#spent an unnaturally long amount of time on this

[sirenvrse]

Wear a tie to a party so hot people can pull on it

[andypantsx3]

BY THE BOOK : MIDORIYA IZUKU X READER

SUMMARY: When your pro hero boyfriend comes home to find you studying, he suddenly takes a great interest in helping out. You find his methods... questionable. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft, hysterical literature (reading out loud while sexually stimulated), pro hero deku, deku still has ofa, support tech grad student reader, slight intelligence kink, gn + afab reader, cunnilingus, established relationship, aged up characters, fluff (3k) NOTES: Hi guys! I have been in survival mode as of late and the writing has been slow going; my sincerest apologies for how long it’s taking me to burn down my @ficsforgaza backlog. But I finally had the time & energy on my hands this weekend to work on this one and I had such a blast!! I hope I’m not too rusty—and if I am, I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it regardless lol. Love you and thank you always for your patience. Happy Holidays!!

Sometimes, you thought you could tell your boyfriend was near, even before you heard his key in the lock.

It was something to do with his power, you’d always suspected—as a support engineer unduly interested in other people’s capabilities, you’d spent hundreds of hours turning it over in your head. It was the unnatural immensity of other people’s powers, you thought, pulling and coiling just beneath the surface of Izuku’s skin. In close proximity, after prolonged use, its presence felt like a shiver up the back of your neck.

You felt the barest hint of it now, an unsettled feeling creeping into the marrow of your bones, and you sat up on the couch just as you heard the scratch of Izuku’s keys at the door.

One For All fit cleanly into Izuku’s own unwavering intensity somehow, like the last piece of his puzzle. Though one would certainly never think so looking at him as he spilled through the door, pink-cheeked from the cold, all bright eyes, sweetly angelic features, and a riot of wild green curls. He looked windswept from the biting winter breeze. He also looked too kind to be carrying the sort of power he did—too sweet and eager and lovely.

“Look what the wind blew in,” you grinned at him over the back of the couch, after assessing he was well. Your eyes tracked the sinuous movement of those broad shoulders as he yanked his mouthguard over his head, the flex and pull of his bicep as he hung it beside the door. He was moving without pause, no sign of injury or muscle strain , and his suit was intact. Ordinarily you didn’t mind if there was a bit of shredding about the abs as long as he came back to you whole and hale, but in the winter you didn’t like him wandering about risking the chance of frostbite.

Your heart fluttered when Izuku returned your smile with one of his own, so beautiful and bright, chasing away the cold he’d tracked in like a warm sliver of sun.

“Lots of small, easy fights today?” You guessed, judging from his intact suit but clear whiff of power about him.

Izuku scrubbed a hand through that riot of curls, exposing the reddened shell of a cold ear. “I only had to use blackwhip a couple of times,” he said as he shouldered the door closed behind him, the muscle of his thighs flexing enticingly as he stepped out of his boots.

You gestured at the pot of soup you’d left warming on the stove, and the veritable pile of crusty bread beside it. Warmth and carbs, exactly what you would have wanted if you were a pro hero fresh off a long day of patrolling in the snow.

Izuku’s eyes fixed on it with an obliging amount of interest, and he almost tripped over himself in the genkan in his haste to get to the kitchen. “I love you,” you heard him say, muffled through a mouthful of bread, heard the clatter of the silverware drawer and a bowl being placed on the counter.

You smiled and turned back to the book in your lap, a particularly dry, knotty text on robotic imitation learning that had had your eyes drifting closed for the better part of an hour. It was the last you’d need to get through for your Wearable Technologies graduate course, and something you were deeply interested in incorporating into your design practice. You could train a piece of equipment on how an individual pro hero moved and deployed their quirk, and use predictive modeling to deploy assistance functionalities within milliseconds if you got it right—such as immediate cooling in pro hero Shouto’s temperature vest the moment he ignited an arm.

The implementation was going to be so cool—but the theory was so mind numbing.

You felt the couch sink in beside your feet, and Izuku peered interestedly at the title in your lap.

“Introduction to Robotic Imitation Learning,” he echoed, and you could hear the note of excitement in his voice. You suppressed a fond smile, knowing he was already thinking through the same applications you had—he was just as much of a nerd as you were.

“Introduction to Snoozing and Napping,” you grumbled, turning back to your page. “There are only so many words on the Kalman filter framework a brain can handle before the human mind shuts itself down.”

Izuku hummed in interest around a spoonful of soup, propping himself up against your leg. The exterior of his suit was still cool from the outside, and he groaned with relief from the warmth of your skin, even as you hissed at the chill.

You knew he wanted you to go on, so you generalized for him. “It’s an algorithm used for robotic motion planning—you not only take measurements of the thing you want to model but you account for uncertainties to predict the probability that something is going to happen.”

Izuku nodded, taking another spoonful of soup, gesturing for you to go on.

You summoned up the willpower to explain joint probability distribution, pleased when Izuku easily managed to follow—he’d always been a quick study, especially of anything that could be employed in the service of heroics. You’d long thought if he hadn’t been gifted his quirk, he would be an insane support engineer.

He managed to finish his entire bowl of soup in the time it took you to explain, and housed another two slices of buttered bread with the sort of alacrity you’d only ever seen in pro heroes and professional athletes, making you smile while you spoke.

His spoon clinked softly against the edge of the bowl as he set them aside on the coffee table, and he hooked his chin over your knees as you finished explaining. In the setting sun from your windows he looked especially lovely, the kind, angular planes of his face brushed in gold, softening the spots of his freckles.

His eyes were especially bright, the way they always were when something in particular had caught his interest, and he smiled at you again over the tops of your knee caps.

“I admire how smart you are,” he told you, in the simple, straightforward way he always gave out compliments. It was like a shot to the heart every time, and you could feel your face warm with the praise even after years of receiving similar compliments.

You reflexively flapped a dismissive hand. “Not smart enough to have internalized it all! I have mostly been falling asleep to it,” you promised him.

He tilted his head, a green curl falling into his eyes. “I know you won’t have a problem when you’re awake.”

You shifted your legs with embarrassment, and a long fingered hand came up to cup the front of your thigh, as Izuku turned more fully towards you. You could feel the warm, hard planes of his chest against your shins, the line of his jumpsuit’s zipper pressing insistently just below your knee.

“Gotta try to impress you somehow,” you joked, your skin prickling as Izuku’s fingers absent-mindedly drew a pattern across your thigh. You could feel the heat of his hand through the thin material of the leggings you’d lounged around in all day, the chill finally chased away from his skin now that he’d come inside and warmed up.

“You do impress me,” he said in his soft, gentle tone. Which made your cheeks and nose burn hotter.

You knew you did, and the steady faith Izuku had in the people around him was one of your favorite things about him. It still made you feel like a middle schooler with a crush to think about, though, the intensity of your feelings too much for one body to handle.

“I will study hard to live up to your faith in me,” you promised, unable to help the goofy smile you knew you were giving him.

Izuku’s chin shifted against the tops of your knees, and he pressed his mouth to the knob of your left one, leaving a smiling kiss. “Tell me more?” he asked, fingers still sliding softly over your thigh.

“I’ll read it to you as I go, then,” you said, turning back to the brick of a tome, propping it up more firmly on your stomach as you adjusted yourself against the couch arm. Izuku’s eyes watched you over the top of the pages, that emerald gaze tracking your face closely.

“‘The algorithm works via a two-phase process: a prediction phase and an update phase’,” you began, trying to turn your attention away from Izuku and back to the text. “‘In the prediction phase, the Kalman filter produces estimates of the current state variables, including their uncertainties. Once the outcome of the next measurement (necessarily corrupted with some error, including random noise) is observed, these estimates are updated using a weighted average, with more weight given to estimates with greater certainty.’”

Izuku’s long fingers traced firmer lines across your thighs, almost like he was taking notes. He layered another kiss along the line of your knee, eyes glittering at you as you read.

“‘The algorithm is recursive,’” you continued, “‘It can operate in real time, using only the present input measurements and the state calculated previously and its uncertainty matrix; no additional past information is required.’”

You almost jumped as Izuku’s mouth trailed lower, into the space between your knees, leaving kisses along your inner thigh. His fingers gently pulled one thigh away to make space for him in between, and you cleared your throat, trying to return to the text at hand.

“‘Optimality of Kalman filtering assumes that errors have a normal–that is, Gaussian–distribution,’” you read on. “‘The following assumptions are made about random processes: Physical random phenomena may be thought of as due to primary random sources exciting dynamic systems. The primary sources are assumed to be independent gaussian random processes with zero mean; the dynamic systems will be linear.’”

Izuku let out a soft breath, insinuating himself further between your thighs. Your own breath came out a little uneven as he bent over you, mouth tracking dangerously towards the inseam of your leggings.

You paused, but Izuku fixed you with a look of his slightly-darkened eyes. “Please—keep reading,” he said, his tone a little lower than it had been a minute ago.

You swallowed in shocked understanding, skin tingling. You felt yourself nod, as Izuku’s fingers strayed to the waist of your pants, dipping below the band.

You let him slowly peel your leggings down, your underwear with them, adjusting as needed to make it easy for him, even as you tried to return your attention to your textbook.

“‘Regardless of Gaussianity, however, if the process and measurement covariances are known, then the Kalman filter is the best possible linear estimator in the minimum mean-square-error sense,’” you quoted, nearly squeaking when Izuku pressed his mouth to your hip, his curls tickling the skin of your belly. His hands gripped either side of your thighs, palms square and rough against your skin, and you tried not to shiver with the feeling.

“Um—‘Although there may be better nonlinear estimators’,” you said, then nearly jumped out of your skin when Izuku pressed his mouth to the core of you, only the strength of his grip stopping you from accidentally kicking him in surprise.

“Oh my g—uh! It—um—‘It is a common misconception perpetuated in the literature that the Kalman filter cannot be rigorously applied unless all noise processes are assumed to be Gaussian,’” you managed, before your cut off into a groan as Izuku layered a hot, sweet kiss over you, tongue dipping carefully between your folds. “Ah-–Izuku—”

Izuku petted a thumb gently over the top of your thigh to show he was listening, even as he swiped his tongue over you again, a long, firm stroke that had your thighs flexing in his hold. He laved over your clit, sucking ever so slightly, and your grip almost tore the edge of your textbooks as it tightened.

“Keep going,” he urged briefly, then did it again, punching a groan out of you.

“Extensions—oh—‘Extensions and generalizations of the method have also been developed, such as the extended Kalman filter and the unscented Kalman filter which work on nonlinear systems,’” you read on, voice shooting up nearly into a squeal when two of Izuku’s long, firm fingers pressed into you, as his mouth moved over you again.

“Ah! Oh my god—the—um, the basis—-” you said, breath growing short. Izuku’s fingers unerringly found the spot inside you that made you twist in his grip with the ease of long practice, and his jaw worked as he kissed you so shockingly filthily. You could feel something already starting to build up behind your navel, a fluttery lightness, an insatiable insistence on more.

“‘The basis a hidden Markov model—oh, fuck—such that the state space of the latent variables is continuous and all latent and observed variables have–ah!--Gaussian distributions,’’’ you recited, your voice tripping up further into a register that sounded more like begging than reading.

Izuku’s fingers worked you, long and thick and perfect inside you, as his tongue drew unrelenting circles around your clit. Stars seemed to spark in your vision, and your eyes squeezed shut, losing your place on the page as your hips flexed into his face. You felt suddenly very floaty and lightheaded, and not at all in a position to keep going.

Still, you tried to refocus your attention.

“‘K–Kalman filtering has been used successfully in—oh—multi-sensor fusion—ah, ah!--and distributed sensor networks–fuck, please, Izuku—to develop distributed or consensus Kalman f-filtering,’” you said, your tone nearly a cry.

Izuku groaned softly, sucking gently as his fingers curled inside you. It made your veins spark under your skin, your legs shaking in Izuku’s hands. You abandoned your grip on your book to seize the arm of the couch, clawing desperately at the fabric.

“Please, Izuku,” you cried, hips bucking towards his mouth.

The book tumbled off your stomach but you hardly noticed, gaze refocusing on the way his eyelashes fluttered as he licked you. His fingers played gently within you, a maddening press that was simultaneously too much and not enough, and his other hand came up to slide under your sweater, plucking gently at your nipple.

You lost yourself to the feeling—caught between the mind-melting curl of his fingers, the delicate suction of his mouth, and the careful pinch of your nipple. A delicious heat curled through you, waves of unbearable pleasure, and you could hear yourself babbling nonsense—garbled syllables of Izuku’s name, and every entreaty you could think of, a hundred thousands mores and oh pleases.

Izuku abandoned your nipple to pull you more firmly against him with a strong arm curled under your thigh, pressing you even harder into his mouth.

You muffled a scream in the sleeve of your sweater as he sucked you harder, tongue laving over you in loving strokes. Only his terrible strength held you down as you writhed beneath him, and then his fingers twisted in a way that had your vision whiting out—and you were suddenly thrown out over the edge of your pleasure.

Izuku licked you through it as you squirmed and begged and cried out his name, your climax seeming to last for eons.

You were panting hard when you finally slumped into the cushions of your couch, the ceiling seeming to swim in and out of focus before your eyes. When you gained enough control of your body again you looked down at Izuku, finding him watching you with a satisfied, almost shy curl to his mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” he told you, emerald gaze glittering with sincerity. “You’re so smart.”

Impossibly you felt your heart swell with even more love for him, and you seized his shoulder, dragging him up over you so you could kiss his mouth. The taste of yourself on him was embarrassing yet thrilling, and you petted a pleased hand through Izuku’s wild mess of curls as you kissed him.

“Well you are amazing,” you told him, swiping a thumb over his cheek fondly, smoothing over his freckles. A gorgeous watercolor of pink washed over his cheeks and nose at the proclamation, and you could hear his fingers flex in the cushion beside your head.

The sight of him flushed and waiting over you like another small something inside of you, like a pilot light, and you let your mouth pull into a wry grin.

“I hope you know I learned nothing though,” you said casually, your plan for your next steps already forming in your head. You let a hand trail carefully down Izuku’s flank, tracking towards his waist. “I think maybe I might need a few rounds for it to really sink in.”

Izuku’s ears went red against the green of his hair, and you felt your smile widen. “Maybe you could read it to me this time?” you asked, guiding him to roll under you, retrieving your book from the floor as you did so.

You settled yourself on the tops of Izuku’s thighs, feeling the hard press of him against your core, as you placed your textbook into his waiting hands.

Izuku’s answering smile was all the permission you needed. You directed him to start from the beginning of the chapter, and he did so in that soft, lilting tone of his you so loved. And then your fingers trailed up to the zipper at his collar.

It was time to return the favor—wholeheartedly.

REFERENCES: Kalman Filtering (Wikipedia) I took the passages our Reader recited from here because I do not actually understand Kalman filtering at all and could not organically come up with feasible text for her to read through. Sorry in advance to the author of this page lol.

[smuttysabina]

Mamamoo's Fuck-Fitness Program

(Male Reader x Hwasa & Solar, 5k Words) Tags: Workout sex; Sex while working out; Someone grows a GirlCock (Blame Dreamcatcher); Vagina, Oral, Anal, and Exterior Sex; Double penetration; Multiple cocks in one hole; Sweaty messy sex; Only Hwasa and Solar are there though, sorry; Sloppy Seconds; Lots of calories were burned during this smut; Can recommend this exercise for weight-loss; Thigh-fucking

Sex, is a messy activity. The grunting and exhalations, the sordid stench of sweat and hormones, the noisy slap of flesh, the taste of another person upon your tongue, the sticky fluids that invariably end up leaking everywhere... Sex was an exercise drenched in shared shamelessness, the thrill of ignoring your innate disgusts to focus solely upon the pursuit of pleasure; and of course, breeding. Which only made threesomes all the nastier. Now there was a third body squishing itself against the others, adding its own sensual heat to the mix, spicing the intercourse with its uneven dynamic that only ever encouraged more perversion. It was simply too easy to toss away your inhibitions and give in to the unnatural deviancy of the situation, spurring yourself as you seek your climax. Which, all in all, meant that you burned a lot more calories in a threesome, which was why the Mamamoo Workout Program always made sure its clients were paired with two of their ladies at once!

Fans would obviously plumb the depths of their reserves when with one of their idols, but with two of them... why, the weight would practically melt away!

It cost quite a bit to secure a session at the Mamamoo Fitness Center, but it was well known that the health benefits were worth every penny. There were only four open slots per day, and competition was fierce to obtain one, it was said that the ladies were fully booked for the year within minutes of opening; it was something of a miracle you had managed to secure yourself one. The modest office itself was tastefully decorated, pure white walls covered in informational posters and awards, and the plush chairs in the waiting room were of the highest quality. The assistants behind the front desk were equally as beautiful as the room itself, and went about their business with the quiet diligence of any medical office. A smiling secretary had given you a clipboard of forms and waivers to fill out, full of disclaimers carefully worded to avoid any explicit mention of what went on. The form had blandly informed you that your upcoming session would consist of a "personalized workout session", guided by two randomized members of Mamamoo, who would lead your "workout" until you had reached your "fitness goals". What it really meant of course, was that you would be vigorously fucked until you were on the edge of exhaustion.

The Mamamoo Workout experience had been carefully tuned to maximize the amount of calories burned during the intercourse. The controversial decision to randomize the members chosen had been done on purpose, since it had been noted that clients often burned as many calories with their least favorite member as they would have with their bias. One particularly celebrated patient had spent five hours rutting atop Wheein, and had managed to lose 20 pounds in the process. The eight hour long slots had also been chosen as the most optimal amount of time, past that and most patients were on the verge of death via excessive fluids loss. And of course, the decision to include two of the members instead of just one was to send their clients into a sexual frenzy; though it was also because the members enjoyed having sex with one another too much. On average, most patients lost around ten pounds over the several hours of intensive intercourse, their excess fat burning away as they pushed themselves to the limit to continue fucking half of Mamamoo. It was an extremely efficient method of losing weight, with the added benefit of being the best sex of your entire life.

The demure secretary returns to collect you, and your documents, checking to make sure everything had been filled out properly before guiding you to the front desk to record your temperature and weight. Nodding with satisfaction, she leads you out of the waiting room and through the doorway in the back, into a plain corridor adorned only with four brown doors. Colorful placards on the doors indicate whether the rooms were in use or not, and as you pass by the single occupied suite, you hear muffled squeals and moans emanating from it; evidently the sound-proofing here was high-quality. The assistant takes you to the room two doors down from the one currently in use, politely knocking on the door before opening it and motioning you inside. Your heart pounds and your palms grow sweaty as the reality of your situation hits you, you had been anticipating this for so long it had become almost mundane, but now that you were on the threshold... The secretary gives you an encouraging slap on the ass, and smiling kindly, assures you that you would be up for the grueling workout ahead of you; everyone gets cold feet before this! Mustering your courage, you return the favor, much to her amusement, before entering the "fitness room"; the door shuts, and locks, behind you.

Twin goddesses await you within, hands on their hips as they appraise their newest customer, their bodies sheathed in clinging tights that accentuated their plush lower lips, and sports bras that pushed out their chests. Solar seemed as bright as her namesake, cheerfully eyeing your crotch with open intent, while Hwasa glares thoughtfully at your face, her own sultry expression hinting of her love for vigorous copulation. Solar steps forward to greet you, her lithe body swaying as takes your hand and leads you further into the exercise room; which was severely lacking in conventional exercise equipment. The floor was completely covered in firm mats, with beanbags and exercise balls strewn about, there were several curiously-shaped benches, and the pull-up stand had a few too many straps than usual. Full-length mirrors covered the two sidewalls, while the furthest had various cabinets and a door that presumably led to the bathroom; and there was a tallyboard that marked the gender of every customer, it seems that women were here as often as men. Hwasa saunters up and takes your other hand, smirking slightly as she senses your nervousness, and you stammer as you introduce yourself to the two idols. The pair smile at your awkwardness, before explaining today's schedule to you once more; a mild stretching session, followed by a series of intensive workouts interspersed with breaks for hydration and restroom use, with a shower at the end to clean you all off.

Contrary to your assumptions, your time with Hwasa and Solar began with the utmost banality, the pair guiding you through some basic standing stretches before moving onto some sitting ones. If the police had burst into the room under suspicion of illegal sexual acts, they would have found a normal guy in sweats and a baggy tshirt, grunting as he strained to touch his toes, while two attractive fitness instructors watched with amusement. Now if said police returned half an hour later, well... The first sign that this was anything other than a regular weight-loss session was when Hwasa moved in front of you while your legs were spread, and smoothly slid her ass back between them. A position that left you quite conscious about the size of her posterior, now that it was nuzzling against your crotch, the pair's chests might have been similar, but Hwasa's rear was far thicker. A moment later Solar presses herself against your back, squishing her breasts against you as she slowly leans forward, stretching you out while ensuring you would be unable to escape. If Hwasa is at all troubled by the now obvious poking her cheeks, she does not show it, and placidly starts to grind against your loins; your penis obviously required stretching out as well. What started as slow teasing gradually turns into something more, as your excitement builds you find yourself moving as well, until what started as a suspicious stretch has degenerated into desperate dry-humping.

You groan as you rub yourself against Hwasa's thick ass, boldly grasping her waist so as to force her back against you all the harder, before long you are leaking through your sweatpants and onto her tights. She slowly hikes her ass up, and you eagerly follow, until it looks as if you were plowing her doggy-style, only with more clothes than usual on. Speaking of which, now that you have the room, you eagerly pull down your pants, and are surprised to discover your shirt getting yanked up as well, before Solar meshes herself against your back once more. Her hands roam your bare chest, toying with your nipples while she kisses and sucks your neck, whispering encouragement into your ear before nibbling up on it. You shudder as you hotdog Hwasa's plump butt, the fabric of her tights smooth enough to allow for easy movement, the sticky evidence of your virility smearing itself against it. With her amused face staring back at you in the mirror, the idol suddenly pulls forward, using her hand to press your cock downward before pushing back against you; and you find your cock sandwiched between her meaty thighs. Now it truly looked as if you were having sex, as you furiously fuck Hwasa's thighs, your crotch slapping loudly against her constrained ass as she squishes her legs together in imitation of her tight pussy.

With Solar pressing her supple body against you from behind, and with your cock buried between Hwasa's thighs, you feel your climax building unstoppably. The pair of idols were not blind to this, and they eagerly brought about its fruition. Solar smiles wickedly at you in the mirror, "Finishing so soon, dear?" she purrs, "we haven't even completed our stretches yet," before returning to giving your neck purple hickeys. Hwasa simply looks back at you and commands, "Cum, now," and you moaningly obey, picking up the pace as she clenches around your manhood. You had not even lasted long enough to put your first load inside one of the members of Mamamoo, and it is with some embarrassment that you empty yourself against Hwasa's stomach. You groan as you paint her tummy with your seed, your cock fooled into thinking that it was draining itself inside of her fertile pussy, when instead your sperm was wasted upon her tanned skin. Shaking from the force of your orgasm, you lean on Hwasa for support as your strength pours from your dick, as the idols loudly praise your climax.

Solar pulls you upright onto your feet, murmuring encouragingly as she massages your crotch and thighs, while Hwasa idly cleans your semen off of her stomach with her fingers, licking each in turn while staring bemusedly at you. The girls share a glance before Hwasa gets up and stalks over to a cabinet, while Solar occupies you with kisses and touches, now that the warmup was finished, it was time to pick up the pace. And of course, the pair knew the best way to encourage their clients to do just that. Mamamoo, like most Third-Generation idols, may have looked on with contempt at the alchemical aphrodisiac brews churned out by Twice, but that did not mean they were opposed to all such potions. Hwasa removes an ornate, maroon-colored flask from a drawer, tossing it to Solar before sauntering back and shamelessly stripping in front of you. Your eyes boggle as you drink in the sight of Hwasa's naked body, her fertile curves framing a massively puffy pussy that is already slick with arousal; and her swaying breasts were practically begging to be groped. Meanwhile, Solar takes advantage of your distraction and chugs a portion of the bottle, licking her lips as the cherry-flavored drink pours into her stomach and its effects take hold.

Solar lets out a moan of pure pleasure as a bulge appears in her tights, spreading upwards until it nearly pushes fully from beneath the fabric. She shudders as she gingerly reveals the results of the potion, a girl-cock of average size, twitching and tender from its recent birth, with a pair of heavy balls throbbing in their hairless sack. Mamamoo know very well that to inspire a client, it is best to set the pace yourself, and let men's natural jealousies do the rest; plus, the women tend to be rather invigorated by having their favorite idol's cock in one or more of their holes. So Hwasa wastes no time in getting on her knees in front of Solar, and enthusiastically starting to suck her off. You are admittedly shocked by this sudden development, you had not expected for one of Mamamoo to sprout a cock, but you are not entirely opposed to this... To your own surprise, you find yourself oddly aroused by the scene taking place in front of you, and soon are shoving your own stiffening cock into Hwasa's face. The idol expertly gives oral to both of you, one hand on either cock, sucking one then the other, rubbing the tips together as her tongue lathers both with warm spit. You and Solar both moan from Hwasa's efforts, kissing and groping one another as your dicks are devoured, precum dribbling steadily all over her pert lips. After what seems like an age of endless pleasure, Hwasa smoothly rises before bending over, her face still bobbing in front of your crotches, but now offering an alternative.

You are too busy enjoying the stimulation of getting a blowjob from an idol like Hwasa, and so Solar is the first to take her pussy, slipping inside of her groupmate with practiced ease. While Solar has her sloppy way with Hwasa's lower lips, you use her upper lips with equal messiness, using her head's positioning to force your cock down her throat. Hwasa gags as you fuck her face like a pussy, slobber coating your balls with every thrust as you struggle to not unload your seed directly into her stomach. You and Solar hold hands and make-out while you spit-roast Hwasa, who squirms as both of you shove yourselves as deep as possible into her, united in your eagerness to use Hwasa's body. But before you can impregnate Hwasa's guts, Solar does just that inside of her friend's cunt, moaning loudly and spasming wildly as she empties herself into Hwasa, her eyes rolling back as pleasure washes through her body. Panting, her tongue still connected to yours be streamers of spit, Solar pulls out of Hwasa, slapping her thick ass in thanks before wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at you; now its your turn... Hwasa solidly plants herself against one of the wall mirrors in preparation for the pounding she was about to receive, looking back smugly at you as she spreads one cheek open in welcome. You shudder as you press your cockhead into the sticky mess leaking from Hwasa's plump pussy, your passage into her dripping hole made even easier by Solar's seed.

The cacophony of flesh slapping together reverberates through the exercise room as you violently take Hwasa against the wall. A surprising vigor fills you, turning every thrust into a hammer-blow as you break yourself against her massive ass-cheeks, your cock churning her pussy as Solar's seed pours out of it. Her sloppy cunt constricts tightly around your shaft with every thrust, gripping you tightly even while taking a ferocious pounding; idol pussy truly was superior. Hwasa growls hungrily as you plow her, licking the mirror lustfully to spur you on, her cunt gushing as she climaxes from the intensity of your coupling. With your hands around her hips, you hold her steady as you go into a frenzy, thrusting wildly as your own orgasm approaches, gasping her name with every breath while your balls throb with effort. Sweat is pouring down your skin when you finally let out a groan and force yourself deep inside of Hwasa, your semen erupting into her in a flood of jizz. Who looks back at you with satisfaction, licking her luscious lips while you plaster her pussy with your seed; relishing in every drop coating her insides. When you are finished, you stagger backwards, exhausted by your sex, and a laughing Solar passes you a water bottle as she guides you to the bathroom for a little break.

You were perplexed by your energetic coupling with Hwasa, you had not intended to be so rough with her, even though she had evidently enjoyed it, and you ponder this while you piss in one of the two toilets with Solar. Hwasa soon joins you two, squatting on the free seat and voiding her bladder as well; the pair of idol's did not need to ruminate on your sudden vigor, they knew exactly where it came from. Like most idols, Mamamoo knew full well that when fucking a cum-filled hole, men naturally grew more forceful and energetic, their bodies automatically adapting its rhythm to better scoop the semen out with its thrusts; which of course, burned more calories. So, the girls made sure to have as many holes filled with their own girlcocks and cum as soon as possible, not that it was very hard considering how good those holes were; and jealousy was a truly powerful motivator. Thus, when you three exit the bathroom, Hwasa almost immediately is laying down on padded bench, and opening her legs for Solar, who happily starts fucking your sloppy seconds out of Hwasa. You meanwhile rest on an exercise ball, idly rubbing your still slick yet flaccid cock, while the two idols make passionate love without you; a situation that makes you surprisingly aroused as you watch them fucking. Eventually, the squeals and moans are enough to get you hard once more, and you hasten to join the pair of idols once more, already knowing which hole you wanted to fill.

Solar starts with surprise when your hands grasp her waist, stopping mid-thrust to glance back at your touch, bemusement written on her features, "Oh, would you like a turn?" she asks with a knowing smile, before her eyebrows raise as you apply pressure to guide her down onto Hwasa, "Oh, wait, are you lubed up enough...?" Solar's question is answered as you press your glistening cock against her exposed asshole, and force yourself inside of her. Solar groans as she is impaled from behind, pushing herself deeply into Hwasa as you gradually fill her ass; until you are both balls-deep in your respective holes. Solar squirms as she is pleasured from both sides, her girl-cock getting massaged by Hwasa's sultry cunt, while your dick pokes at her innards; and you had not even started thrusting yet. Solar's guts probably had subtle differences compared to Hwasa's experienced pussy, but by now you were on your third load, and all your cock cared about was that it was inside of a warm hole; so it does what any dick inside of a warm hole would do, and starts moving. After an awkward start, all three of you eventually fall into a steady rhythm, allowing both you and Solar to get deep strokes in, while Hwasa simply lays there and takes it, naughtily urging you both on while you do all the work. Solar's perky butt meshes perfectly against your crotch with every thrust, and you have to contain yourself to not simply pin her against her groupmate and pound her soggy guts out of shape. Solar though, sounds like she is in heaven, gasping and moaning, becoming overstimulated and giving into her own pleasure, frantically humping away between Hwasa's thick thighs until she reaches her climax. When she pushes deep inside of her fellow idol, you follow suit, pressing yourself against her sweaty back as your weight presses Solar's girl-cock even further into Hwasa's pussy. Shuddering, Solar collapses onto her and unloads the contents of her balls into Hwasa, who groans as the warmth spreads through her belly, squished beneath both of your weight.

A glistening streamer of semen connects the tip of Solar's cock with the mess leaking out of Hwasa's cunt as she delicately maneuvers out from between you two; leaving you yet another sticky mess to unclog. But Hwasa has other ideas; obviously tired of being passive, instead she cranks the back of the bench upwards and seats you on it, sperm and sweat streaking down her thighs as she gazes down at you. She squats down in front of your upraised dick and takes it in her mouth, slobbering on your smelly meat until it is thoroughly doused in spittle, her eyebrows furrowed intensely as your tip stabs at her throat. Hwasa wears a seductive smirk when she finishes lubricating your manhood, rising back up to straddle you, placing one hand on your chest to hold you down, she uses the other to guide your cock inside of her as she sits on it. Your eyes widen in surprise when instead of slipping easily into her slimy cunt, Hwasa angles you a little further back, and forces your dick inside of her unused asshole. She lets out a satisfied grunt as she hilts you, your member twitching inside of her belly, her lips quirking upwards when she notices your expression, "What, did you think I disliked having my ass filled as well?", she brings a finger to your lips to hush you, "No, just shut up and let me enjoy myself." So you do, and she does, though it was not as if you were not savoring the feeling of Hwasa's tight anus sliding up and down your shaft as much as she was.

Hwasa's powerful thighs piston her up and down your length, a sneer of pleasure twisting her lips as your cock grinds against her insides, making you shudder with every squat. If anything, she looked smug at being able to exert some control once more, leaning down to forcefully kiss you on whim, her cunt leaking her juices steadily onto your belly. Moaning, you grope her swaying breasts as Hwasa rides you, holding onto them for support as her asshole clamps tightly around your cock. Only when you approach the edge of your orgasm does she pause, waiting until your dick finishes pulsing before resuming her sensual movements, her hips writhing atop your lap as she works you deep inside of her. After Hwasa has successfully edged you for a third time, Solar reappears behind her, no doubt painfully erect once more, running her hands down her friend's back to attract her attention. But Hwasa is teasingly aloof, "Sorry dear, this hole is already taken," she purrs, grinding meaningfully upon you for emphasis, curling her mouth into a haughty yet knowing smile. Solar simply beams though, and scoots herself onto the small open portion of the seat slipping her legs up yours until her cock and balls are squished against your own. Rolling her eyes, Hwasa stands up enough until only your head is inside of her, and you twist to try and see what is going on as you feel something hard pressing against the base of your tip. The pressure builds, and only when another rigid object surges in alongside your cock do you realize that Solar has forced her dick into the idol's ass as well. Hwasa lets out a true groan as she sits on both of your cocks, clenching tightly around both of your shafts as precum leaks out from the gaps between your cocks. With frightening flexibility, she lifts one leg up over you and turns, so that her side is now facing you, and you can see Solar smiling reassuringly from across Hwasa's swollen breasts; Hwasa's ass felt so snug with someone else in it...

With a hand on either shoulder, Hwasa bounces lustfully on both of your cocks, leaving both you and Solar moaning plaintively. Effectively pinned by each other's weigh, Hwasa has free reign to fuck you as she liked, turning what should have been in intense anal pounding into a languidly intimate ride. With your shafts squishing and slipping against one another, Hwasa's guts massage your dicks until they are the edge of bursting, then she pauses, allowing your precum to slop out over your congealed cockheads, before resuming her exquisite torture. All you and Solar can do is grab at her curvaceous body as it pumps up and and down your members, and your mind starts to melt under the unending pleasure. Hwasa's asshole makes disgusting squelching noises as precum slops out of it and onto your balls, soon your lower bodies are splattered with the evidence of your weakness. Even an experienced slut like Solar looks to be in heaven, her tongue lolling as she glares lustfully back at you, grinding herself against you in her desperation to climax. You start asking for it, pleading with Hwasa for release, which of course only makes her leak all the more, until eventually she lets out a grunt a paints the matting with a wash of gooey squirt, shuddering with ecstasy as her asshole clamps tightly around your members. Her face flushed with arousal, her hands slip onto your throats as she snarls, "Beg for it! Beg. For. It!" and with your brains sloshing with hormones, you and Solar easily comply. You beg for release as Hwasa slams herself against you, her thick ass cheeks slapping loudly as fluids spray, the two of you now humping wildly upwards while Hwasa hammers you flat again and again. Solar is the first to finish, moaning sweetly, her eyes roll back as she fills Hwasa's guts, her pulsating cock slobbering cum all over your dick as much as her coils. The stimulation is enough to make you explode soon after, drowning Hwasa's innards in semen as she squirts messily once more as her ass gets turned into a jizz-filled slurry.

Hwasa unmounts you both with a groan, Solar nearly toppling backwards off the seat as all three of you are weak and trembling from your intensive exertions. Hwasa gingerly kneels next to you, and without hesitation starts cleaning off the filthy mess coating your sensitive cocks with her mouth. Now you are truly writhing in the seat, your skin painfully stuck to the black leather by sweat, clutching her hair as her warm saliva is slathered all over your manhood. Hwasa skillfully rubs your tips together, her tongue slipping between and around them, before taking you both in her mouth, trying to fit both of your cocks into her throat and sometimes succeeding. By the end of it, both you and Solar are gasping, but your cocks are both bulging once more. Hwasa stands back up before sashaying to an uncluttered area of mat and bending over, spreading her cheeks for your enjoyment. She smirks coyly as her asshole belches a ream of semen down her leg, her gaping pussy still awash with sperms, "Who is getting which hole?", she asks, her smile growing wider, "Or are you going to share again...?" Hwasa seductively licks her lips as Solar untangles herself from you and staggers over, with you a step behind, wiggling her butt enticingly as you approach. Solar glances at you and gives you a kiss, before grinning, "Well? We have five hours left, so take your pick, or do you want me...?"

The next four hours pass in a blur of pounding flesh and spewing fluids, an unending tide of hedonism that sees you plumbing the depths of your depravity. You violate Hwasa's asshole, you plow her pussy, you fill her throat, while Solar gleefully does the same. You balls slap together in an endless cacophony, and more often than not your shafts slip and squelch against each other as you both ravage the same hole at once. Not that Solar's orifices are spared either, pumping away at her butt while Hwasa pleasures you both, or forces you to pleasure her; and Solar's face is almost as covered with both her cum and your own as Hwasa's is. All of you guzzle down vast amounts of water, only stopping when your bodies can take it no more and you have to make a break to the bathroom, often returning to find the other two fucking as intensely as before. Sweat pours down your skin like a waterfall, and the mats are covered with puddles of sexual fluids (and the occasional pond of piss from when someone was unable to reach the toilet in time), it feels like your brain has devolved until your only thoughts are for slaking your desires upon the two idols of Mamamoo. Eventually though, your exhaustion catches up to you, and when you pull out of Hwasa's sloppy cunt for what seems like the hundredth time that day you find yourself collapsing from utter fatigue.

Hwasa and Solar carefully tend to you over the next twenty minutes, pouring fluids down your throat to rehydrate you and massaging your cramped and aching muscles. When they are satisfied you can walk, they haul you to your feet, chattering amiably and complimenting you on your love-making skills; of course they barely showed even a hint of tiredness. They haul you into the bathroom, where they crudely hose the worst of the filth off of you with a shower head before frog-marching you to the exit. A smiling assistant greets you at the door, and your half of Mamamoo wave you goodbye as she leads you out, covered head to toe in cum, squirt, and other unmentionable fluids. As the girl leads you down the corridor, you idly notice that the idols had stuffed you back into your clothes, though you knew you must absolutely reek. The other occupied door cracks open as you approach, and a lady staggers out of it, her belly distended and her holes leaking so much cum it is slicking through her yoga pants in a reeking stream. She barely even glances at you as you are dragged by her, though through the closing door you notice a rather well-endowed Moonbyul and Wheein blowing kisses to their retreating client. Humming cheerfully, the assistant takes your weight at the scale, before depositing you in front of the kindly secretary from before. Who beams knowingly, before slyly enquiring if you would like to make an appointment for next year? Nodding tiredly, you flick through your calendar to look up the date, while the lady behind you noisily vomits what sounds like gallons of semen into a trashcan.

Of course you would like to make another appointment, though you are sure to ask if there have been any last minute cancellations... Another few more sessions like this, and you would be hitting your weight-loss target in no time!

[robertpattersonsleftcoochieflap]

Xiao & Wanderer Anatomy headcannons

Warnings; non-human anatomy, minor body horror (?), NSFW

Xiao ♡

Do not let an adepti's humanistic appearance fool you; They are built completely differently to humans.

On the outside, an adepti can make themselves look relatively human if they so choose. Though they're not hard to spot due to their unnaturally beautiful appearance and intricately made outfits.

If one looked at Xiao hard enough, they'd definitely start to notice his non-human features -- For example; his pointed ears, teeth and nails.

Upon closer inspection, they'd notice his sharp, cat-like irises and lack of pores on his skin. His completion is completely clear of imperfections -- a sign of his above-human nature.

If one removed Xiao's clothing; that's where they'd notice the difference. Adepti do not have nipples or belly buttons -- they have no need for either.

Xiao, of course, knew what they were. He'd been around for a very long time and had observed humans throughout the years -- both clothed and unclothed. He never found them particularly attractive; until you came along.

Xiao finds himself enjoying suckling on your nipples, rubbing and tweaking them between his fingers. He finds them infinitely more exciting than his own flat, bare pectorals.

He does, however, enjoy when you mouth at his chest. He gets an almost phantom feeling of you suckling on his nipples. Nothing makes him wetter.

Another difference in his anatomy is what lies between his legs.

Adepti are not bound by gender and are ever-changing in their forms to suit their needs.

Xiao cares little for human societal norms and finds them rather confusing. Most humans he comes across instinctively refer to him as a male -- which he doesn't particularly mind. But he is also not completely sure what it is about himself that causes them to assume that's what he is. Perhaps it is his voice? His flat chest? He has seen human males naked and knows that what is between his legs is much more similar to that of a human female.

Xiaos form - the one he was 'born' into - is that of a bird. He takes on many traits and behaviours of a bird; such as nesting and collecting trinkets he finds on his travels.

Many millennia ago, Xiao once had great turquoise wings. They were magnificent. Large and powerful. Unfortunately, they were taken by his old master and he still bares the scars on his back from them to this day. They ache and pain him from time to time.

Xiao is particularly protective of his nest. He spent many years crafting it, using only his best materials for it. Being invited into it is a great honor only bestowed to his closest friends (Zhongli) and you - his mate.

Wanderer ♡

The Wanderer was a puppet built by the electro-archon herself. Crafted with care by skillful hands. Only to be discarded in the end.

Wanderer's body was sculpted in the image of the electro archon. Infused with ancient technology and pure elemental power. Despite all this, he is built much like a human.

Wanderers' body is pristine and perfect. He bares not a single scar or blemish. His skin is cold to the touch and he has a much higher tolerance to the temperatures; though he seemingly is able to taste things to a much higher degree than a human can, making him overwhelmed by strong flavours - causing him to prefer things with a subtle taste, such as tea.

Wanderers body had gona through many changes over his years at the fatui. He'd been taken apart and put back together. His parts broken and replaced.

Contrary to the belief of many. Wanderer did feel. He had the same amount of feeling as a human would; perhaps even more. He felt both pleasure and pain the same. Though he was much more used to the feeling of pain.

Wanderer finds himself enjoying the feeling of being held and touched with gentleness. He is so used to being treated roughly by most because they know they can just piece him back together; he enjoys the feeling of being fragile. It makes him feel like he is important and cherished by you.

Do not mistake this as a weakness though. It took him a very long time to appreciate your touch and the pleasure that comes with it. He may act like he doesn't care for it in front of most, but he is always in some sort of physical contact with you; whether it be brushing up against you, feet touching under the table or simply placing his hand over yours when nobody's looking.

Wanderer is beautiful and he knows it. Throughout the years his beauty has deceived people into thinking he was weak. How wrong they were.

Back in his 'youth'. When he had longer hair - he found himself frequently referred to as a woman. Not that he particularly cared. Humans were fickle creatures and he thought their obsession with labeling each other was foolish. Gods were above such things; as was Wanderer.

Nowadays, Wanderer finds himself to be referred to as a man. He finds that with the title of being a male; people are more likely to take him seriously. He can't say he completely understands why either and finds it odd as he has experienced life living as both.

He noticed the change in pronouns once he'd decided to cut his hair short. He didn't understand why his hair was the deciding factor for people when they determined whether or not he was a male or female. Wanderer knew the difference in anatomy between human male and females. Human males had a flat chest an extra appendage, which he did not himself have and human females had larger breasts and a slit between their legs. If wanderer were to categorise himself, he'd probably say he fits into both - but he's not going to do that because he does not care enough to.

During his time with the fatui, the doctor had done many unnecessary experiments on him. One included giving him a penis. Dottore claimed it was what 'men' had and since he's fronting as a man, he should have one. Wanderer disagreed. After experiencing having a penis for himself, he quickly decided it was inconvenient and that whatever he had in his pants didn't define him. He's a god after all. Not long after he was given back his rightful genitals that were taken from him.

While the wanderer's body is pristine and modelled in the likeness of a human, some areas are a dead giveaway that he is not human. Wanderer's back is rarely seen, always covered in the thick material of his clothes. That is because they hide his most sensitive areas beneath them - his access points.

Along Wanderer's back are connection points for tubes and power sources. While Wander doesn't need to be powered manually anymore with the help of his visions elemental power, he still has the ports that were once used to power him. There are 4 small ports on his back and 1 on the back of his neck. His neck is by far his most sensitive place with it also being the area he bares his electro sigil. He comes undone at the lightest touches of them. They are by far one of your favourite things about him - teasingly circling the holes on his back with your finger is one of your favourite things to. A way to get him instantly worked up.

Wrote this after i took my painkillers so i hope this makes sense. Lmk if anyone wants any scenarios involving these headcannons.

Enjoy.

[mydadleft471]

For The Love Of A Daughter

Summary: After getting caught looking for food to feed your daughter, Lord Messmer takes pity on you and extends mercy.

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. Slight warning for descriptions of violence and death.

This was requested by anonymous! I'll link the request here. This was SO MUCH FUN. I've never really wrote anything involving young children before, so I'm going off of the scant interactions I've had with some younger family members. I've also never wrote for a GN! reader. It was easier than I thought lmao. Thank you for the request anon!

I'm really considering making this a series tbh! If you'd like to see more, please let me know! I could've spent the whole day writing but I need to go eat lmao. (I've been writing for 2 hours help)

As always, thank you so much for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! I haven't had this much fun writing in such a long time and it makes me so unbelievably happy that I'm able to write things that make other people happy. Hope everyone enjoys!

Your lungs were on fire.

You hadn’t stopped running from the moment you entered the Land of Shadow. A few Tarnished once accompanied you, but they had been slain and you had no choice to move on for your sake and hers.

The little girl carefully strapped to your shoulders was maybe about 4 years old. You’d found her in the rubble of an old village in Caelid accompanied by two corpses, most likely her mother and father. Her sweet green eyes pierced yours and you knew you couldn’t leave her there. You were never much of a fighter anyways. Your hands were gentle and steady and your nerves did not hold strong in the throes of battle.

She only had one thing with her: a golden locket with a piece of folded paper inside with the name Jasmine written on it. You were unsure if that was her name or her mother’s, but you called her that. You found it fitting for her.

Currently, you were running from a pack of armed men all wielding the same unnatural fire. You had carefully snuck up to a dark looking castle in search of any food you could find, when suddenly, guards had honed in on your position and you ran for it, not knowing if they would be kind to you and your child.

Booking it straight for a charred town, you tried to maneuver your way around its buildings to confuse the men chasing you. After randomly choosing directions to turn and heading down a few alleyways, you found your way to a staircase. You squeezed yourself down into it, hoping that you were out of sight to go unnoticed.

You heard the thundering of footsteps approach your position and you held your breath. Jasmine began to squirm from where she was attached to your shoulders, so you quietly repositioned her in your arms. Her little hands meekly clutched your arm; it had been two days since she had last had something semi-filling.

You froze as you heard the sound of clanking metal approaching you. A man ducked down and his eyes found yours, your heart nearly stopping. He shouted to alert the other guards and they soon surrounded you. You couldn’t see them, but you heard so many footsteps. You were found.

“Come out, or we’ll drag you out.”

Slowly, you slid yourself from your hiding place, clutching Jasmine to your chest defensively.

“Please, I beg of you, let me go. She’s hungry. I was looking for food, that’s all.” Your voice wavers at the sight of so many weapons.

“Lord Messmer will decide your fate. You will come with us.”

With your head hung low, you follow their orders. They search you for any possessions you might have, which is basically nothing but a half-empty waterskin and a dull dagger, and confiscate them. They eye Jasmine, looking for anything she might be hiding, but they don’t dare touch her. Mercifully, they allow you to hold her as they march you back to the blackened castle you ran from.

You make your way up what must be a thousand stairs and your legs ache from the amount of walking you’ve done. Slowing down causes a guard to firmly grab your shoulder and keep you going at a brisk pace. Jasmine hides her face in your shoulder and you try to calm her by rubbing circles into her back. You would promise her that it would be okay, but you can imagine her parents promising that same thing, and now they were dead and she was being carried into an unknown place.

If it came down to it, you’d beg for her to remain safe and allow them to kill you.

Finally, the guards stopped you in front of a large metal door. It was intricately decorated and instilled true fear into you. This must be where Lord Messmer resided

“You will show respect at all times. Speak only when spoken to, or we will put you to the sword.”

You merely nod in response, not willing to test how quickly they would kill you.

The doors open with a protesting creak and the metal slides against the stone floor with an unnatural sound. It grates your ears and you cover Jasmine’s to save her from the awful noise. Two guards flank your shoulders and tap your shoulder, signaling for you to move forwards.

The room is lit with a few candles shimmering in the stagnant air. It smells like sulfur and blood. The guards stop you and push down on your shoulders, and you kneel. Jasmine stays in your arms, small hands wrapped tightly around your neck.

“My Lord, we’ve found an intruder. They were scouring around the castle and fled when seen. They say that they were looking for food for their child.” The guard barks out.

You keep your head down, terrified to look up. 

“A child, here?” A new, lower voice cascades across the room sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“A child does not belong in the Land of Shadow. Thou hast endangered them.” He doesn’t sound pleased. “Prithee, tell me thy reasoning for bringing one so fragile here.”

“I found her in Caelid, My Lord. Since then, we’ve been traveling with a group of Tarnished and our path led us here.” Your voice shakes as you speak.

“‘Tis not thy child in thine arms?”

You shake your head. “No, My Lord. She was in a ruined village, surrounded by rubble and rot. I couldn’t leave her there.” Your heart stings at the painful memory.

“Intriguing. What reason didst thou have to come to my castle?”

“As your guard said, My Lord. She is hungry. Food is not easy to come by here.”

“Dost thou remember when last she ate?”

“Two days ago was her last full meal. Since then, we’ve been living off of rowa fruits.”

Silence is your response, until you hear heavy footsteps approaching you. You squeeze your eyes shut and hug Jasmine tight. She trembles in your arms.

“The child has a name, I presume?” His voice is only a few feet away from you now.

“Jasmine, My Lord.”

He sighs. “How was thee treated by my men?”

“They didn’t take her away from me, My Lord. They never hurt us.”

He lets out what you assume is a sigh of relief. Something thumps against the ground making you jump. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the hilt of his weapon. You remember other Tarnished referring to Lord Messmer as the Impaler, and you shuddered in fear.

“Thy only crime is trespassing, but do not thinkest me heartless. Thou art forgiven, and I shall extend mercy unto thee.” His tone changes as he addresses one of his men. “They shalt be taken to comfortable quarters and attended by female staff only. Shall any man lay a hand upon the child, they shalt be killed immediately, without mercy.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The guard leaves the room quickly, probably thanking his lucky stars for permission to exit the room.

“Rise. Thou needn’t stare at the floors any longer.” His voice softens as he speaks to you.

With shaking legs, you do as he asks and you spare a glance in his direction. He towers over you, serpents coiling around his slender frame, and you notice he has one eye that glimmers a brilliant gold. His great spear is held firmly in his right hand.

“Thank you. Truly.” You do your best to bow in your current state. Without adrenaline, you’re extremely shaky. You almost collapse, but a serpent gently coils around your waist and holds you up.

“I shall have food sent to thine quarters immediately.” You can almost hear worry in his voice.

You nod and mindlessly pat the serpent holding you up gently. It nuzzles into your palm.

As if on cue, a female servant with deep brown hair enters the room and you see a smile work her way onto her face at the sight of Jasmine.

“Is this who you would have me attend to, My Lord?”

“Yes. They are exhausted and have been without proper food for days. Ensure they are looked after.”

The woman places a hand on your shoulder and the serpent withdraws itself from your waist. You feel extremely unsteady, but the woman is stronger than she looks. 

“Come on now, love. Let’s get you some food.” She hooks your arm over her shoulder and wraps her other arm around your back. 

Slowly, she guides you out of the stagnant room and towards your quarters. She keeps you upright and doesn’t allow you to sway.

“Lord Messmer has taken pity on you, truly. Usually, trespassers are not dealt with so lightly.” She explains to you.

You don’t desire to dwell on what your fate could’ve been, so you quickly change the subject. “Do you have a name?” You ask her and she smiles once more.

“Sianet. A pleasure to serve you.”

You reach your room and Sianet gently helps you inside, settling you on a large, extremely comfortable bed. She goes to shut your door, then grabs a large pitcher of water. She helps you drink, the cold water a welcome luxury.

“Would you like some, little one?” She holds out the glass to Jasmine who keeps her head tucked into your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. You should drink some water. It’s cold.” You keep your voice steady and she slowly raises her head. Her eyes quickly scan around the room and she looks at Sianet.

“Hello, sweet thing. Do you have a name?”

You prepare yourself to answer for her, as Jasmine really only speaks to you, but you’re shocked when she replies on her own, her voice a meek whisper.

“My name is Jasmine.”

Sianet smiles wider, her white teeth almost blinding. “That’s a lovely name, Jasmine. Would you have some water for me?”

Jasmine nods and grabs at the glass. Sianet helps her drink, tipping the cup back slowly. Once she finishes drinking, the glass is put beside the pitcher on the table next to your bed.

“Your dinner should be ready soon. While we wait, shall I draw a bath for the little one?”

Jasmine’s eyes light up and she nods furiously. Sianet laughs and makes her way to the corner of the room, beckoning for her to follow. Jasmine looks at you with wide eyes.

“Can I follow her?”

“Go on. You stink.” She giggles and launches herself off your lap, toddling off after Sianet.

You flop unceremoniously onto the bed and shut your eyes. You had been wandering for so long that you almost forgot what a proper bed felt like. You remind yourself that you’re safe, even if only for a little while. You can relax and rest. You’ve earned it.

A sudden knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. You hear Jasmine and Sianet talking in the next room, so you make your way to the door yourself. Opening it, you are surprised to see Lord Messmer himself. His serpents flick their tongues at you, almost like a greeting.

“What can I do for you, Lord Messmer?”

“I came to ensure thy room was to thine liking.”

You smile at him. “I’ve never stayed somewhere so beautiful. I have no complaints, My Lord.”

His eye twinkles and he peers around you to look inside the room. You silently berate yourself for your horrible manners.

“My apologies, My Lord. Would you like to come in?”

“I shalt not invade thy privacy. Where hast thy child gone?”

“She’s currently taking a much needed bath. She’s okay.” To confirm your words, Jasmine lets out a delighted squeak. The corners of his lip turn up in a small smile.

“Sianet: is she to thine liking as well?”

“She’s very attentive and sweet. You don’t need to worry.”

He clears his throat. “Thy room is guarded well. If thou have need for anything, thou must only ask.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I hope you know how much this means to us.”

“‘Tis no matter. ‘Twould make me a monster to not attend to thee, especially the child.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, but… why are you helping us? Sianet told me that trespassers are usually not dealt with in such a manner.”

His expression falters a little. You worry you overstepped.

“Thou did not hurt my men. Thou did not invade my castle with ill intent.” He pauses, looking away from you. “And it hath been countless moons since a child has inhabited the Land of Shadow.”

“I see.”

Silence encompasses you both, and you take in the details of his face. He has strong cheekbones and a proud, regal nose. His golden eye shimmers in the dim candlelight around you.

“I shalt not bother thee any longer. Give my regards to thy child, and if thou hast need for anything, I permit thee ask.”

“Thank you, Lord Messmer. I’m lucky to have met you.”

His eye widens and a peaceful smile finds itself on his face. He looks handsome like that, you think to yourself.

He bows slightly and leaves you, his serpents coiling themselves around him as he gets further from your door. You shut it and sigh, returning to your bed. The mattress envelops you in a comfortable embrace, and you swear you could fall asleep now and not wake up for a few days. Exhaustion clings to your nerves and bones, and your eyelids grow heavy. You shut them and find yourself immediately succumbing to slumber.

“Wake up! Food’s here!” You’re rudely awoken by Jasmine bouncing excitedly on the bed. You groan and sit up, your body creaking in protest at the sudden movement.

“Alright! I’m up.” She giggles and grabs your hand, pulling you to stand.

Yawning, you do. Rubbing your eyes, you notice that Sianet is carefully arranging a table of food. The smell makes your mouth water. Jasmine runs to help her, her skin now cleaned and clothed in a new dress. Her little feet pad across the marble floors and you don’t remember ever seeing her so excited.

“Sleep well?” Sianet asks, turning her head to meet your gaze.

“Better than I’ve ever slept before. Until someone interrupted.” Jasmine giggles and runs behind a chair, hiding from your teasing.

“I am glad.” She dusts her hands off on her apron and stands back. “Your dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Sianet.”

You make your way over to the table and sit down in one of the chairs. Just like your bed, it is extremely comfortable. Before you is a large spread of meats, fruits, and a few desserts. You had been given a bottle of wine to indulge in if you so desired. You can’t remember a time when you had so much choice in what to eat.

Jasmine is lifted into her chair by Sianet, which has been outfitted with a booster seat, and her eyes go wide at the amount of food. You see her gaze immediately lock onto a small tray of chocolate.

“You can’t have just chocolate for dinner, Jasmine.”

She scowls. “You’re right. There’s not enough.” You laugh and shake your head.

“If you need me, say something to the guards. I must go and ensure you have clothes. A bath has been drawn for you already.” 

“Thank you, Sianet. We appreciate it.”

“Thank you for giving me a bath.” Jasmine has already stuffed a piece of chocolate in her mouth.

“Of course. I will be back shortly.” She bows her head and takes her leave.

You and Jasmine have your fill of whatever you want. You indulge in some chocolate and a glass of wine and eat until you’re completely full. You imagine this is how Messmer lives each and every day.

You could get used to this.

You make an effort to clean up your plates and stack them so they can be easily taken away and Jasmine makes her way over to the bed. Once you’re finished, you sit beside her.

“Will you tuck me in?”

“Of course.” You pull the soft blankets up and over her, folding them delicately so she can keep her arms out. She smiles and wiggles, getting comfy.

“Mother used to tuck me in every night.” She never spoke of her parents, so this was surprising to you. “She had long hair and a pretty smile. But that’s all I can remember.”

Your heart pinches painfully. “I’m sorry, little one.” You grab her hand and squeeze it.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t really remember your mother.”

“That’s okay. I have you.” She smiles at you and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You finally know that she’s safe and fed and warm, unlike so many other nights. She is protected by a demigod in his home. Nobody can touch her. She can finally be a child.

“You will always have me,” you promise.

She shuts her eyes and you gently stroke her hair. The brown shimmers in the candlelight. You wonder if her mother had brown hair. When you found her parents, you were so worried about Jasmine that you never looked at them hard enough to remember. Maybe that was for the best.

You rise slowly from the bed to not disturb her sleep, and gently tip-toe your way to the bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was extravagant. Marble floors and tiles and a large candelabra hung from the ceiling, painting the room in a serene glow. The bath sat full, the water still steaming with some petals gently floating on the water. The room smelled like vanilla.

Undressing yourself, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Bruises litter your body like constellations and scars are forever etched on your flesh. You’ve grown skinny, far too skinny, from not eating. You prioritized Jasmine’s food over yours. You did not want her to grow up malnourished.

Tearing your gaze away from yourself, you step into the water and sit down, your body relaxing into the water immediately. The warmth permeates your skin and soothes your bones. The tub is big enough for you to full submerge yourself if you so choose, and you do. The only noise you hear is the gentle swooshing of water. It’s almost like being in a void.  You remain under the water until your lungs quickly remind you that you need to resurface for air, and you do. Your hair now wet, you shampoo and condition it, leaving it soft and silky smooth. You choose a purple soap sitting on the edge of the tub and thoroughly lather yourself in it, basking in the lavender scent.

You remain in the water until it begins to chill, and you step out. Drying yourself off, you notice a silk robe hanging on the rack by the door. It is much too large for you, but you don’t really care. You take it and wrap yourself in it. Once more, you look at yourself in the mirror, and you don’t recognize who stands there. They have soft hair and smooth, clean skin wrapped in fine silks. You remind yourself that it is, in fact, you who stands there.

Making your way out of the washroom, you smile as you see Jasmine still sleeping soundly in the bed. The fireplace nearby roars and you begin to extinguish a few candles. Gently settling into the bed beside Jasmine, you lay a kiss to her forehead before shutting your eyes and returning to St. Trina’s domain once more.

Little did you know that Messmer himself had ignited the fireplace and brought you one of his robes. He doubted that he’d tell you. But he’d be a liar if he said seeing you in his robe didn’t make his heart flutter in his chest.

[tasiawrites]

Slashers and their black partner getting their hair and nails done

ft. Brahms Heelshire, Micheal Myers, Jason Voorhes, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair and Billy Loomis + Stu Matcher

contains: general fluff, poly Ghostface (i think that's it idk let me know)

Brahms Heelshire

you had to sneak out at 3 am even to be able to leave to get them done in the first place.

did three days worth of food prep only to be back in under 26 hours

Brahms was NOT happy and wanted to hurt you but then his brain clicked

loves the feeling of your nails on his scalp, might forgive you (if you give him some extra kisses)

likes playing with your hair, even if you say no you owe him

will allow you to get them done every two months ONLY because he likes the feeling of you playing in his hair with your nails done.

"kiss?" Brahms asked in his childlike voice as he stood at the foot of your bed later that night. you rolled your eyes at his voice decision after his behavior earlier but allowed him into your bed for late-night cuddles. you placed a few kisses on his porcelain mask. "I'm sorry for leaving without telling you Brahmsy," you coaxed running your fingers through his hair as he settled in next to you. 

Micheal Myers

didn't even notice you were gone until he did the math, trips to the store DO NOT take 10 hours

hoe where is you at?

He kinda sulking when you get back

likes the hair didn't notice the nails AT ALL

pulls a single braid every chance he gets and he pulls it HARD

he learns that 10+ hours out means a new hairstyle to fuck with, sometimes he follows you

"oh come on Michael," you rolled your eyes at the sulking man on your couch. he doesn't even look at you until you stand directly in front of him. he ignores you and you eventually give up and continue about your evening. that is until you felt a tug on a braid that slipped out of your bonnet. a hard tug. you turn to find a smug-looking Micheal with the end in his hand. well, at least he's not mad. it took him until the third day to realize your nails were done.

Billy Loomis and Stu Matcher

you did tell them, they just forgot 

you come back and they acting like you went missing for nine years

Stu loves the hair while Billy loves the nails

you spend the next few hours giving kisses and being showered with praise

every other time you go at least one of them goes with you

you walked into Stu's house slightly confused at the silence. you were just about to call one of them when Billy came barreling down the stairs half dressed in his Ghostface costume. "um.. hi?" you tried as he quickly began searching you for injuries as Stu came down the stairs asking too many questions in quick succession.  after calming them down, you sat between them as they played with your hair and nails respectively. 

Thomas Hewitt

The Texas heat was making your hair hard to maintain so you asked Luda Mae if you could get a few days off so you could fix that

you had to go three towns over to get it done

to thank her you got Hoyt to drop Luda Mae off so you both could manicures and pedicures

Thomas was too excited to see you after three days to realize your hair was done

when he did he spent an unnatural amount of time just, looking at you??

he's so in love

also loves it when your nails massage his head, especially after a long day at work

misses you every time you leave but he gets to see a new hairstyle so it balances out, he does miss playing with your natural hair tho

"hi Tommy," you whisper as he crawls into bed next to you. he gathers you up into his arms and you give him a soft smile. he connects his lips to yours and you run your fingers through his hair and rub on his scalp. he shudders and a low sound of approval climbs out of his throat.

Vincent Sinclair

I mean he doesn't stop you from going anywhere, he's just pouty about it

spends the night you spent in the other town making wax figurines of you

he's so happy when you get back

you get your nails the color of his eye, a lovely brown with a pretty white design to accompany it.

absolutely obsessed with your hair. 

like he likes the nails but by god does he love your hair

the next time you go hes vibrating with excitement, he can't wait to see what you do next

"Vinny?" you call as you walk down into the basement. it did not take long for Vincent to come around the corner looking as excited as someone with a mask on his face could look. with hasty footsteps, he approached you hands fidgeting in excitement. it only took a small nod from you to have the lanky man all over you. he took your hand in his and watched the nails closely before his fingers played with your hair. the next morning you found a small wax figurine of yourself on your bedroom side table.

Jason Voorhees

poor baby, you almost gave him a heart attack

he thought you left him

sulky large man

when you come back he's like O-O 

very happy, thinks you're so pretty

puts flowers in your hair and is very gentle with it

likes to see your nails when you hold his hands

please give him a heads-up next time

he waits with wildflowers for you to return

Jason's fingers clumsily placed another flower in your hair. it dislodged another one that you quickly caught and handed back to him. it took a few more flowers for him to be satisfied and when he was he gave a grunt and lifted you to your feet. "ready to go home?" you asked the large man as he intertwined his finger with yours happily rubbing his thumb over the smoothness of your nails.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

this has nothing to do with the poll, it has been stewing in my drafts for a minute

POLY GHOSTFACE IS THE ONLY CORRECT OPTION good night

n e way lemme go study for my exams

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Collars of Duty 3

MalinoisHybrid!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.”

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the other woman

christopher sturniolo x poc!reader

summary: an angsty story of regret and selfishness told through different moments in time

warnings: alternate universe (takes place in the early 2000s bcs i’m obsessed), angst, implied sex, cigarettes, cheating (with, not on y/n)

a/n: hiiii srry for ghosting u guys again :/ i finally have motivation to write again!!! send in blurb or one shot ideas pls. unfortunately im putting tgwtt on hold for right now bc i feel writing that series takes so much out of me and i end up not enjoying anything i write. i hope u understand & im sorry to those who enjoy it! anyways i hope this is well received since it’s a bit different than my other works — lowkey tuned into my inner sally rooney bc her angst HITS . luv u baiiii

★ march 2004

there’s a vile and shameful look to you that you’re not so sure you’ve hidden well enough.

your stomach feels overweight and heavy with an extreme amount of pain bubbling and stabbing your insides whenever they decide to pop.

you clutch at the edge of the bathroom sink, staring at your figure and aching eyes (you added some dark eyeliner into your routine hoping to distract from your disdainful mood but you’re starting to think you may have drawn more attention with the dramatic look).

you suck your stained bottom lip into your mouth out of comfort or maybe a need for something to hold as you move to dig for the pack of slightly crumpled cigarettes in your small, wine-red purse.

the door handle begins to rattle unnervingly just as you spark the slim stick to life.

you comically still yourself in your exact position (bent over odd and cupping your hand around the cig as if there was any sudden wind to blow out your flame in your friend's classy bathroom).

"y/n? you in here?!"

your eyes widen first, before they eventually roll. you wave your hands around to cut through the plumes of clogged smoke in the quaint room.

“y/n!”

“someone’s in here!” you reply, taking another puff of smoke and adjusting your hair a bit in the mirror.

“you gonna open up for me?”

“ummm,” you sputter through the cigarette held in your mouth as you adjust your strapless dress with both hands in the mirror.

“y/n.”

you let out a soft groan and quickly smash the cigarette a few times against the french vanilla ceramic sink bowl, throwing what's left of it in the trash. you practically shove yourself against the tiny wall space to the side of the door as you inch it open enough for the two of you to gain a full view of each other.

you smile, “chris.”

★ december 2003

they say the holidays are worst when spent alone.

and despite having three siblings and parents who’d want nothing more than to spend their christmas eve with their son, chris has always preferred to spend the holidays with a beautiful girl — in hopes that she’d gift him the intoxicating feeling of her thighs tightly trapping his face by the end of the night.

so it’s shocking that he’s at your door step, dressed in a suave, ribbed white long sleeve, dark blue jeans, and somehow caught without one of his usual hats slouched on top of his head of fawn hair.

and it’s real fucking odd that you answer the door wearing a dress that fits you extremely well, paired with a cardigan to keep some modesty.

it’s so very weird given that chris has his girlfriend of over a year texting him another apology for abandoning their plans together to visit her family in wisconsin as you both share an intimate hug on your porch.

you try not to think it’s so unnatural for you and chris to go out for dinner, despite the fact that everyone in your small town knows he has a girlfriend who’s notably quite the opposite of you.

thank goodness chris keeps some casualty — leaving you to open your own door when climbing into his beloved truck.

★ february 2004

“okay, um, this is something you can eat and there’s, like, a million types- you like granny smith!”

“oo, apples!”

chris nods excitedly and flips to the next card, “it’s my favorite meal of the day.”

“breakfast!”

“yes, you’re perfect. alright this is casper the friendly-”

“ghost!”

“amazing! ‘kay, i’m always complaining that mine isn’t stiff enough.”

“your dick?” josh jokes.

“fuck off, josh! i’m more than capable…” chris laughs.

“gross! chris?!”

“what?! don’t make it a biggie. now hurry ‘n gimme that answer baby, please?”

“well i’m guessing it’s your mattress?!”

“you have 7 seconds!” nick says while intensely staring at the tiny hourglass.

chris gives an encouraging hand motion for her to continue on that path.

“ummm… your bed?!”

“yes! that’s what i’m talking about!” chris shoots up from his position, on the ground in front of the coffee table, and immediately picks liv up from the couch in celebration.

the group let out plenty of laughs and giggles at the fear in her eyes as she’s lifted up and down excitedly.

cassie yells out, “aw yay mom and dad!” when chris sets her down and kisses her lips.

you try to control your face. your eyes flicker over and see them smiling with their faces so close together. and it drives you a little mad that whatever chris whispered to make her burst into laughter can’t be heard from your spot across the couch, especially not when there are so many conversations going on at once.

it’s just a game. you have no right to be jealous. it’s fucking taboo.

you clear your throat and uncross your legs as you begin to leave from the leather couch, “matt and josh, you can go before me- i’m just gonna grab some water.”

★ march 2004

“smoking cigs again?” chris asks as he steps into the bathroom.

“no,” you lie, resting your hip against the edge of the counter.

he knows you’re lying but doesn’t bother to pressure the truth out of you, he’s not your father. or your boyfriend at that.

“are you doing okay?” he pauses and waits for you to acknowledge him.

you don’t.

he clears his throat, “you look beautiful in this,” he tugs your dress down showing off the cleavage you’d just got done hiding.

“‘m all good,” you answer his initial question while exaggerating a smile.

chris mindlessly nods his head and somehow gets even closer to you, to the point where you have to tilt your head just the slightest bit to make eye contact.

“can i kiss you?” he asks with a genuine glimmer of generosity in his eyes and tone; as if he wanted you to want it more than he wants it himself.

you’re silent. he holds your neck gently and raises his other hand to drag your large bottom lip downward, cooing a tease, “hmmm..?”

you whine a little to yourself — this can’t happen again.

“yes?” chris mocks a little, giving a squeeze to your neck, “say it.”

your eyes droop and suddenly the ache of pain and guilt melts down to a slush of excitement and warmth both inside and evidently outside, if the stickiness of your lace underwear says anything. you nod your head.

chris is so obsessed with your mouth, his thumb doesn't move from your bottom lip as you peek your tongue out to wet it, "yes, please." your words echo off of his lips that now practically hover yours.

even though you've used your manners you manage to deliver it as a command. and it doesn't help that you paired the sentence with your hands running up the hot skin underneath his dark shirt. his mouth hangs slightly ajar as his head nods softly once more and his eyes flicker over your pretty face.

you wait for his response before your eyes lock onto his and you pout, "i thought you wanted to kiss me, chris?"

★ december 2003

“that’s hot,” chris mumbles as he kicks his legs over eachother and stretches out on the longest part of your L - shaped, funky-green couch.

“what is?” you ask as you return to the living room, popcorn cradled in an oversized bowl against your waist.

“pamala anderson,” chris jokingly moans out, biting his bottom lip and covering his lower half with one of your fuzzy throw pillows.

“gross, you perv!” you throw a handful of popcorn at his face — that’s stretched into an adorable smile — and take a seat next to him.

“baywatch reruns are all that nbc play anymore,” you squint with a sigh, taking a swig of the cool bottle of beer chris requested before handing it to him.

“they lost the best thing to ever happen to ‘em, i’d milk that shit too.” he then takes a sip, smirking when a desperate pamala anderson begins to run in slow motion on your fuzzy box television.

“what would liv think of you drooling over some baywatch tits?”

“what would liv think of me replacing her with you for my christmas eve dinner?”

you can’t help but think that ‘replacing’ is possibly the meanest word he could have used.

he smiles and gives a soft laugh when your face doesn’t respond, “joking- don’t spaz on me now…” he rolls his eyes from you back to the screen in front of you.

you swallow and adjust your legs to sit underneath you, trying to get comfortable while remaining in your small red dress.

★ march 2004

“never again,” you remind chris and yourself as you step into your once discarded underwear.

chris nods his head a few times, replying when he finally catches his breath, “right.”

“okay,” you slip your dress back on and chris redresses himself away from you.

chris slowly comes up behind you, kissing your shoulder once and hugging you gently. you want to cry — because in any other circumstance you’d embrace this feeling. but you can’t help but feel dirty.

he whispers with his head buried in the side of your crowded neck, “you know your my best friend, right? i love you.”

and you can’t help the shivers and sobs that decide to escape from your sad, used body.

“shhhh,” he apologizes, “i’m sorry.”

★ december 2003

chris imagined having sex with you plenty of times before — figuring most guys have thought of it with all of their girl friends, at least his friends made it seem true.

though his imagination could never ever live up to your whines and the way your body effortlessly takes him as you bounce yourself on top of him.

you both knew this was a bad idea, it was bad before you ended up back at your place after dinner. chris is an admittedly horny drunk and you’re no better so sharing a few beers while sitting so close to each other was bound to backfire.

only in the morning would some ounce of guilt and regret wash over him, when he’d listen to the cheerful voicemail his unknowing girlfriend left him while he was busy with his fingers in your mouth.

★ november 2004

chris hasn’t spoken to you since you came clean to liv about your disloyalty, six months ago.

he yelled and cried at your doorstep. he told you that you ruined his entire life, that he never wants to see you again.

you convince yourself you never want to see him again, but you tend to miss him in the loneliest times. when you’re sat awake in your dark bedroom.

you still miss his voice and his face.

[lanabuckybarnes]

𝗪𝗲’𝗹𝗹 𝗠𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗔𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻 | 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Bucky Barnes x Baker Reader (F) 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: War, Feelings, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of Death — Any more let me know 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.1K 𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: So, another potential series hehe. I felt like my long term boy deserved his own lil thing and I’ve been thinking of an idea like this. I’m not sure when I’ll update this series, hopefully as much as I can but updates will be here and there. 𝗧𝗮𝗴𝘀: @boybandbaby, @chimchoom, @moon-light1928, @noellez-best-life23, @samodivaa, @kulteule, @zunigabarnes — Let me know if you would liked to be tagged!!!

The diner is filled to the gunnels when Bucky arrives, papers in one hand, his hat sat askew on his head. She never noticed him at first, too busy jotting down the order of an elderly couple in the farthest booth.

Poppy was gorgeous, eyelashes batting against soft blushed cheeks, teeth peeking out beneath painted pink lips. She laughs at the charming older gentlemen’s words, some joke about the beans giving him wind last time. His wife bats him with her handkerchief, tossing a glare his way with some choice words. She doesn’t mind though. With a final rundown on their order, she gives them a time estimate and turns, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of him.

“B-Bucky,” she stutters, kitten heels clicking slowly as she inches closer to him. His attire has her almost fearful, like cornered prey staring at bared canines. She’s almost wary of passing him to get to the counter, her eyes darting over the glass door searching for a way out. A way out of what? Bucky suspected it was the conversation they were about to have.

“You like it, doll?” He smiles, his lips wobbling unnaturally. She wasn’t stupid and Bucky wore his heart on his sleeve, he was scared yet put on a brave face.

“You…you look nice.” She responds, brushing past him. Even the fabric against her bare arms is foreign; it’s scratchy and stiff, nothing like the man she knew.

“You don’t like it.”

She hums, stacking empty glasses onto a circular tray. Bucky steps over, helping her like he usually would.

“It’s not that I don't like it…” she looks him up and down again. He does look rather handsome but that green colour is ingrained in her mind. She watches men Bucky’s age and younger come and go wearing the same uniform. Not many of them were returning on those massive ships parked up by the dock. At the thought of Bucky being one of the unlucky ones, tears pool at her waterline. She turns before he has the chance to see her so upset.

“Poppy,” he coos, a large hand falling onto the small of her back. “You and I both know what this means, I don't want to spend the last night in have with you wallowing over things that won't happen.”

Poppy’s head shoots up, eyes fogged in disbelief “last night?”

He nods solemnly, “I ship for England tomorrow.” He says softly, capturing her hand in his.

“Please come with me tonight, I want to spend my evening with you.”

She’d overheard Bucky speaking with Steve about a science fair he was excited to attend. It wasn’t exactly her cup of tea but if it were what Bucky wanted she would do it. She would do anything for him.

After her shift Poppy spent a small amount of time freshening up, mind still unrested since Bucky’s words at the diner. Just a few hours ago, at the start of her shift, tomorrow felt like it was taking its time. Now she felt the hours ticking by almost like minutes. Soon the sun would set and rise again on a new day, one where she would say goodbye to her one and only. Perhaps for the last time.

Bucky picked her up from her front door, arm bent at the elbow so she could loop her own around it. Steve followed not far behind, an oversized tan coat protecting his slender frame from the chill of the evening air. Speaking of which, it was something she had neglected to remember when she opted for the short-sleeved dress. Bucky drops her arm for a second, fiddling with the gleaming belt and buttons before shrugging it off his shoulders.

His hands come around but she stops them before they drape the coat over his shoulders. The thought of the fabric around her is nauseating, she didn't want anything to do with the omen of death, yet Bucky’s fond smile and twinkling ocean eyes have her feeling guilty for ever rejecting such an offer.

“Thank you.” She says sincerely, nuzzling her nose into the coat.

“Pleasures all mine princess…besides, you look good in my clothes.”

The way Bucky’s eyes rove down her body sends shivers down her spine and a hot flush to her cheeks. He kisses her gently, thumb soothing over her cheek, when he parts he chuckles.

“Oops”

“What?” She sputters, mind still fuzzy from the kiss. He had a tendency to do that to her.

“I smudged your makeup,” his thumb and forefinger hook her chin, tilting her head into the dim street light. The apology thick on his tongue is dispelled by a huffing Steve, piercing blue eyes honing in on Bucky from over Poppy’s shoulder.

Right. Science fair first. Unfortunately.

The salted waves batter against the battleship grey ship, lathering its port side in white. Despite the rising sun glimmering atop the rolls of blue there is a chill to the air, one that bites at the creamy skin of Bucky’s nose tinting it a rouge shade.

“Sergeant Mayflower.” A voice calls out from the longboat, like a fog horn over the rumble of men murmuring their prayers and promises before setting foot onto the boat with seemingly no return. Bucky’s heart lurches every time the stout Captain barks out a name, his voice billowing out in a misty form.

He isn’t ready to go, no one is, as soon as their names are called they know where they’re off to, they know what they must do — it doesn’t matter what the papers say when every time a ship comes to collect it also drops off. Mountains of bodies wrapped only in sheets to protect the eyes of their innocent families, for the ones still alive? Death may have been an easier fate.

The men he’s exchanged a few words with today each hold that same dull look in their eyes, fear that’d been hidden deep below the surface to appear strong. Another name called, the crowd of men let out a small sigh but nothing could cover a woman’s wail from behind them.

“My boy!!” The greying lady sinks to the floor, clutching her equally as shaken husband. The young recruit, barely eighteen turns, huge helmet swivelling atop his head. He’s too small for war, he reminds Bucky of Steve. After much fuss from his mother, the boy's fate is sealed as he steps onto that ship, becoming lost in the sea of green and brown.

He feels sick, a lump of fear and sadness claws at his trachea as he thinks of who also stands not even a foot away; He clings to a small hand, squeezing it tightly. Poppy squeezes back.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

His world closes in on itself, his heart stopping its rapid pace in an instant.

“Bucky.” Poppy’s voice brings him back again. Her hands rest on either side of his cold cheeks, thumbs brushing at tears he didn’t know he’d spilt. He topples into her arms, pulling her up off her feet till he could feel the thump of her heart over his jacket. His name sounds over the crowd again but he is lost in the glossy sea of her eyes.

“I will come back.” He asserts, a warm promise against her full lips.

“I know.” She whispers, voice hoarse.

“I will.” He seals his words with his lip on hers, giving her love that his words could not portray. He would come back to her, he had to. He had no one else but her.

“Save a drink for me,” he forces a smile onto his face, cupping her cheek.

“Whiskey?” She laughs brokenly, using her free hand to swipe away her tears.

“Always.”

With a final squeeze, he lets go, sifting through the crowd of wide-eyed men. His foot sets onto the plank resting on the docks when he looks back — she’s there, putting on a brave face for him. He waves mouthing his love for her. She does the same before turning on her heel and leaving him.

The streets of New York blared with life, not unlike 70 years ago but the sounds had changed. Sirens wailed a few blocks away, plane engines whirred above the looming skyscrapers. All of it both comforted and overwhelmed Bucky.

He brushes past a mob of tourists taking photos of the iconic yellow taxis, his eyes flicker back down to his phone. The address Tony had sent him wasn’t too far now, a sharp left and a jog across the busy road, eyes peeled for cops trying to stop his jaywalking, and he was at a cute building.

The outside stood out, sage walls and frames bold against the bland shops surrounding it. A worn welcome mat rested beneath his feet, a remanence of little flowers on a hill in the corners. The door squeaked lightly on its hinges as he entered, and above him, a bell tinged alerting the minimal patrons of a new customer - not that they cared, their noses in books.

They were all elderly, or rather, his age. A man with thin grey hair and a hunched form tucked himself away into the farthest booth from the windows, a coffee steaming on the table and his weathered copy of ‘Jane Eyre’ clutched between bending fingers. Peculiar read for a man of his age but who was Bucky to judge when he’d also found himself enamoured by the text.

Two elderly ladies sit nearby too, crumbs of a sweet dessert on their plate and gossiping amongst themselves. He makes his way up to the counter, gazing freely at the freshly baked muffins and cookies. His mouth waters at the scent coming from the kitchen, mind fluttering back to the times he’d find himself baking goods with Poppy; flour in his hair and melted chocolate over his cheeks and around his lips.

Why was he thinking of her now? It had been a long time since Poppy had entered his mind. Before he has the time to wallow in the old fuzzy memories a voice calls out.

“Stark!” You bum the back door open, pale green boxes piled so high it was impossible to see making you rely on muscle memory only. The boxes hit the counter with a dull thud and you let out s breath of relief, the last thing you wanted to do was remake those cinnamon buns.

“You must be here for these.” You smile politely at the man in front of you but he stands rigid. You aren’t the best at reading people but you can tell he’s alarmed; brows arched high and eyes wide, his chest heaves with pants as though he’s run a marathon but he isn’t sweating. In fact, his skin is pale, ghost-like against the black leather coat he wears.

Whatever comes to Bucky’s mind as a response doesn’t make it out of his mouth. He’s shocked, feet bolted to the floor.

Poppy. His mind screams. The girl in front of him was Poppy. His eyes roamed over your face, from the twinkle in your eyes to the slope of your nose, the cut of your lips - you looked just like her, even down to the way you smiled. His fingers itched by his sides, nerve endings begging to reach out and caress your cheek like he’d wanted ever since becoming Bucky again.

For a long time after his therapy at Wakanda, everything in his body longed for the love of his life. He knew it was impossible, she was surely dead by now. Yet she—you stood there, staring at him with an awkward tug to your lips. Shit! He’d been staring too long.

“H-hello?” You begin to question yourself under his piercing eyes. Was he here for the order? Was he even here? Come to think of it were you even here? You did have that close shave with the car earlier on…

The man before you clears his throat, shock schooled from his face impressively - he now looks bored rather than terrified. “This is all his?”

“Yep,” you shake your head, smiling so wide your cheeks burn.

“Ok, good…well thank you.” He offers you an awkward smile of his own, his arms reaching out to pick up the boxes with ease. He turns without a word, using his fingers to open the door just enough to kick it open with his foot.

You watch him through the windows as he darts off in a blur of black. When your mind finally clears you still, cursing under your breath. He never paid.

[summitprinter]

LeanBeefPatty's Hefty Bulk

Everyone has a breaking point, and famous bodybuilding sensation LeanBeafPatty was nearing hers. Ms. Patty had spent dozens of hours focusing on her figure. Every aspect of her life was dedicated to bodybuilding. Yet no matter how many weights Ms. Patty lifted, how many progress videos were posted, and how built she became, it never felt like it was enough. Sure there were plenty of people who showered her with praise, but the few quiet doubters always brought her down. Ms. Patty always felt a fierce competition between herself and other fitness influencers. If you weren’t the biggest and strongest, then why bother? So when people left comments telling her that she was still too small and wasn’t strong or that she used unnatural methods to achieve her body, feelings of stress filled her. These feelings of self-doubt would build inside of her for many years until one day, she finally snapped. After reading a particularly nasty comment about her body, Ms. Patty decided to take a break from social media, disabling all of her online accounts. As she did this, she began to feel slightly relieved, like a large weight was lifted from her shoulders. Suddenly her gut moaned for food. The realization that she no longer had to eat bland food to obtain an impossible goal suddenly hit and Ms. Patty began looking through a myriad of food delivery options. Becoming a little too excited with the amount of choices, she ordered over one hundred dollars worth of take-out food and waited patiently for it to arrive. As Ms. Patty spread the feast across her table, she stared at it in silence. She had done her fair share of bulks in the past, but for the first time in a long while, she was eating for taste and pleasure, not some bodybuilding goal. As the fear of feeling like a pig, she gazed down upon herself and stared at her sharp abs. Soon feelings of reassurance came floating in. Why should she be so strict with herself? What’s one slightly unhealthy meal? After all, she had the body of a goddess as many had told her. So with a new found appreciation of herself, Ms. Patty began to slowly eat, savoring each greasy flavor that touched her mouth. Little did she know that her fate was sealed with that one bite… Three Years Later…

It seems Ms. Patty hasn’t managed her appetite for fast food well. The once muscular bodybuilder no longer remains. Now a disgusting grease covered blob has taken her place. Ms. Patty has become a complete slave to her hunger. That first feast she had so many years ago started a chain reaction where she would gorge herself silly then she would feel terrible about it, ordering more food to eat her feelings away, leading to an endless cycle of fattening self-misery. This plus her new greasy diet of processed foods has left her pores clogged with sweat, her face riddled with acne, and a gassy gut that’s only slightly alleviated with constant burping and farting, facts that embarrassed her greatly. Along her growing stress levels, her waistline hasn’t fared much better. Gone are her washboard abs, firm biceps, and tight ass. Instead, rolls of unflatteringly saggy fat now make up most of her body. Her weight has gotten so bad that she mostly stays confined to her bed, only getting up to collect the many food deliveries she orders on a daily basis or to replace the batteries for her many “toys.” Yes, alongside keeping her mouth filled with food, Ms. Patty now has at least one orifice filled with some kind of sex toy. She did it at first to try and alleviate her stress from weight gain, but nowadays her dopamine receptors are so fried that it merely edges her for hours on end. 

Today was like any other day for Ms. Patty, with the fat slob waking up in late afternoon in a puddle of her own sweat and smells, her mind immediately thinking of food. Without thought, she ordered a large pepperoni pizza and waited, the soft buzz of the toy she had buried down in her rolls droning on.

Soon the sounds of knocking at the door filled the air. As Ms. Patty went to stand up, she suddenly realized that she couldn’t. She gritted her teeth and groaned in pain as her thick fatty legs pushed against the mattress with all their might. As the delivery girl called out her name, Ms. Patty began to panic. What was this poor delivery girl going to say when she saw her? Tears began to roll down Ms. Patty’s round cheeks. Out of ideas and desperately craving that greasy pizza, she called out to the delivery driver, meekly telling her to come in. As her front door creaked slowly open and the outside sunlight bathed her dark and dirty room, Ms. Patty felt a burning shame fill her face. Soft footsteps stepped in, with a thin young woman slowly approaching the large pile of lard that was Ms. Patty. The delivery girl had stopped dead in her tracks when she first laid eyes on Ms. Patty, who could do nothing as the delivery girl took in her fat disgusting body, gagging from the many strange and strong smells emanating from her sweaty folds. Ms. Patty began to cry harder as the delivery girl dropped the pizza in shock and ran for the door. The realization that this was no one’s fault but her own began to hit hard. She had to get used to this feeling quickly as this was her life now. Nothing but pure, shameful misery…

ALTS:

Clean:

Sweat:

Sweat and Crying:

Sweat, Acne, and Crying:

Slob:

Slob and Crying:

Slob, Acne, and Crying:

Slob and Farting:

Slob, Farting, and Crying:

[especiallythewomenandthechildren]

The Tragedy of What Was (pt. 2)

masterlink

A/N: yeah no yall im alive yet have no life (school and life are coming for me). im so sorry it's literally been MONTHS but uhm here is whatever this is. Transaltions are at the end for the german words (pls dont kill me i used google translate) pls pls let me know your thoughts:)

warnings: unintended self harm, allusions to depression, bad grammar and spelling.

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..✭・.✫・゜・。.

Wistful wind caressed your strands as it fleeted through your hair. The Geneva winds were kind on the sunny day as you sat on the cherry brown bench. Pen and leather-bound journal in hand, the words on your page turned blurry when your focus shifted.

The new metropolitan park was not too busy during the midday, which was likely the cause of your attention shift. A few feet in front of your feet, a deep charcoal grey pigeon rested awkwardly due to its pain in its left wing. The angle of the wing was unnatural, but you knew not from vision but feel. The alignment of the bones was all wrong, and it pierced through the status quo of the bird's natural gravity. Quiet, weeping chirps were all the poor creature could manage.

Your grip on your journal tightened as you focused on the world and air around you. A breath in, and it felt like surfing on smooth liquid; you felt all the slight crevices and edges of the snapped bones in the pigeon’s wing. A breath out, paired with a sharp call of pain, and the wing was returned to its natural state. You watched as its yellow beady eyes scanned in amazement while it flapped its wings over and over again, testing out the sudden fix.

Within a few moments, the small creature trusted your care enough to take flight, a successful venture that brought a satisfied smile to your lips. Even if small, it brought you a special kind of warmth to know you helped just one living creature live life a little easier. You didn't interact much with people, so your "patients" were often the concerning amount of injured animals who occupied the various cities across the globe you were dragged along to.

It was an odd life you walked in. Your days were spent in peaceful parks, calm cafes, and buzzing bookshops. So surrounded by life, yet you felt you lacked one of your own. Your train of thoughts was starting to buzz in a headache, but you were never good at regulating yourself as the spiral began. The years of a singular chase — Sebastian Shaw — were coming to an end as each lead got you and Erik oh so close. A thought that should have made you happy but only had your body feel unbearable with the weight of your anxiety about the future. You had no proper education as your childhood was spent moving from place to place. Those days after the camps.

The breath you were seemingly holding let itself out in a painful escape. You needed to clear your mind of such consuming thoughts or at least do it in a fashion that did not play into your body's instinct to cause self-agony. The more you tried to stop, the more the pain in your skull intensified. Flashes of knives, sounds of buzzing, and hands — crack! One tiny little burst in the rough surface of your skull. A pattern that would have likely continued if not for the rough voice breaking you out of the tunnel of misery you were sure to experience.

"And how many birds have to thank you today?"

Erik's impressive height had you turning your head upwards, ignoring the pain raging through your head. He wasn't ignorant to your tendencies, but rather the intensity of the involuntary reactions. So you tried your best to hide it behind a smile and harshly crinkled eyes hidden behind a chic pair of white sunglasses.

"I'm not one to keep count, but if you must know... four. I'm starting to get concerned about how many I've had to help out."

You get off the bench and walk beside your older brother as he lightly scoffs at your response. You quickly pack away your very light leather-bound notebook, the mass you manipulated a long time ago to make it easier to carry around.

"The reach of humanity's cruelty is not surprising."

Even behind the dark-lensed glasses and Erik looking forward towards the busy street, you made a show of rolling your eyes.

"All this talk, yet I don't see you protesting for birds' rights."

It was then his turn to roll his eyes as his rigid posture made its way across the newly paved crosswalk. He never said a word of where he was taking you two, but that wasn't a new aspect of your very complicated brother. You could only assume it was back to the hotel you rented out only yesterday so you could check out and travel to yet another place on your wild goose chase. The globe-trotting would have been endearing if it wasn't fueled and caged within the confines of brutal revenge. A revenge you have rarely taken part in as Erik deliberately left you behind on his deliberation missions.

You weren't bloodthirsty like Erik, not that you blamed him. He took the hits twice as hard, once for himself and once for you. Though he could not stop all the attacks; reality still drew its blood. Suddenly, you realized that Erik had yet to elaborate on his meeting with the Nazi associate at the bank. You stared at him expectantly. He couldn't feel glances and other movements as tangibly as you, but you knew this wasn't ignorance.

"So..."

The tall man took a short look to his left toward you to silence any pestering questions when he was taken aback.

"Are those new glasses?"

You ignored him swiftly, fighting the twitching need to adjust them. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"That's the third pair in a month, Y/N."

"Argentina. I've been saying this for how long?"

"Y/N." His tone was grave and pertinent, but you couldn't succumb. You didn't want to acknowledge the truth, so you kept up your mask of smugness.

"I think this confirms that I indeed do have a second mutation that lets me see the future."

All cheery brags were halted, as was the entirety of your body. You kept your eyes forward as your weak defense, in the form of the cream-colored cat-eye glasses, was swept away and pulled effortlessly into Erik's calloused fingers.

Trying and failing, you hissed in pain as the afternoon light burned through each river of blood splattering your eyes.

You hissed as the sunlight stung your eyes. In an instant, the intense light dimmed as your eyelids shut in an effort to protect your sensitive irises. You walked so perfectly and casually that no one would even realize you had no vision. The vibrant feeling of every object and organism called out, guiding you along the way. One good thing about shutting out the visual world was avoiding Erik's disapproving glare.

"Why are you wearing these?"

Eyes still shut, the invisible strings pulling on every fighting molecule tugged the now slightly broken accessory. It was incorrectly angled, a problem likely caused by Erik's careless and harsh grip. You really liked that pair. Though that wasn't much of the reason why frustration began swirling in your heavy sighs.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the little fact that my eyes are blood-busted? Who would have thought having nerves that self-explode would cause some sensitivity!" you grumbled. "Stop thinking I'm ashamed of my mutation, Erik. My injury makes me sensitive, and while the sun burns the normal retina, it boils me alive. It's a shield from the sun, not my identity. Like I've been explaining for the past decade."

You muttered the last part, feeling a slight insecurity. Over the years, your vision had cleared up, but you still had the scars. Swirling snakes of crimson still slithered in your glassy orbs, even all these years later. Your body and mind grew, yet those eyes remained the same. A symbol of a scared little girl. One who couldn't hurt a fly but could shatter each one of her bones in an instant.

Erik huffed as if he didn't fully believe you, which he likely didn't. He doubted the only thing bothering you about your eyes was the pain and not what caused it. "Something is still bothering you. Your eyes have been more sensitive than usual, isn't that so? You keep breaking glasses."

You opened your mouth to argue when he hit you with an argument you couldn't deny.

"The air around you is suffocating at night when I come back or wake up early. Like when we first left the camps."

You felt your heavy breaths settle uncomfortably in your paused lungs. Swiftly, the fashionable glasses were back on your pretty face. They were only a centimeter crooked. A lone tear protruded from your lacrimal and slid solemnly down your cheek. Erik felt the atmosphere becoming colder, even though there had been no shift in the general temperature. He knew you wanted the conversation to end, but you couldn't keep ignoring whatever was eating you alive because, one of these days, it would physically crush you. Your emotions had been playing roulette with your psyche and connected body for far too long to keep getting empty bullets.

The looming hotel leered from above you as you walked through the shiny revolving door effortlessly. Your strides were far shorter than Erik's long legs, but you were stubborn. A trait that he dreaded being on the other side of. Finally, your legs were forced to pause their march as you awaited the luxury elevators.

"What is it that you cannot talk to me about?"

Dark-lensed glasses still on inside the artificially lit hotel, you kept your head forward. The air still acted like guards from Erik's inquisition.

"So, Argentina?"

The tall man huffed, knowing if he pushed any further, you would push yourself into a new set of injuries. Numerous past experiences taught him the extent of your uncontrollability.

"We are leaving tonight. Pack your bags."

Ding!

"Never have enough time to unpack anyways."

And with that, you slipped through the doors of the gold-encrusted elevator.

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..✭・.✫・゜・。.

The Argentinian sun rays were blissful upon your skin—a welcoming feeling after the odd prickles of discomfort dancing upon your goosebumps. Though the break was short-lived. Following the same pattern you had since the '40s, as soon as your feet touched foreign ground, Erik went off on his own. As you walked across the dirt and stone streets of the small rural town, surrounded by beautifully secluded mountains and lush greenery, you felt just as grown as you did when you were 10. The feeling of uselessness was one you had never gotten used to—just one item on the exhausting list. Self-pity had never done you any good, so the tiny, warmly inviting shop seemed like a good distraction.

Your deep maroon leather notebook had filled its last pages, much to your irritation, on the plane ride over. Writing was always your one sure cure for clarity, and you wrote as much as you could in the metal contraption flying unnaturally through the air. You felt everything too vividly, and it suffocated you. You often wondered whether or not Erik enjoyed being surrounded by so much power, though you never managed enough courage to ask.

The colorful bells rang above your head as you smiled at the dark-haired, pretty woman behind the counter. Walking straight into the nearest aisle to avoid conversation, it found you regardless. As you were taking off your glasses to observe your surroundings, you found yourself right in front of what you were searching for—an array of bound journals shining beneath the sunlight. Squinting to adjust to the light change, you realized that your sudden stop wasn't due to a wall but rather a middle-aged man with fair brown hair, pale blue eyes, and a thick mustache.

Your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden collision. The sight of your reaction caused the man’s own eyes to mirror your expression. It was hard not to feel ashamed and timid as he took his time gawking.

Turning away, you focused on a rich blue version of the journal you already had. The urge to hide from his stare behind your glasses tugged at your heart while your fingers shakily grasped the journal. The look in his eyes reminded you of men so sinister they transcended the bounds of the moniker.

“Do not be ashamed, leibling.”

The roughness in his aged voice was oddly laced with a smooth layer of reassurance. The warm blood flowing in your veins halted at the term of endearment. He caught onto your surprise and gave a sigh of acknowledgment.

“I can always tell a beauty from the motherland. Far too many have been running away here. Though that would make me a hypocrite, no?”

You looked at the unnerving man. Keeping silent would only do you more harm than good.

“I was not sure I was so noticeable.”

You didn’t want to be. You never were. All you wished was to be in those lush fields you saw on your way here. Away. Far away from the watchful eyes of those gray memories.

“I am not here to stay. Business trip with my brother.”

The sound of your stutters in your mother tongue made you cringe. It had been so long since you’d had a lasting conversation with someone in German. The only times you ever practiced it consistently were in your writings and mutterings to yourself. Erik stopped using it with you a few years after you turned your back on Auschwitz. Only in anger did the tongue of your lineage emerge.

The man took in your answers, stepping closer into your personal space.

“Ah, I am impressed with a man serving his people. The ones of true worth, not those cowards letting our land be split apart by those Americans and communists.”

You could feel the spit and hatred mix together as he spoke. The tubes stationed within your throat felt constricting. The work and people the man was referring to sickened you. It disgusted you that you could so easily be mixed up with your torturers. Self-hatred settled itself on the six inked numbers on your left forearm.

“Your father, where was he stationed?”

The dark numbers and darker memories felt as if they would burn their way through your thin sleeves and lies. The gulp in your throat reverberated through your weak, trembling body.

“Auschwitz.”

Your tone was as grave as the site. As grave as the one your father deserved instead of the trick of a shower. Muscles around your eyes yearned to twitch. Your forearm felt as if it were being carved all over again, this time with shame instead of ink.

An amused laugh scratched its way past his lips. He cackled.

“A man of honor. Tell him and your brother to visit the bar just outside of town. He shall be met with the last men of purpose.”

The contents of the aisle spun around your vision as the man clasped your shoulder and walked past. There would be no need to tell Erik of the small bar. You knew he was already there and would be the last man to leave alive. So much for those great “men of honor.”

Maybe if you had even tried to shift your focus onto anything else, you wouldn’t have had a mountain of emotion embodying itself on your shoulders. But you had given up on that battle a long time ago. The last time you tried, you nearly split your brain physically in half.

In the meantime, you tried to walk out of the shop quietly, but you heard the splintering of the wooden door as your panic did what it does best—ruining its surroundings. You had no choice but to run to your small hotel room, as if any slower steps would leave you sinking into the earth. A new place on the wide planet, the same stares and distress.

Making it to your room, you should have known better than to collapse on your bed, as it did just that—collapse beneath the weight of your turmoil. You could feel the pricks of wood and springs, but you could focus on healing later. Right now, all your mind could replay were insistent flashbacks. That man from the store shape-shifted in your memory to endless faces of torturers. The countless men and women who looked at your small body, not as a child, but as a simple experiment.

Number 214783.

Screams ripped past your resistant cords as scratch after scratch cemented themselves temporarily into the permanent mark of your worth. Of your place.

It was several hours later, in the darkness of night, when your gravitational sense felt a resistance. A resistance that naturally came after one of your breakdowns. And as always, it was Erik who was trying to push against your invisible walls.

You made no move to open the door he was so insistent on bending to his will through mere strength. The room was pitch black, and you were covered in debris when Erik finally managed to get through the stiff gravity. He didn’t need to turn on the lights to know what he would see. Yet, the artificial lighting burned your retinas anyway.

“Whatever this is, it isn’t healthy. Why don’t you let me help you, Liebling?”

The nickname made you flinch—a movement visible as the debris surrounding you did a little shake in apprehension. You manipulated your gravity to ease yourself onto your feet and look around at yet another mess you caused. You could feel a bit of stabbing in your shoulders from wooden splinters, but those were quickly sorted out as you used your mutation to clean the chaos out of your body and off the floor. With too much ease from too much practice, you were able to get the bed back into a condition good enough for use. You really wished you’d gotten the journal before you had your breakdown.

“Y/N—”

“Is this what my life is?”

Erik Lensherr is not a man of many words, but that does not mean he gets speechless. He seldom does, but this was one of the rare moments. You stared out the window at the dim lighting dancing in the town center.

“Just following you around, doing all the real work while I sit here and destroy everything I touch?”

“That can be controlled. You losing your life cannot. We’ve talked about this before, and the answer is still no.” Erik’s firm voice only seemed to infuriate you further. Is this what the edge felt like?

“What life?! I am sick of being sick! I am getting hurt doing nothing; at least let me do so while doing something worthwhile.”

“You are doing something worthwhile by making sure Mama’s daughter lives! I am not disappointing her by letting you do something so reckless.”

This was meant to make you back down. Echoes of the same message from all the years flowed through your ears, but all you could hear was the ringing of anger and a migraine.

“You speak of making her proud? How about I avenge her?! She was my mother too!”

“I can do it enough for the both of us!”

You could feel the metal shake before you saw it happen around you. The keys, the lights, that accursed coin. The look of horror on your face snapped Erik out of his fit of anger, bringing him back to his senses—a trait of his you have always been envious of.

There was no more point in arguing. There didn’t feel like much point to anything lately. You laid down gently on the bed this time, not even bothering with the blanket, simply turning your back to the one person who claimed to love you.

“Liebling. Please, I am only worried about you.”

You left his confession to mingle with your silence as you closed your eyes. It would only be a matter of time before Shaw would have to face the Lensherr wrath. Not just Erik’s, but as you swore to yourself, yours too.

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..✭・.✫・゜・。.

Turns out that moment came far sooner than expected. After yet another trip, you expected it to be one that blended into all the others. That was until you caught onto the tension surrounding your brother. You kept your eyes down on the small book you managed to snatch from the lobby downstairs. In the corner of your eye, you saw him in a fully black outfit, seemingly ready for a swim. He grabbed an overcoat, and before he left the room without saying a word about his whereabouts, he turned to you.

“Tonight, we make our parents proud.” He closed the door in your face.

You had only moments for action. He was right. You both would make your parents proud.

One look at your outfit and it was clear you did not plan for the assassination of a former Nazi official. With a sleek pair of brown slacks and a black turtleneck, you were at least grateful it was dark and warm enough for the cold night air.

Erik’s tall frame was easy enough to follow, though his constant scouring behind him and around made it a constant game of hide and (hopefully) no seeking. After the 20-minute chase, the ultimate destination presented itself. A lit-up yacht was lounging restfully upon the languid water. A deep breath, a jump, and Erik landed in the water. Not a moment was wasted as he made his way through the cold, dark liquid. If he was making his way, then you needed to.

All you wanted to do was scream as the temperature began seeping into your veins, but if you stood around in discomfort, it would overcome you. You didn’t have much experience swimming, but you used your mutation to glide without much hardship.

The megaboat presented itself far too quickly for your taste, as did Erik’s jump onto the surface. A man so focused was rare to see, but it was clear, even from your lowered position, that only one thing was playing in his brain. You swam to the very edge of the boat by the ladder, and that’s where you witnessed the knives being pulled by your brother. Even more so, the symbol engraved on it. Sebastian Shaw was going to die by his own legacy.

You had just jumped onto the boat when Erik’s frame entered the boat lighting and Shaw’s sight.

“Herr Doktor.” The man—the monster—had finally come face-to-face with his own monstrous creation. No fear seemed to present itself in his voice, though, as he only greeted Erik with an odd surprise of delight.

“Little Erik Lensherr.”

Even though the knife was on full display, his blonde companion was quick to broadcast his intentions. “He is here to kill you… and he isn’t alone.”

Well, that wasn’t planned. With no choice but to come out, you realized that you were grossly unprepared. You brought no weapon other than your mutation’s unpredictability. Though, as you came face-to-face with the man who had haunted every thought you’ve had since you were six, you were certain that a chaotic outburst wasn’t too far away. Hopefully, you could aim it this time. As surprised as Shaw was, it was nothing compared to Erik’s surprise. Maybe you should have just stayed at the hotel.

“Ah! Two makes a party! It’s a shame that, even grown up, you haven’t learned manners. Come on now, this is not the type of greeting. After all these years?”

Suddenly, piercing scratches engraved their way through your ear canals and into your brain. Sounds of drilling, shrieks, and electricity all began buzzing and mixing together as one face came into focus: Sebastian Shaw and his sick satisfaction at your torture, which he labeled “experiment.” You noticed Erik was on his knees yet broke free and took his chance by throwing the knife, guiding it through his own mutation. This break of focus by Emma Frost gave you liberation of your own mind and the opportunity to strike.

As Emma flung Erik over the boat’s edge, you took your time to fight back. In her diamond form, you swung into the air, hitting no target with your physical knuckles but using the gravity around her to make your impact, seeing a satisfying crack in her diamond coating.

“Well! Young Y/N fighting back!” Shaw's disgustingly gleeful voice rang through the air, distracting you just enough for Emma to nearly repeat the same move she used on your brother. But you were fast. Grabbing her arm, you used a few moves you managed to learn from Erik's very limited fighting lessons. Kicking her firmly in the stomach was enough to deceive you into believing you had a chance—until coast guard lights began lighting up your scene. Even with spotlights on you, you weren't going to let your shot at Shaw miss.

You fully lunged for the despicable man, until suddenly your feet were no longer touching the ground. Looking down, you saw the boat at least 40 feet below you, and as you turned your head upwards, you were met with a devilish face snarking back at you.

“He doesn't need two of you.”

You were no stranger to pain. Crushing, slicing, and even nerve-shocking pain were unfortunate realities of your mutation. But the feeling of stabbing was different—not a thousand little pricks, but a clean slice across your stomach. As was the sensation of it being ruptured and invaded by the dropping air, as the grip on the front of your black sweater let go. You could hear metal rampaging through the yacht, knowing Erik was doing what he was bred for: pain and destruction. While you were doing what you were bred for: failure embodied on a chopping block.

Your mutation worked instinctively to protect you from death upon impact, but the frigidness seeped into your wounds as crimson began coating the already dark waves. Even with the softened impact, your lungs still had the air knocked out of them, which you naturally gasped to regain, yet only took gulps of salty water flavored with copper blood.

Eyes closed, your connection to Erik was still too strong. The connection to all the forces was too strong. You could feel the submarine slipping away, along with your consciousness. If death already had you in its grasp, you might as well play your last laugh in life.

With every last cell marked with the pesky X-gene, you bent gravity to your will to lift the submarine. Slowly, the ocean's grip on the metal contraption began loosening as it was exposed to the night air. It was becoming excruciating as the salt penetrated your exposed flesh and water filled your lungs as you began laughing. You were happy you were in the water when the tears came. At least when Mama saw you, she wouldn't be able to tell the tear stains. If you died laughing, maybe Erik would somehow hear it through the ocean's enveloping waves. At last, you would be at peace. The darkness that overtook your eyes then overtook all your senses, leaving you an unconscious hope drifting at sea.

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..✭・.✫・゜・。.

Charles Xavier has known humanity more intimately than potentially any human before. Yet that fateful night in 1962 was one that changed his perspective on it more than any of the prior decades of his telepathic existence.

All he was meant to do was invade the mind of one Sebastian Shaw, help with world peace, and get started with his teachings as an official professor. Though, nothing worthwhile in life is planned. When Charles realized that the water was not free of occupants, he rushed to save Erik from drowning himself. Until he realized that there was a soul drowning beneath the waves and one suffocating above in the night air.

“Oh my God,” a horrified Moira could only gasp as two figures levitated above in the moonlight before one simply poofed away while it seemed a girl dropped at a concerning speed. In an instant, Charles made a plan and prayed that it would work for the lives of the two strangers and his own conscience. The water was unwelcoming to Charles as it clung to him, trying to drag him down, but he was defiant as he latched onto the tall man in front of him.

“You can't! You'll drown! You have to let go. I know what this means to you, but you and your sister are going to die. Please, Erik, calm your mind.”

The sensation was all uncomfortable and intrusive to Erik, but the one thing that made him refuse all his instincts to keep going was the mention of his beloved sister, you. The two men emerged from the icy domain of the water, and as all questions of who this strange voice in his mind was, Erik had only one thing on his mind:

“Where is she?!”

Very distantly, Charles could feel the last grasp of consciousness and knew time was of the utter essence.

“She is not far, but we have no time to lose. Can you pull her with your ability?”

Out of breath and in far too many layers of confusion and panic, Erik had no hesitation as he stuck his hand out, praying you had enough metal upon you for Erik to use. Thankfully, you decided to wear the very first necklace Erik had gifted to you after your escape for Hanukkah. It was a small necklace with a few charted stars. It was stolen, that much you could assume due to your financial standing, but you had kept it dear to your heart and chest for all these years.

Erik clung to the feeling of its magnetic pull and called it to him. His frozen blue eyes were manically wide as he kept out for any sign of you. While he worked on bringing you forward with his mutation, Charles dove back in. Back into the dark abyss of the water and your unconscious mind.

It was rare for the mind to be a silent place. Even when he was younger, accidentally invading someone's dreams was never a quiet sensation. Yet again, Charles had never been in the brain of an unconscious soul. He didn’t want the list of firsts to continue with the feeling of losing a life in his arms. Faster, deeper, he went at full speed, chasing that faint buzzing of your brain. As he got further below the surface, you got closer to it. The small and dainty necklace was unnaturally the levy to your entire being when Charles grabbed your faint body in his arms and swam to the surface with a hunger for air. With each stroke, he tried to enter your mind, begging you to wake.

Within a few moments, the two of you were back in the realm of oxygen as Erik met you. Charles quickly switched you into Erik’s arms as the three of you made it to the CIA boat. Erik had no reason to trust the man in front of him except for the fact that he saved your lives and that he may be like you. A mutant.

Even before your body was lain on the ground, Charles' urgent pleas for medical aid rang through the icy air. Erik's reddened hands were covered in crimson while his cheeks were covered in tears.

“Liebling, please. Please! Bitte!”

Erik hadn’t pleaded in 17 years. It was a foreign taste to his tongue, but he would make it go numb if it meant you no longer would be. You weren’t the one meant to die today. Erik was going to surprise you. Just one last ticket. This time, wherever you want to go. Forever. Start your life. It was supposed to be the beginning. Now why is it the end?

It was hard for Charles to focus when Erik's thoughts nearly drowned out the faint buzzing of your consciousness. All he wished to do was calm Erik's mind, but any second spent on him was one second closer to death for you. With a hand on his forehead and one brushing the hair away from your face, Charles clung onto that small sliver in your brain.

It was a fountain. Not too grand, but with the way the water sparkled and mirrored the surrounding gothic buildings, it made quite the spectacle. The weather was warm yet not hot, aided by the slight breeze. Floral scents wafted through the air, mixed in with the fountain and fresh bread from a bakery close by. Charles knew he was in a memory of yours with the way he felt the emotions you did: joy, contentment, and hopefulness. He knew it was a memory because above all those emotions, the one of aching presented itself painfully.

Fingers were intertwined with his. He finally moved his eyes away from the fountain and to the point of connection. Your hands didn’t clench to him. Instead, his did to you. Yours were grasping until the point your knuckles were white, with the hand of a woman. She looked youthful and beautiful, though there was a strain in her eyes. A sadness she entrapped, only visible in the reflection of the sparkling water fountain. You faced forward, but the look of wonder was infected with confusion at Charles’s additional presence. The fingers in his began to move, brushing with his. The woman to your right, who you assumed to be your mother, sighed lovingly and pulled your hand toward her as she tried to move. You were frozen.

“Es ist Zeit zu gehen, meine Liebe.”

Her voice was honey-sweet and a long-sought comfort. Charles noticed how your knees bent to move and your finger pointed to follow.

“Y/N, come back to us.”

Your fingers were now tracing the inside of his palms, as if trying to follow a map. Once again, you made no effort to move, but Charles did. He tugged your hand gently to gain your attention, though it didn’t work as your eyes still traced the glorious movements of the falling water in front of you.

“Y/N, wir müssen gehen, Erik wartet.”

Your name sounded so pretty with its proper pronunciation from the woman who had given it to you. The language was still foreign to Charles, but it was your mind, so you could make sense of it, and by association, so could he. A tug once more to your clasped hand.

“Erik is this way. He needs you.”

Your eyes flinched as Charles saw more life and confusion dance behind them. Turning your head, you saw your mother. Her patient smile, crinkled crow's feet, and jubilant hair you always loved to play with when doing dress-up with her. She was everything you longed for. A near step in her direction was too close for Charles.

He placed a hand upon your shoulder, and only then did he finally get the privilege of being witness to such a sight of beauty. You turned your head and knew instantly that this was not a product of your mind. It could never produce such a sight as Charles Xavier’s eyes. The longer the stare was held between you two, the more you felt it all. The gravity of the water, the birds slicing through the air, and a faint pain growing stronger in your stomach. You looked down at it and saw the red staining the milk-white dress you donned. Back to those deep orbs, who seemed to beg you to tug back. Slowly, you started to hear the pleas of a man echoing through the memory. It sounded eerily similar to Erik.

“Y/N.”

At the same time, your mother’s comforting and Charles’s intriguing voices called for you. Your hands were outstretched in front of the fountain as the sun began to set. You felt as the skin began to break apart as the cut deepened. Erik’s voice was as persistent as that never-ending flowing fountain. It was odd—not being able to feel another’s heartbeat, but Charles’s beating so rapidly. Your mother’s didn’t beat at all.

The young man knew just how tempted you were to let go of his grasp. The soliciting pathway out of the tribulation so filled with sorrow was hard to resist, more so for you. All it had been since this near-decade-old memory was a sea of despair. Charles swore to himself that if he was able to get you back, it would not follow that pattern. He was in your mind, but it seemed you were in his as well, as you looked at him as he took his vow. A silence between you two as more voices joined the now urgent shouts of Erik and the maelstrom of metal bending. Your fingers clutched your mother’s as she gave you a loving smile. It was returned with glossy eyes.

“Erik is waiting for me, mama.”

Your fingers finally fully intertwined with Charles’s as you let go of the woman you thought of every night. Once again, your eyes were caught in his orbit as everything became far sharper and more tangible. The sounds of the falling water droplets of the fountain were the last of the memory to dissipate when your eyes finally opened.

A ragged and painful breath was signal enough for Erik as he lifted his head from your shoulder in disbelief.

“Liebling!”

Charles stepped back to give you room but noticed your hands were intertwined in reality, just as they had been in your mind. You looked around and met at least half a dozen pairs of eyes staring down at you, and a pair of gloved hands trying to catarize your stomach in a fashion that made you queasy.

Erik grasped your face to look at it, but you pushed his hands away, along with the young man trying to heal you. If you could, you would have pushed everyone far enough away so you could do your own healing in seclusion, but you did not have such privilege. Eyes slipping closed, your hands rested on your stomach as you sped up your blood clotting process. The cut was diagonal, long, and deep, but with years of practice on much smaller cuts, you were able to manage a speedy procedure that fully stopped any external bleeding. Then came the painful part. You looked forward, past a certain brunette woman’s curious eyes, as you held back grunts of pain. Charles watched in amazement and intense worry as your skin was being pulled at an unusual pace toward the other ripped half, unnaturally closing securely. After one internal check of everything in order with your gift of gravity, you let out a shaky breath, dreading what was to come next.

“That was extraordinary.”

To your left, the man from your mind was there. He was real, yet still not out of your brain as you heard him. He gave you a charming and compassionate smile at your confusion.

“I am just like you. You are not alone.”

You were given no opportunity to respond, nevertheless comprehend what had all happened when Erik forcibly turned your sore body towards him.

“Was dachtest du, was du da macpymhst?!” The words didn’t need to be elaborated to any of the operatives, which many could already translate, to know they were not ones that you were eager to answer. Their expectations coming true as you lifted yourself up, with generous aid by the man you for some reason wanted to call Charles. Erik’s eyes were wide and frantic as he examined you and your shivering form. He had nothing to give you of warmth, but Charles did. Wordlessly, he offered you his coat, and yet another staring match; you took it with a shy smile. As if there was a conversation between the two of you that the rest were not privy to. He suggested that all of you go inside and shelter away from the cold, an offer you gladly took as it took you away from Erik. Though, of course, not for long.

“Y/N!”

You didn’t know where you were going, you simply walked the halls and back towards your brother. “I would simply like to rest, Erik, not now.” Looking past Erik’s burning stare, you addressed the young man who you just now noticed was as drenched as you and Erik. “Do you have anywhere we can rest? We will be gone by dawn, I swear.”

You had no idea how you would do that and where you would go from here, but that was an issue for tomorrow. If you could, you would have demanded to be taken to shore and out of the way of whoever these people were, but you were simply too exhausted. The young man stepped forward, his accent as smooth and refined as silk.

“Actually, we would prefer you to be here by sunlight. We would like you to stay, join us. You two are not the only ones. You are not alone.”

You finally looked at Erik, albeit with apprehension, and he did the same as he tried to understand what the still unintroduced man was saying. It seemed to hit him then (or did he peer into your minds? Was that his ability?).

“Ah, I am so sorry, I fear I have been too distracted to properly introduce myself. Charles Xavier.”

He first held out his hand for you, that smile ever-present. You took it cautiously but he returned with understanding. He turned to Erik, who, to your surprise, took it. An enthusiasm radiated in the air surrounding Charles.

“This is Agent Moira MacTaggert and fellow CIA agents—”

“The CIA?”

A panic rang through your voice. You were raised to trust no one, nevertheless the government. Any kind. You remembered the last time you got caught up. You were beginning to question whether or not Charles was a telepath or empath, as he knew exactly what to ease your worries, somewhat.

“The mutant division. We are after Shaw just as you are. Now you just don’t have to be on your own.”

Moira nodded from behind him in confirmation while Charles was focused on Erik, seemingly knowing he was the decision-maker between the two of you. Clearly, there was a conversation between the two in the sphere of the mind. Yet, whatever Charles had said must have been meticulously crafted as Erik did something against his very nature. He took Charles’s hand and agreed to join along with whatever this was. Then it was his turn to brush past you and deeper into the boat.

Considering you were all in a metal boat that he could easily crush like a tin can, it was no surprise a short man with glasses and a black suit followed along with the pretty Moira. That just left you and Charles.

“I apologize for the intrusion, though that was a beautiful memory. I can see why you thought of it.”

His words were soft and genuine. You knew mutants were oddities, but Charles seemed the oddest of them all. A rarity within rarities.

“You saved my life.” The words were blunt but didn’t offend Charles in the slightest.

“I would say you saved your own life. You made the choice.”

Charles took your processing time to take you in. Your hair was drenched and knotted yet somehow looked perfectly styled for your prettily reddened cheeks and nose and sparkling eyes. His bones were freezing but, to him, it was worth it. He would be willing to suffer the cold into the morning if he could ensure you would be there. Just a glimpse into your mind, and Charles wanted to indulge more. This was a sensation he had never felt before. His own cheeks grew red, not out of bitter wind but out of embracing heat as he thought of how Raven would tease him mercilessly if she saw him now.

Clearing his throat, he gestured for you to follow him.

“You can rest in this room tonight. I will tell Moira to bring you a change of clothes to ensure you don’t get a case of hypothermia. Rest as much as you need, truly.”

You looked inward at the small but functional room. You turned back and noticed the intense gaze of those crystal eyes.

“I don’t know what to say.”

If only you had a dollar for every time he had flashed that ever-present smirk at you.

“A ‘goodnight’ should suffice quite nicely.”

A slight smile began to grow on your lips. “Goodnight, Charles.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..✭・.✫・゜・。.

translations:

Liebling - darling

Bitte - Please

Es ist Zeit zu gehen, meine Liebe - It's time to go, my love

wir müssen gehen, Erik wartet- we have to go, Erik is waiting

Was dachtest du, was du da macpymhst?! - What did you think you were doing?!

[deathandrainbows1]

Kanej Headcanons - Touch

They might not be the physically intimate, can’t-keep-their-hands-off-eachother type of couple but the intimacy they can find in the smallest of acts like a brush against the neck or a caress of the hand cannot be put to words. They’re both so in love with each other it makes me sick.

Kaz loves holding onto Inej’s hand, he loves how warm and how alive she feels. By now he’s memorized every vein, line and callous on her hand, to the point where he knows the back of her hand better than his own. Inej likes how gentle, almost reverent he is with her, and the way he caresses her hand with his thumb.

Similarly, Inej loves holding onto  Kaz’s hands, the hands she’d spent so long admiring in their scarred, unnatural paleness from being in his gloves so much. She likes how it makes her feel in control; The control that she’d never had in her days in the Menagerie. Kaz finds the way she holds onto his hand and intertwined their fingers together comforting. He still gets chill everytime, in the good way (most of the time, at least).

It’s comforting for the both of them, they like rubbing the other’s hand with their thumb while they’re holding onto it and on days where holding hands is too much for them, they make do with linking their pinkies together.

And there are still days where its too much, days where Kaz can’t tell the feel of a living body from that of a dead one, and days where Inej can’t tell the touch of the boy she loves from that of a customer at the Menagerie.

They understand this, and respect it. They have memorized each other’s tells, whether it be the way Kaz freezes up at the slightest brush against his hand or how Inej flinches and sighs when she’s held, even if she tries to hide it. But, they try to push past their traumas together nonetheless. It has worked too, compared to when they started.

Still, when it does become overwhelming they both know to let go and give each other the space; Coming to terms with this fact alone makes them feel so much safer and more comfortable with physical contact. They’re both helping each other heal and recover from their respective traumas, and its beautiful.

That being said, they are still just kids in love.

Kaz is still utterly entranced by Inej. He stops to stare more often than he’d like to admit and tries to play it off when she catches him. She can see through it of course, that armour means nothing to her now.

Not that she’s any better either mind you, you’d think after all they’ve been through and seen, and how often they hold hands, she’d be used to the sight of Kaz’s bare hands. She isn’t, and still turns red whenever he takes his gloves off. Kaz still hasn’t noticed, clueless as he is but Inej is convinced that he does it on purpose.

Sleeping together in one bed is difficult, not that they haven’t tried. The amount of physical contact can get too much, too many nights Kaz has woken up in a cold sweat, shaking from nightmares about the Reaper Barge, and too often has Inej nearly stabbed Kaz after nightmares about the Menagerie. 

The solution? Separate beds.

They keep two beds next to each other separated by a small distance, that way they’re still close without quite touching. They still hold hands or link pinkies between the beds though it helps them sleep.

And on the days where they both can handle it, they push the beds together. It might take them a while before they’re comfortable enough to cuddle, but just the warmth and proximity is enough for the both of them for now.

Oh and Kaz absolutely does Inej’s hair.

It was therapeutic once they realised that its easier for the both of them when he touches hair rather than her skin. She finds it relaxing, and he is enchanted by her hair. She taught him how to oil it, brush it and braid it, and its almost a nightly or every-other-nightly ritual for them, Inej sitting there while Kaz does her hair. 

I do think that they would eventually become comfortable enough to move on to more intimate things, but that would probably take a long, long time.

[heartofroses112]

Our Own Choices First Draft - Cody's Reveal

The taunts and vicious threats were cut short by a slam, a heavy thud that echoed through Bly’s head. He turned slightly, gaze switching from Fox and Palpatine to instead rest on the Commander.

With the sound of plastoid hitting metal, Bly had expected the Commander to have slammed his hands against the table to silence Palpatine. But no. It was not gloved hands that rest against the holo-table, but rather a helmet. The Commander’s helmet.

Bly stared at the helmet, disbelief slowing the cogs in his head. Slowly, so slowly, Bly lifted his head. His eyes dragged up from the helmet, along scarred plastoid and familiar build.

Chest heaving with the rage that must have compelled him to finally remove his helmet. Eyes burning with hatred for a man who had ruined their lives. Scar reflecting the fluorescent lights from above. Bly would recognize the brother before him anywhere.

“Well, well,” Palpatine drawled, lips drawling back in a sneer. “Commander Cody. What a surprise.”

No one in the room made a sound. Bly wondered if any of them were even breathing. He wasn’t, not with the heavy weight settling in his chest.

Cody let his hands rest on the edge of the holo-table. He leaned in. “You will not threaten my men any longer. Leave. Before I do something you will regret.”

Palpatine shifted, hood of his cloak moving just enough to reveal the smirk on his face. “Oh? I do not fear the idle threats of a clone. Your little rebellion is weak in the grand scheme of things. All I need to do is outlast you.”

“Freedom and peace are ideals; they will live on long past my death or yours,” Cody shot back. Even despite the rage still burning in his eyes, Cody’s voice had not once slipped from the calm tone he spoke in. “And your death will come.”

Cody leaned in even closer. “I have spent nearly half my life fighting you. And I will not stop until your corpse is dead and smoking at my feet. No corner of the galaxy can hide you, no amount of blasters and unnatural powers can save you. After all you have done to my brothers, to the Jedi, to the people of this galaxy. Death will be a kindness.”

“Now, now, Commander,” Palpatine tutted, hands folding in on themselves beneath the sleeves of his robes. “You once held the Jedi in such high respect. And revenge is not the Jedi way. What would your general say?”

“Because of you,” Cody snarled, “the Jedi are dead. So, it does not matter what they would say. All that matters now is that they are avenged.”

“So, why hide for all this time?” Palpatine murmured. “It does not strike me as the actions of a man seeking vengeance.”

Cody stood up straight once more, energy coursing through him. Bly couldn’t look away. “Concealing my identity was a mercy. You had me fight for three, long years. You assigned me missions and watched me lead thousands of men. You know exactly how good of a strategist I am. You know exactly how ruthless I can be. And that should terrify you.”

Palpatine didn’t say anything. Bly thought that, maybe, yes, Cody truly did scare the old man. And wasn’t that something?

“I was second to Obi-Wan Kenobi for three years until you forced me to turn on him. And Kenobi was one of the men you hated most, the one who stood against you and kept you from your goal for so long. How does it feel to know that Kenobi’s beliefs and my fury are what haunt you now?

“The strength of the Jedi and the passion of the clones.” Cody lifted his chin. “You never stood a chance.” And with a single motion, Cody ended the transmission.

The room was thrust into complete silence, the only sound Cody’s ragged breathing. Bly couldn’t look away, would never look away, because Force, it was Cody, standing here and alive and strong. Cody stared at the empty space above the table for another long minute.

“Lieutenant Clyde,” Cody said. The lieutenant straightened to attention. “Find out how he managed to connect the transmission. Talk to Tech, start encrypting all of our communications again.”

“Sir.”

“Lieutenant Boil.” Cody still didn’t look away from the holo-table, but Bly could see how Cody’s eyebrows tightened, how Cody’s jaw clenched after speaking the name of his man. Bly didn’t think Boil moved; had the lieutenant guessed? Or had he known? “Start coordinating with Howzer and Grey; get the fleet out of this system and somewhere far from the Core.”

“Yes, sir,” Boil breathed.

Cody nodded once, twice, three times. Then he grabbed his helmet, slid it back onto his head, and the Commander left the room without another word.

“Fuck,” Fox gasped out, sagging backwards against Thire. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Bly let out a broken laugh, pressing a hand to his forehead and staring at the holo-table. ‘Fuck’ was right. What else was there to say?

Boil cleared his throat. “Grey, Howzer. Breaker, you too.”

“How are you so composed right now?”

pt 1 | pt 2

[seraphimaa]

Haarlep character study/further Headcanons

Some more word vomit that nobody asked for about how I perceive Haarlep and what it would look to love him in the ways that you can.

Warnings: a bit nsfw, unhealthy relationships(?)

Available under the cut!

A wider look at his general character, to begin with …

- haarlep lives in the boudoir, starved of everything that gives him purpose, power and fulfilment in life. His existence may cater to base comforts, he does not live in danger because Raphael would not risk killing him in fear of what may replace him. This does not mean, however, that does not make it a happy existence. He is starved of sex and intimacy, the very thing that he was built to live for. His enjoyment of flirting, and charming, and experiencing the “chase” of those he lays with is all but stripped from him too, spending hundreds or thousands of years trapped alone with only himself for company. This means that Haarlep’s life inside the house of Hope is very like that of a caged animal in a circus. He performs tricks when told but when he’s not needed to entertain, he is left to pace in a tiny cage that is built to meet none of his needs. He has lost any power and purpose he once had, it slumbers inside of him while he sleepwalks through existence.

- It only gets worse when you consider what Haarlep is. As an incubus, he is the embodiment of hunger, much like a vampire, but he feeds the source with sex and intimacy instead of blood. He is always in a state of need, never fully satisfied or fulfilled and always manipulating and corrupting others in order to fill the endless void that screams for more, day and night. He will never know what it feels like to live without this consuming curse and the purpose of his existence is to simply feed it as much as possible. So while in the house of Hope, Haarlep is starving every. single. day. His nature would be screaming at him to feed and he would have nothing to do other than stay in that room becoming more and more feral and driven half insane. Much like Raphael tortures Hope because he despises everything that she represents, I think Haarlep is in a similar situation. Raphael looks at this creature who thrives off of affection and intimacy and hates it because to him, that is a weakness. The solution? Make it suffer an eternity, only giving it enough of what it needs to survive and then it, like Hope, may suffer the same hell that he existed in. There would be no need for weak things like Hope or intamacy in his house.

- on the topic of his incubus nature, I think everything from his smell, sickly sweet but poorly hiding the predatory and carnivorous musk beneath, to the way in which his demonic eyes mimicked that of a reptile wearing a flesh suit, would cause him to feel undeniable uncanny underneath his charming surface. Incubi are masters of understanding mortal emotion and motivation enough to mimic them, usually masters in the art, but remembering that Haarlep has been locked in isolation for an unimaginable amount of time, with the exception of the occasional pragmatic exchange with a visitor, it’s not hard to believe this this would be less masked in his presentation than one would usually expect. When he moves, he slinks and prowls around like a giant demonic tiger, muscles taught and always looking ready to pounce. His face would contort to all of the correct responses, but his expressions would always have a manic intensity to them that looked unnatural and more like what an actor would do on stage. His eyes would stay the same no matter the shape his face made, always dark and piercing you with that uncanny intensity, never leaving you once. Under the mask, you were making eye contact with the dangerous predator that lived underneath.

What it look like when you came along?

- When you encounter in him the boudoir, you give him everything he had spent so long without. You bring a spark of chaos that he’d forgotten the feel of to begin with - if nothing else, a little entertainment for once, but you don’t stop there. You blush and shy before him, you fall for his pretty words and you follow his every demand and for the first time in so long, you finally feed the screaming hunger inside. He charms and flirts with you until you climb under him and all but spend yourself to make him feel good and to serve his every desire. For the first time, he remembers the power that he has and what he was built to do. You, for a moment, make the hunger disappear and give him total satisfaction. A new breath of life. If that wasn’t enough, you also gift him a new form to wear, something he’s also been denied by his master. You waltz into his little cage and where you easily could have cut down the strange creature lurking on the satin sheets, you instead give him every single thing he had been denied for almost his whole existence. You liberate him from his sleepwalking and he becomes fascinated with you for this.

- when alone, Haarlep would now have something interesting to do. He’d love to use your form and just play with it. I know it already mentioned this but I can’t overstate how much I love the idea of Haarlep viewing this form as a fun “doll” to experiment and ‘practice’ with. Brushing your hair, washing it, putting it up in different pretty ways. New and exciting hair. Trying on makeup. Learning what suited your features and how to put it on without making a mess. Your face and all the ways it moves. Siting for hours in front of a vanity mirror, smiling, crying, frowning, that little O your mouth made with your eyes rolling back just like when you’d cum for him for the 4th time that first day…They all looked so delicate and different to his other face. At first, they’d been all wrong and he’d even unsettled himself seeing your face contorted into such hard angles but he had so much time to practice. Using your voice and all the noises he could make with you. The soft chiming of your made sounded too sulty when spoken with his tongue, something else he could improve over time. It was fun to scream and wail and all sorts, they sounded so cute when he was you. He mimicked the moans and gasps you’d made for him as you’d panted and whimpered beneath him the most because those were his favourites. He’d hum and murmur phrases over and over again as he paces around his room, moments of boredom or silence broken by depraved whines and giggles. Your body would be extremely fun to learn. Nobody would know you as intimately as Haarlep could. He would know exactly how you liked to be touched and where, the exact amount of pain that would still allow you to revel in the throes of pleasure, and exactly how your body hurt and jerked in response to crossing that threshold, how to make you cum at his very whim, how to edge you for hours and days at a time, every depraved little kink that caused a jolt of heat to spread in your loins. I think the absolute fascination with being you would only grow his obsession. It was like he wanted to be you, and have you both at the same time.

- this would lead to Haarlep being desperate for you to continue returning to him. Not only can he study you in the flesh, fascinated by every word and move you make, but he can also continue establish a consistent way to feed his incubus cravings. Not only does he want you to come back and let him use you again, but he wants you to stay longer every time. ‘You should bathe with him, little mouse.’ ‘Before you go, tell me about how exactly you managed to drop a spectator flask in the middle of a a tavern.’ ‘But, surely you must be tired, no? The master will be gone for weeks. You could just sleep here.’ Don’t get me wrong, he likes you. You feed him and you make him feel good and you like him so why wouldn’t he? He likes your face and your body and your voice and your hair. Anyway, it lets him know you better. Use you better. Yes, the days spent fucking, or lounging in the bath or bed, or listening to him tell you that you were special and he just loved being around you weren’t lies as far as Haarlep cared, he meant every word of it. Your mistake would be to assume that this means that it’s noticed by love.

- as discussed, incubi are alien in their culture and experience to us. Haarlep is not capable of applying love to his range of abilities, at least not how mortals would usually expect it. He can obsess over you, desperate and possessive. He can like you, and need you, and feel empty every time he isn’t feeding, but you will never be his equal. Whatever flavour your relationship takes, be it predator and prey, pet and master, or shiny toy and owner, to be clear Haarlep will always prioritise his own needs above your own, even when it appears he is being thoughtful, the logic will always loop back to being something that also benefits himself too. Your relationship and favour with Haarlep does not extend past your usefulness to him. He ‘loves’ you because you give him life and power by submitting to him. As soon as you deny him his nature and needs then he would be simply incapable of having interest in you past that, unless it was to force you back into submission. He, by his nature, would want you to see him as your sole purpose in life. He needs you to love him, and need him, and think about him, and fear him and he needs you to feel hollow and empty whenever he is not there. Love is devoting yourself to this cause and wanting nothing but his happiness, and reducing yourself to something that can’t exist without him. The way he would return this love is by trying to treat you well and keep you happy too. He would recognise your needs and desires and as long as it didn’t conflict with his own, he would humour you any time he could. Again, you’re valuable to him, a souvenir of his new life and a reliable source to feed from, and he likes you. There would be nothing to gain from being bad and deliberately cruel to you, unless you pushed him into it. He wants you thriving and all the more eager to give him whatever he wants, when he asks. It may manipulative and selfishly motivated, but again, that is just his nature. He would love you very deeply and consumingly, but like a possession or a useful toy.

- On that note, loving Haarlep would not be a pleasant, easy experience. First it comes with accepting that loving him is inherently destructive. While you spend your time filling the void in Haarlep, he would spend his moulding the emptiness inside of you to only fit him because he had to ensure that you would never have a reason to leave or deny him and he had to make your needs fit only what he could provide you. He would convince you that only he could make you happy and that nobody would ever compare to him, and he would sow a deep fear inside of you that if you disappointed him, he’d leave you and you’d be alone and have nothing. Think about it, incubus are kind of the embodiment of unhealthy, toxic, and destructive relationships and the kind of romance written about in Shakespearean epics that always ends in tragedy. Again, he does very much love you in his own way but that doesn’t mean it translates as such. Give him everything he wants? Good, he’ll treat you like a perfect little doll and he’ll be so doting, and loving, and soft, and kind for you. Try to deny or escape him? He will use fear and suffering to convince you back into his warm, “loving” embrace.

- on that note, I think another tragic element to this romance comes from the fact that what Haarlep genuinely views as kindness, isn’t always perceived as such. Your relationship would destroy any passion and enjoyment you have for life outside of your bond to him, as his nature intends. This means that the fuller he feels, the emptier you often feel and the only cure and comfort you can find, by his design, is himself. Say he sees your spark slipping more every time you come back, your eyes more dull and tired with every visit. It would make him feel distressed. He didn’t want you to be unhappy. He wanted to make you happy like you make him happy. What was it you needed that he want giving to you? If he took your soul and left you a mindless doll, then surely then you’d be happy and stop crying? You’d not even remember any other needs, you’d be like him. The only hunger you would feel anymore would be to be used which is perfect because he always hungers to use you. Wouldn’t this be the kind thing to do? He’d do it for you, because he cares. It would make them both so happy. He’d hiss into your ear as he rode you frowning at the tears slipping onto the sheets. “It would all be over so quick. You wouldn’t feel anything. You’d never be sad again. Let me do this for you.”

- on a lighter note, for all the extreme oppressive lows of loving him, there would also come the incomparable highs he’d be able to make you feel that kept you returning. I mean, if you’re someone who struggles with loneliness and connecting to others, those issues would be long forgotten with him. He would know you inside and out better than anyone ever could. Your fears, your desires and everything that made you ‘you’ would be engraved into his memory. Like a little subconscious, he’d exist at the back of your brain, a constant companion. You’d feel his awareness of you and your activities at all times and sometimes you’d hear him reaching out to you, begging for you to return to him. With Haarlep, for better or worse, you’d never know what it felt to be alone or have privacy of anything anymore. Everything that you had and that you were would be his too. As long as you could cope with the uncertainty of what he was capable of feeling for you, knowing how much of the act came from truth, he would play the role of whatever you wanted him to be. He’d build a little world where the only things that existed were both of you and you would never be alone or unhappy as long as you just stayed here in it, with him.

The ‘happy ever afters’…

- I can see it ending multiple ways. Firstly, there’s the chance that he simply grows bored of you after you get old or he simply finds something newer and more exciting. Perhaps he drains you of all your passion and fun and then has no use left for you. Either he’ll convince you to give him your soul as a final act of devotion to him and move on, or maybe he’ll just forget about you and leave you behind, so broken and alone. The emptiness he made inside of you would no doubt consume you and you would be left a lifeless husk regardless. He wouldn’t feel bad about it per say, he would always value everything you gave him and he had genuinely enjoyed the time spent with you but this was the inevitable conclusion, he guessed. You were by nature his prey, and as enjoyable as the feast had been, your meat smelt rotten to him now. Had you expected anything else, really?

- the second scenario I can see is that he keeps you around for as long as possible. His obsession with you, fed by his dark and consuming nature, would lead him to always be able to feed from your hand. His entire existence would become dedicated to both of your hedonistic pleasure and to milking everything he could take from you. Any time he wasn’t feeding from you, you can bet he’s out there somewhere enjoying life through your eyes. Any time you are not with him he’s haunting your mind and begging so sweetly for you. Like a treasure, he’d want to display you to the world and he’d want nothing more than to preserve you. He knew that you needed love and softness to thrive so he would deny you none of it. He would worship you and you would serve him so well in return.

- This is totally silly but I also just love the vampire and incubus dynamic. Creatures lead by the same beast but who tame it differently. I know it’s totally self gratifying but I love the idea of incubi having the ability to either turn someone into a vampire (something like older DnD lore) or Haarlep finding a way to immortalise his obsession in this method.(“ Hey, ascended Astarion, please turn me into a spawn so that I can have a dark parasitic love with my demon boyfriend.”)

Like think about it, he’d be able to corrupt and reduce his obsession to something more like him. Something he could better understand and fulfil the needs of. It would seem like the perfect solution. They would be able to let him use their body forever and feed from them as much as he ever could want. In turn, they’d be stuck to his side by the promise of as much fiendish blood as they could ever want. They’d doom each other living like two leaches attached to one another, both giving and taking in return and incapable of leaving, lest they risk starving. They’d be able to fill their needs in each other forever and their depraved idea of love would become a poetic and self fulfilling prophecy.

A/N: thanks for reading. I do take prompts and requests too. Idk if I got the right about of ‘dark’ in the ‘romance’ captured here or if I went to far in either way for it to be enjoyable but I hope you liked it. I think Haarlep is so hard to write for because when you’re trying to describe and explain the emotions and motivations of an incubus and look at the world through their lens, it mostly gets lost in translation, so to say lol.

[maskedemerald]

Weaving Webs CH2

Here is chapter two for Invisobang ! The wonderful @pricklenettle did some fantastic art that you'll see embedded through out the fic! This chapter's art makes Danny look so perfectly creepy!

You can check out the fic here or on AO3! (this chapter will be up on AO3 when it stops having trouble)

If you like this consider dropping us both a follow!

Warnings: Body horror, manipulation, Spectra is her own content warning, Burns, Spider - for like 2 chapters then it goes away.

The Fenton parents were there when the accident happened, they saw Danny die in an act of sabotage. Now they’re just trying to go on with the strange ghost that is all that's left of Danny. While their old college friend is wondering where the subjects of his revenge are.

[Previous] [Next]

Chapter Two

Jack rammed the bat into the safety glass so hard the bat itself broke, if he hadn’t been panicking he would have cursed the time they had spent making that shield so indestructible. Maddie’s hands continued to fly over the keys at the console, desperately trying to turn it off. He didn’t stop, throwing his whole weight against it as green engulfed his son. A blood curdling scream pierced through the air.

Maddie flinched sharply at the scream, “no… no… come on! Just turn off! Why won’t it stop!”

Frantic footsteps cascaded down the lab stairs. Jazz almost fell into the lab, her face was white as a sheet and her eyes filled with fear.

“Mom, Dad! What? What’s happening?” She shouted.

The panicked shout echoed loudly in the sudden quiet as the scream cut off. A silence that chilled far more than the scream itself. The sharp overwhelming green light behind the glass had stabilized into a swirling green portal. It worked. What should have been a crowning achievement was instead the worst moment of his life. Firmly and thoroughly kicking the accident in college off its pedestal. And it was all his fault. It had to be. Maddie didn’t make these kinds of mistakes, he did.

Maddie slammed a key and the shield hissed as it slowly slid up. Jazz rushed forwards and Jack was forced to grab her before she could touch the toxic portal surface. He couldn’t lose anyone else to this. He should have given up long ago. Maybe then this wouldn’t have happened.

A shape shifted, a dark shape beyond the green. It grew to a silhouette. Jack held his breath, unable to look away. For a moment an unbelievable hope sparked in him. A hope that despite all logic he latched on to. He couldn’t have survived it and yet against the scientific part of his brain, that had long ago started to sound like Maddie, he believed. Shoving aside the horrified calculations of just how much electricity would have hit him, not to mention the toxic ectoplasm. A small amount to the face had hospitalized Vlad for years.

That foolish hope died quickly. A hand breached the film like surface. The smells of burning plastic and flesh joined the ozone in the air. It was quickly followed by a tumbling body crashing to the ground.

What was left of Danny lay motionless on the floor of the lab. A ragged heap of limbs. His hazmat burnt black and disintegrated in places. His left arm exposed, burnt and skeletal with white bone peeking through. Raw and oozing a colour that blood definitely wasn't, ectoplasm. The glass of his visor was cracked and the same green dribbled down from it. In the end though despite all that, it was the glow that kept him rooted to the ground. A soft white aura all around him and the slivers of slitted cracked open glowing green eyes beyond the unnatural darkness of his visor.

Jazz choked a gut wrenching sob as she tore out of Jack’s grip and ran straight for Danny. Not Danny, Jack reminded himself. The ghost. Danny’s ghost.

Maddie fumbled for a weapon. Her aim shook uncharacteristically as she aimed at what was left of their son. Jazz kneeled in front of the ghost, so close they could lose her too in an instant. It could move far faster than they could.

“Jazz! Get away from him… it!” She ordered.

“It?” Jazz choked, “what are you doing? Help him!”

“Jazz… Jazzy… that’s…” He tried, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“That’s Danny, Dad!” Jazz snapped, “what are you standing around for! He needs help!”

“Jazz, there isn’t any helping… it's not… it's not Danny anymore… he’s… he’s dead,” Maddie forced out, he could hear the grit in her teeth and the way her voice wavered on the edge of tears. Tears he was still too shocked to shed.

“No! No…, he’s not… he can’t be,” Jazz sobbed as she tentatively tried to find a pulse in the burnt arm while clearly trying not to hurt it further. Her search quickly became more frantic with each moment of failure. Her fingers doing little more than cracking the skin and causing more green to well up.

“Jazz…” he started, stepping forward. He needed to pull her away but at the same time he didn’t. He understood. He didn’t want it to be true.

She cried out with a huge sob before crashing into Jack in a shaky hug. He wrapped his arms around her. His own tears finally began to fall. Shock fading into pain. He glanced at Maddie who’s focus was still on the unmoving ghost. She stepped closer.

“No!” Jazz quickly pulled away from him at the sound of Maddie’s boot against the metal floor, she held her arms outstretched to block Maddie, “you can’t! Even if… even if… isn’t he… isn’t he still Danny.”

“Jazz, it's a ghost… it's not Danny anymore… it's just an echo. It's dangerous,” Maddie soothed, lowering her pistol if only to not be pointing it at Jazz. It wouldn’t hurt but that didn’t make it scary.

Jazz scowled. Jack knew that look. That look when she got angry at something she thought was wrong. That look when she questioned authority. He’d seen it at many parent teacher conferences.

“How… how do you know that… he’s… he’s not done anything yet! Danny wouldn’t hurt anyone!” She shouted through her tears.

“Jazzy, ghosts are evil… I don’t want it to be but it's the science,” Jack said softly, he never wanted to be wrong more. He never wanted all of science to be wrong. It wasn’t just their research after all.

“Science!? How can you say it's science!? There hasn’t been any proof till now, if that isn’t just… just Danny’s body,” her voice cracked.

Jack winced, would it be better if it was just a body? Then they wouldn’t have to deal with what Danny had become. Jazz didn’t understand. She’d never believed in ghosts. She hadn’t seen the proofs. Proofs from their early work. Proofs from their fellow researchers.

The ghost moved, a twisting movement. Slow and sluggish but still dangerous. Easily within reaching distance of Jazz.

“Jazz! Move now!” Maddie insisted loudly.

An arm shifted and moved in her direction. Jack moved, adrenaline surging all over again. He’d already lost Danny, he couldn’t loose Jazz too. Not to Danny’s own ghost. Danny wouldn’t want that. Jack grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from it.

Jack held Jazz against him, hand on her back to soothe the angry distraught sobs. Her hands pushed against him. She didn’t believe them about the dangers of the… ghost that was left of Danny. Maddie’s pistol was trained on the ghost as it shifted. Attempting to push itself up only for the shaking burnt arm to buckle under it. It hit the floor with a smack.

“Let me go, he’s hurt! He needs…” Jazz protested as she struggled against him.

It twisted and squirmed again, finally pushing itself up with the one good arm. Jack stiffened and tightened his hold on Jazz as its green lamp light like eyes beyond the pitch black cracked visor fixed on them. He could hear the whine of Maddie’s pistol charging. Jazz had stilled and gone silent as it tilted its head unnaturally. In a way that made him wonder if his neck had broken before he'd... died.

Jack expected it to attack. He was waiting for it. Waiting for the tension before the spring of it launching itself at them. Whatever vague memory of what happened that had imprinted onto the ectoplasm probably blamed them. He expected it to be vengeful, instead it blinked in a way that reminded him of Danny’s confused look. It just seemed confused and disoriented. Like it wasn’t sure how to react. An almost electrical whine that was almost like a scared pained whimper, lights flickering. Even without seeing Danny’s eyes looking at him, even without hearing Danny’s voice in pain, he couldn’t not think about how it was Danny. It was all that was left and it was just sitting there.

Jazz slipped his grip suddenly, she scrambled over to the ghost despite her having to know now that it wasn’t really the Danny they had just lost. It didn’t lunge or strike her. It sat there continuing that electrical whine as she carefully checked it over.

“Mads?” Jack glanced over to her, her pistol was still aimed but her hands shook, “it's not attacking… you don’t think…”

She shook her head, “it's a trick… that's what ghosts do. It’s not different just because it’s Danny.” She didn’t sound so certain.

Jazz looked up, that indignant fury on her tear streaked face, “stop it! He’s Danny right.”

“Jazz, that's not how ghosts work…” Maddie started.

“An echo, I know you’ve said it a million times. Does that matter? Even if I believed that crap! He’s Danny, he’s hurt. I don’t care if he’s an echo or not!” Jazz snapped.

It didn’t matter. It was Danny, what was left of him and Jack couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t take the chance that something of Danny might still be there. If somehow Danny’s ghost was different. If he was wrong, he’d deal with it then. Two ghost hunters could surely handle one newly formed ghost if it turned out he was wrong.

Jack walked past Maddie and knelt down next to Jazz. There wasn’t anything he could do to help a ghost but he could at least make it clear where he stood. Jazz gave him a grateful little smile that quickly fell away.

“Jack?” Maddie questioned, her voice shaking.

“Mads… I can’t… I mean it’s Danno… what's left of him. I can’t not take the chance that we can still have some part of him.” He looked over at her, hoping his words would break through to the part of her that he knew had to feel the same.

“I… know but what if… what if this is just an act? What if it changes Jack? We have to…” She insisted but still the shaking pistol lowered a little.

“And what if it doesn’t… what if we’re wrong. I can’t live with that. If it changes we’ll face it then. Please.”

[Previous] [Next]

[human-encounters-diary]

Day 15

We are set to arrive on Fendaar in two cycles. As we are currently stuck on the SIIR Noxos, I have concluded that the passages of time that I am free of duties would be best spent continuing to observe the human. The human, on the other hand, seemed to have different plans in that matter, as it took me an unusually long amount of time to locate her.

As I eventually found her, she seemed to be working on one of the control panels in the main control room, so I may excuse her absence with duties she had to attend to. As she saw me, although, she seemed rather…excited (this is obviously mere speculation, as the study of the Terran so far has provided far too little evidence to prove such theories)?

As she rolled out from under the control board and sighted me, her face once again split into a wide opening revealing her horrifying amount of teeth.

"Hey! Dude!", she said, raising to her full height and stepping towards me, still baring her teeth, although I did not recoil, as I did not want to seem impolite. She raised her arms, each pointing into a different direction, away from their connection to the human's body.

"Human Quinn. How are you?"

"Me? I‘m fine, the whole 'wandering around in space' thing just made me throw up, I honestly don‘t know why they insisted on keeping me there for two whole days."

The ends of her fingers, studded with claw-like (rather short and rounded instead of sharp, perhaps they were not meant to function as claws at all, or perhaps the beings on Terra were far different from what I knew, and therefore a shape like this was far more useful to hunt) protuberances, scraped over the back of the connection between her head and her upper body. If I interpreted her facial expression correctly, she seemed to be thinking.

"Maybe I got a light concussion too, I’m not entirely sure. But it's improbable, because I’m fine now."

I decided to focus on one piece of information at a time. "Well, this "throwing up" can certainly not be a healthy nor normal process, otherwise, it would not seem so violently painful and involuntary, would it?"

"Well it‘s not…unnatural, it‘s just something that can happen. And about health, it‘s not unhealthy, it usually helps us to get rid of stuff that is bad for our bodies!", she eludicated, moving one of her arms in a rather random manner.

"The scientists have concluded that this fluid is highly acidic. If this 'stuff' is so harmful to you, wouldn‘t it just dissolve in this fluid before being able to cause any further harm?"

Quinn seemed to think about that. 

"Well, just because it gets dissolved, doesn‘t mean it‘s gone, you know? It's still in our bodies, and we have to get rid of it somehow. And if it needs to be fast, we throw up. Honestly, I‘d definitely explain this further to you, but Biology‘s never really been my strongest subject, ya know what I mean?"

I did not, in fact, know what she meant, but I decided against questioning her further.

After a pause the Terran spoke up again: "So, this planet we're landing on..." "Fendaar.", I clarified. "Right. So, this planet that we‘re going to, it‘s a desert, right?" "That is correct." "So, is it a sand, an ice or, I guess you could also count rock desert? 'Cuz on my planet, we‘ve got all of those types."

"Fendaar‘s ecosystem is mostly made up out of sandlike landscapes with rather scarce vegetation and biodiversity. Most of the planets in system 36-54 have rather extreme temperature ranges, and Fendaar is no exception.", I eludicated.

"Alright, cool.", she spoke, rolling back under the underside of the control panel she had been working on previously. She seemed to be sitting, or rather lying, on a piece of metal with four small wheels attached to it, allowing her to move it around.

"Your planet.", I initiated. 

"Yeah?", she responded, while continuing her work on the wiring.

"Am I assuming correctly that your planet has a far bigger biodiversity?"

"Oh, yeah.", there was a small spring in her voice, as if she had let out air in the middle of speaking. "Big biodiversity. We‘ve got deserts and rainforests, coral reefs and permafrost - although perhaps not for that long anymore - mountain ranges and all that stuff."

"Interesting.", I supplied, for lack of a better response. If Terra had such differences in temperature and landscapes, it was a logical conclusion that the humans had evolved to survive under such circumstances.

"Yeah."

It was unusually quiet for some time. That was, until Quinn rolled out from the underside of the control panels.

"Alright, I‘m done." She took a deep breath before opening her mouth once again. Then, all of a sudden, the muscles of her face started contracting as if she was plagued by an invisible pain. Her eyes squeezed shut and she let out horrifying noise, holding an arm angled in front of her nose and mouth. The noise itself was not particularly loud or long, but I recoiled either way, as a measure of safety. I could not be certain if this gesture was meant to harm me, after all.

Quinn‘s arm sank down again as her other hand rubbed at her nose. She huffed, a sound far less threatening than the one she had produced a moment ago. One of the hair patches above her visual organs raised itself, prompting the question to arise if human hair was controlled by muscles or if it had a mind of its own, although this was a question that could be further investigated later. One of the corners of her mouth raised, revealing the seemingly sharpest teeth in her mouth.

"I guess dust is an inter-galactic thing, huh?"

I did not respond. Her face muscles contracted, causing the skin above her visual organs to crease.

"Hey, you okay? You‘re looking a little spooked over there."

"Human, I do not wish to cause you discomfort, but, if I may ask, what was the purpose of the noise you just uttered?"

She did not respond for a moment, blinking with both of her eyes as she stared at me. It was quite unsettling, considering her previous explanation, that most humans preferred not being stared at. 

"I…sneezed?" The creases in the skin above her eyes deepened.

My front pliers uttered another rattling sound. "What is this 'sneezing'? What purpose does it serve?" I admit, I was quite curious. Terrans seemed much more complex than I had previously assumed.

She paused, seemingly to think of an answer. "Well, it‘s like…if something is bothering us at or in out nose, like dust, for example, it‘s kind of the natural response to that. To keep things out of our bodies that don‘t belong there."

"Human bodies seem to require a lot of defense mechanisms.", I commented.

She raised and lowered the connection of her arms to her upper body, baring her teeth once again while raising herself to her full height, using one of her arms as support.

"Y’know, it’s surprisingly hard to explain something you’re so used to to someone who’s never heard of it. I guess I still have to work on the whole 'awareness that I‘m around aliens' thing. S‘ kind of surreal."

She patted off her clothing, as if to remove non-existent filth once again. I had noticed the past few cycles that most of her clothing seemed to consist of several, usually differently-coloured, pieces of fabric. 

Her clothes usually covered her body from the connection between her arms and torso to the connection between her legs and, presumably, her feet. Her feet were usually also covered, although I could not determine the purpose it was supposed to serve in the environment we are currently in, although the theory that the conditions on Earth are vastly different compared to the ones on the SIIR Noxos is gaining more probability, based on the Terran's narrations.

The human seemed to evaluate a question she wanted to ask (this is, of course, a mere speculation based on previous observations: her face muscles were contracted to form a crease over her visual organs, which could so far most likely be interpreted as confusion, thoughtfulness or discomfort; her head was both slightly raised and tilted to one side at the same time, a gesture that was most likely supposed to convey an ongoing thought process).

Although, before she could utter a noise, V-7 informed us of a request from the Vitrichl to gather for a matter of importance.

The purpose of his summoning was to divide the crew into several smaller groups that were to be assigned with different tasks to fulfill once we sucessfully landed on Fendaar.

I was grouped with the Terran, which was unsurprising, as well as Tkzt, a member of the species that is widely known across the galaxies as Ctzas (it is to note that the Ctzas have not evolved any form of written language and communicate exclusively through clicking and chittering sounds. The written forms of, for example, names of this species, are written by other species to produce approximately the same sound as the Ctzas make when recited verbally).

Tkzt, as a member of the unit controlling supply chains and keeping a list of the stock of the SIIR Noxos, would make a helpful addition in our task of seeking out the nearest settlement in order to stock up on supplies.

After all matters of importance were settled, the crew dissipated, continuing their respective tasks. The Terran was ordered to stay and to assist the Vitrichl in another matter, which is the reason I did not cross paths with the human again for the rest of this cycle.

Despite this, I am positive that accompanying the human on an foreign planet will give me a further insight into the species' mannerisms and interaction manners with foreign species, which will prove to be helpful further on in studying the human.