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Dark has a perplexed look on her face, as if you had insulted his entire being with your little joke. Yet, he's still there, in front of you, waiting for you to do something.

When your hands come up and cup his face, they just stare at you, into your eyes like they were just trying to process what you were doing.

Then he's melting into your hands, his face pressing into your palms and letting his stubble scratch at your skin. Her hands come up to rest on top of your hands, thumbs rubbing on the back of your hand, as he nuzzles into your warmth.

His hair falls over his face, obscuring some of it as she rubs her face against your hands. It makes you think of a cat, rubbing its head onto your hands for pets, so you give in.

A hand runs up her face and into his hair, brushing their bangs up so you can see his face once again. His hand that was on top of it goes to hold the wrist of your hand still caressing her cheek.

While she gives no true indication that they're enjoying this time together, at least you can tell he doesn't hate it. A smile playing on your face as you continue to pet and scratch at their hair.

Wilford is over in a second, smiling as he awaits for something to happen. He's always been one to need things to happen, being bored was not ideal for anyone when it came to it. So you relent, cursing yourself for your stupid little joke.

Your hands are raised and pressing against it's cheeks, pressing them together to give him fish lips. A chuckle comes from him, which is a good sign. His hands rest around your torso, and pull you close. Then he's on his knees in front of you.

You can't comfortably rest your hands on it's cheeks anymore, so you move them up to it's hair, running through the somewhat greasy strands. He's looking up at you, and you can't help but smile down at it, your hands fully running through his hair now.

It smiles up at you before resting his head forward, burying it's face in your torso. So now you're stuck like this, standing uncomfortably with one Wilford Warfstache wrapped around you, practically forcing you to pet him like an eager dog that hasn't felt the love of someone in ages.

Maybe if you had treats, you could get him to do tricks.

The Host is one of the more difficult egos, being unable to tell what he's feeling about 99% of the time unless he verbally says anything. So when he's in front of you after you make your joke, it surprises you.

A chair that wasn't there before is suddenly behind you, and his hands are pressing on your shoulders to get you to sit. You oblige, because what else are you supposed to do, and sit down. He follows suit, cradling you as he sits on your lap.

He's quietly narrating to himself, about how he takes your hands and rests them on his head, how you start carding your hands through the strands of it like it's the most natural thing in the world, how he rests his head on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your body in a hug.

How you're now stuck under him, forced to pet and scratch at his hair, until he sees fit. How your little joke has now cost you hours of affection to him, and that if you make such a joke again, The Host will make the period of time much longer than today.

Oh, and don't be shy to rub his back, The Host would not be opposed at all to the added affections.

Dave is happy to be at your beck and call, a tired smile playing on his face. If he were a dog, he'd be sitting and smiling up at you, tail sweeping across the floor happily.

Suddenly you feel bad for wasting his time with your little joke, he could be resting but instead he's waiting for you to do something because he didn't realize you were messing around.

With a deep breath, you bring up your arms and wrap them around his shoulders, pulling him into you for a hug. He happily accepts, wrapping his arms around your torso and resting his head on your shoulder. The weight of him is comfortable, and it doesn't take much for you to rest your head on his, a hand coming to play with the ends of his hair.

It's by no means perfect, but he doesn't seem to mind the uncomfortable arch in his back, or the ache in his legs from standing. Rather, he enjoys the moment, burying his face in your jacket like it's the most comfortable pillow he's ever felt.

Simon doesn't know what to do with himself, being in such an odd environment. Before he knows it his arm is reaching for you, his hand grabbing onto yours like a lifeline. You called to him, albeit in a weird way, how can he be of assistance.

It's tough to tell them it was a joke when he willingly made his way over, so I stead you rest your free hand in his face and scratch a bit at their stubble.

The touch is overwhelming to Simon, the way your hand rubs up and scratches on his skin burned them like fire, yet it didn't hurt. Butterflies in their stomach threaten to burst out as he rests his head more into your palm. His shoulder even comes up to try and press it more into his skin, since he doesn't have another hand to do so.

It's a comfort to Simon, to know you won't pull away as they show such vulnerability. Your touch makes the pains go away, and if it weren't for the fact his arm was missing they'd probably think it was all a nightmare.

You stare at the wall in front of yourself, sat upright at the foot of your bed, simply staring. You're tired, yet every time you try laying down to sleep thoughts would flood your head and leave you awake, so why even try to sleep in the first place?

Your eyes feel heavy and you struggle to open them again when you blink, but even if you let them stay closed you'd never sleep, left in the darkness with your thoughts. It was better to stay up, at least then your mind would slow down with the thoughts.

Some quiet would be nice.

A small, calming feeling passed over you as the bed dips behind you. A hand rests on your back, the thumb rubbing up and down across the bottom of your neck in what you believe to be a comforting manner.

Weird, you don't remember anyone else being home.

"Why must you humans torture yourself like this?" A whisper of a voice mutters behind you. It's deep, and should probably be intimidating, yet all you feel is warmth and comfort.

There's no response from you, not a verbal one at least, as your head droops down to look at your hands resting in your lap rather than the wall. It's almost dizzying, the motion from the switch from staring at nothing to something. The hand on your back ceases its motion of the thumb, allowing it to rest on your shoulder instead. The grip is firm, keeping you grounded.

"You can't continue like this, even I know that."

A hand reaches from behind you, resting on top of one of your hands. In this position you can feel their chest and clothes press against your back and side, they're so warm.

"Come, let me help you." Their hand grabs yours, yet they don't do anything. As if waiting for you to say yes. So you do.

"Okay." Comes out in a quiet whisper, barely audible to even yourself, yet the person behind you hears.

Their hand in your shoulder leaves, running down your back before detaching itself from you. The contact isn't lost, as they get up from the bed and raise your hand in theirs. Now they're by your side and they switch their hand that's holding yours. Then they're tugging you up gently.

It doesn't take much to get you to stand up, suddenly feeling less tired, willingly letting them pull your hand, and therefore your body, away from your bed and out of your bedroom. Where they're taking you doesn't matter, you can't bring yourself to worry.

Rather, you raise your head and observe the person in front of you. They have a strong build, and you assume they're a man from both the build and his voice. The suit he wears is dark. His hands are soft, almost like they were made of satin.

You bump into his arm, not realizing he had stopped. You're in front of your bathroom now. He opens the door, and steps inside, flickering the light on as he does so and then leads you in. The light is bright, and you have to cover your eyes with your free arm, like a kid outside during summer.

He lets go of your hand, and when you lower your arm to look back at what he's doing now, you find yourself alone. Strange, maybe the lack of sleep has finally gotten to you. Maybe your brain made someone up to get you off the bed, out of your room, to take the pills that are suddenly in your hand.

A glass of water sits on the counter, and you take a moment to sit on the toilet seat and stare at the pills in your hand. They're all there, the ones your doctor prescribed you ages ago. Ones that were supposed to help, yet for some reason you never took them. With little thought, you toss your head back and throw them into your mouth, quickly taking the glass of water and chugging it down.

The water hydrates your parched throat, the burn washing down with the pills. They taste awful, but what medication does? Other than gummies, of course.

Glass now empty, you set it back down on the counter, using your arm to lay your head somewhat comfortably on the counter as well. You just needed a moment, some time to try and relax.

"You would relax more in bed." The voice mutters in your ear, but when you look up and around, no one is there. The mind is an awful trickster.

Agreeing with the voice in your head, you push yourself up with the help of the counter and make your way back. The bathroom light turns off as you leave it, but you don't think you reached for the switch at all.

The walk to your room is slow, your feet drag and your body feels heavy, yet you manage. You shut the door behind you, resting your forehead on the cold wood for a moment before turning around and making your way to bed.

By now you can feel the meds start to sink in, and just as your head hits your pillows your eyes get heavier than they have all night. Turning to lay on your side, you can barely make out the person again as they sand at your bedside.

"Rest, you certainly need it." He whispers. His arms come down to pull your blankets up around you, and then his hand rests on your cheek. His thumb brushes up and down your cheekbone, the comforting action lulling your eyes closed.

"I'll be back, when you need me most." Cold lips press against your forehead, yet they bring nothing but comfort and relief.

Adjusting to the loss of a limb was hard, harder than Simon thought possible at this point. He couldn't change himself properly, couldn't clean himself, couldn't read steadily- hell, he could barely stand up and sit down properly. Safe to say, he felt pretty useless. It sucked for him, because he yearned to help you do stuff around the ship, but he couldn't even get himself out of the bed. His arm, or what's left of it, forced him to remember it all, and the pain that couldn't be stopped by any medicine flowed through his body like the blood pumping through him.

It hurt you to see him like this, your beloved Simon. Sure, he was never known for being a happy guy but watching him toss and turn in bed all day was disheartening to see. He deserved so much better, and you'd help him see that even like this you loved him.

Once again, he laid in your bed, facing the metal wall, trying to sleep. You both knew it wouldn't happen, nightmares and memories would plague him every time he slept, resulting in him opting to sleep as little as possible.

When you enter the bedroom you make sure to knock on the wall next to the door, letting him know you were in the room. There was a slight twitch under the blankets, but that was all he gave to acknowledge you. Standing in the door way, you watched him for a moment. You couldn't see much of him underneath the blankets, but his tousled, greasy, raven hair was visible. Maybe you can convince him to shower later, entice him with the thought of you joining.

"Simon," making your way over to the bed, you sit at the edge and turn your upper body to face him. Your hand rests on his bicep, which startles him a little, and gently rubs up and down. "You awake sweetheart?" The question was rhetorical, but offered him a chance to give himself more solitude if he wanted it.

He takes a deep breath and the huff out is audible, letting you know he doesn't mind your presence at the moment. If anything he's appreciative that you come to check on him so often.

"Can you look at me, sweetheart?" Your hand stills on his arm, giving him time to think.

His head shakes, his arm pushing your hand off and pulling the blanket up more instead. So he was going to be just closed off enough, was he?

"Okay." You whisper, your hand moving to rest on his head instead, fingers brushing through the tangled strands of black. "Can I help?"

The offer makes his head perk up a little, curious as to how you'd be able to help him in such a miserable state. Other offers to help have never worked, why would this one? Not that he's going to voice this out loud, he can barely bring himself to say hi back in the morning. Any offer to help from you was welcome, even if he knew it wouldn't work.

Taking the fact that he hasn't showed any signs of rejection yet, you adjust your body to where your arms wrap around his torso, the blanket scrunching up if your grasp. Simon grunts quietly as you use your strength to pull him up to where he's sitting up, back pressed against your chest.

"There we go, sweetheart," you whisper in his ear, hands staying wrapped around his waist, "gonna give you some lovin'."

He shudders as your words register in his mind, and he allows himself to press some of his body weight into you to show that he isn't opposed to whatever it is you have in mind. With the consent he's giving, your hands trail down and fiddle with the bottom of his sweater. He knows you're teasing him when one of your hands drifts down under his shirt, caressing his stomach. After taking your time, you grab onto his sweater and gently pull it off of him, helping him get his arm out of it and tossing it down onto the ground behind you.

His muscles flex as he slowly pushes the blanket off of him and to the side, allowing you to get closer to him. Your chest is directly on his back now, and your legs sit on both sides of his. He's still facing the wall, left to inspect the same boring metal as any other day while anticipating what you'll do next, his heart is already racing at the thought of your touch.

Fortunately, he isn't left waiting for long as your lips press against his shoulder. You leave gentle kisses across his shoulder blade, admiring the scarred skin and warmth of his body. Your hands come back to rest on his body, both resting over his breasts and caressing them, the plush skin molding to your hold on them. It never ceases to amaze you how large they were, unable to resist as you squeeze them one would a woman's, playing with them and watching over his shoulder as his hips gently rubbed down against the bed.

"Already so eager," you whisper, pressing a kiss under his ear, "I'll take care of you. Don't worry." Kisses trail from his ear to his neck, where you switch to licking the skin.

He lets out deep breaths, heavy ones that let you know he's definitely enjoying himself.

After a good while of squeezing at his tits, you give him something you know he loves. Pressing your fingers gently against his nipples, where the metallic piercings lay in his skin. The deep groan he lets out tells you all you need to know, he loved it. They were always so sensitive, even before the piercings, and that's what you liked about them.

"Please..." He finally speaks, a quiet whine from his scratchy throat due to his lack of speech.

"Oh? He finally decides to speak." You tease, pinching his nipples as a reward. "Go on, Si, tell me what you want."

He doesn't respond in words, he can't as you press and pinch at him, all he gives are groans that get deeper and louder the more you tease him. In return, you continue kissing his skin, even taking a moment or two to nip at his flesh, teasing the idea of bites.

"Gods..." is all he can muster out, his head pushing back onto your shoulder as his hips push up into the air. His pants aren't tight by any means, but you can still see his dick bulging against them.

His hand finally does something, having been grabbed at the blanket the entire time. It comes up to grab onto your wrist, the hold tight as if he can't control himself at the moment, which he really can't.

"Please! Please... I..." He whines out, his hand trying to force yours away from his nipple. He's still quiet, but his words carry over to your ears perfectly, he knows you heard him and you know that. His hips keep humping the air, rubbing his dick up against his pants to get the much needed friction. The rough texture of his pants and the way you keep teasing his nipples could easily make him cum, and he thinks he just might.

You know he will.

It doesn't take much more foreplay to get him to, not when your hand free of his hold trails down his torso to sneak its way under his pants. It doesn't go under his boxers, but you make sure to rest it right atop of his dick. The added pressure quickly sends him over the edge, and he cant stop himself as he cums, his boxers are soiled and you can feel the damp spot when you move your hand down a little- Simon moans at the friction.

"So good for me, Si." You whisper in his ear, pressing a few kisses to his cheek.

He still can't bring himself to look at you, but as he stares at the wall he can't help but lean more of his weight into you. He's heavy, but nothing you can't handle as you push forward into him to keep the both of you up. The warmth of his back on your chest is overwhelming, but he doesn't complain.