#handler!reader

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Since the next fic has fully shifted Monster Hybrid!König, I figured I'd give you guys a ref for what he looks like. He's certainly a big boy, I'll tell you all that much for sure. He's probably one of the, if not the biggest shifter Kortac has on base.

[thekoalapastriesbakery]

any thoughts on bear!ollie with hybrid handler reader when he makes his debut in jeddah?

ooooh i hadn't thought of this but excellent ask anon! ft. bunny!charles bc ... well just because really

the whole weekend is a bit of a flurry for ollie

you're used to handling bunny!charles and even bunny!arthur when you need to

but a bear hybrid is ... it's a very different ballpark

any hybrid so young is unpredictable, but overgrown bear cub!ollie going over 300 kmh?

you have a hard enough time convincing bunny!charles not to chew wires when he gets stressed, you do not need another heart attack-inducing hybrid on your hands

but you can't leave him alone

so you do your job and you handle him

there's a lot of physically moving him from interview to interview, because he gets way too chatty way too easily

i mean he does fit in with the other drivers like that

but still

after the race, bunny!charles has his scheduled nap

but ollie really wants to play? he wants to be pushed on the tire swing!!!

it takes literally hours to tire him out enough to get him to take a nap

which he insists on taking on your lap, by the way

he's a bear cub! his natural state is cuddly!

it's not long after the race that ferrari tells you they've split your contract between them and prema bc ollie refuses to work with any handler but you

which is. it's cute.

but it means you're constantly either dragging bunny!charles and his entourage of assorted other hybrid f1 drivers to the f2 paddock

or dragging bear!ollie and his entourage of assorted other hybrid prema/junior formulae drivers to the f1 paddock

either way, those little chain connectors they have on preschool field trips? you're using one (or more) of those

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 1

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samoyed (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts/personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; dom/sub elements; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Some warnings only apply to future parts!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

Simon remembers telling Price to ‘piss off with that shite’ when the latter had approached him with the brass’ announcement of granting the Lieutenant the rare permission to become the handler of an emotional support hybrid.

There aren’t many officers on base who are allowed to have one, and Simon knows why that is. In his opinion, the whole handler/hybrid deal has all the negative connotations of a toxic and borderline abusive relationship, and Simon simply doesn’t want to be part of that.

Did anyone of those fuckers ever bother to read his file? He bloody well doubts it.

He does respect the official handlers and trainers of the military K9’s on base, though. Whatever bond they share was forged and solidified in battle and goes way beyond that odd and shallow power play that happens between some officers and their so-called “pets”.

So, Simon said no to the offer, firmly and several times at that. He doesn’t care for the bloody permission, no matter how rare it is, no matter how fellow soldiers who’d caught rumour about it had blatantly stated their envy about the possibility of gaining a hybrid pet themselves. Truthfully, Simon becomes sick to his stomach whenever one of the other officers and NCO’s talk about wanting to own a pretty pleasure puppy; something dumb and docile to have fun and unwind with in their time off duty.

Fucking hell. No, Simon doesn’t want to be part of that, let alone be responsible of some freakish hybrid mutt.

Weeks pass, both thoughts and arguments about hybrids and handlers are pushed back and filed away in some nook inside Simon’s mind as he falls back into his daily grind and familiar routine; running drills, paperwork, field trainings, preparing for missions, more paperwork.

Until one fateful day in January.

The UK weather has been more terrible lately; icy rain and howling winds beating down on base while Simon was trying to keep the rookies in line at the shooting range. By the end of the day, his fatigues were drenched and clinging to his broad frame while the chill was seeping through his pale skin, settling into his bones; making his limbs heavy and turning them stiff as if he’d carried a rucksack full of boulders on his back for a week straight.

The moment Simon arrives at the front door to his flat on base, though, the hairs at the back of his neck bristle immediately. The hallway is empty, but–

Something isn’t right. He can practically sense that someone was here, perhaps even inside his place in the worst case.

Halting in his measured steps while his breathing levels out to that eerie shallowness he’s adapted to on missions, his ears perk up under his skull balaclava as he listens for any odd noises coming from inside. Unable to pick up anything unusual, Simon still chooses to rather be safe than sorry as he reaches for his pistol in the holster strapped to his right thigh.

Simon manages to open the front door without any noise before he slips inside effortlessly, living up to his name as a ghost as he stalks through his flat on high alert; checking the small storage room before sneaking down the short, dark hallway leading up to his open living room. He can bloody sense that something is different, that someone has tampered with his safe space; he can smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and tangy cologne even through his damp balaclava.

The sight that greets him on his old, tattered couch when he eventually flips on the light switch, is unlike anything he expected and Simon’s whole body tenses, eyes widening comically as if he’s met face to face by a firing squad.

But it’s just you, a bloody dog hybrid, curled up on his couch like you belong there–which you don’t.

And Simon slowly lowers his pistol, watches your fluffy white ears appear from under your hair as they perk up before you lift your head, like pristine cotton balls popping open in the sunlight; your body uncurling and stretching slowly while you squint against the bright yellow drop-light.

“What the bloody… fuck,” Simon breathes, chest deflating with a deep sigh as he puts his pistol back into his holster, securing it once more. Dark eyes flicker around the room before he catches a large black suitcase next to what looks like a gift basket.

Simon approaches the basket the way he would a bomb threat while his vigilant eyes keep shifting towards you as if you could attack him any moment, although you’re clearly still waking up, all discombobulated and sleep-drunk.

When Simon catches a clear view at the assortment of goodies and the black folder tucked between them inside the basket, his cold heart stutters and his blood freezes in his veins. At the sight of the pale pink collar with its matching leash, the vein in his temple throbs with a mixture of fury and revulsion.

The sound of your soft, sickly-sweet voice chirping out a greeting nearly makes his wretched soul leave his body. “Hi… Hello.”

Simon takes a step back, needing a protective wall at his back and as much space between himself and you as possible as he tries to assess the situation.

“How the fuck did you get inside my flat?” Simon mutters under his breath, dark eyes widening when he realizes the thumping in his ears doesn’t match his rapid heartbeat but belongs to your fluffy white tail gently wagging against the soft leather of his couch; just as fluffy and white as your ears, like freshly made cotton candy.

“I was brought here and told to wait for my new handler,” you answer as your head tilts to the side curiously, gazing up at the large man with bright doe-eyes. “Are you Simon?”

Simon’s narrowed eyes widen instantly again at the sound of your voice uttering his name so sweetly, so... casually. It makes him sick to his stomach, and he swallows back the sour taste in his mouth as it fills with saliva.

“Who the fuck brought you ‘ere?”

He needs a name, so he knows who to beat to a pulp before he grabs the first poor bastard who crosses his path next.

“Uhm–oh!” Your small, triangle-shaped ears perk up, and the giggle you let out makes Simon grimace underneath his mask. “They had silly names for humans,” you tell him, still giggling softly to yourself before adding: “Gaz and Soap.”

Simon huffs in exasperation and pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, it explains the “special orders” his bloody Sergeants had gotten from Price today; the reason he couldn’t attend today’s training session. And suddenly, it all clicks into place.

“You’re all wet, Simon,” you remark about his appearance; sweet voice laced with a concern so genuine that is has his spine tense and his stomach churn with aversion. “Are you not cold?”

He wants to bark at you to stop calling him by his name, to stop trying to appeal to him just because your bloody stupid nature tells you to, to stop imprinting on your so called “new handler” just because someone told you that you belong to him now. He wants you out of his flat and out of his life before anything terrible and out of his control can take root and blossom behind his ribcage.

“Get up,” he snaps at you before his thoughts can spiral any further and he almost, almost feels bad when you flinch in your seat, ducking your head submissively while your ears flatten against your head. “I’m taking you back. You’re not staying here, lass.”

“W-What?” Your face drops, your fluffy tail stops wagging; eyes glossing over as you begin to tremble and shrink on the spot. The sound of your soft whine only angers Simon more, because it tugs on his heartstring, makes his protective instincts flare.

“You heard me. Get up and grab your fuckin’ suitcase. ’m taking you back to wherever you came from.”

When Simon glances back at you, something mean and violent lodges itself into his chest cavity; twisting and squeezing his rotten heart as soon as he sees the devastated look on your face; ears drooping and shoulders slouching in defeat while another soft whine vibrates in your chest.

“Okay,” you answer eventually, snivelling when fat tear breaches your lower lash line and runs down your supple cheek as you untuck your legs from under yourself to move off the couch. “Okay…”

There’s a shrill ringing in his ears when Simon’s mouth seems to move on its own, making a decision for him. “Wait. Stay–Stay right where you bloody are.”

And you immediately do as you’re told, like the obedient pup you obviously are, settling back and perking up again as you blink dumbly at the brutish man with bright, big eyes and an expectant look that makes Simon groan internally before he reaches into one of his many pockets to retrieve his old smartphone.

He mutters and curses under his breath as the cracked screen lights up, and it doesn’t take long for him to find his Captain’s name in his short contact list. Simon taps the screen with his gloved thumb to call the man, ready to argue tooth and nail to have you picked up by from his flat again, so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

Simon’s jaw is clenched tightly while his sharp gaze keeps flickering back to you, still not quite believing you’re not some stress-induced hallucination, or nightmare.

It takes two rings before Price picks up.

“Ghost–“

Simon inhales deeply. “Price–“

“Getting acquainted with your new companion, son? She’s quite the sweetheart. Easy on the eyes, too, judging by what the lads told me.”

His chest deflates, air rushing from his lungs in a long exhale. That comment alone is enough to make him even more furious. “I don’t want her. Take her back to wherever she came from, Captain.”

There’s a beat of tense silence before Price speaks up again, and Simon can hear the squeak of the old office chair as the other man leans back in it.

“Did you read her file yet?”

“No, should I?” Simon counters gruffly, feeling his patience grow thinner by the second.

“Aye, son, I suggest you should.”

“Gimme the short version, Price. I’m this close to handing her over to the next lucky bloke who passes by my fuckin’ flat.”

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Price says decisively on the other; his gruff voice way too calm for Simon’s liking. “She’s a rescue, Lieutenant. Got rescued from one of those terrible puppy mills.”

That makes Simon shut up as his eyes flicker over to you; softening somewhat when his eyes lock with yours. You keep watching him with the slightest pout, waiting for orders or for him to finally send you away. He’s still considering it, though the revelation of your background makes him hesitate for some odd reason. Empathy.

“Simon?”

Simon squeezes the phone harder in his grip; hard enough he thinks he might break it once and for all. “You better find a new handler for her, Captain.” He bites out through clenched teeth. “It’s not gonna be me.”

Price sighs. “Alright.” There is another pause and Simon can hear it when Price scratches his coarse beard in contemplation before he speaks up again. “Just keep an eye on her for the night, aye? I’ll make the necessary arrangement to have her transferred to someone else.”

“Good. She can stay for one night. One. Night.” Simon growls before hanging up.

The soft sound of your tail thumping against the couch catches his attention again and when he looks back at you, you’re practically beaming at him.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

[diejager]

Puppy reader who is teething and her teeth feels very itchy so she constantly needs to chew on something and monster!Konig tentacles are her favorite things to chew on bc they're kinda rubbery, soft and taste funny...

- 🐮

Cw: teething, biting, sea food???, tell me if I missed any.

Ghost had been your handler for the past year, having to train and teach you everything you’d need to work with them. He’d seen your lows as often as your highs, from a whining pup, moaning about not receiving enough pets or kisses or treats, seemingly almost missing something, to an energetic mutt, bouncing off the walls and running laps at the prospect of praises and affection. 

He’d seen it all, every little moment you had that had him strain against the limit of his patience as a competent handler. And despite your age, far from being a young puppy with frail limbs and limp ears, you could act as on: whining, crying, barking until something - someone - gave you the attention you needed, but he’d never seen you do… this.

It was unusual for you to be this mouthy, teeth itching to sink into something, your teeth bared and snarling when anyone tried to take the object from your mouth. Ghost had bought you toys, boxes filled with softer chew toys rather than the hard plastic of a shoe or the metal bite of utensils, but you worked through them faster than he could provide. Perhaps you were bored of the repeated drills despite dogs being creatures of habit, or you were lacking activity, he was getting busier with all the reports and paperwork he had to fill in for Price. Especially with another PMZ being called for a joint alliance.

He worried that they’d pose a danger to you, so young and naive to how others could treat you as a hybrid, he had both Gaz and Soap follow you —or rather, you follow them; but when he saw you perk up at the sight of a giant man and another hybrid, a scarred tiger, Ghost felt his shoulders tense. You just had to find interest in a man - could he even be a man with how big he was? - heads taller than him, broad and dangerous. You had completely forgotten his orders, trailing behind the giant like a lost pup, tail wagging and eyes bright. 

You’d go missing for hours upon hours, leaving the Task Force as worried as they were confused, lost without the small ball of sunshine around them. They would go looking for you, asking around until they eventually found you curled up and asleep on your bed, your snoring echoing softly in Ghost’s room. It went on like that for the week and the next, only finding you in the Mess Hall or your bed, not knowing where you went during these long breaks. 

Until- until Gaz had found you straddling the giant’s - König’s - lap, you face covered in a thin layer of mucus and gnawing on a tentacle, long and dark and viscous. Ghost was livid, König being an octopus hybrid - however odd that sounded - and how at ease you both felt to let each other be so physically close to one another. Granted, you were a sociable hybrid, which seemed to bother him less than the sight of you biting on a König’s tentacle.

He knew you were somehow teething, but it bothered him how you were dealing with it with someone else instead of coming to him for a solution. Ghost would have to talk to you later.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[gremlinmodetweeker]

I'm always completely blown away by your art. You're so insanely good, and you make my little blorbos actually look cute/cool. I adore your work so much!

Also, I'm so glad you got that the wings are attached to the hands because I was worried that didn't come through.

daily König sketch… Monster!König from @gremlinmodetweeker! he’s a big boy - also, one without the wings because his body is fren shaped, just a creature<3

[bi-writes]

you're cooking when you notice him. you finish dicing the onion on your cutting board, and when you look up, you smile when you see the looming shadow that takes up the space behind your curtains. (mercenary!ghost x fem!reader, 18+)

"hi, spooky skeleton," you giggle, turning around and dropping the onions into the pot. the sizzle warms your apartment, and when you turn back around, you smile wider when he's come out from the shadows, closer, already on the other side of the kitchen island and only a few steps away from you.

he's geared up. vest thick and heavy strapped to his chest, the hood of his rain jacket over his head to further conceal the skull mask he wears. he stands tall, back straight and eyes narrowed, what little you could see of them. you put the cutting board down, twirling the kitchen knife you hold in your hand before holding it out in front of you, putting the sharp tip against the center of his chest.

"slow down there, big boy," you coo. "did you do as i told you?"

he snarls a bit before fishing a phone out of his pocket, tossing it onto the counter. you look down at it, watching the video playing. it's your mark, slobbering in tears, begging for his life. he pleads, holds up his hands, shakes his head, says that he's sorry in every language he knows until there's a satisfying hole in the middle of his forehead, a lone trail of blood making its way down his face. you think it looks like he's crying tears of blood. it's oddly poetic.

you look back at him, meeting his dark eyes, and you draw your hand back, setting the knife down. with your other hand, you drag your knuckles down the side of his masked face, puckering your lips and blowing him a dramatic kiss.

"such a proficient one, you are," you murmur. "what is that? third one this week?"

"want m'prize," he growls, and you step closer hooking your fingers into the collar of his vest and blowing him another kiss. then, you reach for the kitchen drawer next to you and pull it, taking out a thick envelope and handing it to him.

"you're making them very happy, ghost," you tap the plastic of the skull, giggling. "they like you a lot. got time for another?"

he clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side, and you squeak when he reaches down and grips both sides of your ass with two big hands. you laugh, but it turns into a breathless moan when those hands slip under your skirt and tug at the lace of your panties.

"i want the real prize, want wot 'm owed," ghost says lowly. you stand up on your toes, pressing your mouth to his over his mask. you let your hands fall, pressing on the backs of his hands, encouraging him to slip a few fingers under the lace and prod the entrance of your sticky cunt.

"you want it, baby?" you whimper. "do you?"

"yes--" you feel him bite from under the mask, and you stick your tongue out, licking over the line of his bottom lip, your pride swelling when you feel how shaky he breathes as you tease him. "give it t' me--"

there it is. now i have you.

"well..." you press your pelvis to his, rocking against his fingers, and he hisses when he feels the way you soak the fabric of his gloves. he wants to eat it, he wants to have you, he wants what he was promised. "gotta do somethin' for me first, ghost. gotta job for you. can't pay you for it though, not the way you like."

you think you see him smile under the mask, the corners of his eyes crinkling as if he likes what he hears. as if he knows what it is you will give him if he just does as you say.

"y'know wot it is tha' i want, don't you, swee'eart?"

yes, you think, and you respond by giving the front of his mask a kiss, one you think he reciprocates by the way he cradles the back of your head.

i know what it is that you want because...i want it, too.

[blindmagdalena]

homelander really is at his best when he's desperately and pathetically in love. completely subservient. a livestock hound that would've slaughtered his entire flock if not for the one black sheep that keeps him in line.

not that they're completely safe from him. his bloody and bruised upbringing make him unpredictable. a purebred with the temperament of a beaten mutt. sometimes he bites before he even knows why. his leash is a heavy thing to hold.

but at the end of the day a dog's a dog, and all he really wants is someone he can roll over for

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Collars Of Duty 5

MalinoisHybrid!Simon x reader Chapter 4 - (Chapter 6) Finally reunited again, Simon attacked you as soon as you met. Will this be the breaking point for you or can you work through it and help you both. ~ 8,8k words Content (might contain spoilers): biting, blood, attack, hybrid AU, mentions of torture, medical inaccuracies

A.N: I'm sorry it took so long. I'm pretty slow with updates. I hope you enjoy it. Although I am currently at the I hate it stage but I decided that I should consider it as good enough as it is. Enjoy. Also I suck at spelling so feel free to point out mistakes.

It’s absurd how the seconds stretch until they feel like minutes. The pain is excruciating but you can’t look away from Simon’s face. Your arm feels like it’s on fire, the stinging and burning sensation racing through it until you think you can’t bear it anymore and yet you have the mind to think about it. Instead of instinctively slapping at Simon or kicking him you stare. Is it normal to think this rationally in a moment like this?

It’s like your frozen in time. Neither of you moving, his vicious fangs embedded in your arm. His face is still scrunched up in a threatening display but you catch the flickering hint of fear glinting in his eyes. It makes you want to comfort him and you think you might be stupid, wanting to comfort a hybrid that’s hurting you.

Steps slowly draw closer and when you look to the side you catch sight of Nate’s lower body. He’s carefully, stealthily coming closer. In his hand that’s resting at his side he holds a syringe, thumb ready to empty the liquid into Simon.

It’s most likely filled with a sedative and instinctively you throw your free arm out and over Simon’s neck protectively. He flinches at the sudden movement , driving his teeth deeper into your arm and you wince at the way the movement rips at your flesh. A new wave of pain crashes through you and you can’t hold back a slight groan. Nate steadily creeps closer and Simon’s eyes widen with growing awareness at what’s about to happen.

“No.” You try to command Nate but it comes out like more of a pained wheeze. Still he stops sedative at the ready.

Simon’s eyebrows furrow his eyes flickering between yours, confused. He does not yield his hold on your arm and you breathe deeply through the pain. You wish it would just stop hurting.

“I need to sedate him, he’s dangerous.” Nate says resolutely.

“No!” You manage a bit louder. It might be only a feeling that makes you stop him but if Simon gets sedated right now it will only make things worse. Sure it will save you from this moment but you won’t be able to process it and work through it. It will be just like Phillip. Well maybe not exactly like it since Simon’s isn’t mauling you right now. He’s only nibbling on you. You almost make yourself crack up into hysterical giggles with that thought. His teeth hurt just as much as Phillips did. They’re just as sharp. But they’re not moving.

Forcefully removing Simon from you won’t truly help, you’re sure of it. Simon will freak when he wakes back up and you’ll be left with this memory of him. Attacking you, biting you. Even though his fangs are still sunken into your flesh the old scar in your shoulder throbs and you feel like laughing. Maybe you’re slowly going crazy from the pain. It seems to be everywhere.

Your head hurts where it cracked against the floor but you concentrate on Simon’s shallow breath. The way he holds your arm in his teeth. He’s not actively biting deeper and you consciously relax your body under him. Maybe it’s abnormal the way you assess the situation, thinking it through instead of fighting the large hybrid. But you can’t help but be thankful for it.

“It’s okay, Simon.” You say gently and watch his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. His growling stutters and maybe you imagine it but a hint of a whine builds up in his throat. He’s aware of you. You’re not sure why he hasn’t let go yet, but you’re determined to get this under control. With your current pain level you can still talk and think so maybe there’s a way for you to do this right, to do right by him.

“I know. I should have known better than to rush towards you. I don’t like that either. Forgive me for scaring you.” You continue on just following your instinct. Simon’s face betrays his surprise.

He huffs through his nose and looks at you almost pleadingly. What he’s pleading for, you don’t know. The aggression is gone but the fear in his eyes hurts almost as much as his bite.

“I know. I know. You didn’t mean it.” You’re not even sure what you’re saying but you don’t stop talking to him. His saliva pools on your skin, hot and sticky, or maybe it’s just your blood.

When his breaths get quicker and you decide to be more daring. Speaking helps but it’s not enough. The sight of the large hybrid evidently distressed breaks your heart. He’s growing more distressed by the second.

You need to try something. Anything. Slowly you move the arm that you protectively threw around his neck until you can lower your hand onto the back of his head. Burying your fingers in his hair carefully. It’s just a gentle brush of your fingers through his hair but a sudden wail tears from his chest like you hit him.

Once again it sinks his teeth deeper into your arm and you grit your own teeth against the pain. This has to work. You don’t know what to do if it doesn’t work and the pain is slowly fraying your nerves.

“I know. Shhh. It’s okay. You didn’t mean to, did you? I just spooked you. Nothing bad is going to happen. I won’t let them sedate you. I’m here now, Simon. Like you asked. Like you wanted.”

Once again you card your fingers through his hair, only a whisper of a touch until you reach the base of his left ear. He howls like he’s being ripped apart. Your eyes fill with tears. Maybe you should stop. Are you actually hurting him? But he shouldn’t have a wound on the back of his head. Your touch shouldn’t hurt him.

His eyes are wide and frightful but his jaw slackened lightly. Not hurting him then. Good, you have to continue.

“You can let go, Simon. You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe. You’re okay. I won’t even look if you don’t want me to.” The things you say barely make sense but you can’t stop, not when the hold he has on your arm loosens some more until his teeth are merely resting against your bloody skin. You’re not delusional enough to think he won’t bite down again at the sign of any threat so you keep holding still under him.

The base of his ear is unbelievable soft under your fingers as you rub it and he pants harshly against your arm an entire war happening behind his eyes. Another broken whine raises in his throat and you smile up at him. It’s wobbly and not really all that convincing but a smile non the less.

“No one will look at you. I’ll make sure you’re safe. We’re okay. I promise. It’s okay. You can let go. Nothing will happen.”

You swallow down the pain and nerves addressing Nate. “Right? You won’t sedate him. It’s okay. He’s okay.”

You cannot see Nate's face from your position but he shuffles a few steps back, clearing his throat. “Yeah uhm. Sure?”

Simon’s eyes search yours and ever so slowly he widens his jaw, his wet and warm tongue laving over the bite mark once, his breath cool against the wet skin when he whimpers. Some of the tightness in your chest dissipates as the pain lessens just the tiniest bit.

“There you go. You’re doing so well, Simon. You can relax. Will you let me sit up?”

He takes in your expression, scanning your face for something and you patiently wait. Slowly he pulls his head back until your arm is safe from his teeth. Then he closes his mouth warily. You match his pace and as he slowly retreats from over you, you push yourself up, wincing when you put your weight on your arm.

Finally you’re sitting in front of him, cross legged and he watches you for a long moment. He’s subtly shaking and you attempt to smile at him again but all it does it make the tears spill over. Still you push through even if you can’t see his expression properly through the blur. Smiling almost hurts.

“Well done, Simon.”

The sight or the words make something snap and he lunges forward. You violently flinch, throwing your arms up again freezing when you suddenly have a lap full of malinois hybrid. His big arms are wrapped tightly around your middle and his face is pressed into your stomach while he half lays on you, his shaking growing stronger.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He’s shivering so hard your entire body is rocking with it. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Your arms are still raised while he falls apart against you and you lower them slowly until you touch him. One hand presses on his back, which makes him in turn jump and bury his face harder against your stomach. The other hand finds his head again, petting him. He speaks through pained whimpers. “Forgive me. Sorry.”

You don’t know how long you sit there on the floor, your arm bleeding freely, soaking his shirt and your pants with your blood but at some point he stops shaking, stops apologizing through whimpers and simply holds onto you quietly. You don’t stop petting him through it all.

Nate is already looking at you when you look up at him. His eyes are wide, stressed and his tongue doesn’t stop tasting the air of the room. Your tears have run dry and your mouth curves up into a real smile.

“You’re insane.” He softly remarks into the quiet of the room but it doesn’t sound like an insult.

You blink at him slowly, protectively tightening your arms around Simon, drawing him in closer. He stiffens at that and then relaxes again. He’s awake, just not speaking anymore.

“Can you bring me something for my wounds?” You ask Nate and he looks at you long and hard in disapproval.

“You should go see a medical professional about it.” He advises and Simon curls more tightly around you his arms pressing him closer until his hold is almost painful. A second later he starts to extract himself from you, like he realizes what he just did but you hold him tight and he goes lax in your lap again.

“I’ll take care of the worst myself. I’ll see someone about it later.”

Nate shakes his head. “I don’t want to leave you alone with him not when…”

“I’m fine. You’ll be quick, right?” You interrupt gently. He nods but seems unconvinced. “Go Nate, or do you want me to lose more blood?” You ask with an almost teasing tone and he shakes his head again but begins moving.

“You’re insane.” He repeats and then he’s gone.

Your back starts cramping from sitting in your position for so long. Tenderly you stoke Simon’s hair. “Hey, big guy. Do you think we can move to the wall? Sitting like this is a little straining.”

He loosens his grip and it’s entirely ridiculous how you two scoot over the floor without changing the position you’re in until your back rests against the wall. You sigh with relief, relaxing some and your back stops screaming. That only making the uncomfortable pulsing of the wound in your arm more prominent.

Thank god that you have all the vaccines for dog hybrid bites. Courtesy of working with them and having been bitten not too long ago. Simon raises his head and you hold your breath. Somehow you expected him to cry but there’s no sign of it on his face. It’s dry and expressionless. He looks at your face, then your arm and slowly sits back up, examining it.

That’s how Nate finds you. He’s wary as he steps closer eying Simon like he’ll attack him any second and extends his hand with the little first aid kit towards you. You take it. Before you go to open it, Simon’s hand covers yours and you recoil like he bit you again, looking at him in shock.

His face is unreadable. “Let me?” He says it like a question and you nod mutely, watching him as his big hands open the kit and he gets started on cleaning the wounds.

Your heart jumps at every touch even though his movements are slow and steady. His big hands are surprisingly gentle as he takes care of the bite mark he put on you with practiced ease. Looking to Nate in bewilderment you catch him with his sight locked on Simon attentively. His tongue darts out every now and then but decidedly less hectic than before.

When he catches your stare he presses his lips together and you notice he’s still holding the syringe. Quietly you look at his face and then pointedly at the sedative and shake your head. He sighs audibly and Simon tenses again, like he’s bracing for something, even though he seems concentrated on wrapping your wounds.

You relax some more when Nate caps the needle. Simon raises your arm inspecting the stark white wrapping and the lets go, scooting back a bit and out of your personal space. Once again you’re locked into a staring match. Nate silently watches you two.

Soon enough the silence gets unbearable, uncomfortable and finally you need to say something, anything or you’ll implode.

“Hi.”

Simon’s expression settles back into a frown. Not in a talking mood it seems. Somehow that makes you grin. It brings you back to when he first woke up in the hospital.

“I just arrived. I wanted to see you as soon as possible and Nate was kind enough to take me to you.”

You give Nate a blinding smile and the snake hybrid shakes his head again. “You’re either insane or a saint.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment. Anyway, Simon, are you ready to move into our rooms with me? We have two rooms next to each other.” You offer and Nate takes half a step forward. Simon tracks the other hybrids movements out of the corners of his eyes.

“Now hold on. That’s nice and all but not happening. At least not today. I have to report the biting. If this was just about your relationship I wouldn’t object but we can’t move Simon into a populated wing if we don’t know for sure he won’t be a danger to everyone.”

 You can’t exactly argue with that, even if you’d like to. It makes sense and you just arrived. Maybe you missed something about Simon’s behavior that could be a threat. Even if you don’t think he is. He is pretty much exactly as you remember him. Although you have to admit to yourself that there’s some lingering fear at being in Simon’s presence, that wasn’t there before. You push it back down.

His attack was maybe a bit extreme but once again not the actions of a savage. If your judgement isn’t completely off, then it was simply an instinctive reaction to feeling threatened.

“Alright, I understand. Then…” You look around the barely furnished room. It reminds you a lot of ‘the cell’ at Rehybrid except it has an actual bed, a desk and chair and a door that leads to what you’d assume is a bathroom. Although the bare furniture is bolted into place as you notice.

“Simon.” You address the hybrid and his ears twitch in your direction. “Would you like me to stay the night here or go back to my room and come back tomorrow?”

You can see Nate open his mouth and level him with a flat stare which makes him promptly snap it shut. Simon cocks his head at you.

“He has a medical examination really early tomorrow, it’s more convenient if you…” Nate starts after all but Simon’s sudden and vicious growl makes him shut up.

You jerk around to look at the malinois hybrid. His expression is all threat again and aimed at Nate, his ears drawn back and fear clogs your throat. Maybe he is more aggressive than you thought. Maybe you’re a stupid softy and shouldn’t trust your judgement too much.

But except for the earlier attack he was relatively docile up to now. And his aggression isn’t aimed at you which makes it easier to judge with a level head.

Something isn’t right. He wouldn’t react like that for no reason.

“As his handler, I’d like to be present for that.” You state and Simon’s head whips back around to you his growl dying down his ears perking back up.

Nate sighs and drags his hands over his face. “Alright.” He glances between you and Simon and his face relaxes. “It’s getting late and I just want to go to bed. I’m getting irritated at all this because I’m so tired so stay or go back to your room but I need to sleep soon or I’ll pass out on you two or get mad and I don’t want that.”

You search his face and suddenly it hits you how obviously exhausted Nate looks. With everything that happened you didn’t pay any close attention to him. Sheepishly you look down and then at Simon again. It’s his call to make so you await his answer.

You two lock eyes for what feels like an eternity and finally you get to hear his rumbled reply.

“Stay.”

You nod your heart suddenly speeding up again but it’s not fear this time and you address Nate. “I’m staying here. Don’t worry about my stuff, I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Just go to bed Nate. I’ll be fine.”

The snake hybrid clearly has more on his mind but he doesn’t voice any of it, studying Simon and you who are still on the ground. A big yawn makes him finally leave for good but not before giving you his number so you can call in case anything happens.

The door clicks shut behind him and you’re alone with Simon.

Well, that was some reunion. You sigh deeply and let your body relax. Now that it’s just you two some of your nervousness returns and you have to remind yourself that Simon apologized for attacking you earlier. He also bandaged your wounds for you and had a breakdown in your lap so the chances of him attacking you to prove something are slim to none.

You’re glad you stopped Nate from sedating him. But even if everything went well in the end it doesn’t mean that your wounds aren’t rubbed raw. Now you try to hold all the ugly feelings that try to resurface down with rationality.

“Will you tell me what the growling was for when Nate mentioned tomorrow? What happened? Why did I get requested?” You find yourself asking. Skirting around the topic isn’t your thing and you need to know if you want a chance to do your job well.

Simon clears his throat and finally you can look him over calmly and actually take note of how his wounds look. The cuts on his face are mostly healed, leaving thin pink scars behind some still have a bit of crusting. You can’t exactly see the other wounds right now but his fingers aren’t in a cast anymore. Now they’re only taped together in a way that prevents him from using them too much and separately from each other.

“I trust you.” Simon says and that simple sentence slams into you like a sledgehammer. It makes you swallow against your tight throat and you blink a few times.

“What happened?” You ask again after collecting yourself and he huffs.

“Nothing.”

You raise one eyebrow unimpressed. “Oh really. Nothing has your hackles raised like that?”

He bares his teeth in frustration, gritting them and the sight has you leaning away from him slightly. He notices and lowers his lips looking at the floor.

“Nothing that warrants a reaction like mine.” He continues and you hum.

When he doesn’t go on further you gently encourage: “Listen Simon. I’m here for you. I came here to help you to be on your team. But if you want me to be able to do that you have to explain things to me so I know how to protect you best.”

He barks an unamused harsh laugh at that and you watch him as he stops and crumbles into himself, quieting down. “I should not need protection. I’m a soldier.”

Slowly, carefully you inch closer to his seated form. “I’m not talking about your strength. You’ve been MIA for months Simon. Whatever happened, you’re allowed to be affected by it. You’re allowed to be hurt and need help. It doesn’t make you weak or any less of a soldier to need help getting back on your feet. But I won’t know how to do that if you don’t speak to me.”

He looks back up and something in his face softens. He nervously licks his lips and begins forcing out words. “I was cuffed for the transport. As soon as I was here they wanted to do a medical exam. I was overwhelmed. I refused. They sedated me. But I was awake, I guess it only sedated my body not my mind. I was unable to move as they poked and prodded me, examined me. No one talked to me.” He shudders.

His explanation is short but it chokes you up and makes you clench your fist in anger at the same time. These fools. Fucking idiots and assholes. You start shaking and Simon looks at you concerned, notices your unshed tears and shakes his head.

“I don’t want your pity.” He almost snarls and if you weren’t so angry you’d flinch but your rage overshadows any other emotion, fills you to your fingertips until you don’t know where to put it anymore.

“I’m not pitying you.” You bite out and then breathe deeply to calm down. No need to raise your voice at him. “I’m angry.”

Simon jerks back, away from you and you quickly go on. “Angry at them! Your reaction is completely justified. I.... fuck I’m so mad I want to punch someone.”

That gets an actual laugh out of Simon and it startles you right out of your angry state. Genuine amusement dances in his light brown eyes and you can’t help but smile back. He has a nice laugh. It’s rough and very him.

“Do you even know how to throw a proper punch?” He teases and you lift your chin in mock offense.

“Of course I do.” You say your head held high. Simon chuckles warmly at that and you can’t help but grin at him. Some of the earlier heaviness finally lifting from the room.

A comfortable quiet settles over you two after that. The amusement lingers for a moment.

“I’m coming with you tomorrow. Just give me a sign if you’re uncomfortable. I’ll make sure they take it slow. I won’t let them touch you without your permission.” You say. It’s a promise.

“I didn’t mean to bite you.” Another hidden apology.

You look down at your neatly wrapped arm. It makes sense for him to be able to do basic first aid but you’re still surprised at how well and quick he did it. You shrug, your hand gently stroking over the bandages.

“I know that now. It’s not like it’s the first time either. I’ve had worse.”

A small growl builds in his chest but this time you manage to keep the fear back. It’s just a reaction to what you said. Not you. “What do you mean you’ve had worse?”

Instinctively your hand comes up to your shoulder pressing against the permanently scarred skin. Somehow that’s the scar you always go for as if it’s the only one Phillip left on you.

“Nothing important. You’re just not the first hybrid who bit me.” You try to keep it vague and you can see his eyes narrow but he doesn’t push. You’re not sure whether you’re relieved or disappointed.

Pointedly you look around the room taking in the little furniture. A small smirk settles on your lips as you look at Simon. “There is only one bed.”

Immediately a louder growl starts up in his chest and your smile vanishes. Okay that is definitely aimed at you and fear sinks it’s claws into your neck. “Hey, hey. I was only teasing. I will sleep on the floor. Don’t worry.”

He swallows down the threatening noise and looks to the side almost like he’s embarrassed by his own reaction. “No. You can have the bed.”

You shake your head and scoff. “Yeah right. I’ll take the bed when you’re the one still healing.”

His eyebrows furrow and you realize that that seems to be the expression he wears most of the time. He licks his lips his ears flickering up and down as if he doesn’t know what to express.

“We could share.” He says it so self assured you wouldn’t think he’s nervous about it if it wasn’t for his ears and his earlier growl.

“Only if you’re comfortable.” Your voice leaves no room for arguments.

He’s quiet for a long time mulling it over, frowning at the bed, and you almost tell him that you’ll sleep on the floor either way. When you open your mouth he grits out: “Don’t touch me.”

His tone is aggressive and not even a real answer but you simply nod. “I won’t. We can build a barrier out of the blanket, that way I can’t accidentally knock into you in the night. But only if you want that. I have no problem with sleeping on the floor.”

He doesn’t answer but he gets up and tugs the blanket off the bed. Silently he waits next to it and you guess that’s your sign to get in and sleep next to the wall. You’re not sure how you feel about the prospect of being caged between Simon’s large form and the wall but that’s probably the reason why Simon won’t slip in first.

You take off your shoes and crawl onto the mattress. The bed is obviously not meant for two so you press as close to the wall as you can. Simon puts one knee on the bed and then proceeds to spread the blanket over you in a surprisingly gentle gesture. Then he piles the rest next to you so it acts as a barrier.

For a moment he just looks at his work, then he grumbles something to himself, turns down the lights and gets in next to you. You note that he doesn’t turn the light off completely but that’s just fine by you. You prefer being able to see him and his intentions.

The quiet is tense but you don’t know what to say anymore so you just lay there staring at the ceiling and wait for sleep to claim you. It doesn’t help that your inner clock thinks it’s early evening.

Finally you can’t keep laying still like that and turn onto your side, craning your neck to look at Simon’s profile over the blanket barrier he build. His eyes are closed but you’re pretty sure he’s not asleep. His chest raises and falls too quickly for that and you watch the rhythm for a moment until it registers that he gave you the blanket.

“I’m not cold. You can have the blanket.” You whisper in case you’re wrong and he is asleep after all.

His eyes open and he keeps them on the ceiling. “Don’t need it. I run hot.”

You nod to yourself and tuck your knees in close so you don’t accidentally brush against him. Head relaxing back against the pillow so you’re left staring at the blanket. It takes forever but finally you do succumb to sleep.

You wake in the middle of the night with a gasp, sitting upright. You’re glad the light is on so you can see everything and your hand finds your painfully throbbing shoulder. It seems to have it’s own heartbeat and it’s beating in tandem with the new bite wound on your arm.

Guilty you look down at Simon’s stretched out form to find his golden eyes already fixed on you. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

He shakes his head and continues to watch as you press your hand to your chest and do your breathing exercise to calm back down. You don’t like that he sees you like this. Not when he signed for you to be his handler. You’re supposed to be his rock and have authority. Can he even take you serious when he gets to see you struggle like this?

Nothing on his face gives away what he thinks as you slowly find back to your own body. You check the barrier between you two and find it intact. You can’t help the sigh of relief that you let out at that and you catch the slightest movement of Simon’s ears.

Happy to escape his scrutinizing gaze you lay back down and once again you’re left staring at the blankets. How you wish you could reach out and touch him, reassure yourself and him but he asked you not to so you tuck your hands in close to your chest and close your eyes.

Movement of the fabric has you opening them again. You turn your head and see Simon peek over the barrier. He offers no comment but carefully arranges the blanket back over your body. In your panicked state you had thrown it off you. Again without so much as brushing his fingers against you. Once he’s satisfied that you’re covered properly he lays back down and you find yourself snuggling more into the blanket, pressing just the tiniest bit closer to the barrier. If you concentrate enough you can imagine that his warmth seeps through the thick fabric and settles around you.

You wake in the morning to a strange pressure against your front. It’s comforting but confusing because the blanket barrier shouldn’t be this unyielding. Your open eyes and don’t see anything besides the pristine white of the cover for a moment until your realize that you can see Simon’s shoulder rise and fall mere centimeters from you.

Now you’re wide awake, your breath hitching. The blanket is still firmly in place between the two of you and no part of you touches but Simon is curled up on his side too, pressed against the blanket just like you and although it separates you two you can feel his chest rising and falling against it. You can feel his legs against yours through it and for a second you think about getting up and putting as much distance between you and his sleeping form as possible.

A moment later you almost laugh at yourself while heat spreads through your cheeks. You crane your neck trying to see if Simon’s head peeks over the top of the barrier. It does.

Your eyes lock and you exhale on a rush. He’s awake.

Neither of you move and you can hear you blood rushing in your ears at his proximity. You’re sure if it weren’t for the thick cover between you you’d die of a heart attack. How his closeness can be stifling and comforting at once is a mystery to you but you don’t move either. Maybe it’s because you’re frozen in fear.

But the beat of your heart doesn’t spell out fear.

“Good morning.” You whisper. Instead of an answer the pressure against your front increases for a moment, then he rolls away from you and sits up, rubbing his palms over his tired face.

You find yourself doing the same and checking the time. It’s ridiculous how early you woke up but Simon’s already on his feet, tension in the harsh lines of his body and stretches for a moment his ears pressing flat against his head at his big yawn and you can’t help but smile. Definitely cute despite his size.

He catches your expression and seems confused. Instead of offering an explanation you fondly shake your head and get up too. Both of you silently wash up in the bathroom. It’s comfortable and you find only the faintest traces of yesterdays fear left in you. Somehow Simon manages to put you at ease, despite his attack.

It’s not long before Nate appears. He opens the door slowly and peeks inside. Once he sees you the relief is visible on his face and he steps in fully.

“Thank god, I was worried I’d find you in shreds.”

The way he says it so earnestly makes you giggle and Simon’s almost always present frown deepens. “It’s time for Simon to go to the doctor’s.”

Simon’s entire demeanor changes and he backs up against a corner. His lips peel back and Nate’s expression turns sad.

He opens the door wider and two more men step in. Apparently they also work at the center. One holds a muzzle the other one a collar and a leash and Nate once again has a sedative in hand. Your eyes widen and you step in front of Simon, very aware of him snarling behind you. Putting yourself between him and the men is probably stupid especially since you can’t see what he’ll do next but you can’t have them adding to his stress.

You raise your hands placatingly. “Gentlemen, please. This is hardly necessary.”

One of the guys scoffs. “Tell that to him. He���s not allowed out of this room without leash and muzzle but he won’t put it on. There is no other way. I sure as hell won’t suffer another attack from him. And we don’t have the time for discussions.”

Now it’s your turn to frown almost scowling at them. “Surely you can spare a few more minutes if it’s for the sake of one of the hybrids who’s supposed to heal here?” You say, some venom seeping into your tone.

You’re aware that you’re new here and hardly endearing yourself to your presumed co-workers but you’re here for Simon. Not for them. They roll their eyes but stay back and you mull over your options.

“Leave the leash and muzzle here and out. All of you.” You say in a commanding voice that you’re pretty sure you have no right to wield. Yet they listen and you catch Nate taste the air and nod at you a slight smile on his lips.

When the door closes you turn on your heels and meet Simon’s angry expression.

“You don’t want the leash and muzzle?” You question, voice soft once again.

He shakes his head his canines still exposed and you remember how they ripped at your flesh. The phantom pain shoots through your entire body this time and you square your shoulders. It’s time to be his handler. You don’t have the luxury of wallowing in self pity.

“I’m afraid there is no way around it at this point in time.” He straightens up further and his growl redoubles.

You raise your hands. “Simon listen to me.” He’s staring through you, he’s probably not really listening, trapped somewhere in his racing thoughts so you raise your voice slightly. “Simon!”

He starts, his ears coming forward for a moment before he goes back to his aggressive stance.

“I do not want them to hurt you. But I need you to let the doctor check up on you. I promise I will not let anything bad happen. I promise I will protect you. But if you want anything to go differently than before you’ll have to take the muzzle and leash.” You explain. You hate that there is no other way. You just arrived, you have no idea how necessary the check up is and you can’t refuse on his behalf when you don’t know whether he’s healed enough.

He considers you, hatred in his eyes and you try not to let it burn you. It’s such a heavy contrast to the way he looked at you earlier when he peeked at your over the cover. It’s such a difference to when you’re alone in a safe little bubble you two get to design by yourselves.

You exhale heavily and take the leash and muzzle in hand before turning back to Simon. He eyes the two devices like they’re meant to torture him.

You hold up the muzzle, showing it to him and he physically steps back. Instead of going after him, you open the muzzle at the back. “Look. This is how you get it open. It’s designed so you can take it off yourself. No one can force you to keep it on. It’s meant as a helpful device to keep you from hurting others in a stressful moment because often the biting happens on instinct and hybrids regret it afterwards.”

His eyes flicker down to your bandaged arm and then fixate back on the muzzle.

“I won’t even need to touch you to put it on. You can do it yourself.” You continue in the softest voice you can muster. Then you show him the leash. He doesn’t retreat further but the fire in his eyes burns even brighter.

You show him how the collar can be opened and closed. “You can also put this on yourself. I will not let anyone else hold the leash.”

It’s kind of pointless, you know he doesn’t want you to hold the leash just as much as he doesn’t want the men in front of the door to hold it. But at least you’ll hold it softly.

You hold the leather leash up. “I will not yank on it or choke you with it. I will only hold it so we’re connected and I can keep you from getting hurt. I will lead you with a gentle hand and never towards harm.”

Silence falls over the room and you realize that he stopped growling during your explanation. You said what you could, now it is up to him. You can feel your pulse thrum in your neck a silent plea. Please trust me. Let me lead you. Let me show you it can be different than what you experienced so far.

You offer it all to him in your outstretched hands and wait. There is nothing else you can do besides ask him to comply. Sure you’re the authority but only if Simon wants you to be. You hope he remembers that he signed the handler-hybrid papers first. You hope he remembers that he said he trusts you.

His legs carry him towards you and your breath hitches. There’s sweat on his forehead and you stay still as a statue while he takes the muzzle. Carefully he opens and closes the latch a few times, making sure it’s easy to operate. Then he slips it over his face locks and unlocks it at least five more times before he fastens it. His chest heaves with harsh pants as he takes the leash from your hands next and you lower them slowly so you don’t spook him.

Once again he tests the buckle and then fastens the collar around his neck. You notice that he left plenty of room which is technically not how he’s supposed to wear it but you decide not to address it.

His eyes find you but they’re slightly unfocused and you speak to him again. “Well done, Simon. Thank you.”

He jerks back at your words his eyes wide and his panting stops. You’re not sure whether it’s the praise or the fact you expressed gratitude but you leave it at that.

Slowly you hold out your hand, waiting for him to place the leash in your hold instead of taking it up yourself. It looks comically thin in his large palm as he grabs the end and clenches his fist around it. Patiently you wait giving him what you hope is a reassuring smile.

Tensing up even more he places the end in your hand and plants his feet as if he expects you to jerk him forward. Loosely you curl your own fist around the leather and let your arm rest relaxed against your side. The grin you gift him with feels silly with how bright it is but you’re incredibly proud of the big hybrid.

“Follow me.” You softly command testing how he’ll react to you expecting him to follow your words without making it a request. To your surprise he easily falls into step, walking towards the door and waits patiently when you open it.

You stay in front of him and address the men in the corridor who stare at the both of you like you suddenly grew multiple heads. “Do not touch him and stay in front of us, leading the way.”

Nate recovers first, grinning widely and in his slightly reptilian face it looks almost evil. “I knew it.” He hisses delighted and turns to lead the way, the two other guys following behind not even arguing with you at this point.

Simon walks behind you and you turn to him without halting your footsteps. “Come here. Next to me.”

His long legs eat the distance and he walks along beside you, the leash hanging loosely between you. Simon’s face is set into a frown and there’s still sweat beading at his hairline but his breathing is at a frequency that doesn’t worry you and you hum in satisfaction. The ear closest to you swivels towards the sound for a second.

It doesn’t take long until you’re in the doctors office and it makes you feel slightly ridiculous that you have two grown men in addition to Nate accompany you. The doctor gapes at you and Simon, eyes comically wide while looking between you two and the way the large hybrid follows your lead.

She stands up gives you a curt hello and snaps on latex gloves. “Let’s get this over with.”

You frown at her tone and as soon as she stands up Simon starts growling, like a ferocious beast, backing up a bit. The doctor sighs and nods at the men who accompanied you. “Sedate him.”

You straighten up. “Don’t!” You command. The men look between you and the doctor unsure who to listen to. Narrowing you eyes you take a small step in front of Simon. “There is no need to sedate him.”

She clicks her tongue at you and rests her weight on one leg, pushing out her hip. “You’re his new handler? You arrived when? Yesterday? I know how to treat my patients now step aside and let us do our damn job.”

Her tone almost makes you want to cower, not one for confrontation, but you remind yourself why you’re here. “I do not mean to disrespect but I brought him here of his own free will without any need for sedation so I’d really appreciate it if we could work together to make sure my charge is comfortable during the examination.”

She almost scoffs at you and takes a step closer, Simon flinches and you hold out your hand, stopping her from taking another step. Way to go. It’s your first day and you’re already pissing of personnel you’re supposed to work with. But you cannot let it slide, not with the way Simon reacts. After what he told you, you’re certain that there is a reason for it.

“You’re the one who isn’t working with me. So step aside and let me do my job. A job you know nothing about.” Her tone is sharp, biting and it makes your hand itch to slap the arrogance out of her.

You square your shoulders and gather all the leftover confidence you can find in your body. “No. Not when my charge is uncomfortable. Are there any other doctors at this center or do we have to find one who doesn’t work here?” You calmly answer and her mouth drops open.

Something flashes in her eyes and before she can respond Nate steps forward placatingly lifting his hands. “Hey now. It’s a perfectly reasonable and normal request. Yes there are other doctors. We’ll ask for someone else.”

The Doctor grits her teeth in displeasure but doesn’t argue against Nate and you raise your brows. Interesting. Nate seems to be in a position of authority. Breed wise he’d be supposed to be a companion hybrid. But he evidently works here and holds a higher position than some humans.

His hand finds your shoulder and squeezes briefly. Then he escorts the doctor out of the room, telling you he’ll be back soon with someone else.

The door closes behind the two of them and you’re left with Simon and the other two guys. You exhale heavily, your shoulders dropping and turn to Simon. His shirt is soaked with sweat on his chest but now that the doctor left he seems to slowly come back to himself.

Honey coloured eyes regard you as you ask him if he’s okay. The nod is slow but enough to reassure you and you don’t have to wait for long until the door opens again and Nate steps in with a middle-aged man. His hair is black and brushed back, some stray grays at his temples but his face is so kind it immediately puts you at ease.

“Welcome. You must be his new handler. I’m glad you could make it. Please take a seat. I’m Doctor Graham.”

You stay on your feet but give him a friendly smile and a nod. Mentally you pat your back for standing your ground because Simon’s staying quiet, seemingly not as stressed by him. “Yes. I’m happy I can be here. What’s the plan for today's exam?”

At that word Simon shifts on his feet. You wish you could put a reassuring hand on his shoulder but he doesn’t want you to touch him, so you don’t.

“I need to check his wounds for inflammation and their status of healing.”

You nod and the doctor gestures at the examination table. You look at Simon and try to seem as reassuring as possible. “Go on, sit down.”

It surprises you anew when he listens and parks himself on the table. The doctor blinks owlishly at the scene and something akin to gratification spreads in your chest. Look at this, look at what a well behaved hybrid he is and look how wrong you all judged him, you think grimly.

“Please take your shirt off, Simon.” The doc asks and to your surprise Simon looks at you his head slightly tilted.

The weight of his questioning gaze almost makes you crumble to your knees. It’s like he’s testing you. You think back to the hospital. How distressed showing skin made him and you look at Nate and the other two men in the room.

“Doctor Graham, I apologize for the trouble but could you be so kind as to send our audience away. I do not think it is necessary to let them witness the examination.”

The Doc startles in surprise looks around the room and then does as you say. Finally it’s just the three of you and you nod at Simon. “Can you take it off?”

He swallows audibly and slowly his hands go to the hem of his shirt. The hesitation makes you nervous and you wish you could prevent him from having to do this. Before he begins undressing you turn to the Doctor again.

“I’m sorry but is there another way we can do this? I’d like to keep him from harm. Is there a way for this to work without us watching him?” You pray the doctor won’t brush you off. Hopefully your continuous questions and wishes don’t annoy him.

He smiles, crow feet growing more prominent around his eyes and he thinks. Simon’s frozen with his hands on his shirt. It doesn’t look like you’re making an enemy here so you continue.

“If the wounds have been okay up to now maybe he could check them following your instructions without us watching and he can tell you what you need to know?”

Both the Doctor and Simon’s gaze weigh on you and you wish you could shrivel up and disappear but you promised Simon to protect him and you intend to follow through with it.

Doctor Graham looks over a file, scanning the information. You hold your breath and then the older man nods slowly. “Yes, that could work. But he’d have to speak to me for that.”

“Simon?”

His nostrils flare and he nods. “Yes.”

Once again the doctors blanks, then he seems to remember where he is and turns around with his chair. You step closer to Simon and let go of the leash. “I’ll be right here. Just do as the Doc says. No one will look at you.” You quietly instruct well aware that the Doctor can hear you anyway in the dead silent room.

You turn around and the sound of fabric rustling makes you clench your fist. You watch the doctor look at a chart. “Do you have any wounds that feel tender or hot?”

“No.”

He nods and writes something down then he proceeds to lead Simon through the process of checking every wound even instructing him how to check his ribs and fingers. Somehow they manage with Simon’s one word answers and you find yourself slowly relaxing.

Doctor Graham is professional but warm and it makes you feel like crying. It’s absurd how kindness makes your eyes wet but the female doctors harshness didn’t. Once Simon is dressed again you turn back around and give him an approving nod.

Doctor Graham looks up. “I need to rewrap your fingers, Simon.” He calmly states. You expect Simon to grow agitated but he simply nods, holding out his fingers.

The process makes him flinch whenever the doctor touches him but it barely takes a minute until it’s done. Expectantly you hold out the hand for Simon’s leash again and he drops the end into your palm so you can grab it again. You wait for the Doctors dismissal, instead he kindly smiles at you and points at the examination table.

“Your turn. Let me take a look at your arm.”

Bewildered you look at your neatly wrapped arm, having completely forgotten about it. Something about that makes you laugh quietly and you let go of Simon’s leash again. The big hybrid parks himself against a wall and watches as the Doctor unwraps your arm.

The bite looks angry, the wounds deceptively small but the skin and flesh are black and blue, bruised all over and tender to the touch. You can feel Simon’s eyes on the wound like a physical touch while the practiced hands of the doctor check the wound, put some ointment on it and rewrap it.

It’s honestly not surprising when he tells you that your bones probably took some damage too, although not enough to break and that you should take it easy on that arm for a while.

Finally you’re all done and Simon comes up to you, handing you the leash. Before you go, you address the Doctor once more. “Thank you so much for being so accommodating, doctor. And I’m sorry if I caused any trouble by asking for you.” You don’t know how to explain further without going on a tangent but his lips quirk up and he nods.

“It’s not a problem. We’re here to help. And please, just call me Graham without the doctor. We’re coworkers now.” His hand is warm as it engulfs yours when you say goodbye.

Nate is still waiting outside and before you know it you’re back in Simon’s little room. You let go of the leash and beam up at him. “You did so well Simon. I’m really proud of you.”

Before you can add anything he’s already ripped the muzzle off his head and unbuckled the collar letting it all drop to the floor. He takes a few steps back and shudders. You watch him concerned but he seems to calm down soon enough and once Nate deems it safe he turns to you.

“The handler management wants to talk to you. I reported the attack and initially they wanted to keep him locked up here but I took the liberties of telling them about this morning too and they want to talk to you before making their decision. We can’t keep him here forever and expect him to make any progress.”

[whirlybirbs]

i neeeed to know what it's like when moth + the 141 meet konig. is ghost jealous.

5. handler's manual — ghost / reader

desc: kortac makes an appearance. you owe a certain colonel an apology. ghost ain't about it. pairing: lt. simon "ghost" riley / f!reader ; callsign: moth a/n: ghost having one sided beef with birbs-canon soft spoken and socially anxious konig and mess hall meatloaf is the comedic writing i need. [GHOST VOICE] what the fuck did they feed him — edit: if you saw me get konig's rank wrong no you didn't <3 ⇽ prev /

If John Price taught you anything, it's that bringing a gun to a knife fight is fair game as long as you win.

Yea.

You, uh... You shot Colonel Alexander Kilgore. Last week. It's fine, he's fine—

"How was I supposed to know the guy in the executioner's hood was on our side?" you hiss, shoveling another bite of your lunch into your mouth.

Beside you, Soap snickers into the back of his hand as he chews.

"I mean, seriously," you flick your eyes across the mess hall, quickly spotting the handful of KorTac members; they're an interesting group — private military. International. You lean forward onto the table and wince when you spot a certain Colonel sat by himself at the edge of the mess, "What would you have done if you rounded a corner to that?"

Bad timing. Colonel Kilgore — König — is lifting up the edge of his mask to place a delicately cut piece of mess hall meatloaf into his mouth. The fork and knife in his hands look comically small.

"Shite myself, probably?" Soap offers, nudging you with his shoulder, "Then shot tha' bastard."

"Thank you—"

"Shoulda aimed higher."

Ghost's voice cuts through the banter. He swings a leg over the bench beside you and lands with a soft exhale. You note a distinct lack of the infamous mess meatloaf on his tray.

"He's a sociopath," comes the gruff insertion into the conversation as Ghost darts his eyes towards König, "Look a' 'im. Lovin' the meatloaf. Give it twenty an' th'bastard is gonna bloody regret it."

"He didn't get that big not eatin' th' meatloaf, eltee," Soap chirps, leaning around you to punch Ghost's arm, "C'mon, he can't tha' bad."

Kyle's late to the conversation, but ever perceptive. His tray is also lacking the meatloaf, just like Ghost's, Soap's and yours. The four of you are wise. Mess meatloaf before joint-Taskforce PT? No fuckin' way. Gaz settles across from you and takes a bite of his peas.

Through chewing, he nudges his fork over his shoulder towards the KorTac group.

"Laswell pulled his files," Kyle munches, "Apparently he's got the hood because of some pretty severe social anxiety."

"Oh, c'mon," you bay, "Kyle—"

"M'just sharin' what I learned—"

"I feel worse now!" you throw your hands, drop your head back and groan, "I shot him, and he's eating lunch alone, and now you're telling me the whole hood is, like, for emotional support—"

"Join th' bloody club."

The three of you eye Ghost owlishly as he tugs the hem of his balaclava up and shovels a concerning large scoop of mash into his mouth. The joke — it is a joke, right? — earns a hesitant laugh out of Johnny and only Johnny. You're too busy furiously rubbing at your face in an attempt to self soothe.

If you had a dollar for every masked man on base, you'd have two dollars. And that's arguably one more dollar than you're comfortable with.

"I should go apologize."

Ghost scoffs. If you didn't know any better, you'd think his voice was laden with something like malice. "For what? Clearly Austria's Biggest Boy is fine."

(It is malice. And maybe jealousy. Why do you feel bad? The mask thing is his shtick. It's... It's his brand. Not that he sees it like that, but — oh, for fuck's sake, you're getting up—)

"Yea, well," you use Ghost and Soap's shoulders as support as you haul yourself up from the mess bench, "I downed Austria's Biggest Boy and that means he's owed an apology."

It feels a bit like a death march — because the boys watch you weave through the mess with hesitant expressions. Things have been tense with KorTac since the incident; in all fairness, a distinct lack of communication left either Taskforce unaware of the other's role on the assignment. If it's anyone's fault, it's the upper echelon.

Your smile is soft — and the first thing you notice is how blue his eyes are. The hulking figure of the Corporal perks up when he notices your approach, and you note the way his forefinger tense three times against his fork. A nervous tic.

"Colonel—"

"Ah!" he's standing, demonstrating a learned formality, and you know it's a habit formed over the years; he offers a hand — and you think you can see some sort of positive emotion pass through his eyes, "Specialist Moth, how can I help you?"

His voice is dotted with an accent that you can only describe as delicate. His voice, too, is soft. It's night and day compared to the hisses curses and spat barks in German you'd earned when you'd fire a round clean through his shoulder.

You take his hand, shake it firmly, and try to ignore the fact KorTac's lead sniper is massive. Six foot, four inches. Austria's Biggest Boy is fucking right. He's towering over you, even as he leans across the mess table.

He's purposely gentle when shaking your hand. You wonder if that's learned.

"I wanted to apologize, sir," you say as König sits back down and peers up at you from behind his hood. You tuck your hands into your pockets and rock back on your boots, "Truly, I'm — I'm so sorry—"

He's shaking both hands, his eyes shutting — and you can see the corners crinkle. He's smiling, then. All the mannerisms you've sussed out from Ghost seem to apply here to the new masked character on base.

"It is not a problem, Specialist Moth, I assure you," he dotes, "It was a mere miscommunication."

Understatement of the century, but sure.

You ease up, shoulders relaxing. You watch as König knots his hands tightly in-front of him; his mess tray is nearly empty. His thumb fiddles over his knuckles. Anxiousness.

"I appreciate it. You're healing alright?" you ask earnestly, your brows knit.

He's nodding, about to speak, when there's a hand clamping down on your shoulder.

"Debrief in five," comes the gruff drawl; it's Ghost. You slide a look up to him and note the way his dark eyes are trained directly on König. You spot his blonde lashes narrow, and straighten your posture.

"Lieutenant," the nod that KorTac's sniper offers is nothing but respectful and cordial and you swear you see a twinkle of something like kinship in the Austrain's eyes.

But Ghost? Ghost only chirps back a dismissive: "Colonel, sir."

What. The. Fuck.

"Let's go, Moth."

You curtly nod before wrapping your knuckles twice on the table. You offer König a real smile — toothy and bright. It's an attempt to soothe. You can't help it. You feel bad, okay?

"See you in PT later, Colonel?"

"Ja, bis später!" he stutters, unsteady from the intimidation of a certain 141 lieutenant.

You do a double take, blink twice, then nod. Your German is rusty. Atrocious. But, it's an olive branch. "Bis später, König—"

"Moth."

It's stern. Nearly a reprimand.

And fuck, you want to ask Ghost what crawled up his ass and died, but you have a feeling you know exactly who did.

Austria's Biggest Boy.

[hihomeghere]

Unspoken thing | Five Hargreeves / Reader

Word count : 1.7k Summary : Part 2 of One Bed, after that fateful night in the hotel room. Five has been avoiding you and now you're called into the Handler's office to take responsibility for the delay in exterminating the target. After a minor injury caused by the Handler, Five patches you up. You can no longer take the tension of the unspoken thing between the two of you. ( I do not own The Umbrella Academy or any of it's characters) Warnings / Tags : Allusions to smut, cursing, mentions of blood and surgery equipment, tension, use of y/n, Aged up!Five. Not requested. Part one here

“Impressive work, Y/n.” The handler said with a sickly sweet tone. She flipped through your completed files. You watched as she licked her finger before turning a page. You swallowed, fighting the urge to cower before her. “I see here that you suffered from a headache during your mission, is that correct?” She asked, cocking her head in false concern. It wasn’t just a headache. 

“Yes.” You answered, not daring to say anything more. Anything you said could and most likely would be held against you. She read the paper, her eyes flying from left to right.

“Hmm, yes it seems that this delayed your extermination of the target?” She phrased the statement as more of a question. Treating you as a child instead of an employee. She clicked her tongue leaning forward, clasping her hands. You bit the inside of your cheek. 

“No.” You tried to keep your voice steady, with no discernible tone. She raised her eyebrows, her fake smile falling.

What delayed the job was unforeseen circumstances, Five was looking for you instead of the target. You had split up, and he couldn’t find his way back to you. Which had then led to a very interesting night in a hotel room. 

You should have known that you would get called in for this instead of Five. Even though it had been both of your responsibilities to eliminate the target. But Five was one of the handlers favorites. 

“Hm.” She hummed, clicking her tongue, “You know Y/n if you let any of our trained scientists here poke around in that little brain of yours. We could figure out why you’re getting those headaches.” She pointed to your head with a well manicured red nail. You froze, all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. You were transported back to that lab. The sounds of drilling, cold sterile instruments, the excruciating pain. Your screams echoing off the walls. The scientists with bloody gloves and masks.

“No. No one is going to ‘poke’ around anywhere.” You said quickly, shaking your head, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants. The handler smiled, pleased by your reaction. You sighed looking down at your lap. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. 

“Well, the offer remains if you change your mind.” She said standing up, you stood up as well. Glad this interrogation was over. “Although if you wish to stay Number Five’s partner, you’ll need to start pushing through your headaches to complete the mission.” She said false encouragement in her voice. Her hand gripped your shoulder as she led you out of her office, her sharp nails digging into your skin. You winced, pulling away from her. She cocked her head as though she was surprised by your reaction.

“You won’t have to worry about finding him a new partner.” You said through gritted teeth, “We’ll manage just fine.” You turned on your heel, striding towards the stairs. Once you were sure you were out of her view you let out a shaky breath. In for 4, hold for 7- Tears started to prick your eyes. You took in a shuddery breath, your hand coming to your heart. You rushed down the stairs, a stabilizing hand on the railing. Your other hand moved from your heart to cover your shoulder. You started breathing rapidly, your heart pounding in your ears. You turned down an empty hallway, leaning up against the wall. A cool hand wrapped around your wrist, Five blinked you both into his office. You would never get used to that, like someone was injecting ice into your veins.

He led you to one of his office chairs, the same one you had sat in when you first met him. He squatted in front of you, inspecting you for any injuries. His cold fingertips landed on your shoulder, he stopped, his eyes meeting yours.

“Who did this to you?” He asked his jaw clenching, you lowered your gaze. He tilted your chin up with his hand, forcing you to look at him. His gaze was deadly, calculated, ready to strike whoever did this to you.

“The handler.” You whispered, biting your lip. Five clicked his tongue, a scowl on his face.

“Of course, I assume this after the mission debrief?” He stood up walking around to the other side of his desk, rifling through his drawers.

“Yes, Five it’s fine-” You said, picking at the skin on your hands. 

“Fine? That bitch dug her claws into you.” He scoffed, shaking his head behind his desk. He stalked around his desk to kneel in front of you again. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, his forearms bare except for the umbrella tattoo. Part of you wanted to trace the veins on his arms, to touch him in any way. You thought that being with him physically would have scratched the itch, instead it only fed the fire inside you. You missed his touch, most of all you missed him. You could count on your hands the number of words he had said to you since that night. He opened up his first aid kit, pulling out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He carefully poured a small bit onto a cotton ball gently dabbing it against the bleeding crescent marks in your shoulder. You flinched but prided yourself on keeping quiet as he pressed the cotton ball onto the wound. You felt the prick of new tears in your eyes, you raised your gaze to the ceiling. Your vision clouding with unshed tears, you sniffled as quietly as you could. Although every sound seemed amplified in the tiny office.

You watched Five work, this wasn’t some gaping wound he had to patch up by himself. It was a scratch, but you could tell he had a system, doing this many times before. His jaw was set with an unreadable expression. He moved like a machine, programmed only to do this task. He opened up a bandaid, covering the wound on your shoulder. 

“Done.” He said, rising to his feet.

“Thank you.” You said slowly getting to your feet. He walked back to his desk, opening the drawer and setting the first aid kit back in its normal spot. Now to leave, he had only done his duty as your partner. Nothing more. He had made it clear he didn’t love you, and made it clear that you were only partners. You were ready to go home, curl up in your bed with a good book. You walked to the door, your hand settling on the door knob.

“Leaving so soon?” He questioned, you looked back at him. He was pulling out a bottle of scotch, two glasses balanced in his hands.

“What?” You asked, your brows pinching together. 

“Can I not ask my partner to share a nightcap?” He asked, recoiling, a teasing smile tugging on his lips. Your heart thumped in your ears, you longed to be close to him again. Longed to be back in his corner where you belonged.

But he wasn’t yours.

“No.” You bit your cheek, avoiding his gaze as you looked away from him. Unspoken things always seemed so romantic, full of tension, the will-they-won't-they of it all. It didn’t feel romantic  right now, full of tension yes. This tension that made you want to tear your skin off, instead of your clothes.

“No?” He raised his brows, setting down the glasses on this desk before loosening his tie. 

“Is that what I am to you? Just your partner?” The words slipped out before you could think to bite your tongue. You clench your fists, grounding yourself with the dull pain in your palms. He scoffed, pouring the golden liquid into his glass. 

“You should know what you mean to me.” He turned his eyebrows pinched together, “I’m not some womanizer.” He knocked back the glass, hissing as the alcohol ran down his throat. Your face burned, shame creeping up your neck.

“Well I don’t know, so what am I to you?” You asked. His chest rose and fell rapidly, he hung his head bracing himself on his desk. 

“Fine.” He said standing to his full height, “You want to know what you are to me?” his lip twitched as he waited for your response. You nodded, crossing your arms. “You’re my everything.” It was like someone had dumped a bucket of water over you. He walked around the desk, you were frozen like a deer in the headlights. He stalked towards you, “I can’t think when you’re around- you-” he huffed clenching and unclenching his fists. “You drive me crazy.” he said softly, his eyes meeting  yours. 

“I-” You began when the door opened, pushing you forward into Five’s arms.

“Oh! So sorry Y/n!” Herb squeaked, pulling the case file close to his chest. You looked up, directly into Five’s face. His jaw was clenched, his stern gaze turned on Herb now.

“No worries.” You breathed, holding onto Five’s arms for balance as you got back on your feet. Once you were able to support yourself again, Five reached out and snatched the file from Herb’s hands. He began to thumb through it, “You’ll be leaving immediately.” Herb clasped his hands together, “Handler’s orders.” You internally groaned, what a fucking cock block. 

“Thank you Herb.” You said walking up beside Five, “We’ll take it from here.” You said with a reassuring smile. He nodded before closing the door behind him. Once Herb had walked down the hallway you put your hand on Five’s shoulder. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes full of emotion. “Let’s get the job done, and once we are back we can pick up where we left off.” You smiled softly, moving to stand in front of him. You reached up and straightened his tie, he relaxed under your touch. 

“Alright, tesoro.” He smiled, the corner of his lip pulling up. You pulled him forward by his tie, softly kissing his cheek. You’d have to thank the Handler for her hand in all of this, maybe an edible arrangement? You chuckled to yourself as you walked toward the briefcase department, Five’s hand resting on your lower back.

[arcadia-smith]

Handle me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You both take upon roles, Bucky- The Winter Soldier, you- His Handler. Now you feel like the world's crumbling down under your feet. You don't want to lose him, but you're about to.

Word count: 2k

Note: As for timeline, not really cannon with the MCU. But yes, Endgame happened, Sam is now Captain America

The room was cold. Clinical. Metal walls, a reinforced steel door, and the ever-present hum of machinery that made your skin crawl. The HYDRA scientists were watching. So were the guards.

An old HYDRA remnant had been resurfacing, trying to rebuild the Winter Soldier program, and what better way for them to do so than trying to resurrect one of their best ex-assassins.

It gave you an opportunity to take them down from the inside, going undercover- you as his ruthless new handler, Bucky as The Winter Soldier.

You stood in the center of the room, chin high, hands clasped behind your back like you've done this a thousand times. Like you belonged there.

Bucky, on his knees before you, head bowed, muscles coiled tight beneath the tactical gear he’s been forced into. He looked the part. Cold. Controlled. Empty.

But he wasn't. He was acting. He had to be.

To gain trust, to secure access and prove your control over The Soldat, you had to do something you swore you never would. Watching Bucky clenching his jaw every time you had to call him Soldat in front of the enemy was heartbreaking enough. But then you had to give the order—to tell the Winter Soldier to kill. And you had to do it without hesitation, just as he had to follow through without a question.

The lead scientist, an older man with a sharp smile, stepped forward. "He hesitated on the last command," he said in a voice thick with condescension. "A good soldier should never hesitate. Perhaps he needs a reminder of who he belongs to."

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression still. "He’s mine,"

The scientist gestured. One of the guards moved forward, striking Bucky hard across the face with the butt of his rifle. He barely flinched, but a muscle in his jaw ticked. Blood at his temple.

"Say it," the scientist ordered. "Make him believe it."

You turned to Bucky, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. This was just a mission. This was not real. But when he looked up at you, something in your chest caved.

Because for the first time since this started, he wasn't just acting.

There was no recognition in his gaze, no flicker of the man you knew. His blue eyes were blank, waiting, expectant. Like you really were his handler.

Your throat tightened, but you kept your voice steady. "You belong to me, Soldat."

The words tasted like poison.

He gave a short mechanical nod once and lowered his head again. Submission. Like he had done this a hundred times before. Like it’s second nature.

The scientist hummed in approval. "Much better."

You stepped forward, fingers barely brushing Bucky’s jaw as you tilted his face up again. His skin was warm under your touch, but his eyes stayed empty.

"Good boy," you whispered, because you had to.

Your hand was still on his jaw, fingers trembling just enough that only Bucky would notice. But he didn't react, didn't pull away, didn't give you anything to hold onto. Just blank obedience, the perfect soldier carved out of the man you once knew.

A knot tightened in your throat. This is a mission. A role. He was playing the part. He had to be.

And then Bucky shifted ever so slightly, leaning into your touch. The breath you were holding escaped your lips before you pulled back, before anybody could notice.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that always settled in when Bucky had to become the Winter Soldier again.

This mission felt endless, stretching on for months with no finish line in sight.

You watched as Bucky grabbed a beer bottle and stepped onto the back porch, his broad shoulders tense under the dim light.

At least the safe house was nice—a wraparound porch, a quiet garden. Sometimes, you caught yourself wondering if it could be a home, a real one. But you shoved those thoughts away the moment they crept in.

You had no right to feel the way you did—no right to be angry at Bucky for shutting you out.

His hands were the ones that wrapped around that man's throat and twisted it. You had just stood there, cold and composed, playing the part of the handler—the pretty little princess giving orders to the Winter Soldier.

Bucky—the man you'd spent the last five years building a life with—would do anything you asked. Even kill. In another context, that might have sounded romantic. If only it was hypothetical. But this was real.

You could have pushed back, could have said something—argued that you didn’t need to prove your control over him, that a less lethal command would have sufficed. But the words hadn’t come. Your mind had blanked, and the order had left your lips faster than you’d have liked.

The man wasn't an innocent, nor saint, but it didn’t make any of it easier. Not for you. Not for Bucky.

It wasn’t until you were out of the HYDRA facility that you noticed the way his hands trembled, the silence that stretched thick between you on the drive back. He hadn’t said a word.

Now, with your eyes closed, the scene replayed in perfect clarity—the way Bucky moved, his hands tightening around the target’s throat the second you gave the order. The way the life drained from the man’s eyes. The way Bucky—no, the Soldat—stood still, composed, empty. A machine, not the man you loved.

The sharp ring of the phone on the table cut through the memory, yanking you back to the present.

"We're in, Sam." You answered before he even had the chance to ask.

"That's good. Finally. I was starting to think you and Barnes were on vacation, not working," Sam chuckled. His usual humor. Right now, you could strangle him for it.

Any other time, you would have fired back with something sharp and witty, but not tonight. Instead, you just nodded, as if he could somehow see you through the phone.

The silence must have tipped him off. "Everything alright?" His tone had shifted now, more serious.

"Yeah... yeah. It’s just—" You exhaled, voice barely above a mumble. "You know how it is for him."

You weren’t sure if you should tell Sam everything now, let Bucky do it himself later, or just leave it for the mission report.

"It's not like he's that brainless killing machine anymore." Sam quiped.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Yeah. That’s the problem. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier. He was Bucky. And tonight, he’d been forced to kill someone anyway.

"Yeah. Yeah," you muttered, trying to mask the knot tightening in your chest. "Still brings back a lot of memories... and shit."

Your eyes flicked toward the back door—toward the spot where Bucky had disappeared minutes ago.

"We’ll keep you updated when we have something, Sam," you added quickly, cutting the conversation short before it could go any deeper.

Sam muttered something in agreement, tossing in another one of his not-so-funny jokes before hanging up.

With a quiet thud, the phone hit the counter. You rubbed your face with both hands, trying to push away the weight pressing down on you.

With a sigh, you pushed away from the counter and made your way to the back door. The night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, cool against your skin. Bucky was exactly where you expected him to be—sitting on the steps of the porch, elbows on his knees, beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers.

You hesitated in the doorway. He hadn’t noticed you yet, or maybe he had and just didn’t care. His gaze was locked on something in the distance, but whatever it was, you knew he wasn’t really seeing it.

“Bucky.”

He didn’t turn, just lifted the bottle to his lips and took a slow sip.

You stepped closer. “You gonna sit out here all night?”

He exhaled through his nose, something close to a humorless laugh.

You sat down beside him, not touching, but close enough that he could feel your presence.

"Look… babe." You exhaled quietly, the weight of your own words pressing down on you. "I should've told them to go fuck themselves. I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have ordered you to do it." You ran your fingers through your hair, aching to touch him but something kept you back.

Bucky let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was no warmth in it. He took another sip from the bottle and gave you one of those hollow smiles—the kind that never reached his eyes.

"Let’s not talk about it, yeah?" His voice was even, controlled. Too controlled. "We both did what we had to for the mission."

It was meant to sound reassuring, but something was missing. Something you couldn’t quite name.

"Buck-"

"You can go inside." He interrupted you. "I'll be there soon. Don't worry." and he stil wouldn't look at you.

You stayed seated for a brief minute before nodding and walking back inside.

That night, he never came to bed. You weren’t even sure if he’d come inside at all—until the morning, when you found the blankets and pillows on the living room floor.

The coffee maker hummed as you leaned against the kitchen counter, fingers tapping against the surface.

A soft creak of floorboards behind you made you turn.

"Morning," you said, testing the waters.

He gave a slight nod. No smile. No teasing remark. Just walked past you, reaching for the coffee pot.

You watched as he poured himself a cup, his movements precise but mechanical, like he was going through the motions just to do something.

"You didn’t come to bed," you said softly.

"Didn’t think I deserved to."

"Bucky…"

He shook his head. It was dismissive. Distant. Like you were just another agent. Just another person in the long list of people he’s lost.

You swallowed hard. "We should talk."

His laugh was humorless. A sharp exhale through his nose. "Talk?" He finally turned his head, but not enough to meet your gaze. "About what?"

You moved closer, "About what happened back there."

He raised his head, his eyes met yours. But wasn't the look you remembered, the one that used to tether you together in the chaos. There was no warmth, no trust—just something fractured, something raw.

"You mean about how you stood over me while I was on my knees?" His voice was quiet, but it cut deeper than a scream. "Or how you ordered me around like I was your fucking weapon?"

You flinched. "You know I didn’t—"

"Didn’t what?" He pushed himsepf to move forward and suddenly he was too close, towering over you, blue eyes burning. "Didn’t mean it? Didn’t want to?" His jaw clenched. "Didn’t enjoy it?"

Your breath catched. "Bucky—"

He shook his head, stepping back like he couldn't stand being near you. "I heard your voice, day and night. It was the only thing keeping me grounded." His throat bobbed. "But then you started giving orders, and I—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I obeyed."

"You were pretending. We both were."

"Were we?" His voice was almost a whisper. "Because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it by the end."

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

What could you say? That you didn’t mean it? That you didn’t want to? It wouldn’t matter. Not when the damage had already been done.

Bucky exhaled, a slow, bitter thing. "I used to look at you and see my way out." His gaze dropped, fingers flexing at his sides. "Now all I see is the person who made me go back in."

The words landed like a killing blow.

He turned away before you could say anything else.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Break Down Build Up

König is such a little shit. I love him, but monster hybrid!König is a beast to wrangle in, even as a writer! I never know how to get him to sit still. At least Handler finally found a way to get him to stay put long enough to help him moult!

Tws: None

Wordcount: 851

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Break Down Build Up

You’d never had too many thoughts about how important May was to you. Sure, there were some special days, but it wasn’t that valuable. It was just another month in the year, after all. How could May be of any great importance?

That was what you tended to think up until König came along. Since becoming König’s handler, May had quickly become your least favorite month of the year.

“Sit still!” you grumbled, trying to balance yourself in the middle of König’s great black wing without tugging on his feathers, “you’ve got a couple of pin feathers here that are ready to come in.”

König whined and shuffled uncomfortably. You tried to avoid gripping his feathers as you were jostled side to side.

“You don’t want me tugging on your feathers, do you?” you snapped as you managed to catch your balance again.

“Boring,” König croaked.

“Boring?” you rolled your eyes, “yeah of course it’s boring. It’s not like I’m having a fun time here either.”

“Boring,” König repeated.

The monster rolled you off his wings with a disgruntled caw.

You faceplanted onto the foam floor, rolling into a full somersault before sprawling akimbo on the floor. With a grunt, you managed to scrabble to your feet and gather your bearings. You glared at König, who seemed to be more than happy to take things into his own claws by flipping onto his back and rolling side to side. Today was May fifth. You had a whole month of this. You didn’t know what you were doing with yourself. You thanked the heavens again that your superiors wouldn’t be seeing you floundering with König. You had a couple of months until König was set to be deployed, at least.

As you watched König squirm like a mirthful puppy on the matts, you couldn’t help but wonder again how this was KorTac’s prized war machine. How did they manage to keep him still enough to listen to a command? Better yet, how did they manage to wrangle him into following a command!? You were completely beside yourself by this point. You couldn’t even manage to get König to so much as sit still to be preened.

Your hands fell to your sides as you tried to understand what you were doing wrong. König obliviously wormed across the floor, leaving a trail of white keratin in his wake. You’d have to mop that up when König was finished. Well, considering what sort of diseases he carried you’d have to scrub the gym anyways. It was your responsibility to mitigate the amount of potential contaminants that could be transmitted to other soldiers. You’d signed up for this, quite literally. You still wished you could burn the place down rather than have to try and clean it.

König skittered off to rub against a tall pillar to try and rid himself of the unholy itch that was surely driving him wild.

“If you just let me help…” you muttered under your breath as you strode over to him.

König swatted you away with his tail.

“Excuse me!?” you scoffed as you stumbled back, “did you just push me?”

“Must move,” König cawed, “moving helps.”

You sighed and relented. There wasn’t much you could do, was there? How were you supposed to get something the length of one and a half school busses to sit still? If König wanted to move, there was nothing you could do to get him to rest.

Or… Maybe you could…

Your eyes snapped open as realization dawned on you.

“Hey König?” you called to the big shifter.

König stopped rubbing his back against the pillar to look at you.

“Can you stay right here? I just need to get something from the back.”

König cawed and went back to rubbing his back. Well, if that kept him occupied, so be it.

You left König to his own devices with a little nod. As you rushed down the halls, you just hoped he’d stay put long enough for you to go and grab some puzzles you found from the common room.

When you’d managed to grab a couple and head back to the gym, König was back to wriggling to and fro on his back. You whistled and bounded over to him.

“König!” you held up a couple of puzzles, “I found something for you to do!”

König rolled onto his front to get a better look at you. He glanced between the boxes and cawed. He slithered to your side before letting himself drop flat onto his belly. He lay his head down on the ground and glanced up at you like a moping hound dog.

“Okay, so, how long do you think it’ll take you to finish these puzzles?” you asked as you put the jigsaw puzzles on the ground in front of him.

“Small,” he grumbled, “hard work.”

“So you think at least half an hour?” you asked hopefully.

“Longer,” König huffed, “small.”

You grinned to yourself as König spread out his wings to let you on. It seemed you finally had a way to keep König occupied.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[thekoalapastriesbakery]

thinking lots about hybrid!leclercs, specifically about their FP1 in Abu dhabi! like maybe reader is a member of the ferrari team, helping handle the hybrids. bunnies are very social and prefer to stay in groups, so arthur and charles being able to be together means you have two overexcited hybrids to take care of. like, the only time you're getting them to calm down is when they're asleep.

(also this got me thinking of bunny hybrid!seb... i think ferrari is just the home of bunny hybrids)

anon. anon this is brilliant. bunny!leclercs and bunny!seb >>>>>

we can (and should) talk about hybrid handlers in the hybrid!au!!! maybe each team has their own, maybe there's one or two that work with all the hybrid!drivers ... depends on how many you see as hybrids i suppose.

arthur and charles are so excited to be driving together! you know bunny hybrids are very very social and will often have vastly different personalities when they have a companion, so you're prepared to be wrangling overexcited bunny brothers all weekend. and that's exactly what you end up doing.

you have to drag them away from countless wires and games of chase in the paddock just to keep them vaguely on schedule. it takes so much effort just to get the two of them through media day that by the time you get back to the ferrari garage you're just about ready to collapse. luckily, so are arthur and charles. you'll poke your head into charles' driver's room to check on them and find two lil bunnies curled up together.

maybe you've been with the team for a long time. maybe you saw seb and charles interacting and that's the only way you know how to handle two over-excitable bunny hybrids together.

(also opens the possibility of poly!simi with bunny!seb and lynx!kimi?)

(also also ferrari being the home of bunny hybrids in f1 could then extend to bunny!ollie and bunny!lewis ... i'll see myself out)

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 4

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samojede (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts and personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; slow-burnish; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff/domesticity; humour; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

Whenever Simon spares you a glance to remind himself that this new and strange arrangement is real, he finds you staring right back at him somehow.

Always making eye contact; holding his unwavering gaze with a silent expectation that makes his chest feel tight and his brain go numb, grappling for answers. Multiple times he's caught himself biting the tip of his tongue harshly to refrain himself from barking “What?” at you, demanding an answer in exchange for his cluelessness: What do you want from me?

He's building a mountain of expectations in his mind involuntarily while lacking the gear and a strategy in how to climb it properly. It's too high, and he knows he can never reach the top unscathed.

How can he possibly take care of you if he can barely take care of himself outside of what is required of him? He keeps himself fit, alive, able to function, always ready to follow an order and go in for the kill. That’s what he knows, what he’s comfortable with, but this?

Simon doesn't play house, doesn't know how to handle something so... domestic and delicate. He never experienced it growing up, never witnessed normalcy. If he would care about such things now, he’d have a wife or something akin to one, but he doesn’t–never even had a partner before, never bothered to believe himself fit for dating, for letting someone in like this.

Even the soft clothes you're wearing make him recoil; pastel colours having the opposite effect of red to a bull–so odd and out of place to him, and he knows the callouses on his fingers would simply catch on the fabric if he were ever to reach out to you for whatever reason, like a sheep’s fine wool catching on a thorn brush, scratching and tearing.

“What would you like for dinner?”

Simon blinks twice, thrice, before the question comes through his thick skull, vision slowly clearing despite him having stared at you for the past minutes while you were sitting on his couch patiently the whole time, eager as ever now that he willingly took you back to his flat again.

Why did you even sign the handlership without knowing him at all beforehand? Are you really that oblivious? That naïve? Or did the brass coax you into signing it?

“Simon?”

The way you keep saying his name so casually, makes his chest ache, makes him inhale sharply each time. What would he like for dinner? It should be such a simple question, but it seems like a puzzle to him–a thousand pieces, all in the same bloody colour.

“Why? Ya offering to cook for me, lass?” He snorts humourlessly. It's ridiculous. No one cooks for him unless he goes to the mess hall to get some grub.

“Of course, I'd love to!” You answer immediately, flashing a genuine smile. His eyes flicker to your tail when it starts to wag again and he curls his lips under his mask. Isn't he supposed to take care of you? What even is this bloody handlership? His brows draw together quizzically, making that deep crease reappear between them. Perhaps he should’ve read it before putting his signature on the damn paper.

Then he sighs in resignation. “Do whatever you want, just stay out of my room,” he replies and makes a half-hearted gesture towards the kitchen. “Not sure wha’s in the fridge. Been a few days since I went to the store,” he admits begrudgingly, kissing his teeth in annoyance when his stomach grumbles.

“Well then,” you say tentatively, tail stilling on the couch, “–why don't we go shopping for groceries?”

It’s already late afternoon, when Simon pulls up to the parking lot in front of the local supermarket in town with a truck he borrowed, deciding it’s better for his own nerves to take you somewhere else but the stores they have on base.

He just can’t bring himself to keep you on a leash around his peers, to parade you around wearing a pink collar around your neck with his rank and military ID number stitched into its leather–a ‘gift’ from the bloody gift basket Price had delivered to his flat along with the initial shock of your presence.

And, by god, he wants to drop the leash and run in the other direction as soon as the automatic sliding doors swoosh open and his boots step foot into the store with you in tow–a red shopping basket clutched in his other hand.

What an absurd picture it must be to other shopgoers–a behemoth with a skull mask and cargo pants buying veggies and snacks with a gorgeous hybrid woman on a pink leash and matching collar. Kinky, he muses unintentionally and grits his teeth, cringing at his own stupid thought. It’s then and there Simon decides to murder Price next chance he gets.

“Mummy, look!” A toddler exclaims, pointing at you as he peeks his head into the produce aisle. Simon’s eyebrow raises beneath his mask as the little boy approaches shyly, his wide eyes fixated on you. Civilians, especially kids and women, usually avoid him like the plague whenever he’s out and about in public, looking like, well–himself.

“Hello there,” you coo at the toddler, crouching down to his level while Simon keeps as much distance as the leash allows him to, knowing better than to interfere. “Are you looking for your mama?” You ask attentively, ears twitching as you look past the boy, already searching for his parents.

The boy shakes his head with a big smile, rocking on his feet. “Nu-uh, she’s–”

“Noah!” The frantic voice of a woman calls out. “I told you to stay by–” Her eyes widen, steps faltering briefly as she catches sight of Simon, who has already anticipated the reaction, slumping his shoulders to try and make himself look smaller, less threatening.

“He’s okay,” you chime in swiftly, straightening up to be on eye-level with Noah’s mother. “We were about to help him look for you, madam,” you assure her, and the boy giggles when you ruffle his brown unruly curls briefly. “Isn’t that right, big man?”

The conversation fades into the background just like Simon’s whole presence seemingly does as you go on to hold a friendly and effortless conversation with the mother and her son. Meanwhile, Simon doesn’t quite remember the last time someone approached him so casually and jovially, and he gets lost in his own rotten mind with flashbacks of the past again–seeing the ghosts of Beth and Joseph in these strangers in front of him, and his heart is gripped by icy tendrils of grief and melancholy until your laugh breaks through the vision, pulling him back to reality at once.

“Oh, no worries! I’m sure it is strange to see someone like me in a quaint town like this,” you chuckle softly, giving a small wave with your hand while Simon’s pale lashes flutter as he tries to follow the conversation once more after what he’s missed. He notices how the toddler is giggling, petting and hugging your fluffy tail while you continue talking to his mum like it’s nothing unordinary. “But working for the military has brought me to the strangest places where hybrids are either a common occurrence or completely rare and more like a myth,” you explain patiently.

And the woman smiles coyly, already smitten with your charms. “Well, you certainly are a looker if I dare say so, miss.”

Once Alice, as she'd introduced herself, and Noah go about their own shopping, Simon catches the odd look on your face, something akin to sadness or longing hidden behind your smile, before you rapidly blink it away as a grumpy-looking elderly man approaches you, asking for help as if you'd know your way around while Simon groans internally, already despising all the attention.

You really do turn heads in a rather positive way if you manage to make the most grumpy old geezer smile in a heartbeat.

“You always this chipper?” He gruffs as he watches you add a pound of butter and coffee creamer to the overflowing basket, not that he'd care about that. You've been nothing but mindful of prices and proper nourishment while strolling through the aisles.

“Hm?” Simon snorts, in amusement this time. There's no way you didn't hear him; he saw your plush left ear swivel in his direction. “Ya heard me jus’ fine, lass.” He mutters, grabbing a box of his favourite biscuits as he walks past them and shoving them in between the other goodies, feeling like a child sneaking candy into their parent's shopping cart.

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, keeping your eyes trained on the shelves with different brands of toast before grabbing a packaged loaf. “I guess I am.” Then you stop, glancing up at him over your shoulder, and Simon nearly bumps into you. “You don't like people coming up to us to chat?”

Simon's brows furrow. Us? “They wanna talk you, not me. 'm basically–” He shrugs, making a vague gesture at himself as the leash clinks in his hand.

“A Ghost?” You quip, beaming at your little joke while your tail swishes proudly.

“Right,” Simon huffs quietly. “Smooth.”

He's rather thankful for his balaclava as he continues trotting after you through the store, hiding the tiniest crack of a smile underneath the black cloth.

There’s a match on the telly, an ice cold bottle of his favourite ale on the coffee table on a coaster he didn’t even know he owned, though all Simon can really focus on is this bizarre situation he finds himself watching as you go about doing your own thing in his kitchen.

It’s almost mesmerizing, the way you rummage through the cupboards and drawers, taking out pots and bowls to your liking as if you own the place already, preparing a side salad while the steaks sizzle in the pan–all while you’re wearing that frilly, pale pink apron that you’d fetched from your suitcase earlier, the one that makes Simon wonder if one of your previous handlers is responsible for your peculiar wardrobe, or if pink simply happens to be your favourite colour.

He takes an absentminded sip of his drink when another thought pops into his head: What if you wear all of this hyper-feminine bollocks because people forced you to like it? What if they manipulated you into enjoying stuff to state their own perverted fantasies? Would you rather wear something else?

And Simon imagines it briefly–you wearing something cosy, perhaps one of his hoodies that would most likely swallow you whole. He takes another swing of ale and his nose wrinkles, though it’s not the bitterness making him squinch.

“Dinner is ready in five,” you croon suddenly, popping your head into the living room from the kitchen as the savoury aroma of steak and chips wafts through the flat, engulfing the usually sparse space like a warm, comforting blanket.

With a soft groan and a cracking knee, Simon gets up from his seat on the couch. The least he can do is set the table.

@lucienofthelakes @kakashiislut @jggykhug09090 @edgarapoecolouredglasses @kerst666 @whos-fran @d1zzy-r1v3rs @userinaliel666 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @vmaxis @tessakate @dneicjefx @sushiumex @yourfavreggie @cmbghost @brokexintroverted @mysterygrl555 @bunnybeaches @fmlmf @teapartydreams @nachofriess @slut-lmao @sweetnanah @kodzukenwhore @thefutureastronaut @arael-asuka @oliver-1270

[dragonnarrative-writes]

@charliemwrites infected me with Charmed!Slasher!Ghost. The dialogue is directly from part 4 of their series.

No content warnings for this installment. Please let me know if you need me to add or tag any.

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Not everyone appreciates optimism. Seeing the best in people, you’ve been told on multiple occasions, is naive at best and dangerous at worst. Someone could take advantage of you. People have taken advantage of you. You’re going to get yourself hurt!

The thing is, you’re not naive. You’re old enough to have experienced the casual cruelty of the world. But being cruel yourself doesn’t help anything. Kindness costs very little, and you’re happy to pay a little toward your karma every day. And when people think you’re an easy, bubbly target, they tend to let their guard down.

No one expects you to be observant.

Your new neighbor doesn’t expect you to be observant.

When you almost run into him the day he moves in, it doesn't take long for you to recognize him as the guy who brought you home from the bar. For one, he’s huge and doesn’t bother to hide it. Secondly, his eyes are this flat, empty, piercing blue until you apologize. And then he smiles, and and his eyes go from lifeless tundra to sort-of-welcomingly-frigid, and you know, you know, that this guy is dangerous.

And then he informs you that he’s moving just next door. You probe a bit, and he tells you he’s not worried about your noise, even as he asks about neighbors. You give him a little vulnerability, see how still he goes when you mention that you’re a bit introverted.

“Anyway!” You chirp, slipping back into the bubbly persona before the last test. “Do you need any help moving things in?”

And your new neighbor’s pupils dilate, ever so slightly, even as all the life in them drains away.

“Thank you, luv," he says in that deep voice, "but I’m almost finished. I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

You feel your whole body flush as your nervous system screams predator-danger-RUN. You look down and away, try not to fidget.

“Well, lemme know if you need anything! I always forget something important when I move,” you say, and hope he doesn’t take your nervousness as an invitation to attack. “I’m the one on the left.”

He says “call me Riley,” so you do. Don’t bother to give him a fake name back, because if he wants to, he can look at the packages on your doormat and get your full name anyway.

You spend the rest of the afternoon chewing on your bottom lip, thinking. People at the grocery store probably think you’re daydreaming, or really worried about getting the right box mix for dessert. A kindly older woman picks out her favorite brownie mix and tells you its her husband’s favorite, just add a few caramel candies. You thank her, genuinely, and add the box to your basket.

Back at home, waiting for the brownies to finish baking, you let the anxiety simmer. Riley is a predator, yes, and you’re potential prey. But he already lives next door. And the neighbor before him was also dangerous, the way all men are dangerous. Admittedly, that feels like comparing a goldfish to a volcano, but it’s true. So you’ll bring him a welcome-to-the-building gift and endear yourself to him.

Being kind doesn’t cost anything. And if he likes you, he probably won’t kill you.

[eternalberry]

i'm going to start writing fics again,

1. only fem or gn reader ! this is a sapphic blog :3

2. i will write for:

elizabeth lail

amy hughes

vanessa shelly/afton

kathryn hahn

agatha harkness

claire debella

doc ock (olivia octavius)

aubrey plaza

rio vidal

cat adams

lenny busker

riley johnson

kate walsh

addison montgomery

the handler

caterina scorsone

amelia shepherd

stana katic

kate beckett

(if you'd like to request any other characters played by different actresses such as; gwendoline christie characters or vera farmiga characters let me know !!)

i write;

smut,

angst,

fluff