mumbled, gripping your scrambling hands, trying to ease you back onto the bed.

But, your mind was filled with the rampant memories of him chasing after you through the thick foliage, the sword brandishing against your bare neck. Your pupils turned into pinpricks from the fear and your breaths came out as labored exhales, the delayed shock leaving you cold and hot all over.

“Stay away from me.” 

You tried to put some distance from him, using what little strength that was left in your limbs to push yourself further up the bed, curling your shoulders inward like a prey trying to make itself smaller in front of an apex predator.

His lips twitched in the corners, those oceanic, cold eyes freezing over with distaste.

“I spent three whole nights trying to keep your fever at bay, and this is the gratitude that I get?” 

Satoru’s incensed words barely stirred a flicker of guilt from you, your weary eyes fastened on to him, refusing to let him out of your sight. He took one look at you, this unruly princess with perspiration dewing on her brow, and sighed, reaching for a glass of water by your bedside. His grip on your chin used less considerable force than before, and reluctantly, you parted your lips, drinking from his hand deeply. 

Once you satiated your thirst, Satoru set the glass back on the hardwood side table, his crystalline gaze scrutinizing you all over. 

Closer this time, you took a good look at him. 

Dark circles bedraggled his usual princely countenance, and his frosty white hair was sticking up at odd ends, as if he had frustratedly raked his fingers through them over and over again. The scruff of a five o’clock shadow darkened his chin, and you resisted the urge to touch the fading red lesions on his face, suddenly feeling immense guilt for how you had jumped at the opportunity to harm him.

“Wasp stings,” he scoffed, raising a brow. “I knew princesses were delicate, but to faint from such a common insect bite? You are far weaker than I imagined.” 

Whatever pity you felt for him in that split second of humanity shattered at his careless and callous words. Narrowing your eyes, you scoffed, turning your face away.

“Yes, I am allergic to wasp stings,” you sneered. “I apologize that I forgot to mention that when you were literally chasing after me with a broadsword, Your Highness.”

There was little doubt of the derision at the utterance of his title, and Satoru tensed, his own eyes narrowing at your impertinence.

“Astounding. After everything I’ve done for you, Cerena—”

He turned his face away from you abruptly, as if he could not comprehend why he was here in the first place. The Prince stalked over to the fireplace, hands behind his back, watching the flames lap at the charred pieces of firewood. 

Not wanting to interrupt his thoughts, you eased from the bed, trying to stand on your shaky legs while using the headboard for support.

As if he had a beacon on you, Satoru was instantly at your side, gripping your elbow and supporting you back into bed. 

“Stay where you are, Cerena,” he hissed, the frustration in his tone unmistakable. “Do not strain yourself and hurt yourself again, you foolish girl.”

In retaliation, you glared at him, feeling the urge in your bladder overtaking your common sense to keep your distance from him. “I need to relieve myself in a toilet, you sick sadist. Let me go.”

Unperturbed by your choice of colorful words, Satoru nudged a blackened pot closer to you with the tip of his hunting boot, gesturing at it. 

“What in the world is a ‘toilet’? You shall use a chamber pot like everybody else.”

However, he didn't expect your eyes to widen as you took in the strange, earthenware. “That… is a chamber pot?” You haven’t exactly seen one before, though you had read about it in fantasy novels.

Satoru’s brows knitted together, and he looked at you as if you had sprouted two heads. 

“Do not tell me you have not seen a chamber pot before?” 

His words rang hollowly in your heated ears, and you turned your gaze from the intimidating object and back to him again, the questioning look in your eyes apparent even in the low, firelight. 

“I just… relieve myself in there?” 

You knew what this must look like to him: if you were confronted by the sight of someone who couldn’t even use a toilet bowl, you might be questioning their motor skills and mental capacities. The skepticism on his face spoke loud volumes to his consternation and faltering patience.

“Yes, Cerena. You… relieve yourself in there.” 

Unbeknownst to you, the prince was blushing, his face turned away from his befuddled fiancée, staring at the wall as if it could tell him the secrets of the universe. 

Right. You had to go and since Satoru was stubbornly rooting himself in this room, you made a sound of consternation in your throat and tried to fight off the heat threatening to burn your entire face off. 

“Could you… give me some privacy?” Politely, you added, “Please?” 

To your utter frustration, Satoru snorted, shaking his head. “So you can escape again and force me to hunt you down? No. You will relieve yourself right here with me in the room together with you.” He spun his head around to raise a brow, as if to goad you into challenging his edict. 

Flushing, you curled your upper lip over your teeth, attempting to fix a snarl on your face that you hoped would keep him at bay.

“Excuse me? And since when were you allowed to encroach into my privacy? This is insane…” 

Trailing off, you did not expect Satoru’s sneer to deepen, the flame of hatred igniting in his blue eyes, taunting you with cerulean vindication. 

“Insane? Perhaps. Smart? Yes,” his nostrils flared. “I cannot risk having you evade me for a second time, Cerena.” 

You wanted to argue that you weren’t the woman he despised, but nature’s call was hard to ignore. Huffing, you crossed your arms over your chest, trying not to think too hard about how thin the nightgown was to bring attention to your curves hidden underneath the see-through linen.

It appeared as if Satoru, too, was trying hard not to flicker his gaze to your chest, playing the role of a gentlemanly prince well enough, despite the lack of spectators here to denounce his poor treatment of you. 

Staring him down, you fought to keep your natural urges under control, needing to shake him up with your determination. But, whatever stubbornness your actions were made up of, Satoru’s were multiplied by tenfold as those icy blue eyes bore into yours with the chilliness of an ocean in the middle of an icy tundra. 

Eventually, your need to go won out and you let your arms fall to your side, exhausted sigh echoing across the infirmity. 

“Fine. But, can I be spared some privacy, please?” 

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Satoru turned around, clasping his hands behind his back as he stood to the side of the room, giving you a wide berth to conduct your bodily eliminations in private. 

Hiking up the hem of your nightgown, you finished your business, finding it extraordinarily hard to keep your balance while squatting over the earthen receptacle. Satoru, having heard you clean up after yourself, turned back around, and if you dared to look closer, you would’ve seen the splotches of red adorning his cheeks betraying his natural instinct of shame at having been in close proximity to such a private occurrence. 

You struggled to get back into bed, surprised to find his hand shooting out to steady your arm, letting you lean on his strength. With barely a hitch, you flopped back onto the bed, gasping in mild pain when your aching body met the mattress.  

Now that you were far more level-headed after relieving yourself, you could give the matter at hand your full attention.

“Why are you here, Satoru?” 

Barely mincing your words or stopping to consider the delicacy of his presence right in your infirmary room. Your glare spoke volumes of your distaste and confusion; if he were a lesser man, Satoru might indulge in your obvious confusion, gloatingly holding it above your head.

“I have told you,” he uttered. “It is because I am here to watch you.” 

You glanced around, noting the quiet room and the lack of human presence which wouldn't lead to any trouble. 

“Um. Alright…” 

Without warning, he advanced closer to you, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to look right into his glacial eyes, a terrifying glare etched on his face. 

“Your antics in the forest were beyond idiotic, Cerena. I have not forgiven you for what you did to me—” pointing at the reddened swellings on his neck and face, the thunderous look in his eyes could have consumed you alive with his pure hatred for you. “—and you will pay for this once you get better.” 

The sharp gleam of his toothy grin made you flinch, the bloodthirsty look on his face enough to make you assume the worst: that Prince Gojo Satoru was going to call for a harsh enough punishment to debilitate and agonize you. Images of a flogger hitting your bare skin, or your body dangling from the gallows flashed in your mind and you inadvertently took a step back from him, your eyes wide and fixated upon his face with a look of pure horror.

“Satoru…”

Like a great white sniffing out your weakness, the blasted man advanced closer to you, never relenting upon his frightsome smile.

“Why the sudden fear in your eyes, Cerena? Are you regretting how you treated me? The crap you put me through!” His voice rang throughout the room like a gunshot and you struggled to your feet, stumbling backwards against the wall, slapping a palm to your mouth to keep your shriek of fear from slipping past your trembling defenses. 

“Satoru, stop!” 

But, he would not listen to you. A murderous glint had overtaken Gojo’s usually stoic blue eyes, stinking of retribution and retaliation in payment for whatever Cerena had done to him. 

You could not stand for such accusations hurled into your face again, the burning need to know the wrongs the Princess had committed that earned her such wrath from Satoru disintegrating the last of your hesitation as you blurted out: 

“I am not Princess Cerena!” 

As if your words were a magical incantation, he paused. You could see the cogs turning in his head, the implications of your declaration working through his brain. 

“What do you mean you are not Cerena?” Astounded and frustrated, Satoru’s blue gaze froze over, threatening to leave you in the roiling of its frigid waves. “That is absurd. Have you gone mad? Or, did the venom of the wasp stings affect your brain?” 

You had just noticed the thin, white linen shirt he wore which exposed a sliver of his pale chest, the frosty white tips of his hair falling across his face, shading his eyes in their disarray.

Never in your life had you felt this helpless, unsure of how to piece together your words. 

“I am not her,” you finished in a quiet tone. “I am from another world. A world which is different from yours.”

Satoru scoffed, as if finding the very idea disturbing. “What other world? You know what, maybe you need to speak to the physician. This is getting out of hand.” 

Unexpectedly, you stomped your foot, training your baleful glare onto him. 

“Get it into your thick skull, Satoru! I am not Princess Cerena!” Huffing, you decided to lay all your cards on the table, uncaring how he would receive your words. Maybe he might punish you or send you to a lunatic house, keeping you far away from court. But, there might be the slim chance that he would believe you, if only you could convince him. 

“My name is Y/N and I am from Earth. I work as a florist in a family-owned shop, and before I arrived here, I was struck on the head by a thief and I woke up in Cerena’s body just as you were berating me for hurting your precious Miri.”

His nostrils flared, probably not enjoying how you brought his lover into this conversation. 

The disbelief and distrust on his face was not hard to sense. 

“What do you mean by that?” His demands were laced with agitation. “Are you trying to deceive me? That will entail a punishment far worse than when you tried to assault me, Cerena.” 

You were shaking your head before he could even finish. “No, I am not trying to deceive you, I promise. What I’m saying is real and true.”

Yet, he looked like he could scarcely believe you. 

Your quick mind came up with the idea on the fly. “Quick, tell me something only Princess Cerena would know.” 

Satoru huffed, but played along, which was a good sign. 

“Fine. Say I believe your demented words. One thing only she knows about me…” Satoru trailed off, and for a brief moment, you swore you caught a look of grief flitting across his expression.

“Tell me when is my birthday.” 

You floundered, having no idea when he was born. The prince was a mystery to you, and this was the perfect question to prove your identity that you were not the princess. 

Tossing a random date, you murmured, “December the 7th?” 

You had expected him to scoff and tell you that getting such a simple question wrong wouldn’t prove anything, when you noticed he had stiffened, those crystalline blue eyes growing wide.

“Wait… did you just say December the 7th?” 

You nodded, gnawing on your lower lip. 

“See, I told you, I am not the Princess–”

“That is my exact birthdate.” 

Satoru’s words made you come to a hard pause. You looked up at him with horror inscribed on your features. 

“Wait, I can explain–”

“Even Cerena did not know when my real birth date was…” he added reluctantly, “Royals aren’t allowed to share the precise moment of our birth and we have a fictitious date made up for the general public’s knowledge.” 

Satoru’s fixated gaze upon you burned as if you were touched by glowing embers. 

“How did you know when my real birthday was?” 

Suspicion lined his tone now, and you were well-aware that you had stepped into a different territory with a different arena of mistrust now. 

You shake your head. “It was merely a lucky guess.”

His derisive scoff burned your ears. “A lucky guess? Hardly. You know something I do not.”

Raising your hands, you tried to placate him. “I swear to you, I had no idea my guess would be correct.” 

Once more stumped at how to prove your innocence, you were struck by the contemplative thought that if you were in her body, perhaps there was a blemish of Cerena’s that only Satoru might know about.

“Okay. Since I cannot prove my innocence to you, let us try this.” You took one wobbly step towards him, his skillful cerulean gaze pinpointing your every movement with a sharp gaze. 

Standing chest-to-chest with him, you narrowed your eyes. 

“Tell me what blemish Cerena has on her body and I will show you that it is missing on mine.”

You had done a thorough examination of Cerena’s body back in Aeva’s hut, combing through your reflection in a mirror to assess who you truly were. You made the discovery that her skin was spotless, barely a mole or a wart. If Satoru had intimate knowledge of what flaws she had on her body, perhaps when she had mentioned it to him back when they were courting, you could dissuade him by proving that you were unspotted and taintless. 

Growing pensive at your suggestion, Satoru touched his forehead, trying to get his confusion under control. 

“Fine,” he relented. “Cerena has a birthmark right on her inner thigh. If you can show me it does not exist on your body, perhaps I may be swayed to believe you.” 

Perfect. You didn’t hesitate to sit on the edge of the bed, hiking up the hem of your nightgown to display your unmarked skin, the firelight throwing a warm, orange glow over the smooth expanse of your shin, like the flames were intimately caressing you. 

“See?” You uttered triumphantly, and bared yourself further to his wandering eye. “No birthmark. No blemish. I am not Cerena.” 

What you hadn’t expected was his cheeks to brighten with a blush. Satoru coughed and looked away, averting his eyes out of respect for your honor. 

“You didn’t… you did not have to show off yourself in such a brazen way.” 

Cocking your head to the side, you regard him with a confused countenance.

“What do you mean by that, Satoru?” 

He cleared his throat, the pink flush on the apples of his cheeks refusing to abate.

“You are a princess, despite who you believe you are.” The rasp of his fingertips brushing your hand sent a jolt up your spine. Satoru brushed your fist from the hem of your nightgown away, taking it upon himself to tug it back down and make you decent once more. “And princesses do not go around baring their bodies to other men… even if he is her betrothed.” 

Your brow furrowed in befuddlement, thrown off by such a chaste idea.

“Hang on,” suspicion flooded your next question. “If you claimed you were as moral as you are now, how did you know Cerena has a birthmark on her inner thigh if you had never seen it before?” 

He raised a brow, knowing something you didn’t. “It is customary for the matchmaker to scrutinize a princess from head to toe, taking in her countenance, her health and her virtue before recommending her to another royal family. I know details about Cerena’s body despite never having seen it myself.”

Oh. You supposed that made sense. 

Circling back to the topic at hand, you purse your lips. “So, do you believe me now? Believe who I am?” 

Despite the distrust swimming between the two of you, Satoru cannot deny that there was a sliver of truth in the bullshit you laid out for him; a kernel of understanding thrown in this confusing haystack of this sudden revelation.

“Say I believe you, What are we to do now? Where can I find the real princess and bring her back?” 

Satoru’s cerulean eyes glimmered with an undeniable hope, one which you regretted having to douse before it could fully bloom. 

You have no reply for his earnest question, unsure if you even knew how to get Cerena back.

“I… don’t know, Satoru. I’m sorry. I cannot answer your question. I suppose we just have to… wait for her to reappear back and claim her body.”

The next question he sprung up on you took you completely off guard. 

“So, does it mean once she returns, you will be gone?” 

You had never given much thought to your fate after leaving Cerena’s body, but you supposed it was plausible that the both of you will return to your rightful vessels once this whole fiasco was over. 

“I believe so. Though, I cannot be sure. I still don’t have any answers.”

At a mindless movement of your arm, you winced at the sudden stench you caught wafting from your body and you balked, wondering if he was being polite by not bringing up the fact that the unclean and unpleasant odor was emanating from you.

“I need a bath.” 

Despite how he wanted to continue the conversation, Satoru knew your comfort had to come first if you were to be in the right mind to give him the answers he needed. 

He stepped out of the door, barking an order for the maids to bring a tub and a fresh wash of clothes for you to change into. 

At his behest, two young brunettes rushed in, carrying a solid wooden receptacle lined with iron accents which they tipped hot water inside, letting the steam mingle with the dry humidity of the room. 

Glancing at him with a furrowed brow, you asked, “Aren’t you going to give me some privacy?” 

Again, Satoru did not relent on his compulsion to observe your every movement, his rapt gaze catching onto your discomfort. “And risk you leaving again? I told you, Ce—Y/N… I will not let you go again that easily.”

The maids continued to work, pretending to be deaf and blind to the building tension between the two of you. 

Heatedly, you retorted, “Satoru, I am injured and sick. Why would I run away from you when I am not feeling well? You are making no sense.”

He retaliated with a glare. “Sick or not, you have proven to be a thorn in my side, woman, and I will not let up my guard only for you to slip away again.”

Sensing there was no room for him to budge, you sighed, reluctantly agreeing to have in the room while you bathed.

“Can’t you at least turn around, Satoru?” 

A huff. He spun around, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixated on a water stain upon the otherwise pristine white walls, fighting hard to ignore the stuttering beat of his heart, how he could hear every rustle of your infirmary gown melting from your body, the breath of relief you exhaled once you stepped into the warmed water.

The maids made quick work of the grim on your body, scrubbing you hard enough to make your skin shine and squeaky. They yanked through the dirt in your pink locks, brushing out the stiff clumps with a horsehair brush, tipping fresh water from more buckets by the tub atop your head and body to wash off the soap. The water was pleasantly fragranced with the scent of lavender and roses, the oils clinging to your skin and perfuming your hair. 

By happenstance, a moan slipped past your clenched teeth when they started to scrub your back, and Satoru tensed, the sudden sound sending an unmistakable thrill through his body.

The stoic prince trained his focus on the water stain, ignoring the flush of heat dusting his cheeks.

“Are you feeling better?”

His sudden question took you by surprise, and you noticed the rigid set of his shoulders, the tension underneath the seemingly innocent question. 

“I am,” you quipped, allowing the maids to grab your arms and gently hoist you out of the tub and to your feet. They wiped you down with a pair of fluffy, cotton towels, and dressed you in a new linen gown, careful to avoid the lesions on your hands. 

Once Satoru was sure you were done with your bath, he hesitantly turned back around, his cerulean gaze raking up and down your refreshed coloration, how there was more warmth on your cheeks.

A soft grunt emitted from the back of his throat, and he stiffly approached you, bearing down on you, the fire in his eyes drawing you up short.

“Now, we have to speak about the matter of your unwelcome visit to this world.”

You steeled yourself for this discussion, your mind going a mile a minute, wondering what else this detestable man might want to bring up.

Satoru, too, seemed to brace for the topic at hand, taking in a deep breath. 

“I want you to know that such a situation is not ideal, but I am willing to overlook this oversight of your presence here in court,” his curt words made you bristle, as if you had begged to appear overnight in another woman’s body—hounded and despised by the man you were engaged to. 

Your lips twisted in a glare, and you stared him down, unwilling to bend from his contempt. 

“You speak as if I wanted to be here in the first place—I do not have a wish to remain here, Satoru. I want to go back home, too.”

At the mention of home, you cursed the tremble in your voice, schooling your features to be neutral and unimpeachable. Satoru, however, was determined to paint you in a disdainful light, scorning your presence before him despite how none of it was your fault.

“Perhaps I may believe you on this, but for this moment, I am not swayed.”

You swore steam could pour out from your ears and your throat would bleed dry before this bastard of a prince would believe you. 

Echoing his maliciousness, you scoff. 

“Satoru, no offense, but you overestimate your worth to me. I am not enjoying a single moment here and if I had the chance to choose, I would never have met you in the first place.”

Dripping with poison, each word was an affront to his hubris, a dart to his superior ego and excess pride.

However, you did not anticipate those cold blue eyes to waver at your venomous declarations, a brief flash of hurt appearing across his face.

Before you could look further, he closed himself from you once more, a chilling look clouding over his entire visage.

“That is fair and reciprocated. I do not wish to burden you for a second longer with my presence, either.”

He turned his face away, and you wondered what had gotten into him; why he was being so defensive and argumentative when you were trying to help him understand where you were coming from. 

Shaking your head, you tried to dismiss those troublesome thoughts, focusing on the matter at hand.

“So, you believe me?”

Tinged with hope, you dared believe this new reveal would make him considerably friendlier towards you, or at least civil enough to not try and harm you when there was no good reason to. 

For a second, he didn’t say a word, the room filled the sounds of your soft breaths, the crackling from the fireplace.

“Hmm. A bit. But, as it stands, I have a duty towards my country and so do you.” His tone brokered no room for an argument. “While we wait for a solution to present itself, I need you to perform as Cerena—that means learn how to be an actual princess, to speak like us and act like us so as not to rouse any suspicion.”

A fair deal. 

You nodded, and fixed him with your steady gaze. Unbeknownst to you, the traitorous strap of your nightgown slipped off your shoulder, baring the rise of your collarbone to his eye.  

“Anything else?” 

Satoru’s disgruntled expression caught you by surprise, especially when he leaned in closer to grasp the edge of your linen strap and drag it back up your shoulder.

“Nothing. Have a good rest, princess—I mean, Y/N.” 

Turning away, this infuriating prince left you to your own devices and ruminating thoughts, your mind landing on the brief memory of his fingertips brushing your shoulder, leaving remnants of heat tingling across your skin. 

You tried hard to bury the sensation, clambering back into the infirmary bed and lying down, your gaze circling the ceiling. As you slipped off into an uneasy sleep, you were once again struck by the callousness of his words, how he had practically warned you to play pretend as Cerena while you tried to find a solution and go home. 

Act and speak and think like them. So as not to arouse suspicion.

You believed you could do that—you had to believe you could do that because your entire survival hinged upon putting on the best pretense this court has ever seen. 

Down the hallway, Satoru took a second to himself, leaning against the wall as he tried to keep his breathing controlled and even.

The memory of the firelight playing with your skin and hair, the feel of your smooth skin under the pads of his fingertips burned through his mind, scalding him from the longing he had tried hard to bury since the day Cerena’s betrayal reached his ears. 

His cheeks were still warm from the unexpected physical contact and he balled his hands into fists, struggling to keep them from shaking.

Once he could breathe without feeling like he would combust in flames, Satoru reluctantly walked away from the infirmary and you—focused on putting on foot in front of the other.

Attempting with every fiber of his being to smother the rising need to return back to your side and be with you again.

MTT fun fact: citrus fragrance is hard to obtain in northern haleway and is thus the royal family's signature scent

dawn says: thank you for being patient with this update! here's to more gojoyn shenanigans

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost, claim as your own or feed my content into AI.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Collars of Duty 3

Hybrid!Simon x reader

- Chapter 2 - (Chapter 4)

When Simon's not waking up, you stay by his bedside. Things start to look up, but when does life ever go smoothly?

~8,6k words

Content: hybrid AU, medical inaccuracies, nudity, talk of torture, hints at sexual abuse, probably more that I forgot

Your tired eyes are trained on Simon’s figure. It’s been more than five days by now and he still hasn’t woken up. The doctor says his body needs time to heal and is probably protecting itself by staying unconscious. It makes sense but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. It induces you with anxiety and whenever you get too far lost in your thoughts you have to wipe your sweaty palms on your pants.

Against the white sheets his ears look even darker than before. With the amount of hours you spent studying his face, you’re pretty sure you could draw him from memory by now. His nose, that might have been straight once but previously has been broken and was set badly, is slightly crooked. His thin lips, the lower one slightly fuller than the upper are parted a bit and you can catch a glimpse of his dangerous canines. If you aren’t mistaken his left fang is chipped but you’re not entirely sure from the small glimpse you got of it.

He looks almost ordinary and it’s confusing. He lays there, just a male hybrid but what he’s been through is anything but normal. Everything about him is unremarkable yet somehow it’s hard to look away. Maybe it’s the composition of his features that holds your eyes. He looks kind in his sleep, relaxed a stark contrast to how he looked in the cell. His lashes are long and you wish to see his eyes again.

Why is he not waking up? You’d take him growling and threatening you at this point if only he woke up.

The nurse comes in to take care of the wounds dressing and to clean him up. You turn away to give him privacy, keeping your eyes on the wall. It’s not like he’ll know and he probably wouldn’t care but you would not want anyone to watch your unconscious body get cleaned so you avert your eyes. And if what the doctor suspects is true then his privacy and body have been violated enough.

The nurse doesn’t talk; he’s humming while working to take care of Simon’s body and it’s nice to hear something that sounds positive even if it’s only a song and not good news. The quiet rustling of the sheets somehow calms your mind. Everyone is doing their best, you remind yourself.

Before leaving the nurse asks you if you need anything and you decline with a thankful smile.

Once more you look at Simon, his arms now resting on the covers instead of under them. His hands are big, his nails dirty and you almost reach out to hold the uninjured – well, less injured - one. Something holds you back from doing it.

With the things Simon probably went through he’s been touched without his permission enough. Even an innocent touch like taking his hand seems like going too far considering how little you know him and the fact that he’s not awake.

He’s still big and broad even if he lost most of his body fat, his muscles showing in unnatural details under his skin. When he’s back to a healthy weight he must be an absolute unit of a hybrid. Even weak like this he was imposing back in the cell and you wonder whether you will measure up to him. Did you overestimate yourself when you decided to take him on as your charge?

It feels horrible to sit there and wait not knowing when he’ll wake up. Not being able to do anything but wait. Earlier he got wheeled out so they could examine his body again; make sure that everything is healing right. The doctor told you his body is on a good path but it doesn’t help as much as you hoped.

What use is a healing body if the mind refuses to use it? You didn’t say that out loud, thanking the doctor and staying by his side. You considered going home to sleep but the thought of Simon waking alone felt so utterly wrong, that you slept in the chair by his bedside instead.

The reminder of how it calmed him in the cell to have someone who explained the situation to him keeps you rooted to his side only leaving when absolutely necessary.

At some point you had started talking to him, telling him more about the center and your work. You told him about previous hybrids you worked with, you told him about the cafeteria and how lively it always is, about Liz and how you first started working at the center. You’re voice has been hoarse for a while now but maybe if you just keep talking it will help him find his way back to consciousness.

Liz had visited yesterday and asked why you were so invested in a stranger. You wish you had an answer and you’ve been thinking about it since she asked. Why were you so invested?

You do not know him and you do not owe him anything. Maybe it’s because he’s alone and the others gave him up before even trying. Maybe it’s because all the little bits and pieces of information about him hint at a tragic picture and you don’t want him to live in it alone. Maybe it’s because you can give him all the care and attention you’re somehow unable to give yourself. Maybe it’s because you wish someone had cared about you enough to sit by your bedside while you had been at the hospital.

It doesn’t matter, is what you’re settling for, because thinking of those things makes your body feel heavy and doesn’t help anyway. You are invested and that’s all you need to know.

At this point you don’t know what to talk about anymore so you get out your phone and search up fairytales. It’s a bit absurd reading those to a soldier but it’s better than the quiet that’s only interrupted by the machine monitoring his vitals. And if your hoarse voice sounds scratchy and not very lovely – no one will know. You’re alone with Simon.

Spontaneously you buy a digital collection of fairytales and begin with the first. It’s kind of funny, how dark most fairytales are but as a child you adored them. As a child you did not think about the dark parts as gory. It was not the dark and gore that stuck with you back then but the happy ends and wise teachings. When did you lose the ability to look at things like that?

It makes you wonder about his childhood too. Did his dad read to him before bedtime? Maybe his dad was a military hybrid as well and only his mom had been home most of the time.

What had his home looked like? Had his family consisted of companion or work hybrids? Maybe he’d been bred specifically for military work? You hope that at some point you get to ask him all of these questions.

You’re so engrossed in reading at first you don’t notice the way his heartbeat slowly elevates. But at some point the now quicker beeping of the monitor catches your attention. You look up for a second to see Simon’s eyelids fluttering and quickly you look back down and continue reading.

Somehow you think he won’t appreciate waking up to you staring at him so you try to keep your voice even and continue the story, now all the more aware of how rough your voice sounds because you’ve been talking and reading for so long. The hectic beating of your heart echoes in your own ears and you try very hard to keep your voice even.

You don’t even know what you’re reading at this point but you continue saying one word after the other out loud. Out of the corner of your eye you see his body stiffening. He’s just waking up and immediately on guard again. The hand holding your phone shakes a bit and you have to concentrate to keep the words from going blurry before your eyes.

Suddenly you feel his eyes on you and you swallow, breaking the flow of the story for a second, before continuing until you reach the end of that fairytale. You decide to see it as a win that he is neither panicking nor growling at you. He’s only staring with the monitor beeping quite quickly behind him, his entire body coiled tight like he is bracing for something bad to happen.

You lock your phone, put it away and meet his eyes. Even though he has been asleep for days he looks tired beyond belief. His head is slightly turned so he can look at you and his right ear twitches. You smile at that and feel yourself relax while he remains as stiff as before.

“Hi, Simon.” You awkwardly clear your scratchy throat.

He’s quiet. It reminds you of the cell. He hadn’t spoken then either. Maybe it’s a trauma response. Maybe he can’t talk at all. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you. The thought stings unexpectedly.

“You’re at the hospital. I don’t know if you remember but we met before you collapsed.” You say carefully, remembering how explaining things had helped bring him down before.

His eyes slowly look down at his hands on the blanket and he flexes his fingers, grunting when he realizes that two are in a cast and he can’t move them. It seems to take tremendous amounts of effort for him to raise the hand with the broken fingers and look at it. Instead of letting it fall back down he goes through the effort of slowly lowering it.

His looks at you again and nods. You’re not sure if that is an answer to what you just said or to the fact that he was able to raise his hand. But it’s a reaction and that’s enough to get your tense shoulders to drop the tiniest bit.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll call the nurse to check on you?” You offer. You know it has to happen but you can probably wait a few more minutes until he is more awake.

To your surprise he nods and you get up. “I’ll be back in a second.”

It’s kind of difficult to leave and stop looking at him. Now that he’s awake the irrational fear that he might be asleep again by the time you get back overcomes you. So you practically race along the corridor to alert the nurse.

When you return Simon is sitting; his head leant against the wall behind him, eyes closed. He blinks them open when you approach and you see his nose flare, taking a deep breath. He frowns, the motion making him more aware of the nasogastric tubing. As a dog hybrid his sense of smell is far better than any humans and you wonder which scents he can make out aside from the smell of hospital that you’ve grown used to in the past days.

“You shouldn’t be sitting yet.” The nurse says with his smooth voice and Simon shrugs, immediately wincing at the movement. The nurse grins and you can see your relief at Simon being up and interacting with his surroundings mirrored on his face.

“Told you.” He teases, immediately dispelling some of the tension in the room.

The checkup is quick but Simon only answers with a nod or a shake of his head instead of using words. When you speak with the doctor in the hallway for a second, she tells you it’s nothing to worry about and he’ll probably speak soon enough. She even puts a friendly hand on your shoulder, evidently happy that he woke up. You were so caught up in your own worry, you didn’t realize how much all the others were thinking of Simon.

When you return to Simon’s side he is studying the room, taking in the monitor as well as the drip. There is suspicion etched into his features, especially while he watches the fluid that continuously drips into his veins.

“Would it help if I chugged some of the stuff?” You ask and just that question alone seems to slightly put him at ease. He huffs through his nose rolling his eyes and you grin. Without the nasogastric tube he already looks way better. You had to turn away when they took it out, the thought of the removal alone nearly making you gag.

“You should probably lie back down though.” Again he surprises you by listening. You don’t dare offer any help even though he grunts with the effort of sliding back down. His pillow is angled awkwardly afterwards and you step closer, reaching for it before you can stop yourself.

When your hands approach his face his lips peel back, showing his teeth. Yeah, the left fang is definitely chipped. His ears slightly swivel back and you pause.

“I’m only going to right your pillow. May I?” You hold your breath, waiting and he gives the slightest of nods. His ears perk forward but he keeps his canines exposed in a display that is decidedly a threat, not a smile.

You tug the pillow back under his head, not daring to touch him to help him lift his head but you can sense that allowing this much is already a big deal. Once done, you step back and sit back down. Thankfully he didn’t bite you and subconsciously your hand comes up to rub your shoulder where phantom teeth seem to clasp down on the scar that marks the skin there.

It should be awkward, the quiet way you lock eyes with him afterwards. But it’s not. It feels weirdly intimate and intense. There is something important going on in Simon’s mind and you find yourself sitting very still so you don’t make any wrong moves.

The way he’s staring at you feels like he’s physically pinning you in place and you straighten up, aware of his breed and that looking weak and easy will not help you with working with him in the future.

The quiet intensity is shattered when the door opens again and the nurse appears with a tray with some… sort of edible mush on it. Simon eyes it warily and when he goes to sit up again the nurse quickly presses a button at the foot of the bed that raises the upper part of the mattress with a mechanical whirring sound.

As soon as Simon is upright and the tray is in front of him he takes a deep whiff of whatever it is they want him to eat. His ears move this way and that and finally he settles, visibly exhausted just from concentrating on judging the food.

The nurse spreads a towel over Simon’s blanket and a low growl tears from his throat at the sudden closeness. The nurse jerks back, raising his hands.

“Hey, big boy. I don’t want no trouble but if you spill on your blanket we have a lot more work to do.”

Simon nods and the nurse stays back while he gets his hand up and tries to grasp the spoon from the tray. The way he evidently struggles makes your stomach squeeze painfully and when he raises the spoon, his hand trembling violently the entire way to the plate, you stand up.

“Let me help you.” It almost sounds like a command and Simon narrows his eyes at you. “Please. There is no need for you to force it.”

He seems utterly unhappy with it but finally he puts down the spoon and his arm falls to the bed with a soft thud. The nod Simon gives in your direction is curt and you scoot closer with your chair giving the nurse a reassuring smile. He just shrugs and leaves with the promise to collect the tray later.

You’re slow in your movements as you collect the spoon and carefully scoop up some of the questionably looking food. Simon hesitates a long moment when you bring it up to his mouth, eyeing you in suspicion until he finally relents and takes the spoon into his mouth.

Trying to dispel the awkwardness settling around you two, you begin talking again.

“You were asleep for over five days.” Your voice is quiet but his ears perk up at the sound of it.

He freezes for a moment, looking past you at the blanket and pillow that you folded and put to the side while you weren’t using it. Once again he seems deep in thought for a moment then he slightly inclines his head at you and then the blankets.

Somehow that makes slight heat creep up your neck and settle in your cheeks. “I stayed with you. We didn’t know when you’d wake up and I didn’t want you waking up alone in an unknown room.”

Some of your worry begins to seep out of you as you feed Simon the entirety of the mush. He doesn’t complain once, dutifully swallowing it all. You almost want to ask for more but you’re dimly aware that eating too much too quickly is probably not good for him and his exhausted body.

“You’re still at the rehabilitation center. Remember? I told you before you collapsed.”

He nods watching you keenly while you put the spoon down and the tray to the side. Hesitantly you reach for the towel spread over his upper body and when he doesn’t react except for a slight twitch of his ears you fold it and put it away too.

 “Why?” His question is so unexpected you flinch, wide eyes snapping to his mouth as if you imagined things.

His voice is horribly rough from disuse, even worse than your hoarseness from too much use. He swallows dryly after that one word and you quickly fill a glass with water, letting him drink two small sips from it.

“Why what, Simon?” You ask him hoping to draw more words out of him.

“You’re no nurse, why are you still here?” His eyes are sharp despite his exhaustion, tracking every one of your movements, calculating, confused. A distinct British accent shapes his words now that he’s actually formulating a sentence.

You clear your throat again. “I work for the center. I’m your new handler until you’ve recovered.”

That reminds you that you still need to sign those damned papers because technically you still aren’t his handler until you’ve done the paperwork. But there’s no way you’ll leave him to go sign them now. Not after he just woke up.

He blinks at you slowly. “My handler.”

You nod and watch him melt back into tense silence, pondering the new information.

Considering all that has happened, Simon is taking it all pretty well. Maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe it’s actually not much to take compared to what he went through before coming to the center.

He watches you and for a second you think there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Fear? Distrust? You’re not sure but something was there and it makes you want to reassure him.

“I’ve worked with many hybrids before and I’ve never hurt any of them.” You quietly inform him.

“That’s true.” The smooth voice of the nurse comes from behind you and you nearly have a heart attack from his sudden appearance. “Sorry.” He adds when he notices you jump a bit but his grin is amused. He collects the tray and addresses Simon again.

“If there’s anyone here that you can trust to have your best interest at heart it’s this one.” He nods in your direction. You fondly roll your eyes at his praise, secretly happy he’s backing you up. “I’m right and you know it. Even with Phillip you were never anything but understanding.”

Hearing his name from the nurse makes you go slightly pale and you concentrate on Simon instead, who is watching the nurse with furrowed brows. The nurse evidently realizes that he made you uncomfortable because he gently squeezes your shoulder.

“I didn’t… Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You whisper, your voice refusing to come out louder. Simon curiously alternates between looking at you and the nurse but he doesn’t say anything to the interaction. After a brief moment of hesitation the nurse leaves with the tray.

When you’re alone with Simon, he settles more comfortably into his bed and you stand up to lower the mattress for him so he’s flat on his back again. The look he gives you could be interpreted a silent ‘thank you’. You hope it’s that and not exasperation at your audacity to decide for him to lie back down.

After barely two minutes he’s asleep.

You try to calm your heart that decides it has to start racing again at the sight of him motionless. He’s just asleep. This time he really will wake up in a bit. It’s a good old regular nap.

Your own weariness presses you back down into your chair and maybe you can close your own eyes for a few minutes. Get a bit of rest for yourself. Just a little…

You wake up with a start. Heart pounding in your ears, hands shaking. You rub your eyes to get rid of the last touches of sleep, maybe you can rub the dream away with it, and automatically search for Simon.

He’s already staring at you and you straighten in your chair, surprised that he’s awake. When you look at the clock on the wall you realize that you’ve definitely been asleep for more than just a few minutes and you sigh heavily. How long has the hybrid been looking at you?

Once again Simon has a tray with food before him but this time he’s eating by himself. He’s less shaky already and looks livelier than you yourself feel right now. Between every spoonful he stops and watches you. You didn’t even hear the nurse bring him the food.

“You sleep like the dead.” He comments dryly and you nearly snort. Really? That’s what he comments on?

“Rich coming from the guy who didn’t wake up for five days.” You quip back.

Against your expectation there’s amusement glittering in his eyes even if his mouth refuses to give you the satisfaction of curving into a smile while he finishes the last of his meal.

“You try walking from Mexico to Texas on foot for days after...” He clears his throat. “I don’t even know how long I was walking for.” He fires back.

Your mouth drops open, curiosity builds at the way he stops himself from finishing his first thought but you decide against prying. Whatever he had meant to say couldn’t have been pleasant and now wasn’t the time to make him tell you about what he’d gone through.

You knew that he’d been found in Texas in really bad condition but you had no idea that he’d been outside the U.S before that. But considering his accent you aren’t sure if he even lives in the U.S.

“What were you doing in Mexico?” You question carefully a lump forming in your throat.

Simon’s eyes find the window and he’s quiet for a long time, sitting so still you think he might have fallen back into a coma. His eyebrows furrow and he concentrates on something you can’t see. When he turns back to you there’s a severity in his gaze that makes you swallow heavily.

“Dying.” Is his only answer and you’re not even sure what he means by that because evidently he is alive and fought to be alive but the graveness of his answer makes you keep your mouth shut and a shudder runs down your back.

“There was a mission. But it went to shit.” He finally tacks on and you’re not sure what to say to that.

‘I’m sorry’? What was that even supposed to mean under these circumstances. ‘It must have been hard’? Who even were you to assume what he’d been feeling. You knew nothing of what he’d been through except the wounds and scars it had left on his body.

“I’m glad you survived.” Is what you settle for, biting the inside of your cheek because maybe that was a wrong thing to say too.

With bated breath you wait for his reaction. Simon scoffs but holds back from answering. Wrong thing to say after all, the realization makes your shoulders hunch a bit. But you mean it and you hope he can sense that.

Conversation stops after that. The silence is awkward until you decide that it doesn’t have to be. You sit up a bit straighter. It’s just silence and it’s up to you how you experience it. You look out the window so Simon doesn’t feel too watched, but he doesn’t extend the same courtesy to you.

He’s staring and it’s heavy, like a physical weight that settles on your shoulders. You’re not sure whether it’s a burden or a safety tether.

“I want to wash the filth off. Need to shower.” He finally breaks the silence and you turn to him again. A slight frown settles on your face. He only just woke up from his coma like… maybe a day ago. You realize how bad you’re sense of time got since you’ve spent the last days mostly in this room.

“I’ll ring for the nurse so he can help you with it. I’m not sure –“

“No!” His voice is surprisingly loud, the lingering hoarseness making it sound even more aggressive than he probably intended. “I want to shower alone.”

Now you’re the one who is staring. Simon meets your eyes, not backing down. Of course not every hybrid likes having someone with them while they shower. It is a vulnerable moment after all. But you’ve never met one who was so vehemently against it. If only there was a way you could ask him what happened to him during the months he was missing without hurting him further.

You want to respect his wishes, really you do. But he’s still so weak and it’s your job as his handler to watch out for him even if he doesn’t like it.

“Alright. Stand up, right now, by yourself and I’ll let you shower unsupervised.” You say and you know you’ve taken on your handler voice. The one you use when your hybrid challenges you. Some small part in you is afraid it’ll evoke a negative response in Simon. Instead he bares his teeth at you in challenge, and begins shifting towards the edge of the mattress.

Stubborn hybrid. You watch him, ready to jump up and help him if he needs it at any point but allowing him to attempt standing up. Once he’s sitting at the edge, his feet planted on the floor, he slips the blanket off his shoulders, leaving him only in his hospital gown.

He shudders, grits his teeth and you notice the way the gown loosely hangs onto his shoulders. It’s open at the back and the fact seems to be deeply uncomfortable to the big hybrid. He tries to lift his hands to close it but has to quickly return them to the mattress, before he even reaches the shift, so he can hold himself up.

“Do you want me to tie it for you?” You offer, voice soft, a stark difference to the way you spoke just a few seconds ago.

Instead of an answer a dangerous growl starts in his chest and his ears go flat against his head. Something about his state of undress is deeply distressing him and the thought of you at his back evidently doesn’t help. Whatever happened to him, it made him uncomfortable with being uncovered. You think about what the doctor hinted at when she told you about his condition.

Every hybrid you’ve worked with and talked to before never spared a thought for propriety. Apparently it has something to do with the animal parts in them, while simultaneously not being raised with the same societal norms as humans, but being naked doesn’t naturally bother hybrids.

It bothers him though and you refuse to let him linger in this state when it seems to feel so wrong to him. But he’s still growling at you, deep and threatening, and you don’t want to make him even more uncomfortable.

Sure, you could just do it, force him to bear with it and realize it’s not so bad after all. Sometimes you have to take charge, just like you’d take your dog to the vet even if it doesn’t like it. At least that’s what you were taught when you became a handler. But he’s a person, and you’ll be damned if you reduce him to his animal side.

“I will only do it if you allow me, Simon. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He doesn’t stop growling, even as he nods at you. When you make your way around the bed his head follows you as far as possible and then he keeps one eye on you.

His chest is heaving again, rumbling with his warning growl, and you lean over the bed, deliberately ignoring the broad, naked expanse of his back while you close the gown and tie the two little strings together. You try to be quick but take extra care not to touch him while you hide his skin from view.

You hurry back around to his front and notice how each breath is way too quick and shallow. The growling stopped but there are droplets of sweat collecting on his forehead.

“It’s okay. You did it. Everything is okay, no one touched you and you’re dressed.”

He briefly closes his eyes and slowly his breathing returns to normal. You smile at him when he opens them again. After a few seconds of intense silence, where he once again stares at you like he’s trying to catch a glimpse of your innermost thoughts, he seems to remember why he is sitting in the first place.

He braces his hands against the bed and slowly, achingly slow pushes himself up until he’s standing. His nose scrunches up in exertion and pain. Then he’s unfolded himself to his full height and looks at you in triumph.

For a moment you glimpse the proud hybrid he evidently is, but the expression only lasts a second before he starts swaying and you’re at his side immediately, grasping his big hand, wrapping your arm around his broad back. You’re dimly aware that the monitor beeps in warning in the background.

“Sit back down, the bed is directly behind you. It’s okay.”

It’s entirely graceless, the way he slumps down and you keep holding onto him for a moment until you’re sure he’s sitting safely. Then you let go and retreat half a step keeping your hands slightly outstretched so you can grab him again if necessary.

The hectic thumping of feet approach the room from the hallway and then the door is ripped open, the nurse hastily entering the room. When he catches sight of you and Simon he freezes in place, relaxing some when he realizes that the hybrid is not in immediate danger. Simon growls at him and the nurse once again raises his hands in a placating manner. Then Simon’s attention is back on you.

He narrows his eyes, a shudder going through him. His hands grip the edge of the mattress until his knuckles turn white and he’s panting again. But he doesn’t want to lie back down when the nurse asks him to. So you stand next to him, waiting until he gains control over his breathing.

“You’re not showering alone.” You assert as soon as the beeping of the monitor returns to the usual rate and the nurse stops looking at Simon in concern. His head snaps up to you. For a second you glimpse unadulterated fear in his honey eyes then he sets his jaw, baring his teeth at you again, his ears twitching back slightly.

“I’m not risking you collapsing in there and hurting yourself.” Is your gentle explanation and he sighs so deeply, the sound seems to come from the depths of his soul.

“I’m sure that…” You look at the nurse questioningly.

“Cain.”, he supplies helpfully and you’re slightly ashamed you didn’t ask for his name before.

“I’m sure Cain will help you. That way you’ll have a man with you.” Glancing at the nurse you see him nodding immediately.

“No.” Simon asserts, nearly making you flinch. Then he scoffs. “Man, woman, doesn’t matter. It’s all equally as bad.”

You raise your eyebrows, unsure what he means by that. “O..kay. Which nurse do you feel most comfortable with?”

“No nurse. Either you or I’m doing it alone.” He nearly growls the answer.

You’re stumped into silence. He wants you in the bathroom with him? Even though he just nearly freaked out because his back was uncovered while you were in the room?

Searching for help you turn to the nurse, Cain. He shrugs. “I would advise against him already showering.” Simon’s answering growl is ferocious. And Cain hastily goes on making Simon quiet back down. “But I don’t think I can convince him. If you’re willing to do it and it makes him more comfortable that’s completely fine. You’re his handler. And I’ll be right outside in case anything happens so you can call me.”

Simon looks at you expectantly. Did he ask for you because he thinks you’ll decline and he’ll get to wash up alone? If that’s the reason he made a mistake. You’re not risking his safety. After all you’re not the one freaking out over his naked skin.

Squaring your shoulders you nod. Cain prepares everything in the bathroom and Simon inhales deeply, getting ready to stand up again.

“We do have wheelchairs. You don’t have to walk.” Cain offers and Simon immediately shakes his head.

It makes sense, you suppose. The brief expression of victory on his face when he stood up by himself appears in your mind. He needs to get this much done to feel capable, like he achieved something. So you don’t argue, instead silently stand by his side, while Cain walks around you two to his other side freeing him from the monitor and stepping closer. He gets a brief threatening growl from Simon.

“Yeah, yeah. Just a precaution, big guy. I’m not touching you.” Cain’s voice seems velvety in contrast to Simon’s harsh rumble and the hybrid shuts up at that, concentrating all his energy into standing up again.

The few steps into the bathroom seem to take everything out of Simon and after maybe half of the way, he quietly grabs onto your arm that you’ve held at the ready. No one comments on the way he grips your forearm and lets you take the smallest amount of his weight. You’re sure even that is a concession he’d rather not make.

In the tiled bathroom Simon heavily sinks onto the stool that’s strategically placed in the shower space. There are towels and a fresh hospital gown placed on the sink. After a short instruction on how to use the shower, Cain leaves, reminding you that he’s just outside.

Simon is silent for a few moments and you contemplate waiting, to see if he’ll ask for your help with untying the gown. But you don’t want to push too much too soon, so you take a step closer to spare his pride.

“Let me untie it? I’ll turn around after that. I won’t even look at you unless you need help.” You offer, your quiet voice sounding too loud in the small room.

He nods jerkily, once and your fingers tug the strings of the gown free. Before the shift slides open you’ve already turned around, standing by the door, facing away from him. The rustling of the gown as he slips it off makes you clench your hands into fists. This is way more nerve wrecking than you thought.

The small plastic wheels under the stool rattle over the tiles as Simon scoots closer to the shower; at least you assume that’s what he’s doing.

Then you hear the hiss of the water and relax slightly. There’s the nagging worry that Simon is too weak, that something will happen but you stay in your place, looking at the white door like it might tell you that everything will be fine if you just stare hard enough.

You’re trying to understand why being here while Simon showers makes you so nervous. You’ve been with enough hybrids in the bathroom. You even helped hybrids shower before. A golden retriever hybrid, you worked with previously, had valued showering as bonding time, letting you wash his hair for him. But then again, Simon’s earlier reaction to his open gown had shown that nakedness wasn’t natural to him – or at least it wasn’t anymore.

You’re very aware, that Simon trusts you enough to be locked into this room with you while he is completely naked and you’re not. That’s what makes you nervous. Putting that trust in you means there’s a possibility you might mess up. So you hold very, very still while he showers. You need him to feel safe with you. Maybe because you want to feel safe with him too. You want to feel safe with a hybrid again.

It’s clear to you, that you only feel this secure with him because he currently is weak and probably couldn’t truly hurt you. You can only hope, that you’ll still feel safe enough when he’s recovered. Because if you don’t, you won’t be able to be the kind of handler he needs.

As a malinois hybrid he needs someone confident, someone who sets clear boundaries and puts his mind and body to work while being so in control that he can feel safe following your commands. After Phillip you’re not sure you can be that for him. How are you supposed to feel confident in your abilities when you misjudged Phillip so greatly. Maybe you should have returned to an easier case, maybe another golden retriever hybrid without a tragic past.

But then you remember that no one else would have taken Simon as their charge and you grit your teeth. You will be exactly the kind of handler that can help him, you’ll make sure of it.

The sound of the water turns off.

“I can’t reach the towel.” Simon’s rough voice rings out behind you and you know he’s asking for your help. But he’s concealing the need for it behind a mere statement and that almost makes you smile.

You begin to turn. “Should I-“

“Don’t look at me!” He barks out a subtle rumble in his voice again and you freeze.

The silence following his shout is almost deafening and you try to calm your trembling hands. It’s okay, he only got loud because he doesn’t want you to see him naked. It’s not aggression. It’s defensiveness. You know the difference, you’ll be fine.

“I’m going to turn to the wall on my side and walk sideways to the sink.” He doesn’t say anything to that so you do exactly as you just announced and inch closer to the sink until you can reach for the towel. The silence grates on your nerves and you itch to turn around so you can catch a glimpse of his expression and body language.

You curse the way your hand subtly trembles when you grab ahold of it, then you extend it behind yourself in Simon’s direction. The sudden awareness that he can look at you while you’re not looking at him is making cold sweat break out all over your skin. He’s more vulnerable than you right now, you try to remind yourself but the reassurance feels hollow.

Hopefully he doesn’t realize how heavy your breathing is or the tremor in your hand. But you’ve seen his attentive eyes. There is no way he doesn’t notice. Still you can hope.

Your breath hitches in your chest when his skin slightly brushes yours while taking the towel from your hand. This time you concentrate on the tiles in front of you, while he dries himself off. Instead of waiting for him to ask for it, you take the hospital gown in hand and already hold it out behind you as soon as the sound of the towel rustling quiets down behind you.

You feel the briefest hint of hesitation then he takes the gown, brushing against your hand again. If you hadn’t seen how much he avoids being touched you’d think he deliberately runs one of his fingers along the back of your hand. But surely that was an accident or maybe you imagined it.

Still it has your stomach flipping. He did not growl at the repeated contact and he didn’t avoid it. This time it had been his decision and he had not actively avoided you. A small smile twists your lips. A light fluttery feeling settles in your tummy. Hope, maybe.

“You need to tie it for me again.” His rough voice is surprisingly quiet. This is probably the closest to him asking for help that you’ll ever get.

You turn around to find him facing you. This time you make quick work of tying it at his back making sure he’s properly dressed. He doesn’t crane his neck to watch you either and the realization of that almost makes you lightheaded. With a satisfied hum you round him again and study him.

He’s clean now and already looks a lot better although exhaustion makes him look decades older than he probably is. His shaggy hair is now dirt free and still sopping wet, dripping onto the fresh gown.

You tut at that grabbing another towel. “Mind if I dry your hair for you? We don’t need you getting a cold on top of everything else.”

His ears twitch and damp strands of hair that got caught between the short fur covering his pointy ears come loose flopping down against his head. You can’t stop the grin that appears on your face. Maybe he’s a little bit cute.

Then your eyes take in his face, the stitched cuts, and you have to keep yourself from wincing. Showering with all of his wounds must have been painful, even if the worst are covered to protect them from getting wet.

There is barely a pause this time before he nods and you get close to him, staying in front of him even if you’d reach easier from his back. Bringing your arms up, you wrap the towel around the back of his head and carefully cup his ears with the soft fabric. They twitch again at the touch and you bite back another grin.

Gently you dry them off first, making sure your motions are unhurried and predictable. When you go to towel dry the rest of his hair you take a subconscious step closer and your thigh brushes against his knee.

You hold your breath, waiting for him to jerk back to bare his teeth or tell you you’re too close.

He does none of that. He stays put, not moving an inch and when you carefully rub his hair until it’s only damp he even closes his eyes for a long moment. You think you even catch the start of a pleased rumble in his chest but he swallows it back down, staying quiet.

Once you’re done, taking a step back his eyes blink back into awareness and you find that you can’t look away from the sudden warmth you find in them. For a second he looks at you without hardening his stare and you glimpse vulnerability behind the molten honey of his dark iris.

You did it. He took a shower with you in the room, naked and vulnerable while you had your back turned to him unable to read his intentions. But nothing happened. You’re both unscathed, you’re both unhurt. He didn’t attack you and you didn’t look at him.

You cock your head at him, smiling because you need to express the lightness that suddenly fills your chest, and his head tilts to the other side mirroring the movement. What a ridiculous sight that must be. You think there might be a faint smile on his lips too.

The silence while you help him back to bed is comfortable and Cain, who dutifully waits outside the bathroom looks from you to Simon and back. You nod and a beautiful smile lights up the nurses’ handsome face. He lingers until Simon is back in bed, then leaves with the promise of returning with food later.

The grunt that comes out of Simon’s mouth, when he slips back under the freshly made covers is fit for a grandpa and you snort at the sound. You cannot imagine how exhausting the whole ordeal of taking a shower must have been for him, but it was also a massive achievement.

“You did well.” You praise genuine pride in your voice. He shuffles around under the covers until he’s found a comfortable position but you can see that he’s pleased at your praise and tries to hide it.

Maybe that’s his personal motivator. Praise. His breed is one with a high will to please after all. You shelve that thought for later.

He turns his head towards you, regarding you with tired eyes. “You should go home and sleep.”

You frown at that but before you can argue he continues. “I’ll be asleep for a while and if you’ve been here with me the entire time you need to rest too.” He looks at the chair you occupied for the past days. “Properly rest.”

Resting in your own bed does sound tempting but you still don’t want to leave his side. The need to keep watch, to make sure he’s okay and taken care of is too great. He huffs, catching your attention and rolls his eyes. Rude.

“Go home, bloody hell. Sleep in an actual bed. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

A small pathetic part in you wants to ask him to promise that he’ll still be here. That he’ll take care so no one hurts him while you’re gone. Another part of you fears that they’ll put him down while you’re gone. Just because. But you know you’re being irrational and he has a point.

So you nod. You fix a teasing grin on your face going for lighthearted teasing instead of saying anything stupid. “Don’t get used to ordering me around.”

He huffs again. “If it means making you see reason, I’ll do it again.”

Fondly you shake your head. He’s already growing on you, the stubborn hybrid. It makes wonderful warmth bloom in your chest when you realize that you look forward to working with him. Maybe taking him as your charge wasn’t so stupid after all.

So you leave Simon to rest, watching him close his eyes before you leave the room. You find Cain and tell him that you’re going home to sleep and the nurse clasps both your shoulders in his hands beaming at you.

“Thank god, finally. Don’t get me wrong, you’re very unobtrusive and pleasant to be around but I was about ready to force you to go home to take some time to recharge.”

You laugh at that and squeeze his hands. Without him you probably would have lost your mind these past few days. He waves you off when you express as much, shooing you off. “It’s what we do. Now go get some sleep.”

It does feel wonderful to slip into your bed, your head heavy, meeting softness instead of the hard backrest of a chair. How did you even survive multiple days without a proper bed?

You don’t even have time to ponder that thought before you’re out like a light.

When you wake up groggy and heavenly warm and rested your clock tells you that you’ve been asleep for just over sixteen hours. Damn, seems like you really needed that. Stretching your rested body under the covers you find yourself excited to go back to work today.

Instead of hurrying though, you take your time to get ready, letting your stomach flutter in excitement of returning to Simon’s side. By now he’s probably feeling even better. Maybe you can take a walk outside in the hallway with him if he’s up for it.

You don’t even try to hide your silly smile while you walk back to the center. The closer you get to the building the hospital is in the quicker you walk and you practically skip up the steps to the fourth floor where Simon’s room is.

Before you go in you exhale to calm yourself, wipe your palms on your pants and knock once. Grinning widely you open the door.

“How are you feeling tod-“

The room is empty and confused you check the room number. Room 141, it’s definitely the right one. It’s not only empty, it’s clean too. A freshly made bed, covered with plastic so it can be used as soon as someone needs it. There’s not a single trace that anyone even occupied this room just a day earlier.

Your heart drops into your stomach a queasy feeling coming over you. Surely they just moved him to another room; they probably need this one for someone else. But who? There’s unease creeping up your spine. And it has you quickly going to the nurse’s station.

You find a chubby woman sitting in front of a monitor.

“Hello?” You clear your throat anxiously. “Is Cain here?”

She looks up at you a calm and friendly expression on her adorable round face. “Oh no, sweetie. Cain has night shift today.”

You swallow. “Do you know what happened to the hybrid in room 141?” You ask hating how thin your voice is.

She nods and you breathe a sigh of relief until she opens her mouth again. “He was discharged a few hours ago.”

“Discharged?” Your tone is slightly shrill now and you try to calm yourself down. “There’s no way he was well enough. I was with him yesterday.”

She nods patiently, reassuringly. “Calm down, sweetheart. He only got transferred to another hybrid center, he will be taken to the hospital there.”

A small sigh of relief leaves you at that but you still don’t understand. Where did they send him? Why is he being transferred? What’s going on?

“It’s best you talk to the Doc about it.” The nurse gently advises and like a robot you turn on your heels whispering your thanks and heading straight to the Doctor’s office.

You barely have the mind to knock and wait for her to call you in. As soon as she does you practically rush into her room.

“Where is he?”

The doctor folds her hands. “Ah, I heard you were resting at home. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Where is he?” You demand and she sighs.

“As soon as they heard he’s been found they ordered him home. He will be at a rehabilitation center there. You don’t need to worry about him.” She calmly explains. You don’t like how calm she sounds. Nothing she just told you makes sense.

“Who is they, where is ‘home’? I’m his handler shouldn’t I have been transferred with him?”

Her expression morphs into slight pity again and you hate it. You hate that you can’t do anything but panic because he is gone and you don’t know what’s going on. Her next words bring all your thoughts to a screeching halt.

“Didn’t you know? He’s one of them SAS boys. He was transported to board a flight back to England.”

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

My take on the Bad Kid scars! AKA my excuse to make like a 4 page Google doc worth of headcanons.

I've thought about this kind of a lot while considering how I draw the Bad Kids because I love when characters carry evidence of their history with them (not just scars, stuff like the tin flower emblem or Figs Ayda-feather-earring also exist in this category, and I have separate notes for those too)

Since magic is a big part of healing in this world I have some stipulations for what actually causes scarring in my own headcanons-

(Rest is under the cut. This bitch is looong and it's technically unfinished. Heads up for descriptions of injuries and spoilers for the first 2 seasons of Fantasy High.)

So here's the rules:

1. It's a big story moment. Random slashes or scratches or whatever don't show up because they're not relevant to the characters history and they're small enough that I think magical means would completely cover them.

2. The attack downs them. This just makes it easier to track, any attack that knocks a character out has the potential to leave a lasting mark.

3. Based on some comments from Brennan, it seems like low level healing magic (ex. Cure Wounds, Healing Word) is essentially time-based. It basically fast-forwards the healing process months in advance. That's gonna affect how scars work. Unless otherwise stated, that's how I'm gonna approach the magical healing process.

Figeuroth Faeth

• Tuna Surprise Eldritch Blast- Doreen (S1E2)

Small burn scar on the left side of her check/around her lips from when she caught the Eldritch Blast with her face. The Phoenix Egg spell mostly took care of it, so it's quite faint, but it still can get tight and itchy. Fig has a special moisturizer for it that she keeps next to her horn cream.

• Torn ear- Figueroth Faeth (S2E12)

Honestly this is mostly because I find it funny. This is from that moment when Fig rips out her earring to give to Ayda in exchange for the feather. It's very common in D&D designs for characters with long ears to have rips or notches in them to show that they're active or battle-worn. I really like this idea of a kind of Jason Grace style scar where you look at her and you wonder "Woah, I wonder what battle caused that" because she's this legendary adventurer but the truth is that she did it to herself because she's a sweet-hearted dumbass who was tripping over herself trying to give her crush a gift. It got healed up soon enough, there's just a divet at the bottom of her ear now.

Riz Gukgak

• Hand Cuts- Crystal Interior (S1E14)

Riz was tearing through his hands trying to get out of that thing, I can't imagine that it didn't leave a lasting impact. Both sides of his hands and a little up his forearms are covered in slashes. They've healed kind of unevenly since he does a lot of work with his hands that require some amount of dexterity and precision (mostly writing, typing, drawing up maps, ect.) The forearm scars are pretty much settled, but the ones on his palms and fingers are still irritable and sometimes painful enough that he has to stop working. It does not help at all that this kid refuses to sleep or stretch or experience rest, so he probably gets a lot of stiffness and cramping too (at least, more than he would if he actually got sleep ever). Since they got re-agitated in Sophomore Year his friends have gotten very good at noticing when he's ignoring the pain and force him to take a damn break every once in a while. He has a tell for it and none of them will tell him what it is. He appreciates that they care about him, but god is the mystery infuriating. He actively refuses to acknowledge the irony of that.

• Lightning to the Chest- Aelwyn Abernant (S1E12)

In the sister fight Aelwyn knocks Riz out with a fucking lightning bolt. This is what sets Adaine completely over the edge. He gets healed up pretty fast, so it's not a life threatening scenario, but it's still a fucking lightning bolt. He's got a circular burn scar in the center of his chest. Much like Figs, it doesn't bother him much, but it still requires some attention and maintenance for at least a couple weeks. Honestly he straight up forgets it's there sometimes. Adaine probably thinks about it more than he does.

Fabian Seacaster

• Enucleation- Dayne Blade (S1E16)

So the main thing here is the eye, but it also covers a good chunk of the left side of his face. Essentially this big slashing weapon caught him right at the top of where his ear connects to the rest of his head and dragged forward far and deep enough to take out his left eye. Also notable is that he doesn't get any medical attention beyond minor heals for a hot minute. And when he gets hit he spends a couple minutes running around a burning house filled with ash and smoke and blood. The moment of Bill giving Fabian his eye patch is incredibly tender. It's also NASTY, dude. That thing is for sure covered in blood and ash and he puts it right over an OPEN WOUND. I love that scene to death, and there is absolutely no way that that thing isn't getting crazy infected without immediate/magical medical attention. I imagine Kristen and Riz took a good chunk of that frozen time to treat it as much as they could. I picture the slash healing into a pretty thick hypertrophic scar that goes from his ear over his eye to the edge of his nose. He definitely had to actually go to a hospital after prom to get proper treatment. His skin could be mostly stitched back together magically, so the main focus from actual medical professionals was putting in an orbital implant and getting him a conformer to maintain the structural integrity of the eye socket. He probably has a bunch of cool decorative prosthetic eyes for big events because he's a fancy little rich boy, but I don't think he actually uses them a lot (for a couple reasons, the main one is the eye patch. Why bother putting it in when he's gonna cover it up immediately anyway?) He just uses the conformer like 99% of the time. The eye patch mostly has sentimental value, but it also does have that charisma stat boost effect, so he has it on when he's adventuring or at school, but takes it off at home. His big issue is adjusting to his new depth perception. He spends months and months re-learning the sword with Hallariel, which is immensely frustrating. He knows how to do it, but he has to completely readjust how he thinks about approaching it, which I think would really get under his skin. Especially since it's such a big part of his identity at this point. It takes him a good while to get back to his previous skill level, but damn if he doesn't do it.

Kristen Applebees

• Gored Through the Chest- The Great Unicorn (S2E17)

100% my least grounded in any form of reality headcanon. She fully resurrected herself. The scar left from the horn of the unicorn is a little more like a slightly raised tattoo than an actual scar. It's more of a magical imprint of the divine act of resurrection than anything left behind by the wound itself. As her bones and skin and muscles literally stitched themselves back together they sort of knitted into a single point, which grew a patch of discolored skin. The skin is thick, and purplish, and shaped like some kind of rune that doesn't actually exist in any surviving magical language. A permanent mark of the impossible magic she enacted. There's an identical mark that's a little bigger on her back, where the horn entered through. A less obvious element of that scar is how it affected her heart. The thing was ripped apart, and basically the only thing that could fix that was god magic. Luckily, she got that! I imagine that her heart now has this weird rippling effect over the muscle, almost like aurora borealis. It doesn't actually affect a ton because, again, god magic, but man does it fuck with medical equipment sometimes. I also think that if you were to cast Detect Magic on her, without any of her gear or spell effects, you would still read that Raise Dead effect just radiating off of her.

• Pinky Finger- Removal and Resurrection

I think that her right pinky finger didn't entirely recover from having a full bone taken out, and now the last knuckle has some mobility issues. It's just really stiff and doesn't really bend on its own. She's also lost a lot of sensation in that finger specifically. It shouldn't get any more intense than that without extenuating circumstances, but given that god magic is a little unpredictable she and her doctor are keeping an eye on it. She does a lot of stretches and exercises to keep her hands loose and moving. Ounce of prevention and all that. It's also a part of her gym bloke routine in Junior Year.

Gorgug Thistlespring

• Slice Through the Hand- Forest of Blades (S1E3)

All the way around his hand there's this line, as though his hand was cut clean through and then perfectly realigned and glued back together. By Sophomore Year the scar has almost completely flattened, it's just a discolored line all the way around the surface of his hand.

• Crushed Heart- Nerd Ghosts (S1E14)

The effects of this one are two-fold; first, the streak of gray hair, second, a lasting effect on his heart. The prolonged strain on the actual organ of his heart from this encounter left him with increased risk for cardiovascular problems that he didn't have before. He doesn't really notice it (mostly because when it's noticeable he's so high on adrenaline that he's not really noticing anything) but his heart is definitely weaker than it should be. It's not life threatening, but it's for sure something that Digby and Wilma have stressed the importance of monitoring because they are good responsible parents. The actual visible impact from the ghost attack is the streak of gray hair he has, which is permanent. It just grows gray there now. He thinks it looks pretty cool.

Adaine Abernant/ O'Shaughnessy

• Teeth Marks- Jawbone O'Shaughnessy (S1E6)

Basically just a dog bite on her right forearm. Normally healing magic would be able to patch that up without any scarring, but the werewolf pathogen adds a complication to it. Still, pretty average looking scar. She feels a little weird about it, cause on the one hand getting it sucked, but on the other hand now every time she sees it she thinks about her amazing new dad, so there's a weird sentimental element. She and Jawbone have for sure had a long discussion about the validness of any of her feelings about it and how it's ok to acknowledge the harm done to her, even by well-intentioned parties. He probably feels a lot worse about it than she does. The reveal of which probably initiated another very long discussion.

• Gored Through the Chest- The Great Unicorn

This time it's just a normal scar, no crazy magical runes involved. I'm not entirely sure how a fully healed version of this injury would actually... Work? The part that's visible would be the broken skin, so probably a combination of a fine-line scar and a depressed scar, (sharp edges + impaling motion) but I'm not entirely sure how to properly translate that visually, or if it's at all realistic. Further research pending. Anyways she and Kristen have matching injury scars! The besties ever

[tehb3stsk4t3revr]

Got inspired by a post I saw this morning so here's literally 2 entire pages of headcanons comparing Infected and Kasper. Fair warning: It dips into talk of symptoms I imagine he'd have and the whole Poptart situation.

[A lot of which assume he'd have like. Actual biological needs instead of being Video Game-y, which seems to be sort of a grey area in-game anyway...]

Kasper was already kind of stupid so honestly not much is different on that front. Average 2010s gamer dudebro sort of deal. Although Infected has a bit more 'what kind of animal is the pink panther?' in him than Kasper.

Infected has next to no impulse control, leading to him doing things he shouldn't and speaking without thinking pretty much constantly.

Infected has balance issues that Kasper didn’t due to inner ear inflammation from the infection. He can’t really do anything on a skateboard anymore besides just stand there or go in a straight line. He can and will find a way to trip on flat ground.

He's convinced he still rules at it, though.

The inflammation has also made his hearing kind of shit. (The only person he can hear with perfect clarity is Folly, as she probably speaks directly into people’s minds or something lol.)

Infected loves soda and drinks basically only that. Boy who was born with kidney stones <3

The neurotoxin in his favorite soda was a deeply unreasonable amount of aspartame (and other chemicals. For fun! <3). Not being able to drink it anymore has somewhat improved his balance issues and memory, but he still misses how it tasted (it probably tasted like what you'd get if you boiled down an entire 2 liter of diet coke until it's barely a liquid then filled an 8 ounce soda can with that. Dude’s tastebuds and liver are Fucked).

Kasper had a fairly similar way of talking to Infected, minus the 1337. ("Sweet parteh trickz dud!11")

Infected is in constant pain. Headaches, body aches, sore throat, can't breathe well, burning skin, heavy eyes, nausea that won't go away, sniffles, random nerve pain, probably other shit. He barely notices it anymore unless someone asks how he's feeling. He doesn't have much energy to spare. He would come across as significantly more hyper/manic than how Kasper used to be if not for this.

He doesn't put any of the energy he has left towards cleaning. Kasper could deal with a little mess, but still picked stuff up when it got ugly. Lampert was also willing to help when he visited. Now Infected is too tired and unfocused to pick anything up most of the time, and Lampert refuses to set foot in the apartment complex until Kasper is better. Infected has started throwing garbage off the balcony when it gets in the way too much. It's kinda fun!

Infected occasionally dissociates. Finds later that he's already talked to someone about something and just repeated himself, bought something already and now he has two, spent hours on his computer without remembering a single thing he looked at, or already met someone he thought he hadn't seen before.

It has actually been explained to Infected before that Kasper is his name. This just started an argument and the topic was dropped forever from that point forward.

Infected is deeply stressed out by seeing his own face for reasons he can't communicate, so he avoids looking at it as much as possible. He used to have a mirror in his apartment but he threw it off the balcony in a fit of rage one night, then covered the blank space where it used to be with a poster. Same thing with ripping Kasper’s face off of the picture on his desk. Any photos of him that are on his PC have either been sent to the recycle bin or cropped so that his face isn’t in them. He's completely fine looking at drawings of himself though. That's definitely him.

When left to his own devices, Infected's diet is… Inconsistent. He will forget to eat for long periods of time then binge when the hunger pangs finally get so annoying that he can't ignore them anymore. He's at least sort of hydrated because there's usually a six pack of soda on his desk or by the couch, but unless someone on the elevator is feeling generous he doesn't remember on his own very often.

Kasper was very comfortable being physically affectionate with people and would be happy to cuddle or lay on a friend's lap if they were cool with that. Infected is even more touchy and would be clingy if he had chances to be, but due to his extremely obvious contagious disease nobody lets him get close. He is incredibly touch-starved and would probably get emotional if someone hugged him or even just sympathetically rubbed his back now.

 Kasper was alright at resisting the urge, but Infected has picked at every scab he's ever gotten, and he ends up with a Lot. He will pick at them until the damage is worse than the initial injury unless someone stops him/tells him to put a bandage over it.

Kasper would bite his nails to keep them short and pick his nose sometimes but Infected's nails are completely trashed. Some of them have scabbed over or still-bleeding cuticles and hangnails because he chews and picks at those too.

All of the contact with his spit has caused his fingernail textures to semi-permanently unload. You'd think they were painted if you didn't know why they looked like that.

Nosebleeds from his nasal cavity getting torn up from all the fussing are not unheard of and yet he's gonna keep doing it.

Constantly drooling when he's not talking. Some of it is post-nasal drip. Sometimes he remembers to wipe it off on his arm, but most of the time it just ends up on the floor/running down his face and soaking into the neckline of his shirt. Or sprayed all over the walls/someone's face when he sneezes.

Kasper used to keep a bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket to help Lampert feel more comfortable. He stopped doing that forever ago after he got sick. (You know how rabies does a bunch of shit to animals to make them better disease vectors, including to their brains? Yeah, something like that).

On some level he knows he's sick. Would be more stressed out about it but the infection has repressed his ability to care (and the part of him that’s still aware of it is probably also heavily in denial). This has affected other aspects of his emotional range, causing it to come across as unusually flat, especially to those who knew Kasper.

Infected is scared that if he’s taken to a doctor’s office they’ll hurt him, so on top of genuinely not being able to recognize that he's sick he will deny all accusations regardless out of this fear. He’s technically not wrong, since trying to purge the disease to save Kasper would be extremely painful for him, but this thought mostly comes from his illness trying to preserve itself.

The last time someone tried to lead Infected to DrRETRO’s office for an intensive care stay he panicked upon realizing what was going on and fought back until they let him leave (fucked them up pretty badly), so now everyone keeps their distance and kinda uselessly tries to convince him to go voluntarily with their words.

Infected is incapable of maintaining strong negative emotions if pushed into being that upset. He'll be mad or sad for maybe a minute and then something else will get his attention or he’ll get too tired to think and he'll forget whatever was bugging him.

Every so often he will lose hope about finding Poptart and then abruptly ‘reset’ a minute or two into sobbing his eyes out, completely confident that any day now the little guy will come back safe and sound.

Despite this it is still really easy to get him Gamer Raging. Way easier than it ever was with Kasper, who was a pretty good sport in most cases.

Infected's particular brand of Gamer Rage is ‘Heckling people until they shut up/go away’, or until it's out of his system. This is the most typical way he processes anger. The impulse control is Seriously out the window when he gets like this.

Kasper knew a lot of stuff about the games he liked offhandedly (mostly competitive co-op FPS games like counterstrike, tf2, l4d2, etc) and could tell you so much esoteric bullshit about them, but if you tried to ask Infected he would get too excited trying to think of something he could share that would be really cool and then not actually be able to remember anything.

The only context in which Infected's reaction time isn't ass is video games. Something about muscle memory. In any other situations he is usually pretty slow to react. This does not mean he's slow to do things, though. When he's acting on a dumbass impulse thought he's probably halfway done doing it before anyone can stop him.

It is possible to get Infected to acknowledge that his situation is Fucked for a moment or two if you press him on the most obvious evidence that he's sick (his headaches, the fact his allergies haven't cleared up in years, the snot on his face, etc), and if you pressed hard enough you'd start to see him get scared. He knows you're right, but there's nothing he can do about it. And then the recognition would be gone again as soon as you stopped talking.

This doesn't work when you bring up his name (Who's Kasper? Never met the guy.) or objects in his surroundings, only symptoms of illness directly observable on/in his body.

[barefoothighlander]

spillways - the boy with the thorn in his side

-simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

-warnings: canon typical violence, descriptions of wounds, angst, mention of scars

-word count: 2.6k

-summary: you and ghost await backup from the safehouse before returning to base and learning more about who ghost is behind his mask.

prev chapter fic masterlist next chapter

a/n: finally some actual conversation between ghost and reader, also I do have a taglist for this fic so pls let me know if you'd like to be added (or removed)

Behind the hatred, there lies

A murderous desire for love.

The two of you spent hours in silence, waiting for the sun to peak over the horizon. Ghost spent all night on watch, refusing any of your attempts to take over claiming you needed rest, and that he was okay. The repeated orders from him to stop pacing were the only thing heard, you were certain the two of you hadn’t been followed but Ghost remained on edge, facing out the front window of the house, keeping watch for any sign of movement outside. Your ear had stopped bleeding, allowing you to properly clean and disinfect it, before bandaging it to the best of your ability, rejoicing in the fact that the wound didn’t seem to affect your hearing in any way. The graze on your cheek was tender, the pink flesh raised where the blood had stopped, you needed to get to the medical unit soon to stop any sort of infection from creeping in.

Once the sun had come up, bathing the terrain in a warm glow, you moved to the front of the house, positioning yourself near Ghost.

“Any word from Price on the comms?” you ask

“None yet, he should be calling in soon.”

You resort to twiddling your thumbs. leaning against the wall.

“Why do you think they came looking for us?” you ask, staring down at your hands.

Ghost turns to face you. “Not sure, could’ve just been doing perimeter checks”

You nod your head once in acknowledgement, satisfied with his answer. You turn to ask him another question but before you can form words, you hear a loud ringing from outside the house, quickly kneeling to look outside you see flares rising into the sky. You turn to Ghost.

“Any chance that’s Price,” you ask, eyebrows furrowing

“No”

Ghost bends down from his position from the window as rounds of bullets crash into the walls of the house, shattering the windows and piercing through the wooden door.

“Move behind the table” Ghost yells to you over all the noise of the outside

You move from your curled-up position on the floor toward the table in the middle of the room, flipping it to provide some sort of cover from the gunfire. Ghost follows closely behind, setting his back against the furniture, reaching for his own gun.

“Did you see how many?” you ask in a mild panic.

“Too many for us to take on” he responds shit

You start to hear the voices of the men outside, yelling orders at each other in Spanish, you can’t make out what they’re saying over the noise. Ghost suddenly kneels and begins firing at everything that moves outside the windows, you quickly follow his actions, doing the same. The two of you manage to kill a handful of men before Ghost stands, advancing to the front of the house to grab his rifle. You spot another man outside in the field but you’re too slow on the draw, he fires his weapon and you watch as Ghost stumbles back 3 steps, before colliding with the wall and sliding toward the ground.

“Shit! LT are you okay?” you yell out, no response. Your body moves faster than your mind, leaving your spot behind the table to cover Ghost. Quickly assessing his wound before turning on your heel and firing another 6 rounds through the window. Your mind freezes as you see another 2 truck fulls of men, unloading and approaching the house. You decide to turn your full attention back to the Lieutenant.

“I need to lift your shirt, please just-”

A deep groan leaves his mouth as you pull his shirt from its tucked position, setting atop his ribs. Angling around his stomach you try to find any sign of an exit wound.

“The bullet’s  still in there, I- I have to get it out” You look up at him

He locks his eyes onto yours, a silent confirmation, before bracing his hands against anything he could grab. Ghost was no stranger to pain, he had spent most of his life enduring it, but that didn’t make facing it any easier. You take a deep breath before using your fingers to fish around in his wound, eyes flicking between his face and the hole. All impending sense of danger is wiped from your mind, all you can focus on is getting the bullet out of his stomach so you can save him.

“Okay- okay I can feel it just, just give me a second” He reaches up to grab your free hand, squeezing it hard enough you were sure he had broken a few fingers.

“Just a second LT, I’ve almost got it” you reassure him, trying your best to stay calm.

“Simon, agh, if I’m gonna bleed out at least use my real name”

“Fuck alright, just hold on- got it” You drop the bullet onto the floor and he releases your hand. Tensing it at the lingering pain of his being in his death grip before applying pressure to his stomach.

“I can’t reach my kit, I need you to push on this,” you tell him 

He turns his head to face you but makes no effort to move his arms, he’s lost too much blood, he’s barely conscious. You curse under your breath, trying to figure out a way to stop his bleeding, while the sound of gunfire is getting louder, you can hear the bullets whizzing by your head.

“Okay, it’s- it's okay Simon,” you say covering his body with yours, trying to stop any more bullets from hitting him. You don’t know what to do, you can’t have another teammate die because you weren't able to help them, tears brim your eyes as Ghost reaches a hand up to hold your cheek, turning your head to face him, he stares at you with heavy eyelids as your tears begin to fall freely, gathering over his gloved hand. You narrow your eyes, silently conveying an I’m sorry. Your eyes close as you hear the men outside about the breach the door of the house when your ears start ringing with the sound of violent winds. You open your eyes to see Simon facing the window, following his line of sight you see a black helicopter emerging from between the mountains. Simon moves his hand from your face to place it on top of yours, holding them against his stomach. You hear rapid, loud gunfire from a distance, forcing yourself further toward his body, trying to shield you both from it.

The noise stops after 2 minutes, as Simon brings his free hand to hold at the back of your head, urging you to move up. His head falls back against the wall as you turn to see someone bursting in through the door.

“Steamin Jesus”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, laughing to yourself, Soap crosses the room the kneel beside the two of you.

“I’ve got a man down, need medevac asap” you hear him say into his comms. You swear at that moment, you could kiss him. Soap grabs his kit and urges you to move so he can wrap Simon's wound, the two of you placing yourself under his shoulders, helping him off the floor as you slowly make your way over to the helicopter.

“How far is evac,” you ask, yelling over the sound of the helicopter blades whirring.

“10 minutes out” Soap responds

“That’s too long, he’s been down for almost 15,” you say, Soap nods, helping you lift Simon into the seat of the copter. 

The ride was quiet, in the silence a lingering fear shared by all of you.  You sat across from Simon, never taking your eyes off him, fearing that the second you did he would stop breathing. As the helicopter touched down on base, Soap helped the medical team get Simon on the stretcher, rushing him to the hospital unit nearby. You stood there, on deck, paralyzed, your mind flashing a hundred different images, the sounds of the base suddenly becoming overwhelming as you heard every buzz, every voice, every clatter. You stood there alone, watching as Simon’s body was pushed through the doors of the building.

“He’ll be okay, it’s the cartel we have to worry about now, they know we’re here”

Price’s voice breaks you from your trance, as you stare at him. Without responding you rush yourself to your room, ripping off your gear and turning your sink on to the highest temperature. You stand there, scrubbing your hands till the skin is red and raw, unsatisfied you turn on the shower and step in, letting the hot water cover your body. You look down and all you see is a stream of crimson, every part of you was covered in blood, and none of it was your own. You brace your arms against the tile wall as your tears begin to fall, violent sobs choking your throat.

You collect yourself before stepping out of the shower into the steam-filled room, the mirror is fogged and the air is thick. Your skin is raw from the heat of the shower as you wrap yourself in a towel and make your way to your closet. Throwing on a pair of pants and a t-shirt, the weather in Mexico was far more humid than what you were used to at home. You glance at yourself in the mirror, your eyes are puffy and red, taking a moment to try to calm your skin down so it wouldn’t appear as though you had just been sobbing. You make your way to the infirmary before being greeted by Soap near the doors.

“You alright lass? Need to get checked out by the doctor?” he asks in a worried tone, quickly scanning your body for any signs of injury.

“I’m alright, just need someone to check out this” you respond, gesturing to the streak of pink on your cheek.

He nods and steps aside to allow you to push through the doors, the room is almost a blinding white, a stark contrast to the dark room you keep yourself in most nights. You glance around trying to find the doctor but they seem to have left. Huffing a breath to yourself you turn on your heel to leave, before catching a glimpse of a large figure, clad in black. He sticks out in this environment, everything crisp and clean, while he lays on the bed, covered in dirt and blood, his skull mask removed so only his balaclava adorns his face. Your feet start moving before you can even think, making your way to his bedside, he’s asleep probably the first rest he’s had in days, but he’s alive. You pull a chair beside his bed, sitting yourself down, elbows braced on your knees. You sit in silence, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, blaming yourself for the position he’s in. You drop your head, nails scratching at the base of your neck.

“It’s my fault, I- I should’ve been quicker, I’m so sorry”

A slight groan pulls your focus toward him, you’re greeted by his dark eyes, weighed down by his lids.

“S’not your fault doll, you did what you could,” he says, there’s an air of sincerity in his whispered tone.

You laugh to yourself, “No, it is my fault. Everywhere I go, people die, not just the ones I catch in my crosshairs but the people who get close to me”

You lean back in your chair, focusing your sight away from him and onto the floor, “This- this darkness, it follows me or something, it’s always there, looming. I can’t outrun it, it’s like it’s chasing me, it has no end” 

He moves his hand to the edge of the bed, palm resting up, eyes gazing at you. You lift your arm and place your hand on top of his and he squeezes it.

“The world is cruel, but it keeps moving,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “You are not dark, or cursed, whatever world this is, we exist in it together”

You furrow your brows at his remark, “You don’t know anything about me, Simon”

“I know who you are. Now you have to figure out who you are” he says, giving your hand another squeeze. You maintain your gaze on him, trying to find any semblance of a lie before the voice of a woman stops your thoughts. Quickly retreating your hand from his hold you stand up as she approaches.

“Okay Lieutenant, you’ll be alright, just need to take it easy for a little and- Sorry? Did you need help with anything” Her train of thought is obstructed when she looks up from her papers at you.

“No, I’m- I mean I just needed someone to check over the marks on my face.” 

“Alright just wait over there I’ll be over in a minute,” she tells you.

You make your way to the other side of the room, setting yourself down in a chair as Ghost's eyes linger on your form, watching you leave his side. The doctor continues talking to him about his condition, but all he can focus on is how empty his hand feels without yours in it, he tenses it trying to shake off the sudden loss of warmth you provided him.

“Sound good?” the doctor asks him

“Yea got it, no fieldwork for a bit”

The doctor nods and turns away to make her way to you. You’re sat in the chair nervously picking at the skin above your nails.

“Okay so,” the doctor says before putting on a pair of gloves and grabbing at your jaw. She turns your head to let it sit closer to the light, examining your cut before pulling your hair away from your ear to give it a look.

“It doesn’t look too bad, it’s shallow so you won’t need stitches, but I’ll give you some cream to try and stop it from scarring.

“No” you say turning to face her. “Let it scar it’s fine”

She takes a beat, “Okay, well, your ear is a little worse off, hearing seems fine but you’re missing a pretty big chunk of flesh, best I can do is bandage it to stop any sort of infection, it’ll have to heal on its own”

You nod, allowing her the space to clean and bandage your cut. You want the scar, you want the reminder of your failure, some sort of physical marker that resembles how you feel inside, torn and ugly. The doctor finishes up and you leave the infirmary, making your way back to your room you sit on your bed, in silence. All you can think about are Ghost's words, I know who you are, how could he. He doesn’t know the first thing about you, you’ve done nothing but ignore his presence for over a year and yet, he’s only shown kindness towards you, you don’t understand why. You skip the evening brief, aware of what will happen the next day when Price eventually corners you, asking you all the things that happened in the safe house, why you missed the team meeting, et cetera. You don’t care, all you care about is Ghost, your actions almost cost him his life, another person almost died, directly by your hand. 

Your brain feels scattered, your anxiety is weighing your body down, you don’t have the energy to move, resorting to laying down in your cot, waiting for sleep to overtake your mind. You just want to stop thinking, about him, about this mission, about your past faults, about every person whose life ended because of you. You close your eyes, urging your body to relax, and after a few minutes it does, you fall asleep, alone, in a room drenched in darkness.

tags: @kerst666 @lialacleaf @thychuvaluswife @lostinsideourminds @lauraliisa @embers-of-alluring @babybooday @revengze

[rapha3liii]

Abigail, Emily & Haley! (part 1 of my bachelorette art!)

these are just my personal headcanons, mostly in line with my fic! the surnames are just ones I chose myself because I think these gals deserve a little more character :) Image descriptions and in-image text/captions are provided below!

Leah, Penny and Maru are next! (will get to the dudes eventually)

Abigail Mercer:

20 years old attending online university for Anthropology

tall compared to most villagers, even taller than her parents!

nose and bridge piercing done in Zuzu city

hearts drawn on with eyeliner

tattoo of thorned rose

Sam's old denim jacket, she cut the sleeves off with craft scissors

Amethyst gem-set sword commissioned from Marlon, her parents still haven't found it...

Silver bangle gifted from her mother

belly button piercing done by Emily in Sebastians basement, she definitely didn't get an infection from it-

sword tattoo inspired by the first sword she held

usually accompanied by her fathers retired leather satchel, holding her flute case and cool rocks she finds

her fishnets are the only thing shes ever bought from Joja Online and her dad is still mad about it

second hand doc-martins because her parents refused to spend that much on shoes (I don't blame em...)

Emily Larson

26 years old and the towns resident tailor

always wearing contacts!

average height

has helix, ear lobe and vertical eyebrow piercings

Always changing her hairstyle and colour, but blue seems to stick for longer than most!

She regularly attends ren-faires all over the republic

made this miniature cape for Zuzu ren-faire and hasn't stopped wearing it since...

hoop earrings and favourite lipstick given to her by her girlfriend, Sandy!

Wears lots of rings

obsessed with lantern sleeves!

always has her Nazar pendant on!

Acrylic nails are done by her younger sister, Haley!

exclusively wears gold jewellery

hand tailored dress and shirt

shoes are bought from a vintage clothes boutique in Grampleton

always wears her favourite ruffled petticoat under skirts

Haley Larson

18 years old and newly graduated from highschool, now a freelance photographer

shorter (and cuter!) than most

always wearing baby blue eyeshadow

shell necklace gifted to her by Alex, her best friend

cute face mole!

always wearing her grandma's bracelet

always using extra blush and face shimmer!

flowery blouse made by her sister, Emily

loves wearing mini-skirts, shorts and low-waist jeans!

regularly posts her landscape photography to her blog, and even won a local competition once!

her fav pleated skirt

loves swimming and paddleboarding in the sea by the beach!

despite graduating top of her class, she has little interest in academia - but loves art

really wants an ankle tattoo of a sea-shell!

cute strap heels she stole from her sisters wardrobe (Emily still hasn't realised yet)

[Image 1 ID: A digital drawing of Abigail from Stardew Valley holding a sword. She's smiling, with dark lipstick and purple eyeshadow, and has small hearts drawn on her cheeks in eyeliner. She has a bridge, nose and belly button piercing and blue eyes. She's wearing a sleeveless denim vest, with a black tank top underneath and black denim shorts with purple fishnets underneath. She has a tattoo of a rose on her upper right arm and another of a sword on her inner left calf. She has pointed black nails and two bangles on her right wrist. She has black platform boots and has a freckles all over her body. Her hair is a vibrant purple in waves reaching her lower back. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 2 ID: A digital drawing of Emily from Stardew Valley pinching her dress in both hands in a bowing like gesture. The left side of her head is shaved while the right has straight, blue shoulder length hair. She has purple eyeshadow, pink lipstick and brown eyes. She also has gold helix piercings, a gold vertical eyebrow piercing and golden hoops in her lobes. She is smirking and looking to the right. She is wearing a layered red dress with a long pleated skirt. It has a white ruffled petticoat underneath. Under her red dress is a pink shirt with lantern style sleeves. She has a corset on over the dress with golden buttons and a miniature cape in dark red clasped to her shoulders. Two necklaces are hanging from under her shirt collar, one golden chain and the other a pendent of a 'Nazar'. She has long sharp purple acrylic nails and multiple rings on both of her hands. She is wearing dark red heels with button clasped straps. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 3 ID: A digital drawing of Haley from Stardew Valley standing casually, smiling, with a tuft of her hair inbetween her fingers in one hand and blue eyes. She has golden blonde hair in waves just reaching her upper back. She has locks of hair over both of her shoulders. She has light blue eyeshadow and bright pink blush and lipstick, she also has a mole on her face just above her lips to the right. She is wearing a low crop blue blouse with short sleeves and a white lined flower pattern on it. She has pink nails and is wearing a necklace of a blue sea-shell with a golden chain and a bracelet with a golden chain and heart pendent. Her left arm is holding her hair while her right arm is crossed over her chest and resting on her other arm. She is wearing a pink pleated mini-skirt and blue heels with small straps around her ankles. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 4 ID: A digital drawing with the three previously described characters all standing in a line. The order is Abigail to the left, Emily in the middle and Haley to the right. Each character has their in-game character sprite by 'ConcernedApe' on the upper left to them. The artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is overlayed in three different places on the drawing. /. End ID]

This my first time ever writing image descriptions so please tell me how I did! I read some other blogs and advice prior to writing my own but I understand its likely I got some things wrong! Please let me know if I've formatted or written something in a way that makes the descriptions innacessible! Thankyou

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 11: Surrogate

thancred searches for release. if only it was so easy.

thancred x hilda, mentions of thancred x wol (pining for her like a fool). set during heavensward patches. written for ffxivwrite2024. rating: explicit tags: explicit sexual content, dissociation during sex, mildly dubious consent, hair pulling, hand jobs, rough body play, piv sex, fantasizing about someone else. 2306 words ao3 link

notes: hw patches are 2 years after arr on aureia's timeline, so thancred is 34 here. aureia looks a lot like hilda. unexpectedly and unintentionally. i have cursed character design choices. weeeee.

Memory is a fickle thing.

There are good memories and bad memories. Memories that bring joy, that lift one up even from the depths of greatest despair. There are memories that ache, stinging like open wounds, refusing to heal. Memories that haunt, full of regrets that cannot be undone. But memory not just defines a person; it makes them who they are. Who are you, if you cannot remember yourself? Actions past, mistakes made, torments suffered, lessons learned…

The sum of a soul is made of memory.

And yet there are times when he can do without it.

These days he doesn’t know himself. A sad, pathetic shadow of the man he once was. No point on dwelling on all that has come to pass since the Bloody Banquet, but his point still stands—he has changed, and not for the better. Try though he might, any attempt to draw himself out of the dark stupor he is trapped in makes no difference.

The best he can do now is distract himself. Drown out the noise. Numb the pain. Forget the memories.

Which brings him to now, and this small, threadbare room tucked away at the back of the Forgotten Knight, stripped of everything but its essentials. The place he goes to drink and fuck when the Scions of the Seventh Dawn don’t require his skills. More of the first these days, less of the second.

His charms weren’t what they were before.

If he even had any to begin with.

Breath in his ear, lips nuzzled against his throat, and the scent of sweat and ale and gunpowder fills his nostrils. Desire stirs in the pit of his stomach as Hilda embraces him from behind, her breasts pressing firmly against his back. Her arm snakes around his waist, holding him firmly in place as she tugs at the laces of his trousers. He stills, a groan lingering on his tongue, and her palm brushes the growing bulge. She’s stronger than she looks at first glance, broad muscles rippling beneath the stiff sleeves of her leather coat. The harsh physique that comes from a childhood spent scrapping for food on the streets. It never quite leaves you, even when adulthood fills you out and access to regular meals are no longer a concern.

He should know. He is this way, too.

A Brume brat and a street urchin from Limsa. Perhaps they have more in common than they thought.

She drags a bruising kiss across his jaw, her other hand threaded in his hair. A tug on his ponytail, sharp but controlled, testing the boundary. “This all right?” she asks, her voice low and wanting.

He closes his eyes, wishing she would get on with it. No sense in a drawn-out seduction when they’re both here for the same thing. “Aye,” he grunts. “When I said do what you will with me tonight, I meant it.”

Husky laughter murmurs across her lips. “Not bad for a grizzled old rogue.”

“I’m not old.” Difficult to remind himself of some days. Thirty-four is not old, and yet some days he feels the weight of those years in duplicate. Perhaps the Lifestream stole his youth along with his aether, the way it stole Y’shtola’s eyesight.

“Older than me.”

Gods above, he’d rather not think about how much.

“But I know you ain’t, I’m just pesterin’ you.” Hilda’s lips brush his ear, her teeth scraping his lobe as she pulls his laces loose. He exhales a ragged breath, stiff, frozen by her touch, a deep aching pulsing inside him as she slips a hand beneath his waistband and caresses his hardened length. “But if you didn’t protest it so much—”

It’s no protest, it’s a… Gods. He doesn’t know. This is the sort of thing Aureia once teased him for, but somehow when it happens with Hilda the joke loses all its appeal.

“—it wouldn’t nearly be so much fun to say.”

“I—”

She pulls his cock free. Cool air passes over his exposed skin, at odds with the rough heat from the friction of her fingers. One stroke, two—his head fuzzes, the fog of arousal flooding his senses. He groans, a flush of embarrassment creeping across his cheeks and down his neck.

He could come right now if he let himself, and it would do him no favours in terms of avoiding the accusations of grizzled age.

So, he closes his eyes and leans back into her, allow her to touch him how she pleases. Her lips across his jaw, her fingers in his hair, her hand on his cock. She works swiftly, coaxing numb desire from him with every stroke, her fingers some paradox of coarse and delicate as she grips him around the tip and squeezes. Pleasure spreads from his core, sensationless and distant, like the faraway buzz he sometimes gets after the fourth or fifth drink while chasing oblivion with yet another one.

He grits his teeth and clamps his mouth shut, strangling the moan in his throat. It’s too soon to be done with this. Hilda would leave and he would only end up seeking it out again, with his own hands if he must. Perhaps that would be better for them both. Save her the shame of being with someone like him. It’s not serious—neither of them ever claimed it to be—and it was admittedly fun when it started. He can’t say it is any longer. She’s young. She can certainly do better than him.

And on his own, he is free to imagine. They both know there is someone he would rather be fucking than her.

Hilda exhales a sharp breath and her hand stills. “Not workin’ for you, eh?” she asks bluntly.

He closes his eyes, his stomach in knots. “It’s good. Wonderful. Nice—”

“Thancred, if you don’t want to, you better tell me.”

He twists, spinning around, and seizes her by the shoulders. She gasps, ruby eyes wide with surprise, but does not protest as he presses a rough kiss to her mouth. “I’m not here for you to play with me,” he growls, gripping her ass. “I’m here for you to fuck me.”

A wicked smile spreads from ear to ear. “Then get on the bed,” she says, pressing a hand to his chest. “Now.”

She shoves him.

He backs away, the old floorboards creaking beneath his steps, and his knees hit the mattress. She’s on him a moment later, sailing into his arms, her mouth hot and urgent against his. He wraps his arms around her as she kisses him, the fog seizing him once again as her tongue slips into his mouth. She pushes him down on the bed and straddles him, thighs pressed tight against his. Her hips roll once and he arches his back, a moan ripping free from his throat.  

“There we are,” she says, eyes dancing eagerly. Panting, she brushes her long, dark hair out of the way and strips off her jacket, tossing it on the floor. Her shirt follows next. He stares dumbly, entranced, the fog clouding his mind as she doubles over and undoes her own trousers, her arms pushing her breasts together. “This doin’ it for you now, then, eh?”

A flash of black hair, the ends tinged red. Ruby eyes, curious and fierce. The hint of a small smile, the one she saved for him—he hasn’t seen it since Ul’dah. He may never again.

It isn’t Hilda’s fault that she and Aureia look so much alike. What hellish coincidence did Halone have to design to ensure that the two most infamous half-Elezen women in Ishgard would not only resemble each other so closely, but become best of friends?

He swallows. “Aye,” he says, the syllable slurred as he forces it past his tongue. “Aye, it is.”

She peels her trousers down and grinds against him, the slick heat between her legs achingly hot. She bucks her hips again in that quick, succinct way that gets him panting, and flips her long hair over her shoulder. “What else does it for you, hm?” she asks, stretching her hands above her head and arching her back to give him a good view.

His gut twists and he bites his tongue. There is someone he would much rather have on top of him. It feels wrong—dirty, callous, shameful—how easily it is to imagine what she would look like. A fantasy he can barely admit to himself.

Stop it. Get that out of your head.  

“That…” He sighs and closes his eyes. “Aye.”

She stills. “You ain’t even lookin’.”

He opens his eyes. “I did. I am.”

Her hands flops to her sides and she cocks her head, making a face. “What do you want, then? This ain’t exactly the best time for a list of suggestions, but if you want ‘em, I have ‘em. Otherwise, I’m startin’ to feel that you would rather not—”

“I do.”

“You keep sayin’ that, but Thancred, I can tell you’re not all the way here.”

His jaw clenches. He lies back, staring at the sloped roof, the exposed beams. The unlit hearth, blackened and oily and cold as ice. The mattress sags beneath their weight, the bedframe creaking, the bedspread thin and scratchy. How many times have they found themselves in this room, him and her? How many times has he wished it was someone else?

“I’m here,” he says at last. “I… my apologies. There have been many distractions of late. Many concerns.”

“Yeah, I’m sure about that, Scion business and all. I get the same shit from Aureia.” She pauses, her ruby gaze lingering on him. “I don’t want your apologies. Too formal for my liking. Do you want to fuck or not?”

He hesitates. For a brief moment, the ghost of no, I don’t lingers on his tongue. But he can’t say it. His body is aching, he is craving the haze of bliss, the few passing seconds where time stretches out and for once he does not have to godsdamn think. So he does want this (does he?) after all.

Even if it’s not with her.

He pushes himself up on his elbows and kisses her, quick and rough. “Aye,” he murmurs. “What must I do to convince you of it?”

She smirks and trails her fingers across his cheek. “Nothin’,” she says. “I rather like the look of you flat on your back.”

He grins. Hollow, empty, but present.

She presses her mouth to his—breath hot in his mouth, teeth scraping his lower lip—and pushes him down. He falls, willingly, easily, eager to drift. When the unspoken presence of someone neither of them wish to mention isn’t bearing down on them, sex with Hilda is easy. Uncomplicated. She enjoys being in control.

He enjoys allowing someone else to make the decisions.

The fog tugs at his mind, lulling him to numbness even as Hilda takes his cock in hand and slips it inside her. The slick heat sends a pleasant shudder down his spine and he grips the bedspread, twisting it between her fingers as she slowly rides him. He does his best to watch her, keep eye contact, groan and moan at the right time. Her hips roll and his own respond in kind, thrusting up into her with a steady, simple rhythm.

He trusts his body to do what it must, chase the high it yearns for. Maybe then his mind can catch a fucking break.

Hilda lolls her head, her long, dark hair sweeping over her like a curtain. Her gaze darts across the room to the window, observing the shift in light. She slips a hand between her legs and strokes her clit, her lips pressed together as if she were listening to a boring sermon. She shudders when she reaches her climax, the clench sending a desperate spike of arousal coursing through him. He gasps, back arched, and lets go of his release at last.

The sweet nothingness of numb pleasure seizes his mind and for a moment, he coasts on emptiness. Nothing to think. Nothing to feel.

Simply nothing.

Boots scrape against the floorboards. A heavy thud knocks against the bedframe. When his mind finally clears, he finds himself still lying flat on his back, his lower half exposed, his cock flushed and limp and numb. Hilda stands at the foot of the bed, dressed and pulling on her jacket. She casts an eye in his direction and finishes doing up her buttons.

“Sun’s goin’ down.” Her voice is short, clipped, matter of fact. She pulls her hair into its customary high tail. “Best be goin’ now. Said I’d meet Stephanivien. Best avoid him sendin’ out a search party, that would be a whole load of embarrassing neither of us need.”

“Hilda.”

She pauses, a hand on the bedframe. “Don’t need say anythin’,” she says. “I know how these things go. But I think… You need help. Whatever it is you’re going through, I don’t… I can’t be the one responsible for it.”

The words sting. “I don’t need anything,” he grunts, pushing himself up. “Let alone help. I don’t know what you think this is, but sometimes it’s no more complicated than two people having fun.”

She snorts and hoists her rifle, strapping it across her back. “That’s just it, ain’t it? I was havin’ fun. Don’t know about you.”

“I—”

“Remember what I said when we started all this?”

Don’t mistake me for her. Because I’m not.

“I think you need to think about that a little more. Goodbye, Thancred.”

Footsteps on creaking floorboards. A door slammed closed.

He lies on the stiff old bed and stares at the stiff old beams and at last his mind goes blank.

[sunnynwanda]

True enemy

Part 2

Warning: violent death. Not exactly detailed, but if you think this could trigger you, please do not interact.

                                                         ***

Handcuffs click around Villain's wrists, restricting their movement. It would take them exactly 49 seconds to free themselves.

Unfortunately, this city's Hero is far too naive to know that.

Fortunately, Villain likes them too much to let them know they've been playing along since day one.

They try to bite down a fond smile as they watch Hero retrieve the civilians from the balcony. Villain didn't cause much damage since the aim was to scare a few wannabe criminals. No one else was allowed to be evil in their city. Not on Villain's watch. Of course, it wasn't always like that. When Villain first moved to this city, it was perfectly deranged. After taking control over everything underground, Villain was ready to enjoy their reign.

Then came Hero. With stars in their eyes and windswept unruly curls. They landed on a sunlit rooftop and directly into Villain's soul. They felt like they got struck by lightning. Nothing's ever felt quite like that. Suddenly, they were aware of the beating of their heart and the way it would skip a bit every time Hero appeared in front of them.

In two weeks, there was no crime in the city and no criminals on the streets, all of them either in jail or too scared to act out. Apart from one, of course. Villain did everything in their power and beyond to be the only rival Hero ever meets. Part of them knew it was egotistic, but nothing compared to the rush they got every time Hero cornered them, pressing them up against a wall, handcuffing and sending them to jail so Villain could escape again.

"Same time next week?" Hero asks before handing them over to the officers. Sometimes Villain wondered if Hero looked forward to their interactions as much as they did. The security of the jail was questionable too.

"What are you so happy about?" One of the officers asks, pulling them up. Villain hadn't realised a smile had plastered itself on their otherwise stern face. "Why bother running away from prison if you're gonna end up losing either way?"

How has no one figured this out yet? They want to say but shrug instead, standing up to be escorted to the patrol car. They bend their head to get in, when a loud thud draws their attention to the spot of someone's landing. The figure gets up, their presence menacing and too familiar. Villain straightens, exhaling sharply. Oh no.

The person looks around, pinpointing first their location, then their hero's. They wink at Villain, and then their eyes land back on Hero. Villain can feel their blood rushing to their head. No.

Hero charges at them without a question. With ears ringing in panic, Villain struggles against their handcuffs.

"Hey, stand still," the officer commands, too shocked to even look at their captive.

"Set me free," Villain demands through gritted teeth. Their brain refuses to cooperate as they watch Hero attempting to battle a rival far too strong for them. Far too strong for any hero.

"Yeah, right. Hero's busy as is. I'm not adding you to the mess." Though Hero's not busy, they're struggling. And that isn't even half of what their opponent is capable of.

"That's why you need to set me free," Villain pleads, terror lacing their voice. "Hero can't handle him."

"Hero has defeated you how many times?" The police officer finally turns their attention to Villain, laughing darkly. "And you can?"

Villain shakes their head, trying to focus and stop shaking. "Yes. Fuck, free my hands already."

Their plea is ignored. Hero's body flies across the sky, smashing a window and landing into a skyscraper. They groan, forcing themselves up.

"Stay down! Stay fucking down." Villain screams, finally getting their composure back. They melt the handcuffs right off their hands in less than 10 seconds, rage and desperation fueling their powers.

The officers reach for their guns, but Villain is up in the air before they can even react. Villain lands in front of the attacker, blocking his way to Hero, who is clutching their ribs and wheezing through every breath.

"You should battle someone more suited to you," they snarl. A smile is the only response they get as the old supervillain circles them.

"And who is that supposed to be? You?" he asks, stopping Hero's attempted attack with a slight movement of one hand. "I've heard otherwise."

to be continued...

Part 2

Masterlist

[lotuslovers]

'The Weeknd' // E.Y Pt. 2

Pairing : female!reader x Eren Yeager, background angst jean kirstein x reader(bashing for the sake of the plot) 

w.c: 3.2k 

Summary : Caught up in a world of money, fame, girls, and lies as the man of your dreams is ripped away from you in an unexpected cheating scandal. In response, you make a move with another high profile artist but unexpectedly it becomes a bit more than you bargained for when feelings for the brunette become unearthed. Modern fame AU/Fake dating AU

Trigger warnings: none

pt 1 | pt 2

Saturdays were what you called ‘reserved days’. If you weren’t working or coming back from a long drive from your parent’s house, you were curled up with blankets and snacks binge watching your favorite tv shows and hiding away from your friends. The truth was that in the past two months, you began to throw yourself into working far more hours. Taking on clients on the weekends, even those clients who managed to get on nerves simply because they kept coming even though they refused treatment. Many claimed they were in perfect condition, despite the pain they all held.

These reserved days became far too frequent once you began working far too many hours each week. Your boss, a little older lady named Elma, had waved you off when you asked to take on an additional shift on Saturdays and Sundays. Leaving you to pile yourself up in your apartment, the small room you had managed to get a week after news of Jean’s infidelity had leaked to the public. The apartment wasn’t much, but until you and Jean could sell your joint house, you were stuck dealing with the mess that was the Southern California housing market.

Sasha had decided to crash at your house last night, sleeping on the coach after you both came back from an all night street food fair and outdoor carnival set up. She sat beside you as the tv played the newest episode that was released from your favorite reality show, you hummed watching as Miley, your favorite cast member, began to pace hearing Hannah expose a detail about the new addition that was just brought into the show two episodes ago. “oh my god” you mumbled, connecting the dots of an attempted sabotage against Miley. The guy had known her before the show had started, she hadn’t met him before. A flashback began to play of him with another guy speaking briefly what looked like away from the filming crew.

A light buzzing noise interrupted your concentration, coming from the coffee table in front of you. Ignoring it you kept watching, reaching to grab the bag of baked chips from the table as Sasha shot you a weird look. The buzzing died out momentarily before it began again, ringing and drawing both of your attention as you refused to look down at the screen of your phone. “Y/n, are you going to answer that? Sasha said from across the living room, lounging on the large loveseat you had claimed before the move. As your phone lays lighting up non stop on top of the glass table. Glancing at you she reached over toward the table annoyed and sighing loudly, grabbing the remote and then tossing the phone in your direction as she hit the pause button. Even though you knew to expect it, the name “Mallory” on your screen still unnerved you. Pouting towards the screen, “It’s my manager, one sec” you said whilst bringing the phone up to your ear and answering the call.

“Hey, what’s up?” you spoke nervously. “y/l/n have you seen my texts?” She paused and you just knew she had rolled her eyes since she was used to you dragging your feet during any type of media campaign. “Well, I have been trying to reach you. Did you see anything I sent over? I have some serious updates on Yeager and our rollout.” “Oh” you mumbled confused on how you had missed the media finally covering the story with Eren. It surely hadn’t been too long but you missed any new trends on your platforms. Nearly a week had already passed since the night of the party, the photos you took earlier in the night were already posted, some twitter and instagram blog accounts had began spreading rumors of you being spotted with another man, and a blurry photo from far away that Sasha had taken was leaked by a few big accounts. Lots of people began speculating since the rumors were true when the image had confirmed it. The photo had shown you shyly tilting your head back while looking over your shoulder, clearly giggling as a taller male stood with his hands around your waist with his head hidden behind you in the darkness. The outline of his eyes barely being made out behind the brown hair and the small amount of light. The photo had gone around already two days ago, even close friends of your ex had reached out asking about it nonstop, wanting to know who it was. Connie, even if a friend of both of you, began to pester Sasha too. Blogs ran with the photos, youtube channels included you in their weekly drama recaps, and your dm’s were all filled asking the same questions. Who were you with that night? Had you gotten over the messy breakup?

Both you and Eren’s manager had made it clear to both of their clients that the role needed to be followed without any interference or changes to make it a successful campaign, we both knew it was said mainly meant for Jaeger to follow. Zeke and Mallory had brainstormed, basing the rollout on the idea of an image of an unknown man being pictured with you leaked to blogs, which began to trend for a few days to stir up some controversy before the eventual dropping a photo with Eren’s face in it. Between both of them, they agreed the timing just had to be perfect to get through a suitable “hard launch” and we(Eren) couldn’t get in the way of the rollout. His social media privileges were limited after his last few controversies online.

“So you won’t believe it,” she cheerily said as her tone entirely changed directions, “me and Zeke had planned to leak the final photo with Eren in the next few days after a potential soft launch story, you know a story of roses or a cropped photo of the two of you sat at a restaurant, and yada yada. Well so we decided to risk an early release, an account called dion.alise is run by this well known blogger who has a small but loyal group of followers” she said. “okay so, she’s known for her celebrity gossip and ‘insider’s appeal’ since she is a makeup artist and hairstylist for major award ceremonies-” she paused as you hummed along letting her continue the usual debrief. “Anyways, not only did she leak the photos a little over an hour ago but right after the post she found someone at the party who had taken more photos but from another time that night. Go look at what I sent to your phone. It's the very first link.”

Moving to follow her instructions, you tapped to place her on speaker phone and scrolled through notifications to open the bubble of what she sent to you. Scrolling up past a dozen links until you go to the first one from today, noisily Sasha saw and moved over to the nearest cushion as you clicked on the link. Mallory began talking again as you sat still looking over the post displayed on your phone, “The rollout is going to look a hundred times more organic, just look how grainy the photos are but we can still tell who’s in it”. Sasha hummed next to you as she pulled out her phone, shooting you a look when you stopped attempting to respond to your manager's voice. Looking at the photos under the title: “EXCLUSIVE: Y/L L/N AND EREN YEAGER TOGETHER, MYSTERY MAN CONFIRMED?” One image of you looking over at Eren from the beginning of the night as you led him outside to speak and the next few were far away photos of the two of you outside on the porch barely seen with the dimly lit patio. Through most of the photos it was clear who was there, the dress you wore had lamented in was you as the profile of you left no question. ‘Ren, wasn’t hard to recognize. There was an aura around him, the way he looked at you, pointedly but his face was not obscured by bad lighting or his hair. The recognizable smirk smile he wore and the black ink that barely peaked out from his sleeves left no questions. The tattoo you failed to recognize that night started mockingly back at you. There was no room to lie about who was there anymore and you were unsure if you were glad or annoyed with that fact.

But seeing the post made whatever you had with Yeager feel a million times more official, even if it was for the publicity you could not deny the warmth that flushed through your cheeks as you looked at the photos and how later that night you would end up making out in his car. Glancing back up, Sasha moved slowly to reach down to your screen, swiping and zooming between the photos. A brief guilty feeling coursed through you looking at her, even though she was your closest friend you decided not to tell her about the new “relationship” between you and the singer. Had she taken this photo? Had she known about the car ride and ‘Ren? Mallory repeated something but it was unclear if she said something to someone else in the office. I thought I heard my name but I was focused on the girl beside me. Whispering away from the phone, “Was that you and Niccollo?” You turned fully to the left, she shook her head. “Of course not-” cutting herself off as my manager interrupted. Should that have been a relief? Or a weight on my chest that I decided to keep those moments to myself.

“Please tell me you have looked through the comments and your analytics” she asked excitedly as if looking through new stacks of data. A new notification popped at the top of your screen alerting you to an image she sent you. Scrolling down to screenshots of the trend in profile visits from today on your instagram. “There’s a lot of opinions on the pair of you but overall it’s a lot of positive receptions, honestly far more than what Zeke expected especially for his brother.” “Look into his music, his most recent releases just began trending higher on the charts and the music category on both Spotify and Youtube for his music videos. Don’t even get me started on the reposts from the blogs and them eating the situation up. Your follower count has gone up within the hour and I got a text from Jaeger’s manager that not only are his streams going up but he has had a new influx of followers.” Her smile was heard through the phone as some confusing thoughts filled your mind. Were you and him official? What were you supposed to say if anyone confronted you in person? The last week’s endless conversations with Mallory should have told you how you react but you were unsure you wanted to voice anything when you hadn’t known any clarity between him and you.

“Hey Mallory” Sasha chimed in from beside you, “I’m here with her and she’s super excited on the rollout. Sorry we’re busy at the moment, we can’t chat for too much but thank you for the update.” I began to move to stand up and give Sasha a grateful smile, “yeah thank you so much, sorry for the late reply I have been in the middle of a lot since its my day off.”

“Oh no worries, I just needed to update you on the recent developments. I’ll text you any new information, take care okay babes?” she said before we said our goodbyes to end the call.

The red button clicked as silence filled the room, I paced around and looked at the tv show paused on the screen and I no longer wanted to watch it. My life was beginning to feel like another episode that was poorly thrown together. “What are you thinking? I can hear you angrily pace around” she said, frowning from the couch.

The hardwood floor felt cool beneath my socks, the small sounds of the air conditioning running brought my focus back and away from the loud flow of blood pumping to my head. I was angry right? Not at the media rollout, I was supposed to be angry at Jean? Any thoughts of him had made me shrivel up and scowl. I had felt anger at him, I wanted him to feel humiliated knowing I was moving on and especially with his old friend. But now, I wasn’t angry or focusing on him. The small anger I felt rise in me was a small tide of unease, a fear and a dislike of what was to be expected now? I felt so serious and committed to exploring being single and Eren made me feel more committed than any label had. He wanted me, was interested in and had liked me for years before I was living such a stable life. I hated to admit it but I was afraid, we weren't even really dating. The comments and reactions are from others who don’t know the amount of nights I cried in the last week wishing I wasted five years with someone who loved me and not Jean. A part of me felt an immense guilt that ‘Ren could only “have” me now that Jean had hurt me. He still controlled me after the break up, the night with Eren I felt like relieved of the burden. I felt like someone truly cared for me and I felt like I had a choice. I chose him, just like he always had. When we younger and even know. The glances from years ago and claims from friends that he was interested finally made sense, Jean's possessiveness when in front of him made sense. Part of my felt unworthy of his interest, I wanted a shot at love with someone I wanted. Yeager was that but it felt off in front of the eyes of thousands.

“I don’t even know. I think I’m so overwhelmed thinking about everything that has happened these past months that this is stressing me out so much” I finally broke the silence, ignoring the tidal wave that was begging for me to release. I turned and moved to sit back down, grabbing the remote to push play and hopefully allow Sasha to be distracted to not question me further. By the look she gave me I knew it did not distract her but she chose to not bring it up.

-

Hours later, Sasha had needed to head home and take care of her dogs while Niccollo got ready for his shift.

Around Midday I ate lunch, checked my emails, responded to a few texts from both managers, and spent some brief time scrolling slowly through the trending topics online. Easing myself through slow scrolls past the brief mentions of myself, after a while I kept seeing Jean’s name in the conversation and it turned my stomach. A feeling tugged at my mind the entire day, I wanted to know how Eren had felt. His name was trending, but so had far more negative news on his past issues with Jean and it felt inappropriate for me to reach out when I felt like I was hurting his image. In some reactions I was called the issue, who “quickly” moved on from her ex and purposefully got together with someone he publicly had issues with. It was true in a sense, but I hoped the news would impact my ex far more negatively.

I fidgeted, hovering my finger above the call button on his contact before my screen flashed. An incoming call from lit up, the name “Ren” taunted me. I urged myself to at least wait ten seconds to not seem too eager, clicking accept I said, “Hey” I said. “Hey,” his voice rang out loudly, “I wanted to talk to you. I haven’t had the chance all day but I’m hoping you’re free now”

“Yeah I am, its my off day today" I said. “Okay great, I had Zeke over when the blog posts dropped.” “Oh”

“Yeah, I wanted to see how you’re dealing with it,” he spoke. “I never really saw you as the type to be use to all this coverage. I told him we might want to wait a few more days-” I hurried to interrupt him. “It's okay ‘Ren", his nickname easily slipped out. “I know you mean well but I’m sure your brother told you they need to stick to the schedule” I spoke.

“well- yeah but if you needed the time it could all wait” he spoke earnestly, his side of the call was quiet and it surprised me. I never thought about how his life must have looked daily but I imagined he was in his own apartment. Sitting on his couch, maybe petting his dog or watching a game muted while listening to the sounds of the phone held to his ear. I imagined as I look around my own living room.

“Thank you, I know but we already agreed and they know what they are doing. We can’t really argue with Mallory or Zeke since it’s started.”

“I guess you’re right but let me know if it's too much, yeah?”

“Yeah, I will” I agreed.

“Good, I also called since I wanted to ask are you busy tonight?” he shyly asked, “because if you are I totally understand but um-” I listened feeling the heat hit my cheeks. “Do you want to go out tonight? Maybe get something to eat. Or we could stay in, you can come to mine and I’ll order food or something.” He rushed out the last words.

“Would it be okay if you came over to mine and we could eat in?”

“YEAH, yeah” he repeated a little in disbelief. “Does Thai food sound good? I can send you a link to a place's menu and pick some up later”

“That’s perfect, I’ll send my address” I said.

“Great- can I come over around 5?”

“Sure, but ren,” “Yeah?” he said hesitantly. “This isn’t a date, you’ll have to actually ask me out on a date” “

So we’re already planning second dates now?” he teasingly said.

“No, just making sure I make you know just because the internet says you 're together doesn’t mean you don’t have to put some effort in. If this is going to work, I want this to be slow but serious” I said.

“Trust me, I want to see how this goes but I also want you to want me” he said. ‘So did I’ is all I could think. “I know Eren,” I said “I’ll see you later and we can talk more later yeah?”

“Yup, I will text you when I’m on the way”

As I got off the phone, I went to tidy around the house before I could even prepare to get ready. Checking and double checking that everything was nice and neat. The nerves hit me despite knowing Eren would not judge my tiny slightly shambled home. A bell chimed from my phone, turning around as I looked around the room before spotting the small device. I found it innocently looking up again from the coffee table, this time the message wasn’t from Mallory or perhaps Eren saying he was headed over. One word,

Jean: hey

[sariahsue]

Let Me Count the Ways

Chapter Sixteen - The Kiss

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15]

Antomologist had seen where they landed, which meant they had only a few moments to think of their next move, and all Chat Noir could do was stand frozen where he was, every thought on hold. 

Ladybug still had her arms wrapped around him. 

Even though both his feet were firmly planted, he clung to her for balance. Her breaths came quickly, matching his own. They were chest to chest and moving closer. His heartbeat drummed in his ears. 

“Why?” he rasped, then tried again. “Why did you do that?” He wasn’t going to make this weird for her, no matter what fantasies the secluded setting and their position inspired. He removed his hands from her hips and forced them to stay at his sides, imagining they were pinned there.

And Ladybug still held him. “What?”

“He was distracted. You could have snuck up behind him instead of rescuing me. You should have. Why didn’t you?”

Her hands slid away from his waist only to find his shoulders, like suddenly she was the one who needed help staying upright. “Because… because…” She looked away, biting her lip. (He tried not to stare. Stop it stop it.) “You probably want some flowery speech. You deserve one. But I–” Her hands slid up to his neck, brushing the hairs on his nape, raising goosebumps. He closed his eyes against her proximity. It didn’t help, so he pushed his palms flat against his legs to keep them from trembling. Don’t react.

She stepped forward, drawing him in until she was all he could feel. Her arms, her hands, her chest, her stomach. Her soft breath against his lips.

“But I’m so bad with words!” 

Her mouth pressed against his, hot and hard, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, the only movement he trusted himself to make. Don’t. Don’t react!

Because she’d said so many times that she did want him. Someone else held her heart. She must not have meant it the way he wanted her to. And because he would ruin something. 

Don’t!

One hand left his hair to cradle and stroke his cheek. Cherished. He’d never felt cherished before now. He swallowed a whimper.

DON’T!

Closed eyes blocked out her face, but they couldn’t block out her. How good she felt. How badly he wanted to kiss her back. 

He opened his eyes again, hoping sight would somehow make it easier to hold still, but all he could see was her. His hands had become unpinned and were hovering, longing to hold her, refusing the order to retreat. 

When she lightly scratched the back of his head, he thought knees would give out. Or maybe his willpower. How long had he stood frozen like this? Half a second? A whole second? 

How much longer could he last against her? 

What would happen if he sank into her, held her, kissed her back with every ounce of feeling for her he had bottled up for years?

His hands ghosted over her, so close he swore he could feel her warmth through his gloves. What if he tilted his head to match her? 

Her eyes snapped open. She jerked backward, pushing herself into the wall of their hiding spot and covering her mouth with both hands. 

They stared at each other. 

“Why?” he asked, though he wasn’t really sure if the question was why she kissed him or why she stopped. Nothing was making sense.

“I’m so sorry,” she said between her fingers. “I’m so, so sorry.” Her hands slid up her face to cover her cheeks, but not her eyes. She hadn’t blinked since she’d opened them. 

“Sorry?”

“I thought you wanted– That you were– I read all the signals wrong, didn’t I?”

A shadow passed over the opening of their tree hollow, plunging them into twilight. But his back was to it, his focus on Ladybug. He watched as her eyes followed the movement outside, and then as she put her hands on hips. When she looked back to him, she’d pasted a forced smile onto her face. “Wow, this is so embarrassing! I thought you had fallen in love with me again. Isn’t that funny?” Her smile got wider. More manic.

“That’s not–”

“I get it.” She shrugged her shoulders, and threw up her hands too, for the emphasis. Or maybe because of her nervous energy, he wasn’t sure. She wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. “I’m four years too late and making you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes flicked to his during her apology, then found the wall again. 

“Ladybug,” he said, taking a step forward. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m really sorry. That was awful of me!” She threw her arms wide. Definitely nervous energy. 

His own feelings were muted. Shocked. Or maybe they were so big he couldn’t feel the edges of them to be able to figure out what they were. It was so much easier to focus on someone else.

“I promise it won’t happen again,” she continued.

At least he could tell how he felt about that statement. He shook his head. 

But before he could verbally protest, another voice, loud and echoing, shook through their tree hollow. “There you are!” 

The shadow passed over them again, and this time Chat Noir did turn. One of Antomologist’s large arms blocked all but a small sliver of light at the bottom of the opening. A shudder knocked both of them to their knees, and then he was flung sideways against the splintering wood as the tree was uprooted and shaken. 

The giant red arm moved, and Chat Noir and Ladybug tumbled out. The ground rushed up to meet them.

---

Author's note: Let’s play a game! It’s called “Guess What The Author Titled the Next Chapter.” :D

Tag list: @clawsout83 @trippingovermyfeet @tbehartoo @yoonjae20 @random-cartoon-fangirl @jasvalka

[denzartriste]

Hi denz do you have any set designs for any of the other characters in you pirate AU? (I Might need ideas for art mayhaps :D) like you can choose any character or characters you want

I also just liked seeing your thoughts about technos design bc it made more sense to me when then reading the newest chapter

Hi Ýr! I actually do, and also've drawn up some designs (Ranboo especially, since i needed a visual refrence for their entire. Situation.) The top two drawings are a bit older since i did them a while ago, but i still think its accurate?

The bottom one was the first of the new drawings i did, and i think its a bit obvious but that's fine. Gonna just point things out because i think that's the best way to explain :D Also trying not to delve too too much into spoilers but it will be tricky.

The before thing is referencing mainly when Ranboo met Tommy and Tubbo, it's after the boat crashing. Shaded parts are white, because ranboo scars white, and the mouth scars are placed where the jaw connects to the rest of the head. He also has ones on their tear ducks, thats what the scar lines near the eyes are. The top before drawing (the side profile one) has ranboo's braid still in, but thats technicly wrong because while Ranboo had their braid in when they met Tommy and Tubbo, they never tied it again. No reason to that, Ranboo just didnt feel a need to do it.

Their braid is tied on the right

The now drawings include the bandage, cause Ranboo doesnt really want to show his scars (bandage is tricky to do himself, but he can do it and usually does. There is a Reason in chapter 2 Ranboo asks tommy specificly to help him re-bandage his face.)

Last thing about them cause i know this is getting rambly (fully aware no one minds, but also i am trying to be clear and FAILING) : Ranboo has pointed ears. This is not a normal thing. Techno doesnt mention it because he choses not to notice it, but it felt impoprtant to mention since im talking about Ranboo's design.

Little baby tommy zoom in (i doodled it so small lmao sorry bout the pixels)

I just felt like drawing him very little and young. The scar is face paint wow i wonder if its familiar i wonder if thats like, a hint to something who knowsssss :) (Also it might just be mud actually, not face paint. He put mud right next to his eye and he thought it looked SO cool)

Also, pigtails. That was important. He has pigtails. In my heart it matters, fem tommy for the win he deserves to have longer hair

ALSO. The full body is inacurate, but it would be spoilers to do an accurate kid tommy so i sadly can't. When it's revealed i will as a little sorry (and also cause i REALLY wanna draw it but shhh thats not important) (it might also be related to why Ranboo asked Tommy to help him with his bandages. But i refuse to give away more than that)

Last but not least, Tubbo!!!!

He is NOT bald i just didnt want to draw more, so i took an screeshot of and older drawing of his scar because i think that's important. His eye droops and his face is a bit messed up, he also can't hear out of his left ear (obviously) but his other ear isnt that good at hearing either. Tubbo's been around cannons since he was too little to understand that, hey, maybe covering your ears will be helpful in the long run. But he was little and no one ever told him. He figured it out now, but his reflex is more of 'tense and stay very still' instead of 'cover your ears and duck'

He also tends to wear heavy outfits. Like, a big jacket and big boots and just clothes that are so puffy that they give him a round silhouette if that makes sense

[somethin-human]

I realized I’ve never actually drawn Damien yet lol

Damien headcanons!

He’s half Asian, half white

He used to be super nervous about his scars after the inversion but afterwards with talking to a therapist, he actually thinks they’re super badass

(I wasn’t entirely sure how to draw this without making his design look weird but I’ll make an updated version whenever I can) Literally right after his powers burned out while he was fighting the shades, his hands because like badly burned. After, the burns healed and now his hands have full on scars on them with this really weird texture to them.

Again, he feels super nervous his burn scars and he still does, but Huxley will just take his hands and feel the texture of them bc he says it feels nice. It makes Damien a little less self conscious about them, but he still doesn’t like them.

He keeps everything that his friends make for him (example: The rock from Huxley that he turned into a necklace, the bracelet Freelancer made him.)

He definitely has tried dying his hair (without bleach for some reason) but his hair is way too dark so nothing shows up unless it’s in the sunlight.

His favorite physicality about himself is his little freckles and beauty marks.

He truly believes that it’s a good day if his hair looks alright.

Little singular black earring (because he lost the other one and he’s still looking for it. Everyone tells him to just buy a new set but he swears he knows where he put it.)

Huxley is obsessed with plants but Damien isn’t as fond of them because of his allergies. He does have a small pot of flowers that Huxley gave to him as a “test plant” (before they started dating) and he’s managed to keep it alive til this day. (He says he would feel really bad if they died because it was a gift from Huxley.)

He religiously plays Mario Kart just to be better than everyone in the friend group the next time they play.

Lactose intolerant, like severely, but he still will eat velveeta shells and cheese out of spite even if it means shitting for 2 hours straight.

Gavin ironically gifted him a big gulp cup from 7/11 as a secret Santa gift. He refused to get rid of it because it was a gift but he also refuses to use it so he just keeps it in the back of the cup cabinet.

All his life was spent trying to make his mom proud but after she was being super homophobic to him, he had an identity crisis for like a month.

Probably a Sagittarius or Aries

He tries to be a minimalist but Huxley’s a maximalist so it’s kind of hard lmao

[umbracirrus]

WIP... Saturday? 💛

After a busy few days, and spending yesterday baking, I've finally managed to get around to posting some works in progress....

I haven't done any writing over this past week or so, but have done some drawings - a continuation of the set of drawings of my Elder Scrolls OCs that I started over last weekend. As with then, these still need a bit more refining and colouring, though I'm not doing that until I've got a sketch for each of my OCs done.

This time it is two more of my Dragonborn, Iduna and Siriane, and I'll give more details about them under the read more.

Tagged by @thequeenofthewinter and @your-talos-is-problematic 😊

Iduna

Iduna is a former Vigilant of Stendarr who ended up a vampire following an incident which involved daedra worshippers and vampires. She doesn't remember much of what happened after getting rendered immobile and barely conscious early on in the fight, with there being only three things which she managed to cling onto - the screams of her fellow vigilants as they were killed, feeling something sharp, and the cold. When she came to after, she awoke to the aftermath of a bloodbath, covered head to toe in wounds... and without her humanity. She attempted to return to the Hall of the Vigilants for help, but instead was almost killed by those she thought her friends and allies.

For over a year she roamed Skyrim endlessly, seeking a cure to her condition, the only thing keeping her going being her prayers to Stendarr as she clung onto her battered and broken amulet. Begrudgingly, she found herself in Helgen on the day that Alduin attacked.... and that then pushed her onto the path of the Dragonborn.

But it's a path that she refuses to return to until her personal dilemma is solved. Luckily, she has a four-legged friend with her, and word just caught her ears of the Dawnguard... who may very well be her last hope in being mortal once more, and possibly even in tracking down those who took her mortality away from her in the first place.

Siriane

Siriane, who I believe is my only Altmer OC and Dragonborn off the top of my head, doesn't have much of a story beyond a few points:

She lives in Markarth, and for two reasons:

1 - she loves the dwemer architecture 2 - it's in close vicinity to Sky Haven Temple, as she is hoping that the Blades will be an asset on her quest to defeat Alduin.

She does not like the Thalmor or what they stand for

Yet she has an attraction to Ondolemar - purely physical attraction mind you, because the whole being a Thalmor Justiciar thing is what stops her in her tracks whenever she sees him and thinks about striking up a conversation.

And she considers Vorstag a close - if not her best - friend/drinking buddy/companion when going out and about to kill bandits and dragons and everything inbetween.

[theprayerfulword]

November 10

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.

Colossians 3:16 Let the message about Christ, in all its richness, fill your lives. Teach and counsel each other with all the wisdom He gives. Sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs to God with thankful hearts.

Philippians 4:6 Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.

Deuteronomy 15:11 For the poor shall never cease out of the land: therefore I command thee, saying, Thou shalt open thine hand wide unto thy brother, to thy poor, and to thy needy, in thy land.

Luke 6:38 Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.

1 Peter 3:10-12 Let him who means to love life and see good days refrain his tongue from evil and his lips from speaking guile. And let him turn away from evil and do good; let him seek peace and pursue it. For the eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous, and His ears attend to their prayer…

May you understand beforehand, and realize prior to the occurrence, that the time of testing will surely come, and it will come upon the righteous and unrighteous alike, causing every heart to melt and every hand go limp, every spirit to faint and every knee to be as weak as water, for what the Sovereign Lord declares will surely take place, so that all people will know that the Lord is the one doing it; but do not forget that though the sins of the land must be punished, His reward is with Him and the exalted shall be brought low and the lowly shall be exalted – those whom He brings home will be received with joy and those who continue in His harvest field will be strengthened. Ezekiel 21

May you walk in the honesty and integrity of the Lord, not using your strength or reputation or connections to treat others with contempt, ignoring their needs, oppressing the weak, despising the holy things of the Lord, but remembering Who the Lord is, and searching out His will in humility, sorrowing over the violence done in His name, sharing the joy of His promises with others, strengthening the hands of the weak that they may endure and see the salvation of God. Ezekiel 22

May you set your sights on the high promise of God, not settling for the achievements of your own strength and wisdom, just as men refine ore to get the silver from the rock, leaving behind the copper, lead, tin and iron; although the other metals are good, useful, and have value, they pale in comparison to the precious value and incomparable worth of silver, just as the redemptive work of Christ is beyond compare to any wealth or power man can achieve. Ezekiel 22

May you distinguish between the holy and the common in all you do and say, teaching and demonstrating the difference between the clean and the unclean, not white-washing the unjust deeds of the rich and powerful, but making a distinction between the Word of God and the words of men, however noble, giving honor to the ways of God over the ways of the world, for then the Lord will have the person He looks for to build up the wall and stand in the gap before Him with intercession. Ezekiel 22

This is My desire: to see you draw near with a hunger and a desperation inside that burns like a fire in your bones and gives you no rest until you hear from Me. Give Me no rest until I answer you; I delight in My children pursuing Me relentlessly, persistently, determinedly, refusing to release Me until they have My answer. I will answer the heart that approaches Me like this, coming in boldness, asking in confidence, receiving with thankfulness, and sharing in humility, for those who walk in My Spirit, and those who express My nature, will be asking on behalf of others, knowing that their own needs have already been met by My willing, abundant, compassionate provision.

May you walk in the knowledge that sacrifices and offerings are not, in themselves, what God wants, nor are they sufficient in themselves to meet the needs of your shortcomings, but rather seek to do God's will, gladly, joyfully, eagerly, humbly, obeying Him in all He leads you, for at times you will have abundance to share and at times you will receive from others, but neither abundance or want, action or stillness, speech or quiet are important, but only your obedience to the will of God. Hebrews 10

May you wake the dawn with your praise to the Lord, singing and making music with all your soul and with a steadfast heart before the nations and among the peoples, for the love of God is great, higher than the heavens and His faithfulness reaches to the skies. Psalm 108

May you exalt God, Who is above the heavens, Whose glory is over all the earth, for He saves you and helps you with His right hand, that those He loves may be delivered when He speaks from His sanctuary, giving you aid against the enemy and trampling down His foe, as you gain the victory with God, disregarding the help of man, which is worthless. Psalm 108

May you walk in prudence and take refuge when you see danger lest, like the simple, you keep going and suffer for it. Proverbs 27:12