#i hope i was as middle ground as i could be

[topzsun]

I'M A COWBOY ON MY OWN TRIP

── ♡ BOOTHILL

❝ the road of a galaxy ranger is a lonely one. fortunately, boothill would never leave you be. ❞

Boothill is impossibly hard to get a hold of, and you consider that the next time he shows up for his maintenance, you’ll plant a GPS on him.

The unofficial Galaxy Ranger and ex-robotic scientist that you are, Boothill had become your personal project. His maintenance, upgrading his body and enhancing his current weaponry have been your turf, something you took keen delight in that you’ll never speak to the word, lest Boothill catches wind and stops paying mind to your complaints.

His entrance is always predictable. With a kick to your door, you will scoff, and he’ll stroll in with a damaged component or two that you’ll have to fix. When your door opens with a creak instead, you feel a chill run through your spine and you are already out of your desk chair by the time he stumbles in. Something heavy lodges in your throat when you catch your first sight of him, a mess of stray wires and missing metal, his prosthetics wrapped around his steel torso to try and keep his wiring and sensors from spilling out. His eyes are dull when he looks at you, missing his usual toothy grin. You run and grab him before he can collapse to the ground, ushering him to the medical bed you found in an abandoned hospital, treating it like an exam table.

“What happened to you?” You stress, and you gently move his arm out of the way to assess the damage. You examined the more critical damage first, where some cords were snapped clean. You believe Boothill to be extremely lucky that it wasn’t the one connecting him to his artificial heart. Metal was easy to replace, rewiring was not and if the component keeping him functioning stopped working, there was no way you could revive him again. Your teeth catch the bottom of your lip at the thought.

“Sorry, I got all banged up, Doc,” It’s the first time he’s ever apologised to you for coming to your workshop for fixing. It’s also the first time he’s ever been such a wreck, so you decide to ignore the semantics and shake your head.

“How did it happen?” You interrogate, lifting one of his legs that had a gaping hole in the middle. At your delicate touch, his ankle suddenly detached and you wince instinctively.

“They opened fire suddenly, fudging scum,” He spits out in hatred, and despite his visible exhaustion before, his eyes light up at the memory. “They were blasting away while there were kids there.”

You don’t inquire about the safety of the children. Boothill is one of the most skilled rangers you know, and even if an entire armed military began a shoot-out, he’d find a way to evade it. With the amount of bullet holes in his body, he definitely used himself as a human shield and the thought makes you purse your lips. From the long years since you’ve met him, you were quick to find out that Boothill had very few weaknesses, but one of them was definitely children. You aren’t sure why, and you don’t know if you’ll ever know. Hopes, dreams and history aren’t things discussed between rangers. Even your mutually beneficial relationship with him is a rarity amongst the group. Yet, there is a mutual understanding. Things that went unspoken and what made you guys so in sync in the first place. So, you break off his unrecoverable attachments and continue with what you have to do. Both of you speak nothing as you begin shifting through your cabinets of prosthetic parts, labelled under ‘Boothill’. Usually, he is all chatter when he stops by, either badgering you to finally fix his Synthessia Beacon he utterly despises (and you kept intact out of pettiness), or striking up a conversation about whatever he uncovered during his solo missions. You don’t blame his quiet solemness today, but it doesn’t make it any less unnerving, like the silence isn’t meant to be here. You were the first to break it.

“You’re lucky my shipment for spares arrived in time,” You state, walking over to him. By ‘shipment’ you meant whatever passing rangers happened to drop off at your doorstep after successful thefts at IPC warehouses. It’s laughable for you to think of IPC packages arriving at your doorstep in the middle of nowhere, a mailman ready for you to sign the papers.

“Lucky me,” He drawls out sarcastically, and you take a moment to flick his forehead. “What the fudge, Doc!”

You ignore his annoyed exclamation, hiding your growing smile behind hunched shoulders as you begin screwing on his replacement ankles.

“I can fix, some of the more critical parts,” You gesture vaguely to his legs. “But the rewiring is the real issue here. Luckily, I’ve sanitised the tubes already.”

He stiffens for a moment, his eyes unfocused as he looks up at you with furrowed eyebrows and a frown.

“You’re putting me to sleep?” He asks, void of his usual attitude and you hesitate. You knew Boothill hated being forcibly rebooted and put to sleep. You aren’t sure what he dreams of, but whenever it’s over he’ll keep his gaze away from you, and reels at your every attempt to approach him, even for a checkup. You sympathised with him, and you’ve grown to hate it as much as he did. Unfortunately, right now it’s necessary. With his mainstream wiring damaged beyond repair, you need to replace them and you can’t have him awake during the process and potentially damage the framework.

“I’m sorry,” You mean it but he looks as if he couldn’t hear you, his eyes now fixed on a random oil stain on the floor.

“Be fast with it, ‘kay?” He mumbles and you nod. You reach over and trace the synthetic skin of his neck, where the bumps of his skin reveal his power button. You’ve already memorised just about every inch of his body from all the times you’ve spent with him, working on him. Yet, you take the selfish moment to let your gloved fingers caress the spot, almost in a lover’s embrace. He’s looking at you the entire time and finally your eyes meet his. There is a moment’s breath of a pause before he flashes you a toothy smile and you swiftly press the button. The corners of his lips drop in an instant, his eyelids falling shut and his body going limp. He’ll never know how the sight of him like this made you want to throw up yourself. You aren’t sure what happened to you, ever since the damn bandit came into your life and the path you had planned for yourself suddenly became tainted with sporadic visits and bellied laughter from a scratchy voice. You used to be colder. It’s what being a calculating scientist made you. Yet, Boothill, his justice that he goes on about, they all muddled your senses to the point that the idea of him being taken from you in one irreversible swoop made bile rise to your throat. He’ll never know those, because you need him to maintain his image of you; a cool-headed robotician whose nerves he always manages to get on.

You carry his unmoving figure over your shoulder and you don’t register your body’s complaints of his weight. There were things more painful than this, you think as you zip him into one of the prepared tubes. As preserving liquid fills the metal cylinder, you catch your image in the reflective glass. Have you always been this tired?

Another two months go by when you next see Boothill.

His last visit, which had been a critical one, had finished with little commotion. After reprogramming his hardware and forging the rest of his broken pieces, he was back in prime shape and left with nothing more than a “thanks”. His radio silence almost made you wonder if he resented you for his forced shutdown, and you try not to pay it much thought as you busy yourself with any unfinished project you could get your hands on.

That is, until an uneventful afternoon when your door is kicked open and you sit up with your first instinct to yell your complaints. Boothill strides in and your striking words dispel before they leave your lips.

“Oh,” You can only reply dumbly, and his grin somehow widens.

“Knew you’d be holed up in here, Doc,” He dares to sass, resting a hand on his hip as he surveys the packaged food on your desk, and the bags under your eyes. You click your teeth.

“Broke something again?” You wearily ask him, plopping yourself back into your spinning chair and giving him a quick scan.

“Do I gotta be broken to visit?” He poses it as a question but doesn’t listen to your answer as he drops himself onto your springy couch, feet kicked up like the ill-mannered guest he is.

“I don’t have time to waste on you,” You scoff, rolling your eyes as you turn back to the radio you had been taking apart.

“I got food.”

You asked him if he wanted something to drink.

For a man who couldn’t get drunk, Boothill adored his alcohol. You think he rides off the placebo effect of drinking, but choose not to comment since he’s finally decided to stop being so hot-and-cold with you and instead animatedly reciting his encounter with The Swarm.

“Most annoyin’ fudgin’ shirtbags I’ve had ta’ fight,” He snarls, before downing the rest of the bottle in his hand. It’s his third one. “Kept on multiplying no matter how many holes I put in ‘em.”

Despite your off-record status as a Galaxy Ranger, your areas of expertise stayed within the confines of machinery and weapons, with you never having even touched a gun in your life. From the stories, you couldn’t have been more grateful for the fact.

“How fast do you think they regenerate?” You question, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. He thinks.

“Around every few seconds,” He answers and raises a brow at you. “Why?”

“For next time,” You uncross your legs. “If I can increase the speed of your reloading, you can probably kill them before they have the chance to regenerate back.”

Usually, your new ideas for him would be met with enthusiasm, whereby he’d test his limits by suggesting his own upgrades which you’d either agree to or shut down. Much to your surprise, he tilts his head back and lets out a low groan.

“Seriously, all you got is work in that noggin’ of yours,” He comments, giving you a flat look and you splutter immediately in defence.

“But you are talking about work, too!” You retort and he laughs loudly, leaning on the backrest of the couch as if he knows something you don’t.

“I’m telling ya’ something about myself. Now you gotta too,” He explains and it gives you pause, turning your head to stare at him with incredulity.

“What is this, twenty questions?” You joke but he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Sure.”

“I think I’m a pretty open book,” Your gesture vaguely around your small and unkempt home shrouded in darkness with nothing but the straining blue light of your computer. “This is my whole life, right in front of you.”

“It ain’t,” He refutes immediately and you frown at him, not sure what’s going on with him tonight. “Unless you tellin’ me you’ve lived like this since you were born, then it ain’t your whole darn life.”

It’s the invitation you’ve always secretly prayed for. That someone will look at your dishevelled self and the mess you lie in, and say you were more than that. Boothill, of all people, is giving you the chance. Yet, your hands feel clammy as you press them together and suddenly the cyborg beside you is hard to look at.

“Why would it matter?” You ask him sincerely, missing your usual condescension. There is a brief silence before he continues.

“‘Cause I feel like it does,” He confesses, voice dropping lower as if he’s speaking into the world something only you and he should know of. “‘Cause I’ve been thinkin’ of how ya’ keep savin’ my behind, and how fudgin’ weird it is I don’t know anythin’ about ya’.”

You look at him, really look at him, and he meets you back with a defiant stare of your own. For a second, something crosses his eyes and you lose instantly, sucking in a sharp breath.

“You will think of me less.”

“Not possible,” He instantly hits back.

You fall back onto the uncomfortable scratchy fabric of your sofa, and your stare meets your dull, tilled ceiling. You reminisce about when grey was replaced with expensively painted beige, and the seat underneath you used to be a mahogany brown chair. In front of you had been a projection board, equations scribbled hastily across the screen. Your graded test paper sits in your book bag, perfect mark as usual. You think back to how far you’ve fallen from grace.

“Okay,” You say, “And you’ll tell me about yourself too. No enemies, no battles, just you.”

Something crosses his expression, but he agrees anyway. You will learn of his vendetta, of his anger and grief, of the daughter he never could have seen grow up. He will learn of you as Icarus, the one who reached too close to the sun and condemned themself to the ground. After the drinks have finished pouring, he will leave as if nothing had happened, announcing the next date for his visit. There is a silent agreement in the air that night.

You both were not good at living. And you have officially breached the line of co-workers.

[heizlut]

omg this is the first time i do this bc i always think i become a burden when i request sth🫠 BUT I PLUCKED MY COURAGE BC I LOVE YOU AND I HAVE A BOMB ASS IDEA BUT MY WRITING CAPABILITIES CANNOT DO IT JUSTICE. Ok so🫢 childhoofriend!/meandom!genshu lin x childhoodfriend!/sub!reader x childhoodfriend!/teasedom!jiyan after the war (lets pretend genshu didnt disappear/get unalived) and they release their pent up emotions by doing the deed and of course reader is more than happy to welcome them. Reader has enough holes for the two as you said😚😚

POOKIEEEE ILYSM🥹🫶🏼 i hope you like this!!!!!

What are Best Friends For?

〰cw: none

〰tags: sub fem!reader, mean dom!geshu lin, teasing dom!jiyan, all childhood besties with each other, creampie, unprotected sex, oral m!receiving, double penetration, anal, a lil degradation, throat fucking, a dash of stinky angst in the beginning

〰nsfw under the cut

〰m!list here

You always worried for your two best friends considering they were always at each other's throats, always arguing about battle strategies, what was right and wrong, or accusing the other of spending more time with you. You still did your best to act as a mediator or to provide them with whatever type of support they needed, no questions asked.

And right now, they both needed you. More than ever.

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Standing in the middle of battleground, the retroact rain surrounds both of them and all of Geshu Lin's soldiers. If looks could kill, Jiyan would be dead on the spot with the way Geshu Lin glowers at him. Jiyan stands his ground, "This isn't right. There's something wrong with this rain. It would be wise to retreat unless you really want everyone to die here."

Geshu Lin's tongue runs across his teeth before speaking in a biting tone, "Last I checked, you were only a combat medic." He scoffs, speaking again with disdain, "If thousands of my men must die, then so be it. Now shut up and keep moving." Jiyan stands there as the general turns away, barking orders at his soldiers, rage and concern bubbling up inside of him.

They both promised you they would be safe, that they would return home to you unscathed. But with Geshu Lin's bullheaded pride, the chances of coming home to the girl they both loved in their own way seemed unlikely. Jiyan couldn't allow Geshu Lin to go through with this.

"General, listen to me", he calls out. Geshu Lin ignores him at first continuing on until Jiyan's next words make him stop dead in his tracks. "What about y/n...? We made her a promise. Do you truly intend to break it?", Jiyan's voice is sad, almost desperate. Desperate for his arrogant childhood friend to just listen to him for once.

Geshu Lin stands still for a few moments before partially turning back to face Jiyan with narrowed eyes. He can see the sincerity and concern in Jiyan's expression, making something twist inside of his chest. "Put aside your pride, Geshu... Stop this before there is no going back", he pleads with deep resolution.

Geshu Lin grits his teeth, fully turning to look at Jiyan. "I'm doing this because of y/n, not because you personally told me to retreat", he growls out. Relief washes over Jiyan's features, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

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You stand there pacing back and forth by the front window of your house, gnawing at your fingernails, worried as hell for the men you cared for so deeply. Only a few moments later do you hear their voices as they walk up the path towards your home, arguing with each other as usual.

You throw open your front door, running out to meet them with teary eyes and a smile that wobbles as you try not to cry tears of relief, "You're back! I was so worried I-" Jiyan pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, nuzzling his nose into your hair and breathing in your sweet scent.

"No need to worry anymore, I'm here...", he coos softly earning him a harsh glare from Geshu Lin. Geshu Lin pulls you from Jiyan's grasp and into his own embrace. "I'm here too", he speaks through gritted teeth, keeping his golden eyes narrowed at Jiyan who gives him an incredulous look in return.

You breathe out a laugh as Geshu Lin practically squeezes the life out of you, "I'm happy you're both here." You pull back slightly, only able to because Geshu Lin allows you. You look between the two of them with a little smile, "Let's not fight. We're all here together, so let's enjoy this moment." Geshu Lin grumbles and Jiyan gives a hint of a smile.

"Tell me what I can do to make you both happy", you speak, eyes flitting between the two pairs of intense golden eyes as you offer a solution like you always do. Geshu Lin's lips twitch up in a slight smirk which Jiyan catches, releasing a breath as he addresses him, "Be nice, Geshu..." You raise a brow and Geshu Lin's smirk widens as something glimmers in his dangerous gaze, "No promises."

With that, Geshu Lin scoops you up, making you yelp in surprise as he carries you over his shoulder, practically kicking your door down as he enters your home with Jiyan following behind.

Once inside, Geshu Lin sets you down on the bed unceremoniously which makes you laugh out of both surprise and amusement. Jiyan stands by the edge of your bed, watching Geshu Lin's every move, golden eyes flickering between the two of you.

Geshu Lin begins to peel of his clothes piece by piece with a smirk plastered on his fierce but handsome face. His toned muscles ripple in the soft light of your room, pale cock twitching against his abdomen. Jiyan follows suit, stripping off his clothes and tossing them in a pile on the floor.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you take in the sight of your two best friends bared before you. Their bodies are different yet similar, equally captivating and littered with old scars. Jiyan is the first to move, kneeling between your legs as his hands travel up your thighs, "You're going to be a good girl for us, yeah?"

You breathe out a small 'yes', to his words, making the corners of his lips curl up as he stands back up, both men looking down at you with a mix of danger and pleasure in their eyes. "Then strip", Geshu Lin chimes in with a sharp command as he slowly strokes his cock.

Your breath hitches at his command. Sure this wasn't anything new between the three of you, but only ever separately. You never thought you would be pleasing them both at the same time, but you would do absolutely anything for them. You strip off your tank top and bra, nipples hardening as the cool air of your room brushes over them.

Next comes your shorts, fingers fumbling the with button and zipper as you tug them down your legs along with your panties, exposing yourself fully to your friends' hungry grazes. You watch as they exchange a glace, their silent communication passing through them as though they've finally agreed on something for once.

Their eyes linger on your body as if committing every inch of you to memory. They both approach with predatory grace, Geshu Lin stands close to your face and Jiyan stands in front of your spread legs. Geshu Lin takes your chin in his free hand, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Here's how this is gonna work, doll. You're gonna lay back and put your head over the side of the bed so I can fuck that pretty mouth of yours", his voice steady and commanding.

He nods his head towards Jiyan, "And Jiyan here is gonna play with that pussy." "But don't you even think about cumming until I give you permission to do so", he growls out.

All you can do is nod before you lay back, positioning yourself in the way Geshu Lin told you to. Your head hangs off the side of the bed, Geshu Lin's cock throbbing in front of you as Jiyan crouches between your legs once more, licking his lips at the sight of your twitching hole.

Jiyan's fingers trace over your folds, spreading them as he exposes your wetness. Two fingers tease your entrance, watching intently as your juices glisten in the soft light and make his digits slick.

A soft gasp has your lips parting, allowing Geshu Lin to angle his cock into your mouth. A low groan escapes his lips when he pushes past your soft lips and stretches your mouth open.

The sudden intrusion makes you clench around nothing as Geshu Lin's taste floods your senses. A garbled moan rises from your throat as you feel Jiyan's fingers press against your wet entrance, teasing you before pushing inside. The dual sensations make your body quiver with need and lust.

Each noise you make sends shockwaves of pleasure through Geshu Lin's cock, making him thrust a little deeper. He reaches down, squeezing your breasts in his hands as if using them to anchor himself to you. "Fuuuck... That's right, doll. Take my cock", he moans as he forces his length deeper down your throat, making you choke slightly.

Jiyan's fingers continue to pump into you, his own cock throbbing with need when he feels you clench around his soaked digits, desperate for something bigger to fill you up. His thumb finds your swollen clit, rubbing circles over the sensitive nub.

When Jiyan's finger curl up against your spongy, sweet spot, your back arches up, pushing your chest further into Geshu Lin's grasp. Geshu Lin releases one of your breasts only for his palm to crack down against it, making you let out a choked cry around his cock.

"You better hold off that orgasm, doll. I haven't finished yet", he growls. Jiyan chuckles as you writhe against the sheets, fingers continuously curling up inside of you. "Aww, having a tough time, love?", he coos teasingly, relishing in the way your body aches for more.

You try to speak, to beg them to allow you to cum, but all that comes out are muffled whimpers around Geshu Lin's throbbing cock. You squirm again, helpless against Jiyan's expert fingers, feeling as though your body is on fire. With a snarling growl, Geshu Lin pulls out of your mouth as you gasp for air, "Fuck it. Get on your hands and knees. I'd rather cum in your ass instead."

Jiyan's eyes snap up to his at his sudden change of mind, but pulls his fingers out of you, making you whine at the loss. Jiyan slides onto the bed, leaning back against your headboard as he beckons you towards him, cock twitching and leaking against his stomach, "Why don't you come up here and ride my cock, love?"

Geshu Lin gives him a sharp glare as he interferes with his plans. As you sit up, you look between the two men, one with a playful smirk on his lips as he pats his lap invitingly and the other has a dangerous look in his eyes that dares you to go against him. Geshu Lin scoffs when you crawl over to Jiyan, straddling his lap instead of following his orders.

Jiyan's smirk widens at your choice as he looks up at Geshu Lin, "Uh oh, seems she might have a favorite~" Geshu Lin snarls at his teasing words, but his eyes can't tear away from watching as you sink down on Jiyan's thick cock with a shuddering moan. Jiyan lets out his own breathy groan, eyes fluttering and head lolling back as he bottoms out inside of you.

Geshu Lin's own cock aches and leaks, still desperate to finish what he started. He climbs into the bed, positioning himself behind you. He grabs your hair, twisting it in his fist as he tugs your head back, "I'm not gonna let you two have all the fun."

He presses a searing kiss to your lips before releasing you as Jiyan's hands slide up your waist, pulling you to lean forward against him. With this new angle, Geshu Lin can see the girth of Jiyan's cock stretching out your cunt and your little asshole twitching in anticipation.

Finally, a little smirk plays on his lips as he lines up his tip with your smaller hole, spitting on it and watching as his saliva drips down towards Jiyan's cock. You suck in a breath when you feel it push and tease against the small ring of muscle.

Jiyan licks up your neck, nipping at your pulse point before pressing a soft kiss in the same spot. His breath ghosts against your slick skin as he teases you, "Relax... You can take it, can't you?"

You bite your bottom lip and nod, making the corners of his lips curl up as his eyes lock with Geshu Lin's in a silent confirmation before pressing another kiss to your neck, "Good girl." You let out a sharp cry as Geshu Lin pushing his cock into your ass the same time that Jiyan thrusts up into your wet cunt.

Geshu Lin hisses as your tight muscles throttle his length, "Fucking relax... Shit...." You feel so incredibly full having both of them inside of you at once, the sensation is utterly overwhelming. You try to hard to relax despite the insane stretch in both of your holes as your body struggles to accommodate them.

Jiyan reaches down, playing with you clit to help ease the pressure. "You're our good girl, aren't you, love..." You relax a little, your breasts squished against his broad chest as you whimper.

Jiyan's eyes flit back to Geshu Lin's with a nod. With zero warning, both men begin to thrust into you holes, making you gasp and moan so beautifully for them.

Both men let out husky groans, eyes rolling back as their cocks rub against each others through the thin layer of skin that separates them. The extra pressure and stimulation sends them reeling as they begin a steady, but brutal rhythm.

Jiyan's cock hits the deepest parts of you, pressing up against your cervix with each deep thrust, while Geshu Lin's cock pushes deep into your unexplored depths.

Tears spring in your eyes from both pleasure and pain. Jiyan continues to rub your clit furiously, bringing back that familiar heat that coils up inside of you as they ravish your holes.

Geshu Lin grips your jaw, tilting your head back as he kisses you with a heated and possessive passion. His tongue pushes and moves against yours as his grip tightens and his hips buck forward erratically.

Watching his friends kiss each other sloppily sparks a possessive and jealous flame within Jiyan. Wanting to bring your attention back to him, he grips your hips and thrusts up especially hard, smirking when you gasp against his friend's lips.

Geshu Lin rolls his eyes as he pulls away from your lips, but moves his hand down to your throat, squeezing lightly. "You're pathetic, you know that?", he scoffs.

You can't tell if that comment was meant for you or for Jiyan but the degradation of his words has you clenching down on both their cocks, making them moan.

Jiyan rubs your clit faster as he spurs on your impending orgasm, "Come on, baby. Cum for us." Your eyes flutter and Geshu Lin applies more pressure to your throat as he whispers harshly in your ear, "I wanna feel you squeeze my cock again. Bet you like being fucked in the ass, huh, doll?"

You whimper, wanting to protest but that would be a fucking lie. It doesn't take long for the coil inside of you to snap as your juices gush all over Jiyan's cock. Both holes milk their cocks for all they're worth as they both shudder and groan, releases load after load of sticky, hot cum inside of you.

Their cocks throb and twitch as they begin to soften inside of you. With another shared look between them, they pull out of you at the same time, making you mewl from overstimulation. Their golden eyes lock onto your holes as their cum drips and and dribbles down your thighs and onto the sheets below.

"Goddamn...", Geshu Lin rasps at the sight. Jiyan feels his spent cock twitch again, arousal pooling in his belly once more. You collapse against Jiyan as he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close. Geshu Lin sits down beside him and puts his fingers under your chin, making you look to him.

"Give me a kiss", Geshu Lin's voice is softer now, but still holds that commanding edge. You lean towards him, pressing your lips to his gently. He sighs into the kiss, feeling all the tension release from his body. When you pull back, Jiyan redirects your gaze to him, pointing to his own lips with a slight teasing smile, "Me too, love."

You smile a little at both of their antics, but lean forward, kissing him just as softly. Jiyan smiles against your lips before you pull back. Looking between the two of them, your closest friends since childhood, you feel your heart ache with love in your chest.

Leaning forward, you embrace both of them, catching them off guard, "I love you both. I'm glad you're here with me." The sentiment makes them swell with emotions they would rather keep under wraps, but they both love you. They truly do. Always have.

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a/n: whew it got a lil emotional at the end there🥲

[metamatronic]

Champions Resurrected AU / Prelude 1: Mipha

i was gonna post this on AO3 and I still might if I write more, but here’s a brief written retelling/continuation of the Mipha & Sidon reunion comic (warnings: canon typical violence? just in case)

The crackling noise that shook through Zora’s Domain that morning was mistaken for thunder at first. Zoras chatted amongst themselves, puzzled over lightning in a cloudless sky. Even King Dorephan, who had lived long enough to experience nearly every natural oddity that occurred near the Domain, leaned forward on his throne to peer into the vast blue.

“There, Father! Do you see it?” Sidon, always eager to abandon their discussions on politics, pointed toward the falling beam as it cut through the sky. “A falling star during the day. How rare!”

“I doubt it,” Dorephan rumbled. “I’ve seen many falling stars. I’ve never seen one like that. Something is strange about it.”

“Your Majesty, we are under attack!”

Sidon only winced a little at the sharp voice, before straightening up on instinct. He watched his father shoot his advisor an amused look as he rushed in.

“I doubt that as well, Muzu,” Dorephan chuckled. “If so, our enemy’s aim could certainly use some work!”

“Your Majesty!” Muzu cried, wringing his hands. “Please, consider the possibility at least!”

Sidon tuned out the conversation, walking out to the balcony and watching the dazzling light as it descended. Now that he was really looking, it had a faint blue glow to it that seemed to be dimming as it approached the ground. Its movement was strange, bobbing through the air like it was adjusting its course. A Rito, perhaps?

Sidon certainly hoped not as he watched the light plummet behind the rocks and into the Bank of Wishes. He hadn’t met many, but from what he’d heard, the Rito weren’t particularly keen swimmers. His fins itched as thoughts of warbled squawking and the charging of Lizalfo shock arrows plagued his mind.

“I will go investigate,” Sidon said, loudly enough to cut off whatever tirade Muzu had been in the middle of.

“Sire! Surely you’re joking!” Muzu said. “You cannot be so reckless! Ever since you took on Vah Ruta, you’ve been acting as though you are invincible, insisting you handle things yourself. If you keep acting as such—”

“I am very fast and very capable. I will be back if it is anything too dangerous, I assure you!” Sidon said with a grin. He was already stepping backward towards the edge of the balcony. “You have my word.”

“My Lord!” Muzu cried as Sidon winked, before leaping gracefully off the ledge and into the waters below.

By the time Muzu had made his way to the balcony, the only trace of the prince was a slice of red cutting effortlessly through Ruto Lake.

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Mipha groaned, opening her eyes and immediately regretting it as she was buffeted by the fierce wind. As she grasped uselessly at her surroundings, every nerve suddenly sparked to life as she realized she was falling. Fast.

Her right fin was pulled open by a gust and she spun with a yelp, being tossed violently through the air. It reminded her of swimming down a waterfall, the dizzying feeling of the current and gravity pulling you relentlessly toward the sharp rocks below.

“Always keep your eyes forward, my dear Mipha,” her father’s voice echoed, pulling her back to her youth when she’d foolishly closed her eyes and nearly missed the lake below. “The most dangerous thing you can do is let your fear steer you.”

Prying her eyes open, she extended her fins and clumsily straightened herself. She felt a wave of nausea hit as the faded blues of distance gave way to the vibrant greens and purples of the earth below. A long leap off a waterfall, she told herself, that’s all this was.

Mipha bit her lip as she took in the surroundings. Even from this height, she could recognize her home, even if the sight brought her little comfort in her current situation. She was positioned over the Zora River now but could feel the wind knocking her around. Even a few feet off target could spell the end, and Mipha was already more acquainted with death than she ever wished to be.

With a shaky breath, she pulled her arms to her sides and flattened her fins, picking up speed until the world blurred. The wind whistling past her was nearly loud enough to hurt but was soon muddled by the familiar sound of rushing water and bubbling air pockets. She opened her fins quickly to slow the pull downward, relenting only when the pull of gravity faded to the gentle current of the river.

When the bubbles finally cleared, Mipha found herself upsetting close to the rocky bottom of Zora River.

She could still feel her heartbeat everywhere, behind her eyes and at the ends of her fins. She fought the tears pricking her eyes, shaking as the adrenaline slowly filtered from her system.

It was only after she’d allowed herself a moment of reprieve that it clicked.

She had a heartbeat. She could see the small bubbles pushing around her as she moved the water around her. She was here, alive.

“How is this…” Mipha stared at her hands, unmistakably solid, and forgave the tremor in her voice. “What happened?”

A warm light had descended into the depths of Vah Ruta. Mipha had known instantly what it was—could feel the warmth of Hylia even through the coldness of her spirit. She briefly said her goodbyes, before capturing the light in her hands and fading away.

In all honesty, Mipha hadn’t been certain what would come after that. But hurtling toward the ground at high speeds had not been it.

“I should…what should I do?” Mipha waded anxiously back and forth beneath the turbulent current. “Should I return to the Domain? Would that cause some sort of issue? Perhaps I should return to Vah Ruta…”

Despite her fondness for her Divine Beast, Mipha couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through her at that. Surely after committing one hundred years to her tomb, the Goddesses would forgive her stalling her return a bit.

“I’m not even sure how much time has passed since Link’s victory over Ganon…” Mipha mumbled quietly. “For all I know, thousands of years have passed. Perhaps I’ve been reincarnated? Though I don’t think one usually reincarnates as an adult. Or with their memories, for that matter.” Even passing fish seemed to eye her warily as she fidgeted in place. She groaned.

“Oh, just make up your mind, Mipha!” she scolded quietly, squishing her face. “Right, then I’ll return to the Domain and ask around. Surely someone will be able to fill in the details.”

With that, Mipha propelled herself upwards into the main current, pivoted around the bend, and smashed headlong into something.

It was large and red, but that was all Mipha could make out past the stars in her eyes. The direct hit to the nose had shocked her system, leaving her nearly blind in the water. Dazed, she pushed upwards until water gave way to cool air. She shook her head, which only served to worsen the ringing in her ears.

Thankful at least that her sight returned, Mipha blinked and almost doubted her newly restored vision. A Zora nearly twice her size was treading water in front of her, rubbing his nose and saying something Mipha couldn’t quite make out.

“…a…logies, I must h… let the cur…nt…rry me too quickly. Are you injured? I can help you back to the Domain if you are. Again, I apologize for…” The large Zora trailed off as he looked down, blinking owlishly at Mipha.

He was familiar in a way that pulled deep at Mipha’s soul. She could see the lines of others—parts of her father, her mother, even some of herself—but it was the way his eyes lit up with an almost childlike hope that solidified what her heart already knew.

“Sidon?” She asked.

Sidon’s face split into a blinding grin.

“Sister!” He swam forward, before jolting to a stop. His eyes snapped behind her, and it was as they widened in horror that Mipha heard the charging of a shock arrow being knocked.

Spinning, Mipha reached for her trident and was met with empty air. Frantic, she launched a weak spray of water at the Lizalfo before being yanked away. She heard the arrow loose, then the sickening thunk as it embedded into skin.

She looked up at Sidon, who was hunched over her protectively. He winced, undoubtedly from the arrow lodged in his shoulder, and turned to the Lizalfo with gritted teeth.

“No!” Mipha cried. She pulled Sidon underwater, doing her best to ignore the pained yelp as she tugged on his injured arm to urge him lower.

“If I hadn’t struck the arrow with water and activated the shock before it hit you, your injury would be much more severe. We must dive deep enough that the shock radius won’t hit us if he fires again.”

“It’s just one Lizalfo, Sister!” Sidon said, but she could hear him hiss a little as he swam. “I promise, I’ve handled much worse!”

“There is never just one Lizalfo, Sidon,” She chided. “This should be deep enough. Let me heal you.”

She swam behind him, frowning at the scars that littered his body. “I need to remove the arrow before I can begin. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Sidon says, his smile strained slightly with pain. “It’s not the first time that this has happened.”

“That is what concerns me,” Mipha said quietly. She yanked the arrow out quickly before pressing her hands to the wound, pooling her energy into her palms. “I have no doubt you have defended our domain bravely, Sidon. I’m so incredibly proud of you. I only wish I could have been there to heal you and protect you from harm.”

“Sister…” Sidon said quietly. He moved to turn, but Mipha tutted at him and he stayed still, tilting his head down to stare at the riverbed below.

“It has undoubtedly been difficult since your…since you failed to return from Vah Ruta,” Sidon said. “But your unending kindness and devotion have been a beacon of hope for our whole kingdom. None more than me. You may not have known it, but there was never a moment you weren’t with me.”

He tilted his head to the side, peering over his shoulder as Mipha worked. “If I may ask, Sister, how is it that you’ve managed to return? Not that I’m ungrateful, I assure you! But…”

“In all honesty, I’m not sure myself,” Mipha said, quietly lifting her hands as the last threads of her healing magic settled into Sidon. “One moment I was aboard Vah Ruta, a spirit, finally content to move on knowing the war was won and our people were safe. Then, the next moment, I’m hurtling toward the ground, several thousand feet in the air. I’m at a loss for explanations.”

Sidon spun around quickly, eyes sparkling. “That glowing comet in the sky, that was you? That is amazing! Extraordinary!” He grabbed her hands, smiling wide. “This must be a gift from the Goddess! Payment for your hard work and sacrifice, no doubt! No one would be more deserving than you!”

At that, Mipha paused. “Do you think…The other Champions, would they have also…?”

“Perhaps so,” Sidon said, scratching his chin. “I can’t say I’ve heard anything, but admittedly I don’t keep very informed on foreign affairs. Perhaps someone else in the Domain has heard something? Or…!”

Sidon snapped to attention, smile glowing impossibly brighter. “I’ll send for Link! Surely he’ll know, as well-traveled and sociable as he is, and I have no doubt he will be thrilled to see you again! Perhaps we could even call the engagement back on!”

Mipha sputtered bubbles at Sidon’a grin. “S-Sidon! There is—was never any engagement! Link and I are friends, th-that’s all!”

Sidon frowned, looking thoughtful. “But I was positive the Zora armor was for him. It looked like a perfect fit!”

“Oh, you found that then?” Mipha said, voice pitching up an octave. “That was, erm, well it was a rash decision really. I thought better of it, hence why he never found out about it! So really, there’s no need to tell him it was even made!”

“Ah, so you didn’t end up confessing anything,” Sidon said, nodding. “Your diary entry was unclear, so I wasn’t sure whether the two of you had made proper arrangements or not. Poor Link remembers very little from that time, unfortunately, and even showing him the passage didn’t seem to help.”

“You…You read my diary?” Mipha mumbled in disbelief. She then swayed a little, realization hitting her. “Link read my diary?!”

“Yes?”

“Did…Did anyone else?”

“Father, Muzu, and a very talented Rito bard named Kass.”

Mipha made a noise like a tea kettle and Sidon looked immediately abashed, glancing away. “Er, I do hope that was alright? Father said you likely wouldn’t have minded, and I wanted so desperately to preserve your legacy.”

“Well, then I have a few words for Father,” Mipha huffed. “Reading a girl’s diary, really! How uncouth.”

She swam past him before turning, holding out a hand for Sidon. It felt a little silly now, offering to guide a Zora so much larger than herself. He must be about her age now and had clearly grown into a capable warrior. But in those eyes, Mipha could only see her young brother, still anxious to speak to others or swim too far from her side.

If Sidon took offense to the gesture, he showed no sign of it as he took her hand tightly. But then he let go, swam beside her, withdrew his trident—Mipha almost thought it was her own, but reconsidered when she noticed how large it was—and set it horizontally behind his back. He tilted his head toward it, but Mipha simply stared in confusion.

“I imagine falling from the sky was a harrowing experience, and I cannot begin to think of how taxing being revived from the dead must be,” Sidon clears his throat, eyes drifting to the side. “Allow me to carry you back. It will be easier to dodge enemies if we travel together, and I assure you I am capable. I am one of the fastest swimmers in the Domain, after all!”

Mipha stared at him a moment more before his action clicked into place. She’d done the same things for him when he was young—using her own trident as a handgrip for a much smaller Sidon as they traversed the waterfalls. Muzu had worried endlessly about it, convinced that Sidon would slip or that his grip would falter and he would go coasting off the side of a cliff. But she’d insisted that she trusted Sidon’s strength and courage, and her father had agreed to allow her to continue.

Now, Sidon swam nervously in front of her, offering his trident to her in the same gesture. She felt her heart swell, seeing that even after all these years, he hadn’t forgotten their time together. She smiled, tears threatening to spill from her eyes again as she dove behind Sidon. He turned to look, smile faltering for a moment before Mipha set a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Forgive me, Sidon. I was overcome with emotions. I trust you, and thank you for your kindness.” She tightened her hands around the trident, and the feeling of cool Zora steel beneath her hands for the first time in a century sent a chill through her. “I’m ready when you a—re!”

Mipha bit down a yelp as Sidon shot through the water at near-blinding speeds. It took her a moment to adjust, and even the familiar Zora River left her speechless as it whipped by. She now had no doubt her brother was the strongest swimmer she’d ever met—it was as if the water itself was pushing him forward like a jet stream. It was exhilarating, almost like learning to swim all over again, and Mipha couldn’t contain the joyous laughter that pulled its way out of her.

She was here, really here, feeling the water on her scales and the cool metal under her fingers. She could see the fish and plants move as they swam by, could see the trail of bubbles in their wake. When they broke the surface of the water, cutting effortlessly up the falls of the Domain, she gasped, taking in the view.

She was with her beloved brother, in her beloved home, and she was alive.

[blingblong55]

Edge of chaos-141

Photo credit: @ave661

Based on a request: Hihi! I saw your posts and I'm currently hyperfixated on reading all of them lol but I was wondering if you could do a fic where the reader is an adrenaline junky. Like they love adrenaline, even the adrenaline that comes with getting hurt. Also they have a low pain tolerance that allows them to practically do anything. (Maybe reader takes them on a trip where they hop and run on roofs and stuff, doing stunts) Also their reaction to the pure "adrenaline smile"? (Basically a huge crazed smile some people do in the middle of a adrenaline rush) Thank you!! Have an amazing day! - mellow ---- GN!Reader, adrenaline junkie!reader ----

A/N: Hope you like it, Mellow! <3

The night was inky black, the kind of darkness that shrouded everything and left only the faint glimmers of light from distant street lamps. You thrived in this environment, where shadows became your allies and the silence was a playground for your adrenaline-fueled exploits. You stood on the edge of a rooftop, your heart hammering in your chest with a rhythm that felt almost symphonic.

"Grim, you ready?" Soap's Scottish brogue crackled through your earpiece, laced with a mixture of excitement and concern.

"Always," you replied, a wicked grin spreading across your face. You could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, an intoxicating blend of fear and exhilaration. This was your element, something most wouldn't say.

"You're a mad lass, ye know that?" Soap chuckled, but his voice couldn't hide the admiration.

You glanced over at Ghost, his skull mask obscured in the darkness but his presence undeniable. He gave a silent nod, a rare gesture of approval. Price and Gaz were stationed below, monitoring your progress. Tonight's mission wasn't just about gathering intel; it was about pushing limits, testing boundaries, and feeding your insatiable hunger for adrenaline.

"Let’s move," you whispered, your voice steady despite the chaotic symphony of sensations within you. With a running start, you leapt across the gap between buildings, the wind rushing past your face, every nerve ending alive and singing with the thrill. You landed with a roll, barely feeling the impact thanks to your remarkably low pain tolerance.

Ghost followed close behind, his movements precise and calculated. Where he was methodical, you were reckless, a perfect balance of chaos and control. Together, you were unstoppable.

"You gettin' this, Price?" you asked through the comms, already lining up your next jump.

"Loud and clear, Grim. Keep your head on a swivel," Price's authoritative tone was a grounding force, but it never dulled your edge.

The rooftop run was a symphony of leaps, rolls, and bounds, each movement a calculated risk that sent spikes of adrenaline through your system. You thrived on it, the near-misses, the heart-stopping moments when you were suspended in mid-air, the grin that stretched across your face, wide and wild.

As you landed a particularly daring jump, Soap's voice crackled in your ear again. "You got that mad adrenaline smile again, Grim. Can practically hear it through the comms."

"Can't help it, Soap. It's too bloody good," you replied, laughter bubbling up from within you. It was true – the rush of adrenaline was more addictive than any drug. It was a high that left you breathless, your senses razor-sharp, every detail around you in vivid clarity.

Ghost's voice broke through your reverie. "Eyes on the prize, Grim. We need that intel."

"Roger that, Ghost," you said, shaking off the euphoria long enough to focus. The mission was paramount, but the thrill? The thrill was what made you who you were. Grim, the adrenaline junkie with a penchant for danger and a smile that could only come from dancing on the edge of chaos. And also the reason why Ghost carried an extra first aid kit.

You reached the target building, a towering structure that seemed to stretch into the night sky. The plan was simple – infiltrate, retrieve the intel, and get out. But simple plans always had a way of becoming complicated.

"Gaz, you in position?" you asked, your voice a hushed whisper.

"In position, Grim. Ready when you are," Gaz's calm demeanour was a perfect counterpoint to your fiery enthusiasm.

You scaled the side of the building with practised ease, your fingers finding purchase on ledges and cracks, your body moving with a grace that came from years of training and an unyielding desire to conquer every challenge. The ascent was a vertical dance, every step a testament to your indomitable spirit.

As you reached the top, you slipped inside through a ventilation shaft, Ghost following silently behind. The interior was a maze of corridors and rooms, but you navigated it with ease, your senses heightened by the constant rush of adrenaline.

Finally, you reached the server room. Ghost began extracting the data, his fingers flying over the keyboard with precision. You kept watch, every nerve in your body tingling with anticipation.

"Extraction point, one minute," Price's voice was a welcome reminder of the ticking clock.

"Copy that," you replied, already planning your escape route. The thrill of the chase, the danger of being caught – it all fed into your addiction, pushing you to move faster, think quicker, and be better.

With the data secured, you and Ghost made your way back to the rooftop, the wind whipping around you as you prepared for the final leg of your journey. The descent was just as exhilarating as the ascent, every leap and bound sending waves of adrenaline through your body.

As you touched down on the ground, Gaz and Soap were there to greet you, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement.

"You're one crazy bugger, Grim," Gaz said, shaking his head with a smile.

"That's what makes her the best," Soap added, patting you on the back.

You grinned, the adrenaline still coursing through you, the high of the night’s exploits leaving you almost giddy. "All in a night's work, lads. All in a night's work."

And as you walked away, you knew you’d chase that feeling again and again, the pure, unadulterated rush of adrenaline that made you feel truly alive.

A/N: to be honest, this was written so long ago it’s so shit now that I’ve reread it

Tags: @liyanahelena @johfaam0 @froggy-anon @goldenmclaren @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @spicypicklesoh @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @saoirse06 @ikohniik @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @anonymuslydumb @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @the_royal_bee @soapybutt17 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @iruzias @sleepyycatt @noodlezz-bedo @vampsquerade

[illusivelle]

just right

pairing: carmen 'carmy' berzatto x reader rating: t (for now) length: 1,699 words content: mild cursing summary: you go to the market every week like clockwork, normally one of the first ones there. but you don't expect to see a familiar face standing at one your favourite vendors. a/n: did someone say brain rot? hope you all enjoy this one. i just can't get enough of a neighbour trope apparently. not proofread although not exactly a middle of the night dump - more like middle of the day. read part one link to ao3 here!

You'd gone from never seeing your neighbour, Carmen — no, Carmy — to seeing him every so often. In the halls mid afternoon, when you'd just come home and were ready to settle in and it looked like he was heading out to start his evening. Sometimes out in front of the building while you exchanged your goods with your elderly neighbour, fresh bread for flowers and greens, Carmy strolling into the apartment with his own bag in tow. And now, well before most of the city had even had their first coffee, at the farmer's market.

At first, you thought you were imagining it. The silhouette of your neighbour that started to haunt your dreams at night. Floppy soft curls, stark blue eyes, tattoos littered over the carved muscles of his arms and hands. But as you slowed your pace to a near stop and focused, you knew it wasn't just your eyes playing tricks on you. There was Carmy standing underneath the tent of one of your favourite growers, a tattooed hand covering his mouth as he grazed his knuckles along his lips. Those blue eyes bright even this far away, darting between the offerings on the table and the familiar face behind the counter who was eagerly smiling and chatting him up.

And again, you were rendered frozen. He hadn't even looked your way and yet your feet felt cemented to the ground in your indecision.

Go to pick out your produce like any other day, or turn around and run?

The latter made your brows pinch together because why was that even an option? Carmy didn't own the market, and he sure as shit wasn't going to be the reason you leave the market fruitless (literally). But there was a churning low inside your belly, a wash of nerves as you started to close the distance between the two of you. Or rather, between you and the stall. The vendor — the real reason you were approaching now, and it had nothing to do with the undeniably attractive man standing there, too.

You didn't look at him. Instead, you busied yourself with the incredibly interesting purple cauliflower, flipping it in your hand a couple of times before you heard the soft grumble of somebody clearing their throat.

But still, you didn't look up from staring at the vegetable, like it was the single most fascinating thing in the world. And truly, it was, because you had no idea that cauliflower could even be another colour other than white, nevermind the fact that these stalks were larger than usual with its long leaves cradling them on every side.

Maybe that was your first mistake, going blindly for the first and nearest thing you saw instead of picking up something you were used to. God, why didn't you pick up the onion or garlic or tomato? Or maybe, just maybe, it was an unconscious choice to try to break through the hypothetical wall between you and your neighbour.

"Hi."

The look of shock on your face wasn't exactly fake. Carmy did surprise you. Partly because you weren't expecting him to say anything to you at all, but mostly because when you tipped your head to acknowledge him, he was suddenly so incredibly close. Close enough for you to catch the lingering smell of smoke, a hint of coffee, and fresh soap. A strange blend but on him, it oddly worked — and made you want to lean in closer.

"Hi."

"It's sweet."

"What?"

"A little nutty."

"I don't—"

"The cauliflower." A shy smile split Carmy's lips as he stared pointedly at the bunch of purple florets in your hand before he locked his gaze with yours. "Mostly sweet, though."

Right, the cauliflower. "Too sweet, you think?" Your attention faltered for a second and landed on his lips at the same time he decided to roll his tongue along the bottom one.

"Mm, just right, I'd say."

"Just right."

What was it about Carmy's presence that made you want to sit with it a moment longer? Your conversations with him have mostly been in passing save for the time you handed him his package, but even that was short, only a few words exchanged between the two of you. It didn't matter how little he said, you hung onto the words. Not quite grasping for more but appreciating that he wasn't the type to speak just to fill the air. Appreciating that there seemed to be more under the surface he wasn't voicing, but was clear if you just had enough courage to look into his eyes a little bit longer.

And today, you found that courage. Flicking your gaze up to him and holding his stare, a slow smile unfurled from one corner of your mouth to the other, shocked to see it mirrored in Carmy's face.

"Have you ever tried it before?"

"No, never."

"You'll have to let me know how you like it."

"Oh?"

"Roasted is usually a pretty safe option," he continued, picking up some sage and handing it to you, "but turning it into a soup with some crispy sage on top is better."

You glanced down at how easily Carmy placed the herb in your palm, smiling to yourself before nodding. "So you like to cook?"

"Uh," he chuckled, knuckles lifting to graze his mouth again as if he wanted to hide that smile, the indent on his cheek peeking out from behind his wrist, "something like that, yeah."

"A chef?"

"I, uh, yeah. I cook. I'm a chef. Of sorts."

"Of sorts."

"I used to— um. Used to cook fancy things, now I cook other things."

"Right," you drawled, and although your brows were bunched together, amusement lined every other inch of your features, "so, used to cook in your basement and now you cook…?"

"In a kitchen."

"Real food this time, though."

"Mostly edible."

A loud laugh escaped you, almost embarrassingly so. The banter between you two was quick, easy, fun even as you caught the way his chin dipped into his chest on a wider smile. His dimple was very much showing itself now and you were glad that your hands were full because they itched to touch him.

And that would be absolutely no fucking good, would it?

You barely knew Carmy — Carmen. He was just your neighbour, nothing else.

As your laughter dwindled down to nothing but soft smiles, the vendor came around to greet you. In his hand were some of the other fruits and veg you normally liked to keep, a handful of fresh lemons in a basket and extra radishes and red onion.

"D'you—?"

"Do I?"

"Come here often?"

"I mean, as often as I can given it only happens once a week." You teased.

Carmy redirected his attention to the man behind the small counter, and they did a similar exchange. Cash for produce that went right into the large bag you hadn't noticed was tucked behind his back. "Are you, uh, you gonna walk around a bit more—"

But a sharp ringtone sounded from his pocket and Carmy was already groaning, fishing for the phone and giving you an apologetic look. "Sorry, I gotta—"

"Of course."

With his back turned to you and his voice lowered, speaking in hushed tones, you moved to the side in an effort to give him his privacy. But you couldn't help your curiosity, peering over your shoulder to watch the way he tangled his hand through his hair and paced back and forth.

Who was he talking to? What was it about? Why was there a divot in his brow and why did you so badly want to soothe it with your fingers?

You shook your head in a shallow attempt to shake the thought, the thought that had no business forming in your mind. Carmy stared at his phone for a moment before he pocketed it again, turning to you with an uncertainty flashing in his eyes, like a cloud rolling through the sky. "Hey, I, uh, I gotta go, but… woulda been nice to have some company today."

"A chef's company, no less." You kept your tone light and easy, fingers wrapping around the straps of the bag you hitched higher on your shoulder.

But his tone was far less playful, laced with intention as he spoke. "Or just a person with a curious mind."

And there it was again, another moment that hung on a thin thread in the small space between you two, a ghost of a smile that made his dimple peek through the stubble on his cheek.

"See you around?" He asked quietly, his head slanted to level with your gaze.

Was there any other answer? "Yeah."

"Okay." Carmy nodded, wiping his fingers over his mouth before giving a nod to the vendor and turning back to you. "Okay."

"Okay."

A few seconds passed where you thought maybe the rest of the world stopped. Just the endless swirls of the blue in his eyes, like the sky meeting the sea and each blink, a tide calling to you. A few seconds, a few blinks, before Carmy was nodding and walking past you, throwing you a tiny smile over his shoulder that you would've missed if you hadn't been staring so blatantly at him.

Carmen Berzatto, your next door neighbour that was clearly reeling you in whether he knew it or not. And for fuck's sake, you should really get a grip sooner rather than later, scolding yourself silently as you belatedly realized you'd been ogling him as he left.

When you went home less than an hour later, your elderly neighbour gave you the fresh bread and asked you what she was supposed to do with the purple cauliflower you handed to her. "Heard it was best roasted," you shrugged, but hung onto the vegetable, "do you want me to make you something with it instead?" This thrilled her, clear in the wide grin crossing her face as she shoved the bundle back into your bag, letting you know how excited she was and thanking you.

"Thank Carmy." You said without thinking.

And almost too quickly, she smirked. "Oh, why am I not surprised?"

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 26 - You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be

‘I don’t want to be here,’ Nesta hissed as Azriel settled her onto the ground.

The waist high grasses and its wild flowers had been trimmed down to the ankles and night had swept into Illyria leaving a star-flecked sky above their heads.

‘Where would you rather be?’ He gestured at the vast expanse of wilderness behind them, voice taut with barely contained rage. ‘Back there? The House of Wind? Where, Nesta?’

His chest rose and fell rapidly reminding her of a cat that readied itself to lash out. She wrapped her arms around herself.

This was not the Azriel she knew. He was a spymaster. Calm and collected. Unruffled. Yet Nesta had made him run out of the patience that seemed never-ending. Guilt swelled in her chest. There were only so many times people could take being pushed away. She ran the risk of losing him – and that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

At the same moment that she took a hesitant step forward, Azriel’s expression softened. ‘It’s colder here than Dawn, even in spring. Take a hot drink with my mother.’

Peace had been brokered unexpectedly. She allowed his fingers to slip down her back as he guided her towards the front of the cabin. The lights were still on in the windows downstairs so it was not too late, she expected.

Rovena opened the door, her hair unbound and flowing freely to her waist. Whatever she read in their expressions had her opening her arms to receive both of them. They were pulled into a shared embrace so all three bodies knocked together.

‘It’s so nice to see you both. I was thinking of you earlier.’

‘Are you a seer?’

Azriel’s mother smiled as she led her into the house, leaving her son to close the door. ‘No, just a mother who misses her son. I hoped he would bring you to see me soon.’

There was something about the closeness of her body – the softness of it – that had Nesta sinking deeper. Rovena stroked a hand against her hair which had been roughened by her impromptu sleep. ‘Have you eaten? Let’s find something for you.’

Nesta nodded, trying to push away tears. She had always known the sort of mother that she would be and that was the opposite of her own. She’d give her child love and comfort, praise and celebrate the smallest milestones, and never ever use them. But Nesta hadn’t realised how badly she needed that mother for herself too. Even if Rovena had been in the middle of another task, tending to Nesta’s needs had pulsed to the forefront.

They ate sticky layered pastries that seeped with honey and were drizzled with nuts on the top over a pot of strong, black tea. Rovena had insisted upon wrapping a blanket around Nesta’s shoulders then tugging off her shoes and lifting her feet up onto the couch.

‘A bad day for both of you?’

‘How did you guess?’

Rovena gave a smile of understanding as she turned back to her knitting. ‘Azriel only comes home when he feels guilty that he’s been away so long or if he needs a break from everything. Today, it’s a mixture of the two.’

‘I will tell him to visit more often.’

‘With you?’

Nesta swallowed. They were only two words, but there was a heavy question loaded within. Rovena knew they were mates. Knew the significance of their situation.

She focused on the cup in her hands, examining the pattern etched into the pottery. What was there to kick out and complain over? Azriel was a good male. He was patient and kind with a dry humour that she wished she saw more often. There was nothing wrong with him. None of her dissatisfaction came from him. It was the lack of choice. The life that she’d been forced into. And if she could turn back time – then what? She would still be mortal and he would still bond to her. His heart would still point to her. He’d have the agony of watching her grow old and die while he remained young. What life would she have had? There would be a mortal husband at her side who expected many children and little else from her.

‘It’s so hard,’ she whispered. ‘I keep wanting to go home but I don’t think I’ve ever had a real home.’

Rovena paused from her knitting. ‘I am biased,’ she said, touching a hand to her chest, ‘because he is the most wonderful thing in my life. My son is not like the others. He will be walking loops around this house, bullying himself for whatever has occurred today. He will never think to fly when it’s in an Illyrian’s nature to do so. Legend says Ramiel could fly before he could walk. Azriel’s early years were not good. Not kind.’ She was quiet for a while as if waiting for a spark of recognition from Nesta that she knew his upbringing. Azriel was often a closed book. She knew little of his past. ‘Azriel carries the weight heavily. He won’t ever put it down.’

‘He hasn’t done anything wrong,’ explained Nesta. ‘He is the best part of my days.’

‘Have you told him that?’

No. To lay her feelings bare that way left them open to be hurt. It wasn’t fair to offer him hope when she didn’t know whether she’d have the bond severed at the Blood Moon.

‘I am not trying to influence you in anyway, Nesta. You have had too many choices taken away from you. My son has also suffered greatly in his life. He is not a daemati; he cannot read your thoughts. He will only know what you tell him.’

For a while, Nesta lay there with her eyes closed. She was unashamed to do it. Rovena had abandoned her knitting entirely and stroked a hand against her hair. It was tempting to accept the bond so she could see Rovena whenever she wished. She wanted a mother so badly.

Azriel entered with damp hair from the drizzle that had started. He gave a nod of satisfaction at the sight of them relaxing together.

‘I will go to bed,’ announced Rovena. Nesta stood to embrace her. She didn’t want it to end.  Rovena squeezed her tightly. ‘Come and visit soon, please. I want to know you better.’

‘You don’t.’

She stroked Nesta’s cheek. ‘I do. I really do, Nesta.’

Left alone with Azriel, Nesta wanted to bury her head beneath the blanket that she’d discarded on the couch rather than have this discussion. She didn’t even know why he’d brought her here. Maybe to chastise her about speaking to his precious Rhysand that way.

She folded her arms again, bracing herself for whatever storm he’d bring.

‘Who was Clare? Your friend. Who was she?’

His words were not laced with interrogation. They were tender, like a healer examining a wound.

‘My only friend,’ she rasped. ‘With money. Without it. Clare was-’

Nesta pressed her hands against her face.

Says the woman who gave an innocent girl’s name in her stead for Amarantha to butcher as well.

Whatever ending that Clare had found, it had not been good. If Beron Vanserra had not brought her up, Nesta would have been none the wiser. Clare would always be a ghost that trailed her, demanding that Nesta did not forget her. Now that she knew the truth of it, it made nothing easier. The closure brought no healing.

‘I never asked Rhys directly about those years. We do what we must to protect others. More and more, I’m learning that there were no limits to who he’d hurt to protect us in Velaris.’ Azriel forced out a bitter laugh. ‘My fault. A spymaster should know better than to pull at loose threads that a High Lord tries to cut away.’

Nesta did not understand his cryptic words.

‘Maybe we should sever the bond.’

Air caught in her lungs.

‘What?’

‘I’ve heard things. Whispers from that time beneath the mountain. I didn’t want to believe them. I heard her name – Clare – heard that he’d given a fake mortal name to Amarantha. Not that she was real. That her family had suffered too.’

Nesta did not dare to interrupt him.

‘Rhys hurt Feyre. Night after night.’ Azriel shook his head. ‘I told myself that Rhys wouldn’t do that. That’s his mate. He loves her. Those whispers were tainted – but now I know them to be true. Neither will speak of those days and I thought it was because they suffered too much. It’s because they don’t want us to know what happened between them. Did Feyre truly forgive his actions or is there no limit that can be crossed due to the bond? The bond will always pull them together, will always make them forgive and forget.’ His hazel eyes scorched her as he met her gaze. ‘What if I’m like that?’

‘You won’t be like that,’ she vowed.

Azriel shook his head. ‘I saw you. The meeting. Saw how scared you were when I… Eris.’

‘You think I’m afraid of you? Azriel, I had never seen anything like that before – but I’m not scared of you. Eris was out of line. And knowing that you’d damn all the consequences to protect somebody you care about, it matters to me.’

Her hand reached for his. She sensed his instinct to draw it away, to shield it from her view, but still she reached for him, practically pleading with her eyes to not reject her this way. His fingers slid over her skin.

'It scares me,’ Azriel admitted, turning Nesta’s hand over to trace the lines of her palm. ‘I’ve been at Rhys’ side for over five hundred years but I was so ready to jump to your side. If you had said the word, I’d have avenged your pain.’

Nesta did not have to think so deeply to understand his meaning. He’d have been at her side no matter what. That's what mates did for each other.

‘Cass knew,’ he continued. ‘He saw my hand go to Truth-Teller then called your name. It made you pause - and me.’

‘Is that fear too much?’

‘No,’ he promised, voice ardent. ‘It just scares me because I don’t think there’s a limit for me either of what I’d do for you.’

Those words hung heavy between them. It hadn’t been anger that had made Azriel fly her here at all, she realised. It had been such sorrow and shame for his actions in the meeting, his fear that he’d pushed her away. His black hair was falling into his eyes as he kept his head tilted downwards. It was a face that Nesta could gaze upon for days at a time without ever growing weary.

‘I want to try.’

Azriel glanced sidelong at her. ‘What does it mean? You want to try. What does it mean?’

Maybe like her, Azriel needed those declarations. It was scary and overwhelming to put it into words. Scarier still to put it into practise. But he was worth it, wasn’t he? Worth exposing her fears and stepping into the light for.

‘I’m not ready for everybody to know – not yet. You are not a secret. I’m not ashamed of you,’ she managed to stutter out. ‘Don’t think for a moment that I am. It’s just-’

‘You are a private person.’

‘Yes,’ she said, glad he understood. ‘We can try to be… together. In private. I don’t know how fae courtship rituals play out.’

‘Can I kiss you?’

The words shot out of him suddenly as if they could no longer be contained.

‘Can you kiss me?’ She echoed, breathing heavily. ‘Can you kiss me?’

Azriel waited. He’d only take as much as she offered.

‘Yes.’

The shadow singer moved closer, tilting his head and pressing his lips to hers. It was a scorching undoing. His hand settled on her side, the other cradling her face to lift it where he wanted it. Nesta breathed in the scent of chilled mist and pine from his skin. He was so gentle with her. When he brushed his tongue against the seam of her lips, she parted them, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

He pulled back slightly, lips brushing her own as he said, ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes.’

His nose touched hers, rubbing it softly before kissing her gently once more. ‘You’re frozen.’

Nesta swallowed, well aware that she had been afraid to move a single inch. Her hands were clenched at her sides and her back was poker-straight.

‘I haven’t had a lot of experience.’ By that, Nesta meant the sum total of her kisses was at two. A playful sweep of the lips by Clare, after which they’d dissolved into giggles, and a horrible experience where Tomas Mandray had been too forceful and rough that resulted in her crunching her forehead against his nose.

Azriel drew back, blinking a couple of times as he connected the dots. Realisation dawned on him. ‘Oh.’

‘Oh?’

His hand smoothed her hair against her head. ‘I hadn’t considered that aspect. Not entirely. Young and mortal. Unwed.’

‘It’s bad?’

‘No. Everything is at your pace.’

Nesta felt greedy to even ask it. ‘Can we kiss again?’

‘We can kiss until every star in the sky fades if that is what you wish.’

***

A kiss from Nesta Archeron was better than anything Azriel could dream of. He wished he could bottle this moment to savour for later. He had to be careful with her. Instinct demanded that he be rough to take what was his. Years of one-night lovers meant he had perfected every skill to leave them dreaming of him after he left, but the more tender moments – the intimacy – was something he’d always struggled with.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

It blared in his ears. Nesta would not pull away. She would not run from him once she saw what he was inside. Mates understood.

Her years were few, experience non-existent. Azriel could not fuck this up. She meant far too much to lose.

What was a spymaster, if not patient?

When he ended their kiss, Azriel was hollow afterwards like Nesta had taken her heart with her.

‘Shall I take you back to Dawn?’

Nesta weighed up her options. It had her brows furrowing. ‘I can’t. Not yet. I can’t see them. Can’t we go in the morning – spin a lie that I was too uneasy in a new place?’

He touched her hair once then was amazed she allowed such a thing. ‘The Town House then. It’s not too late. Perhaps Elain is still awake.’

He extended his ruined hand to her. It was a declaration that he wanted to try too. Azriel would be as he was, scarred hands and all. It made him vulnerable, which he hated – but for Nesta he would try.

‘Can we stay here?’

Illyria? Did she mean it?

Azriel caught the bob of her throat, her nerves rising at the suggestion.

‘Do you have a bedroom here?’

He had to pause and force himself to breathe before he passed out. Nesta wanted to stay in Illyria. With him. In the same bed.

Silently, he flexed his fingers to signal to Nesta to take them then he led her through the living room, into the kitchen, past the pantry and into the small bedroom at the end of the house.

‘It’s down here so I don’t wake my mother when I come and go.’

‘Do you come and go often?’

There was no teasing on her lovely face, no realisation of the innuendo that she’d walked into. Yes, all of Azriel’s previous dalliances could be described as coming and going. He never spent the night with a lover. It was too much, too intimate. He never wanted the awkward dance in the morning, the lies that they’d see each other again. Once people realised who he was – what he was – they never wanted another moment with him. But that wasn’t what Nesta meant. She was too innocent to realise.

‘I come here more than the others think I do. Less than my mother wants me to,’ he replied vaguely. Those sorts of answers wouldn’t fly. They weren’t fair on her. ‘She’d have me here every night if she could to make up on a lost childhood together. The others think I’m out in pleasure houses or with lovers or spying and I let them believe what they want.’

‘But really you come home to your mother.’   

He gave a guilty grin. ‘She’s a good cook.’

The room was not particularly large because most of his possessions remained in Velaris. One day, Azriel would tell Nesta the truth of his childhood – how it made him the way he was. Illyria was like a boot stepping on his throat, but this small pocket of paradise that his mother had cultivated was the one place he could breathe without hiding parts of himself. One day, he’d tell her everything. Azriel searched through the wide oak dresser for softer clothes for bed. Although Nesta was tall for a female, her frame was slight. Any bottoms he had would slip off of her. For her, he found a tunic gifted from Helion when they visited the Day Court years earlier. It was a garish gold, but it was the only thing he had that would reach Nesta’s knees.

‘You? Gold?’

‘Helion,’ he replied, as if that said it all.

‘What is wrong with him?’

Azriel paused from searching for his own clothes. There was nothing wrong with Helion except for his over-zealous affection. Everybody liked him. He won friends with smiles. Rhys had needed to tell Azriel to stop spying on him and the court when nothing insidious was ever found about him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘When he wasn’t staring at me like I was his next meal, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Eris’ mother.’

He shrugged one shoulder and began stripping for bed.

‘Come on,’ Nesta said, voice tinged with something like amazement. ‘You must know what I mean.’

Azriel turned and caught a glimpse of Nesta’s bare back as she changed facing the wall. Shadows jumped up in front of his face, blocking her – much to his dismay.

‘I don’t know what you mean, Nesta.’

‘Doesn’t he look like…' She stopped short. 'You don’t know? You haven’t ever noticed?’

Who was the spymaster – him or her? Nesta refused to elaborate on her cryptic words, instead she insisted that he forgot she ever said anything.

He heard the creak of the bed as she eased herself into it. It was large to accommodate the sprawl of his wings comfortably, but Azriel was determined to find a way to be close with her. I want to try, she’d said. If only she knew that Azriel had never done this before either. He had never climbed into bed with a female and only wanted to sleep beside her.

It was easier in the dark. After the lamp was extinguished, he moved closer to Nesta. When she didn’t object to his arms eclipsing her body, he took it as a good sign.

‘What will we tell the others?’

‘I’ll handle it,’ he reassured her. They were his nosy family to deal with.

Near his feet, Azriel could feel the press of his shadows as they curled up like a dog at the bottom of the bed. His mother’s room was upstairs at the other side of the house and Nesta was in his arms. There was nothing more he could ask for in life. This was what he had been waiting for. Every year that passed where his heart ached with loneliness had been leading up to this. And it was all worth it.

‘Will you kiss me again?’

His eyes shot open. Who was he to resist such a request?

Feeling bolder in the dark, Nesta’s arms twined around his neck as they kissed. Each one was special. One more than he ever thought to have. The press of her lips to his stoked a fire in his belly. This slow, smouldering undoing was the best thing to happen to him.

They moved on the bed with Nesta tugging him down to her like her restraint had snapped. His chest pressed to hers, the softness of her breasts beneath him was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Her heart sung to his. Each soft murmur from Nesta had his cock hardening. It pressed against her, solid and unyielding. Did she know what she did to him? He rolled his hips once, testing. The rub of his cock against her thigh had Nesta giving up of a breathy moan.

A shadow stung him on the neck in warning not to get too carried away. It didn’t need to all happen tonight. Nesta wanted to try with him; they had time.

Azriel eased back onto his side, his weight resting upon an elbow. He kissed her forehead gently. ‘Goodnight Nesta.’

She lay on her back, panting for a moment.

‘What? That’s it? You’ll just kiss me like that and say goodnight?’

Azriel chuckled. ‘What else do you want?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what I can have.’

He brought her hand to her lips then kissed the knuckles. ‘Anything.’

With her sudden burst of bravery spent, Azriel took the lead. When he rolled back on top of her, Nesta gave an answering moan of satisfaction. Her tongue sought his, more desperate than their earlier kisses. His hand went to her breast, squeezing it softly until he felt her nipple harden beneath. There was so much of her that Azriel wanted to touch, to taste. He had to be patient – even if it was the hardest fucking thing he’d ever done. His cock ached. Each whimper from Nesta had it throbbing in response. One day, she’d have her mouth around it. One day, he’d take her hard and fast with it. Tonight, he’d be patient.

‘Will you touch me?’

His hand skated down her body. As his fingers brushed her stomach, Nesta inhaled a fluttery breath. He touched her sex over the cloth.

‘Here?’

Nesta’s hips rose up in response, but Azriel needed confirmation.

‘Say it.’

‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Touch me.’

He found her wet and ready. The slick heat of her cunt was a summons too difficult to ignore. He traced a finger through her folds, parting them gently. All the while, he kept kissing her. Nesta’s moans were muffled by his lips. Each circle of his thumb against her clit had her writhing beneath him. Had she touched herself before, he wondered. Did she know the ways to make her body tremble and shake? Azriel pressed himself against her again, so that his cock rubbed against her thigh to give it a slight release. The cloth of his trousers was driving him mad. The need to taste her, to plunge his cock deep inside her cunt was bellowing in his mind.

Patient. He had to be patient.

It would hurt her to press his fingers inside despite his desperation to feel her tight walls clenching around them.

They had time. She wanted to try. He didn’t need to rush in and take it all tonight.

Azriel kept on kissing his mate, savouring the wetness that seeped from her with every kiss. His thumb worked in small circles until her body went taut. With a more forceful hand, Azriel guided Nesta over the edge – and kept on kissing her as she jerked and moaned beneath him, wringing out every last drop of her pleasure.

He blew across her skin when Nesta had finished to cool the heat burning there then he held her close. She snuggled against him, satisfied and spent. Pride swelled in his chest knowing he was the first male to bring her that release – and hopefully the only male that would ever get to touch her that way.

When her breathing slowed to a heavy rhythm, Azriel lay his head beside hers and closed his eyes, content and happy for the first time in a long time.  

The dawn brought showers with it to Illyria. The soft pattering of rain against the glass woke them both. They did not speak of what had occurred last night although he felt Nesta’s eyes on him often as he dressed. He hoped it wasn’t regret.

With his mother still sleeping, Azriel wrote a note to explain that they’d departed. Nesta had to write at the bottom that they’d return again soon which had him smiling and drawing her to him to kiss again.

‘Are you ready to continue the meeting?’

‘Not really, but we must do these things,’ she replied, nodding once.

It was dry in the Dawn Court. The hazy sun was touching the land with its golden fingers.

Cassian jumped up from the couch when they exited the bedroom. ‘Thank fuck. They’ve all gone to breakfast. I said you two had gotten up early and gone for a walk. Where have you been? I went to get my things to sleep on the couch and you were gone. Both of you.’

‘We were busy,’ replied Azriel flatly.

‘Doing what?’

‘None of your business,’ Nesta snapped, eyes flaring in warning at him.

To anybody else, it might have been effective. To Cassian, it was the equivalent of waving a red flag at a bull. He would make it his business to know.

On their hurried walk down to breakfast, Cassian kept trying to catch his eye, fishing for information. Azriel played dumb. Acted as though he couldn’t see the inquisitive looks his brother was casting his way even though Cassian had covered for them. He'd lied and said that they'd both slept on couches so Nesta could have the room. He'd owe him for that.

Each court had assembled at their own table for breakfast with the exception of Spring and Autumn who had not returned. Helion was at their table, an arm draped around the back of Feyre’s chair to annoy Rhys. Their conversation halted as they arrived. Azriel pulled out a chair for Nesta then tucked her in before taking up the one beside her so that Cassian could not.

Mor leaned forwards, her blonde hair tossed over one shoulder. ‘Gone for a walk? Either Thesan needs better guards or somebody is lying.’

An accusation that Azriel didn’t like laced Mor’s tone. Was it jealousy that he could detect? She’d gone to bed with Helion – but she had the audacity to be jealous that Azriel hadn’t waited outside of her door all night.

‘We were in Illyria,’ Nesta replied swiftly, helping herself to a jug of milk to pour a glass.

That wasn't part of their plan.

Rhys choked on his scrambled eggs at the other end of the table. ‘You took Nesta to Windhaven?’

Azriel glanced to Nesta, waiting to see if he should lead or her. Her wrist snapped downwards, opening a serviette with a practised gesture before spreading it across her lap.

‘No. I was upset. He took me to spend time with his mother. Can you pass the toast, Feyre?’

‘You took her to your mother?’

The room went suddenly quiet at Mor’s raised voice.

Nesta buttered her toast with more aggression than was warranted. ‘Do you have an issue with that, Morrigan?’

If this ferocious, possessive side of Nesta was what happened each time Azriel gave her an orgasm, she was having them five times a day. He quite liked it.

Mor looked to him. She seemed betrayed. Like Azriel had no right to take somebody to his own mother’s home.

‘You never take anybody there. Not even me.’

‘My mother wanted to meet Nesta,’ he said, shrugging off the looks of the others around the table.

‘I didn’t want to be here,’ added Nesta. ‘It seemed like a good time to go. Would you like toast, Azriel?’

They eventually slipped back into their conversation although Mor’s eyes kept darting between them like there was a secret she wasn’t privy to, but needed to know. He felt Cassian’s boot kick him in the shin then his brother was wiggling his brows up and down. Azriel ignored it all. Last night had been the best night of his life and all that mattered to him was that Nesta was happy. They’d face today’s meeting – face whatever the hell was coming next. As long as Nesta wanted to try with him, they would face anything.  

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 1.7k

𝙖/𝙣: BWAHAHAH IM BACKKKK 😈😈😈 hope you guys like this one

𝙩/𝙬: pirate!au, mentioned minsung ehhe

𝒍𝒆𝒆: jisung

𝙡𝙚𝙧: minho

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s 🐾

Jisung groaned quietly. His back was killing him, who knew hiding in a barrel was so bone-snappingly painful? 

He needed to execute this correctly. One wrong move and it’s all over. 

Earlier, Jisung had noticed a group of pirates near the dock, and watching greedily at the amount of gold and food they were stocking up on, he had the golden idea of sneaking onto their ship. 

With his luck, he’d be able to convince them he was a member of the crew already, and manage to make away with said gold and food. Pirates were supposed to be ugly, dumb brutes, weren’t they?

Jisung felt his barrel hit the ground with a rather painful thud, and after assuring that there was no one around, he popped out the top and crawled out, wincing when his back cracked from the movement. 

He just had to mingle with the crew. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? 

Hannie gasped as he heard two voices behind him. 

“Oh, and then he—” A boy with pretty puppy-like visuals paused right in the middle of his sentence, and Jisung had to bite his tongue before he dropped to his knees in front of the man. 

He immediately snatched back the comment he had thought about pirates being ugly and dumb. 

The boy next to the first one had a sharp jawline and narrowed eyes, which were currently looking him up and down. 

“Are you…the new crew member?” The first boy asked. 

“Um…yes.” Jisung replied, eyes widening. 

“Well, then come with us. We’re gonna go eat.” The second boy caught him around the wrist and dragged him down the stairs to a room. 

Instead of a bunch of smelly, unhygienic pirates Jisung had expected, he was suddenly face to face with a bunch of frankly, really handsome men. Well, that beats that stereotype at least. 

The man who Jisung assumed to be the captain stood up, smiling gently at him. “Ah, you must be the new member.” He walked over and took Jisung’s hand in his. The stowaway noticed how small the man's hand was. “I’m Minho, the captain of this ship.”

“I’m Jisung.” Jisung finally looked at the man’s face, and his breath was almost literally taken away from him. “Wow…you’re pretty.” He mumbled aloud. 

Minho grinned at him. “I can hear you, sweet thing.” 

Jisung felt blood rush to his face in astonishing quickness. “O-Oh, I'm sorry...It’s just—” 

“No, no, don't apologize, it's okay. But I do have to give you the proper welcome, so follow me, please.” 

“Ooof, new guy? Good luck, dude.” A boy with long, blonde hair shouted. 

Jisung felt his blood go cold. ‘What welcome? I don’t know how to do anything…’

After some walking, they entered a room in the underside of the deck. 

Minho sat him at the edge of an extravagant bed Jisung could only assume was his. His eyes widened in fright. 

Minho suddenly darted his arms towards the boy, and he flinched, throwing his hands over his face and breathing in heavily. 

Until he felt hands cup his cheeks. “Hey, hey, I’m not gonna hurt you, sweet thing.” Minho reasssured in a low voice. “Don’t be scared.”

Jisung felt bad. So bad. He had practically fallen in love with the captain of a ship he was never supposed to be on, just cause he couldn’t handle his greed. He had to fix this.

“Um…Captain?” Jisung looked up at him. 

“Call me Minho. You’re cute, so you get special privileges.” Minho smiled his cute smile and booped Jisung’s nose. 

“Minho…uh—Can I be honest? You won’t…hurt me?” Jisung stuttered. When the older nodded, he continued. “Um…I….snuck on here. Onto this ship…I never wanted to hurt you or anything, I swear!!” Jisung babbled on in a panic, frantically squeezing his own shirt hem. 

He felt a lump in his throat and everything felt overwhelming. Jisung didn’t know why he felt the need to please this man, he just needed to. 

Jisung heard the older tsk, and he suddenly began to sob, feeling as though he had disappointed him. 

Minho’s eyebrows furrowed, and he mentally slapped himself for being so stupid. “Hey…hey, please don’t cry, darling. I’m not mad.” He cupped the younger’s cheeks again. 

“You…y-you aren’t?” Jisung looked up at him with watery eyes, pink lips in a small pout. Minho was startled at the sudden and frankly, very strong urge to kiss them until they were red and swollen. 

“No…no, but I still have to give you a proper welcome into our crew.” Minho decided his little welcome would be the best way to cheer the younger up. 

After instructing the boy to lay on his bed, Minho reassured Jisung that nothing would hurt before suddenly flopping on top of the boy and grabbing his arms, to which Jisung screamed and thrashed underneath the older. 

Minho rolled his eyes. Jisung was still convinced he was gonna hurt him. Luckily, Jisung was small, small enough that he was easily able to overpower him and slip his hands through the metal fastening on top of his headboard and tighten it. 

Jisung yelled when Minho managed to stick one foot into bottom strap, and he gave up when the other went in on the other side, knowing he couldn’t escape. 

Jisung whimpered when the older slid a leg around his hip, sitting comfortably on his lower belly. The weight was comfortable. 

Min reached down and suddenly…pulled Jisung’s shirt up? 

“H-Hey, what are you gonna—AH!!” He squealed when a finger dipped in his belly button for a second. 

“You’ll see.” Minho smirked, scribbling a hand up Jisung’s very stretched out side. 

Jisung squeaked and tried to angle away from the hand, even though he knew he was completely immobile. His eyes widened in horror. ‘No, he wouldn’t.’

‘Would he?’

Minho, meanwhile popped a bottle of baby oil, pouring some right into Jisung’s belly button and watching him flinch, and spreading more along the boy’s sides. 

Fingers gently traced along his sides, and Jisung threw his head back, a high-pitched whimper escaping him before he sealed his lips. 

“Hmmm…you’re trying so hard, aren’t you?” Minho mused, moving towards the center of Jisung’s belly and watching the corner of his lips upturn slightly. 

“Mmmhmhm…” Was the response the older recieved. 

“Oh?” Minho noticed a tiny smile on the Jisung’s face, eyes squeezed shut. He looked adorable. “Is the tickling too much? Is the lil baby about to break?~” He teased in a baby voice, clawing up and down Hannie’s sides in the most gentle movements. 

Jisung let out a strangled noise at the change in ministrations, twisting side to side and kicking his legs frantically behind Minho. 

“I know you’re ticklish, just break already and let’s make it enjoyable for the both of us.” Minho groaned. 

Jisung stubbornly shook his head, impressed with himself at how long he was holding out. 

“Let’s try and get some laughter, yeah?” And a finger was swirling on the outer rim of his belly button. 

Jisung snapped his eyes open with a loud squeal just as it went into the sensitive button, twisting as loud cackles rang around the room. “NOOHOHOHOO!!” He shrieked. 

“Awe, finally! Your laugh is adorable~” Minho smiled fondly at the squirming boy. 

Jisung tensed and pulled at his restraints, desperately bucking away from the finger but failing. “YOUHU CAHAHAHANT!! Please please—CAPTAIN!!” Jisung screamed, the fingers slipping up his shirt and finding the skin of his underarms. 

“Nonono…I said you can call me Minho. Didn’t you listen?” 

Jisung shook his head desperately, kicking out behind the older. 

“No?” Minho frowned, moving his hands back to Hannie’s lower belly. 

“AGH!!” Minho flinched. 

“StahahaaaHAHAAAHAHAAA!!” Jisung dissolved into more messy laughter.

“Awhhh, the little baby can’t handle it?” Minho cooed, and Jisung hated the way his face burned a bright red. 

“Shuhuhut AHAAHAHAHAP!!” He screamed, tugging at Minho’s restraints. 

“How informal, don’t you think?” Minho mused, grinning evilly as he undid the rest of Jisung’s cloak buttons. 

“Noho…no….please—CAPTAIN!!” Jisung cried when more oil was spread along his armpits. 

Minho tsked. “I said, call. Me. Minho.” 

Fingers scribbled everywhere, over Jisung’s armpits, along his rib cage, his belly and sides. 

The room exploded into sound, boisterous squeals and cute squeaks, along with the loudest begging in between laughter that Minho had ever heard. 

“PLEASE PLEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!! MIHINHO PLEASE NOHO—!!” Jisung arched his back. It was unbearable, too much. 

“You’re so ticklish, it’s actually insane.” Minho hummed. “So, you wondered onto here, but now I’m gonna ask you something.” He casually asked, fingers only continuing their torturous movements that seemed to have Han in stitches. 

“OKAAAHAHAHAY!!”

“Will you stay with me? With us?” Minho paused. 

Jisung caught his breath, eyes sparkling with tears. “Wha…Whahat??” 

“Please?” 

Jisung shook his head. “wahait…I cahahant—STAHAHAHAAAAHAHA!!” He tensed with a scream when the cruel tickling only continued. 

“Hmmm…I’m gonna have to break you some other way…” Minho reached his hand back and squeezed around Han’s thigh with one hand, reveling in the howl of laughter poor Jisung let out. “Bad spot?”

He continued tickling with one hand, reaching into his bedside drawer with the other and pulling a hook out. 

Jisung’s eyes widened at the sight. The end was…dull. 

“Everyone I’ve tried this on have broken immediately, and I’m sure you’ll break too.” Minho slipped it onto his hand. “Every pirate needs their hook, hm?” 

He dangled it righttt over Jisung’s belly button, and the younger’s eyes widened when he realized what the captain had in mind. 

“Wait-wait-wait…Minho please…please don’t. I really can’t take anything in there!” Jisung sucked his tummy away from the tool, anticipation welling up in his stomach. “I’ll seriously die! Nono—NO!!”

Minho dipped it into the button, scratching around with the blunt tip as poor Jisung fell apart completely, emitting a high pitched wail before descending into loud, screechy cackles, tears spilled down his cheeks, and Minho smiled fondly at him. 

“All it took was a little tiny tip to make you lose~” 

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEASSEEE!! MIHIHIHINHOOOO!! I CAHAHAAHANT TAKE ITT!! AGH—STOP MOHOHOVING!!” Jisung pleaded, muscles tending rapidly as he frantically screamed. 

“Nowww…will you stay or do I have to use this on your ribs too?” 

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE!! IHIHIHILL STAHAHAHAY!! I PROHOHOMISEE!!” Jisung was plunged into silent laughter. Minho slowly let up. 

“Fine, fine. Poor baby.” Minho cooed, unbuckling the restraints and wiping the boy’s hot tears. 

Jisung preened at the attention, sighing contentedly when a small kiss was placed to his nose. 

“We’ll set up your room and stuff later, right now, just…stay with me?” Minho gave him a hopeful expression. 

“Okay…Will I be safe here?” Jisung asked with a small worried expression. 

“I’ll protect you with my life. After all, that’s my duty as your captain.“

[daniel-nerd]

IMPORTANT

long ass post so here's a TL;DR: I covered a few reports from israeli media outlets, the reports were in hebrew and for israeli civilians. 2 reports about secret prisons where they hold palestinians that were arrested, these prisons existed before the war, but the conditions of the prisoners got worse since, I explain what we can see and learn from the reports, later I brought up 3 other reports, talking about the rescued hostages and their conditions. there was even a video clip from the operation itself. palestinians(a lot of them innocent and being held indefinitely under "secret evidence" without a trial) are under WORSE conditions than the hostages. and while no one is debating the fact that the hostages went through hell, it really shows that israel is as bad if not worse than hamas. you can literally see multiple war-crimes committed by israel in these reports. all links are in the end, you can watch them for yourself, and get to your own conclusion.

this is beyond vile, 2 reports from israeli media was released recently, showing one of the secret palestinian prisons in israel, the same ones that every palestinian is sent to when they commit a crime(any crime), and can be held indefinitely, without a trial, under “secret evidence” that don’t need to really exist because the cops/soldiers don’t need to prove it exist.

now for context, the IDF censored more reports and articles in the past 8 months than in over a decade.

in the first report you can see how the palestinians are treated and being held.

they’re chained 24/7 to eachother and their “beds”.

they sleep on metal frames of a bunk bed.

their food is bread, tomato, and cheese.

their toilet is a hole in the ground.

they have to duck into a fetus position every time a cop is near by.

the cops walk with huge guns (probably m16) pistols and dogs.

deliberately annoying songs are played on repeat as “psychological warfare”(torture).

they’re monitored 24/7 with no privacy whatsoever.

the warden said the most important thing is being able to control them 100%. no free will.

same warden also explained they wake them up every night in the middle of the night and ask their name for “security”(??) and show them that they’re in control.

another warden explained that they need to “leave their emotions at home”

the main warden explained how even the palestinians who were arrested before october 7th are now being held under the same conditions, possibly implying that they were held in better conditions, but after oct 7th they were collectively punished for what hamas did.

late in the report the main warden showed the other foods they get, rice hummus seeds and some vegetables, of course all is stored on the flood in a metal container, no refrigerator, no heating.

he talked about how they plan on adding 888 more cells, and that each cell hold 8-11 prisoners (rough estimates of the size of the cell from what i’ve seen is 2 maybe 2.5 meter by 3 maybe 4 meter), he also implied that this isn’t the only type of cells they have, some are smaller containing less prisoners.

the cells from the beginning of the report(the ones the palestinians who were arrested after octover 7th) held 6 prisoners, the cell was just enough to fit 3 bunk bed frames, and have enough space for all 6 prisoners to be in a fetus position on the floor.

the warden talked about how they used to have a marketplace where they could use money they get from palestine to buy foods(possibly other goods) that were approved by the prison, and since ben gvir came to power, the practice was ended.

since ben gvir they also don’t have washing machines

the warden talked about how they keep them in the minimum condition possible. they want to keep the barley alive, their only hope of seeing the light of day is a hostage deal, which they punished if they dare celebrate hamas kidnapping civilians or taking soldiers as war prisoners. (even if the only reason they celebrate is because that increases their chance to leave this hell)

another report by the same news source show more of their war crimes. the first report was possibly either sde teiman or ktziot, the second report is confirmed as ktziot

you can see in the report young men, (some possibly even minors, even though its just a speculation)

you can see people with yarmulke(kippah) holding a gun (probably m16) watching the prisoners from above, searching for anyone who does anything.

you can see them in the courtyard, all standing still, in white torn up shirts and grey pants, with their heads down, and on the other side, heavily armed soldiers and cops, watching, standing guard.

one soldier told the journalists that she think their conditions are “too good”, that she wanted to be there to look them in the eyes and “see the evil in their eyes”

a bit later she asked if they have ac, the warden answered they don’t even have a fan. this facility is in the desert, where 40°C(104°F) are normal

the courtyard have a catwalk above it, allowing the wardens to see every possible angle.

one of the new soldiers that were assigned to guard the facility spotted prisoner number 77 passing something to 78, immediately everyone were ready for physical intervention. something like 20-30 maybe even more cops behind barded wire, armed to the teeth, yelling at them to lay down on the hot ground. of course when trying to identify the suspect they used bigoted language, after identifying him, the held him by the back of the neck of his shirt, pulled him aside, where another cop cuffed him, 3 soldiers stood guard, and another cop held a dog, the item that was passed? toilet paper, the warden said its an important item to them, they pass it between each other, because they don’t have enough.

the palestinians looked neglected, like they eat just enough to not look like they’re starving, they didn’t have any life in their eyes, i’ve seen videos of concentration camps that looked like this, if not better.

simultaneously, reports from the rescued hostages show us a bit about how hamas is treating the hostages and war prisoners.

they ate very basic foods, just enough to stay alive, they had a bathroom, even though sometimes hamas militants locked them inside said bathroom as “punishments”, they could exercise sometimes, couldn’t really walk but had space to move.

a video of the operation was released, you could hear kids in the background screaming, they burst into the house, holding a gun to their face, asking for names, you can see the hostages were in a pretty bad condition, but drastically better than the prisoners, you could see their room was an average living room, they had mattresses on the floor, pillows, clean clothes, a fan. the journalist talked about how another failed operation that caused the death of a hostage back in January was also in the same camp, and how they went in when the camp was as dense with people as possible.

while you cannot argue they were held in good conditions, its very obvious the conditions were hell on earth, israel is holding the war prisoners and any palestinian prisoner in way worse conditions.

its crazy how the same israeli news outlet, that is subjected to IDF censorship, showed how the hostages are in way better condition than the prisoners. and try to argue that the IDF is the most moral army in the world.

sources:

first report about the prisons- https://13tv.co.il/item/news/politics/security/qipv7-903940171/

second report about the prisons- https://13tv.co.il/item/news/domestic/crime-and-justice/prison-hamas-904097260/?pid=902564625&cid=902988003

report talking about the hostages and their conditions- https://13tv.co.il/item/news/politics/security/ujf51-904098502/?pid=902564625&cid=902988003

another report talking about the opperation- https://13tv.co.il/item/news/politics/security/xjqvp-904093392/

the video of the rescue- https://13tv.co.il/item/news/politics/security/kry3q-904097182/?pid=902564625&cid=902988003

[armpirate]

Anti-romantic || JJk | Ch. 21

Pairings: Boxer!Jungkook x fem!reader || Enemies to lovers, neighbors

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, curse, illegal boxing, violence

Warnings: fuckboy!Jungkook x reader, smut, dirty talk, curse, mention of tarot and fate

Summary: Jungkook had always been carefree when it came to love. He always believed he was worth sharing himself with everyone, and thought it was selfish of him to ever think of keeping himself exclusive to just one person.

And maybe that was exactly what got him into the big problem he was in.

A curse that kept him away from love didn't seem an issue for him. The fact that his ex-girlfriend thought he'd be affected by the idea of the girls he slept with running away from him after sex was ridiculous. She actually did him a favor, and took a burden away from him.

At least that was what he thought at first.

He had never found himself thinking of the possibility of repeating with neither of his hook ups, because they disappeared before he was able to even think about it. But when he makes the mistake of sleeping with the sexy neighbor that lives in front of him, he finds himself hoping to get the chance for a second round every time their paths cross.

Y/n hated him the second he set foot inside the building by the way he started making her life a miserable mess for no reason. Sleeping with him was a big mistake she wasn't thinking of repeating. At least not until he came up with the excuse that she rejected him for a curse. Not only she thought he was annoying, but she was also convinced he was crazy. 

There was no way she could take him seriously.

Aprox. time of reading: 16 minutes

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

As soon as she stepped out of her bedroom, she hesitated going out, taking one step back while she looked at the man sleeping on her couch. His tattooed arm covered his head, while his unclothed upper body was visible over the thin blanket she gave him.

It was one thing dealing with Jungkook on common ground. She could hide in her house, controlling his moves through the peephole so they wouldn't have to meet. But it was completely different when the cause of her headaches was sleeping on her couch, peacefully, as if he weren't the reason why her daily life was turning upside down.

If she didn't dislike him so much, she wouldn't doubt waking him up. His marked abs were perfect to trace if she was planning on giving him a surprise, slowly moving up to his chest while her lips first got in contact with his warm skin. And then he'd probably move, resting on his back so she could play with his torso freely, with nothing in between her or his body. It probably was like heaven hearing his groans first thing in the morning, raspy and sleepy, trying to understand what was going on while her tongue traced the edge of his boxers.

—Liking what you see?

Until he spoke, and she realized why she would never even think of doing something like that to him.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't realize the moment he moved, uncovering his face as he moved his arm at the height of his belly. His eyes looked playful, and his smirk was cocky, while his head still rested against the hard pillow he used that night to sleep.

—More like hoping that smell isn't smoke —she lied.

There was no sign of him smoking there, but she needed to lie after being caught red-handed drooling for him.

—Did you know that the nose has memory? —he casually asked.

—So?

—Your brain was probably thinking of something else when you saw me shirtless on your couch, and the smell also came with it.

His right leg slightly flexed when he moved his body to lie on his back, with his tattooed arm hiding behind his head to work as a better support than the pillow.

—Doubt it —she walked to him, kicking his feet so he'd sit properly while talking to her.

With a scoff, Jungkook sat in the middle of the couch, soon challenging her with just one look.

—Why?

—Because I tend to erase traumas from my brain —she cut him off.

Although that comment only made Jungkook smile wider. Her denial of the undeniable attraction just worked as evidence that she also felt it, but she was too proud to admit that she was indeed into him, and that if it were for her deepest needs, he probably would be ramming into her crazily until her gaze went blurry and her nervous system was so fucked out that she wouldn't be able to form a proper sentence.

—A trauma that you repeat twice?

Her lips moved, but no words came out. As much as she hated to admit it, Jungkook was attractive, and he was good at sex.

—I'm leaving for work —her eyes rolled with the last word—. I know you'll be heading to work, too. I guess. You don't need to lock the door, but make sure it's closed. If I'm not here when you come back, call Roger. He has a copy of all the keys in the building in case something happens.

—And why don't you give me a copy?

—Tell him I'm not home. I guess he'll understand, since he was the one who came up with this idea —she ignored him.

—You're ignoring me.

—I'll unfortunately see you later —she waved goodbye, closing the door behind her.

His eyes squinted while he looked at the closed door where she disappeared. Last seeing her skirt flying while her body turned, escaping from his eyes. While looking a the white door, he tried to think if she had ever dressed so nicely to go to work. He didn't remember other times where she dressed like that just because. Actually, the last time she was dressed like that she showed up with her ex after a date.

His body became stiff after that thought.

Why did she even warn him about coming later than him? She was planning on having a date, and she didn't tell him anything. He was most definitely doing things wrong with her if she was planning on looking for something he could offer outside, instead of reaching for him.

Jungkook: Why did you say you were going to be home later than me? Are you meeting up with someone?

Unfortunately, it was too late when he realized the text he sent.

The overthinking led him to search for her number among the group chat where all the neighbors were, and his finger typed that jealous act before he was able to control it. Only noticing what those words sounded like after thinking about them twice in his head when he left his phone in front of him.

—Wait, no, no, no —at the same time his fingers scrolled through their chat to erase that text, she was already typing the response.

Y/n: Not your business.

Y/n: Remember to close the door when you leave

Y/n: I'll kill you if you don't.

Y/n: CLOSE

Y/n: THE

Y/n: DOOR!!

For once, he felt lucky his neighbor didn't pay that much attention to him or his big mouth, able to look past that dumb comment and make it seem as if they were on their usual rants.

It was one thing to feel jealous, or be bothered, but as much to project it and show her? Especially when there was no evidence about that actually happening? No, that was crossing the line.

He even had her saved with the nickname "Woodpecker" -because of the time she chose to drill through their shared wall to fight the noise he made-, instead of having her saved with her name and surname.

His thumbs were quick clicking the edit button to make that name disappear, changing it for Y/n Y/s with a pleased expression.

That change didn't last long.

Jungkook reached for his phone again shortly after dropping it back on the couch, going back to changing her name back to how it was. It didn't mean a thing to have her saved like that. It was obvious Y/n was close to him, as much as they fought, in comparison to the rest of neighbors in the building. It made no sense to label her the same way.

He had Jimin saved as ChimChim and it didn't mean anything other than them being close friends. Y/n wasn't close, but she was a friend. Or, at least, she was closer to becoming a friend than just being a regular neighbor.

—Right? —he softly asked.

After panic hit him, he jumped out of the couch, getting undressed to put on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt to go to the gym. It wasn't like he was going to train a lot of people that day. And even then, he had some clothes saved in his locker -for the few times he forgot his shorts and a random t-shirt.

Jimin was looking at him with a sided smile, holding the straw with two of his fingers while he looked at his friend -who looked uneasy while looking at his beer. Usually whhen they hung out, Jungkook had his attention somewhere else, but it always was outside their table. That day he was still out of focus from their table. His body was aimed at him, but his mind was somewhere else.

—Is this a new trick? —Jimin finally cut him off.

—What?

—Sighing and looking deadbeat. I'm not really updated on tricks to get girls to talk to me, but I don't think this will work either.

Jungkook was his friend. And like his friend, Jimin knew to differentiate their type of hang outs, and classify them according to what the plan was going to be like. Usually, when they wanted to spend time together, they went for a coffee, or to have lunch -which was something that rarely happened after Jungkook hired him as the administrative of the gym-, and they only met in bars when they wanted to meet girls -although that theme went more along Jungkook rather than him.

—I don't want to get girls —he slowly shook his head—. That's the problem.

With his complaint, Jimin just looked more confused than before. It was his decision, by what he said, so it didn't make any sense to him why he seemed annoyed at his own choices.

—Well, my problems are about paying the rent and the bills, making sure my brother doesn't leave anyone pregnant and my friend doesn't get killed before thirty —Jimin commented, looking at Jungkook's barely noticeable bruises on his face—. But yeah, not getting girls by choice seems to be a huge problem.

—That's not the problem —Jungkook played with his lip rings on his tongue before he went on—. The problem is the reason.

—Gonorrhea? —Jimin tried to guess.

—What? No. I'm clean —he quickly denied, looking at his friend from head to the middle of his torso, where the tall table cut the rest of his sight—. I get tested regularly.

—Thank god, because you've had a pretty busy life these years —Jimin mumbled, sipping on his drink.

—I always use protection, by the way —he replied back.

—Ookay, okay. What's the reason?

Jungkook looked immediately uncomfortable, tilting his head while he cracked his neck. He looked uneasy, but at the same time nervous and excited to talk about it. His body language didn't give away how big or how serious that other reason was.

—...n —he mumbled.

—Huh?

—Y...

—What?

—Y/n —he lowered his voice when he realized everybody was looking at them.

How could he forget that name? Jimin knew it was the female name Jungkook had pronounced the most in the ten years they had known each other, even over the name of his tattoo artist.

—The same neighbor you almost intoxicated?

—That was an accident —he tried to excuse himself—. And she started first. And that's not what we're talking about.

—You like her?

—No —a scoff tried to light up the conversation, and relax all the tension on his neck—. I just think about all the fights I've had with her, and I can't understand why she rejects me, but still goes out with other guys. Huh. I'm the best option.

—You like her —Jimin confirmed.

—I don't —his insistence just gave out what he tried to cover up.

—You think about her at random times, you come up with any excuse to talk about her —Jimin remembered all the times he'd entered the gym, ranting about her or something related to her—, you get jealous, and you're annoyed because you aren't the first option. Sounds like, not only you like her, but karma is biting your ass for all the things you've done to all those girls.

—Hey, I did nothing —Jungkook quickly denied—. I never promised love. I always made my intentions clear with all of them.

Except for Carly, but she didn't count.

—Whatever. The Jungkook I know would be shooting his shot with the hot girl over there —Jimin pointed at the tall red-haired woman at the corner of the counter, with a tight green dress—. Yet you're here yapping about a girl you supposedly don't like.

His head was thrown back when he realized the words his friend was using. As much as he hated to admit it, as much as he wanted to fight it, he was right. It didn't mean that he liked Y/n, but he was overly obsessed over the curse idea.

—I'm not surprised she got in your head though. That girl... —his comment was cut off by the deadly look Jungkook was aiming at him— Why are you looking at me like that if you don't like her?

—Because you're disrespecting her.

—I didn't even say anything.

—But you were about to.

—Hey —he aimed to make sense of what was going on—. You insist you're just confused, right? —his friend nodded— Then spend time with her. Try to get to know her, get close with her. It could be you're just stunned by how mysterious she is to you. Maybe once you realize she isn't more than the expectation you imagined, you'll move on.

—And what if it isn't just an expectation.

—Then you'll be deep in —Jimin grimaced at the idea, supporting both of his elbows at the edge of the table.

—And what should I do to grow closer to her? I think I've already tried that.

—Knowing what she's allergic to because you almost killed her isn't remotely close to what I'm suggesting —Jimin corrected him—. Talk with her without it leading to an argument, find something you have in common and move from there.

The click echoed across his brain with that idea.

The only thing they had in common were those illegal fights, and the fact that she wanted to expose the people that led her brother to death. Even if she had said she didn't want to work with him on that, he knew she probably wouldn't fight it if he looked like he actually wanted to help her work on it.

That was why he didn't waste time after meeting up with Jimin, driving his motorbike to her place, only to find her door closed. Right when he was about to go to Roger's place, like Y/n had asked him to do, he found the man running downstairs in a rush.

He was lucky he caught him before he had to leave to pick up one of his daughters from one of those extracurriculars they were overworked with.

Jungkook ordered some pizzas, which he was planning on reheating after she came home, and opened the only wine she had in her kitchen. He tried to make it seem as innocent and cozy as possible, so she wouldn't come home with the sword lifted up and ready to attack.

Oh, how wrong he was...

—What did I tell you about touching my things? —she ranted, dropping her keys on the small hanger she had— I was saving up that wine.

—For what?

For the moment her sister stopped coming at Mitchell's neck for no reason, for the moment she got renewed in the Newspaper she was working at... It was the most expensive wine she had bought in her life, and she was saving it up for a good reason.

Although, for the first time, Jungkook looked regretful of his actions, looking down at the bottle with sadness while he tried to find an explanation that could make her feel better.

—It's alright. Let's just... It's alright. What's this all about?

Her steps sounded light, and her perfume soon inundated the room, with the floral scent being the only thing he could smell as she walked by to leave her jacket on the backrest of one of the chairs around the dinner table.

—Hmm... What was all this about? —he mumbled, trying to earn some consciousness back— Oh, right. I thought that, since we're going to be living together, we should get on well.

—Right —she nodded.

—Let's sit and eat.

Jungkook only rushed her to eat to get her out of his camp of vision, and manage to focus back on his thoughts. He was convinced that seeing her eating would set some turn offs that could work better to wake him up. It was all in those small details people usually ignore while they're falling in love. If he went one step ahead, he probably would kick out those feelings before they even showed up.

But it was of no help.

The way her fingers placed the ham so she'd take the small portions with each bite, the way her tongue moved around her corners to lick any remains of sauce on them... He even found cute the way her eyes looked at one concrete part in the room while she chewed on the slice.

—How was work? —he suddenly asked.

—You want to know?

—That's why I'm asking.

—It was okay —she shrugged—. I didn't do much. I thought about you if I'm honest.

The squeak his stomach suffered at that mention gave him a bad feeling. Why was he excited about something so simple?

—Really?

—Yeah. I thought that... Well, since we're living together, it might be a good idea if you pick me up from work and we get home together. That way you won't have to be bothering Roger, and you won't be waiting outside either.

—What about the days I'm done earlier? —he raised his eyebrow.

—Let me know, and I'll finish the shift from home —she shrugged—. It's only for the days you're done earlier. The days you're later than me, it won't be necessary. So you get an idea, I'm usually done by seven.

—That's a good idea —he nodded.

—Right?

Hell, she looked so cute when she smiled so wide.

—What about your day? I see your face still looks the same.

—My trainees don't kick me. They knew they wouldn't be able to win against me —that comment made Y/n roll her eyes funnily, while his body turned a bit more in her direction—. What was that? You've seen me fighting.

—I've seen you being knocked out on the floor, and having to pick you up to get out of there —she teased him.

—It was your fault.

—Okay, if you want to come up with excuses...

Her eyes looked at him over the curve of the glass while she sipped on some of the wine. It seemed different from other times. She wasn't attacking him, but playing along with his jokes.

—I'm sorry for that night —she finally said after a brief silence—. Maybe if I hadn't been so obvious...

—So you're saying I was right —the piercings on his right eyebrows disappeared under his bangs as he raised them.

—I'm taking the blame from my side of the problem. The rest is all on you.

His smile looked different. He seemed approachable. Not only in the sense that he was easy to mess with, but in the sense that it seemed like it was possible to have a normal conversation with him.

—I guess that's better than nothing —he threw the napkin he cleaned his mouth with, slowly moving his body back to rest it against the backrest.

—Why aren't you always like this? —she challenged him— I thought it wasn't in you to be a reasonable person, but now it's obvious that you can.

—Because you're easy to annoy. And it's kinda fun —he admitted, moving closer to her.

—Tss —she scoffed, slowly shaking her head— is this your last resource to take someone to bed?

—It's my last resource to make things right with you —her eyes momentarily shone with those words, feeling blank at the sudden cuteness attack.

—What do you...

Jungkook picked up her phone from the other side of the table, asking her to type the code so he'd be able to do what he was thinking. She was in such shock that she didn't think much before she typed the six digits and opened the door to her deepest secrets and most important information for him.

She was surprised when she saw the recorder on her screen when he placed the phone over the coffee table, waiting for their eyes to meet before he started speaking.

—Alessandro Rossi is the man who sent two guys to beat me, and he's in charge of all the illegal fights that happen in the area. Nobody knows who he is, nobody knows what he looks like, but just with his name people know it's better not to mess with him —Y/n looked at him attentively—. Elijah controls the training centers at the South of Chicago. Some people will tell you it's because he's tougher than the other two, but reality is that Rossi probably doesn't respect him enough and that's why he's sent him to the worst neighbors to control.

He stopped talking, clicking on the red button to cut the recording and go back to talking to her.

—That's the proof that I'm not playing this time. I gave you two big names, and the rest will be details that will link things together. I'm serious about helping you.

—And what about your ass being risked and all of that?

—Nobody can know it was me. I'll help you with the information. In exchange, you delete the pictures where my face is clear, and erase any evidence of me helping you after you're done —his tongue moved through his lips—. I also started this because I had to help my family, and it's no different now —he confessed, explaining with little words he could relate to what happened to her brother.

—Won't you be playing against yourself with this?

—Well, I want to help you, too. And it'll be another excuse for you to get crazier over me.

There were no bad looks, or bad replies after that sentence. Y/n only looked at him with a smile, letting them dig through his face until they fell on his lips.

Were his lip rings always so shiny and attractive?

—I should go to my room —she whispered.

—I don't really mind you being here —just like hers, his eyes fell on her lips subtly.

If only they moved a bit closer, their lips would link and he'd finally get to taste her again in his mouth. Sense kicked quicker in her system than his, moving back and getting up, causing Jungkook to slightly lose his balance as he moved forward with his eyes closed.

—I'll go to my room. I don't want to be bothering you here.

—It's still early.

—I'm tired —she lied—. I'll see you tomorrow.

—But...

Y/n escaped.

She sneaked as quickly as she could inside her room because she knew what would've ended up happening if she had stayed there. She didn't know what caused that sudden change in Jungkook, but she for sure wasn't going to fall for it. She wasn't even sure if she was going to work with him on the article.

She couldn't understand it, but she hated how weak she felt around Jungkook.

It was so unfair. 

Taglist: @jk97bam @ttanniett

[arainywriter]

this is going to probably be the longest post of my life, and i HATE getting into fandom discourse which is why i don't usually write anything about fandom discourse, but i just want to address some things about our favorite rat grinders so if you want to read, click below

as someone who loves the rat grinders as nuanced antagonists who are also teenagers, i think the rat grinders before they ever joined in on porter and jace's plan were assholes.

i think they were the quiet bullies, the mean people who you never notice until they are mean to you, the ones who seem nice and respectable up close, but talk shit about you the minute you're gone.

i think most of them (kipperlilly in particular) were looking for a reason to be bad. and i know we might not ever get this confirmation, but based off kipperlilly's file and other moments with the trg, i think it's possible this is correct.

they were assholes who needed a reason to be even bigger, more dangerous assholes and most of them took it. and yes, it was either that or be dead, but i want you to know that sometimes that's not even a question. sometimes you don't even care about the other option, you just want to rage.

i think the one time all of them or maybe some of them even thought that what they were doing could be was when lucy died. and that's when i feel bad for them. they had to lock in right there because they all had made a decision, and they all needed to continue it. that's the manipulation.

i know they are kids. they are just teenagers. i work with teens, and guys, let me tell you, some teenagers are assholes. and i don't mean say a funny mean joke asshole, i mean literally going to grow up and be a shitty person asshole. i think some of the rat grinders were those kind of teens.

did they deserve to be redeemed? i think some of them do. i think buddy has a big shot at being redeemed, and i genuinely hated that he died in the last stand and had to make that decision. i think ally is going to try if they can. i think mary ann might be redeemed.

but also, you guys have to remember that this is dnd. i don't think many of you have played dnd before, or if you have you're just really conscientious about everything you do. because as a dm who has played dnd and has made nuanced antagonists, your players are gonna straight up kill them.

brennan knows that. i'm 100% sure he knows that. this isn't scripted. the intrepid heroes aren't thinking about what the fans want every time they play. in dnd, ESPECIALLY in brennan's dnd, it's kill or be killed.

the rat grinder's weren't going to use non-lethal attacks. they were going to kill the bad kids, and they were going to be UNNATURALLY happy throughout it all. they were going to spit in their faces and roast marshmallows on their bodies. they were going to not feel guilty.

sound familiar?

i think the bad kids have been nice to the rat grinders since day one. not kind, nice. they've been polite and nice to them, not going all in until this fight. if this fight happened before the finale, i think the rat grinders would have had more time to be redeemed (ex. see Ragh in season 1 who def would have died in the finale battle if the bad kids hadn't fought him earlier). but the bad kids are stressed and done.

there is no time to be polite and nice when the world is going to end.

i know you liked these characters. i did too. i'm sad to see them go, but even when someone is nuanced and could be redeemed, the person they were a piece of shit to doesn't have to be the one to redeem them. they don't have to be the one to keep them alive and make sure they only get taken the police instead of dead. cause trg would have gone to jail.

aelwyn did. so would they.

people you've wronged don't owe you forgiveness or redemption. trg didn't wrong tbk that bad, but they made them angry, they tried to kill them, and they're probably almost close to ending the world.

i'll miss you rat grinders. you guys were perfect narrative foils, but it was always going to end like this.

now stop being absolute assholes to the intrepid heroes just cause they didn't play how you wanted.

love this fandom, and yeah, d20 get shit wrong sometimes. always make sure to critique your favorite piece of media.

but at the end of the day, this isn't your table to play dnd at. this is theirs and they are having fun. why don't you go and play as the rat grinders in your home game and give them the ending they deserve, or make fanfiction about it?

put your anger into that.

[tittysuckersworld]

THE PEOPLES LIKE MINE ARTTTTT AAAAAAA

[gothamcityneedsme]

also. The start of the game forcing u into the genesis comic feels. Very silly. its a tonal jump from the death to like have sudden narration. It shouldve been framed differently idk. Or just. Not inserted into the story. Anyways.

Love the beginning of this game. Setup is so good. I love Jacob and Mirandas intros. Jacob as the one who tells you the truth, who has a moral compass vs Mirandas sole purpose and drive for two years being to bring you back to life regardless of her impression or opinion of you personally.

[wildflowercryptid]

quick update on bea for anyone that cares about my digital daughter : i did end up reloading my save file yesterday, but still got some dialogue from her where she worried that people think mean things about her or that she wouldn't get scolded if she behaved better. i haven't gotten any dialogue saying that tris doesn't care about her or that gustafa is getting mad at her yet so i'm assuming she's saying the other dialogue bc i'm not close enough with some of the villagers? i'm working on befriending everyone so i'll report back if that repeated dialogue vanishes after i do.

[stewyhosseini-bf]

should i post my kenstewy playlist.....

[musical-chick-13]

The worst thing, actually, is trying to write for a niche/character/ship/fandom/etc. that ISN'T rare, exactly, but also isn't incredibly popular. If no one is going to see it because no one's interested, then it doesn't have to be good. If there are tens of thousands of options, it doesn't matter if people hate yours, they can just go elsewhere. But if interest in the topic is small enough that everyone can reasonably get through all the works about it, but large enough to potentially have people actually discussing it........HELL

[rowarn]

MONSTER (m.)

neighbor!simon riley x reader

tags: zombie apocalypse au, neighbors to lovers, afab!reader, no pronouns, hurt/comfort, smut, NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

cw: description of corpses, simon is aggressive towards you, but also very soft!simon, protective!simon, violence, simon does murder someone, lots of kissing, wet&messy sex, multiple orgasms, edging (simon), missionary position, mating press, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, breast play, squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, pet names, eye contact, praise, teeny bit talkin u thru it

note: i think that's all the neccessary warnings but if u think smthn else should be added, let me know. please enjoy this MONSTER fic!!!

; you find yourself hiding out in your apartment as the undead begin walking. luckily, you have a well-trained military operative as a neighbor who is more than willing to keep you safe.

16.5k

“Residents are advised to remain in their homes. Authorities are unsure what is causing the severe aggression in people but the military has been called in nationwide. Please stay tuned as more information becomes available.” 

That was the first news broadcast. They reported  people getting sick-- airborne is what they had said. Stay inside, and stay away from other people. 

So you did just that – stayed hidden away in your apartment, glued to your television for every possible news cast that you could get. 

It was only a week later that the whole story had come out. 

The airborne strain is what caused the first swell of infections. Anyone who was susceptible to the infection would have already become sick by now. But those who were infected by the airborne strain turned…feral. They became like wild animals, barely human. Their skin rotted around them while they were still alive. Their brains died but their hearts remained pumping. They were walking corpses that had a vicious hunger for human flesh. 

The bites are what caused the following wave of infections. Something in their saliva turned you into whatever they were. 

You were scared. When you looked outside your window, down just a few floors to the ground, you could see hordes of people stumbling around, shuffling and shambling. 

Sometimes you would hide in your bathroom as the sounds of gunfire filled the city. It was the worst when it was the middle of the night. 

You weren’t equipped to deal with a disaster of this level – humans turning into disease spreading killers. You were having to ration your food, waiting for the day that there would be an announcement that it was safe. 

You wanted it all to be over. 

Then the news broadcasts stopped, cell service dropped, and the populace was left in the dark. 

You kept the lights off in your apartment, scared that the wandering hordes outside would see it and find you.

You had no idea how long you had been hiding in your apartment, spending most nights with your knees to your chest as you watched the static on the TV. You held out hope that the news broadcast would come back, but it never did. You spent the days and nights in mundane monotony, hopelessness settling in. 

The only interruption was a heavy knock on your front door, practically making you jump out of your skin at the sound of it. You hadn’t expected anyone to actually approach your apartment in search of you. It terrified you that anyone could be out there at a time like this.

With wide eyes and trembling hands, you grabbed a kitchen knife off of your counter and tiptoed towards the front door. Peeking through the peep-hole, you let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

Throwing the door open, you were faced with the familiar balaclava of your neighbor across the hall.

“Simon…” you whispered in relief. 

He wasn’t lunging nor did he have the milky-white eyes of the undead that you had seen on the news. He was normal. 

“What’re you planning to do with that?” he asked, eyeing the kitchen knife still in your hand.

“Oh!” you gasped, quickly placing it on the table by your front door, “Sorry, you– you– startled me when you knocked. Would you like to come in?”

His lidded, brown eyes gaze around your apartment behind you before landing on you again, “You have anyone else in there?”

You blink and slowly shake your head, “No, I’m alone.”

His brows furrow at that, “You’ve been by yourself this whole time?”

You shrug and nod, “What else was I supposed to do? The news reports said to stay inside…”

He hums, “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m fine,” you respond quickly, “Why?”

Suddenly there’s a hand on your forehead and you realize he’s checking your temperature. You remain still and allow him to do it before he's shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. 

“Fever’s the first symptom,” he explains, “I’m goin’ door to door to check on everyone.”

“Oh!” you gasp, smiling, “That’s very nice of you, Simon.”

You knew that Simon was in the military. He was often out on long deployments and sometimes he had tasked you with keeping an eye on his apartment since you were right across the hall from him.

He was a nice enough guy, if not a little cold and blunt. He was tall and broad, clearly well built despite the fact that he usually wore a hoodie that hid his biceps from view. You’d gotten glimpses of his tattoos when you had knocked on his door one evening and asked him if he knew anything about water heaters because your hot water had been out for nearly a month in the dead of winter and the apartment manager hadn’t done anything to help you.

Simon had kindly come to your apartment, even though it was nearing midnight, rolled his sleeves up and fixed your problem within the hour. You had baked him cookies as a thank you that following weekend. 

“How is everyone doing..?” you venture to ask, leaning against the doorjamb as a breeze flows into your apartment from the open door.

He casts a glance down the hallway, almost like he’s thinking before sighing, “Few people are sick. They’ve been…” he hesitates for a moment, “Quarantined.”

“Probably for the best,” you respond, “Keep them from hurting anyone when they…turn.”

It feels so surreal to be talking about confining people to keep them from literally eating the healthy people. But it seems that’s where you’re all at now. 

“I’m going to barricade our floor,” he says suddenly, “Keep anyone from comin’ in that’s not supposed to come in.”

“What if we need to leave?” you ask, concerned, “We’re only going to have finite food and resources between us. The power’s also going to go out sooner rather than later, Simon.”

“I know,” he sighs, “But we should stay indoors for as long as possible. When the power runs out and we run out of supplies, we can figure out what to do next,” he explains, “The military was on the ground here last I heard, you’ve heard the gunshots. I don’t believe they’ll last much longer but it’s not wise for us to go out while they’re tryin’ to eliminate as many of these…undead as they can.”

“I guess that makes sense…” you whisper before his words finally settle on you, “What do you mean you don’t think they’ll last much longer..?”

He levels a hard stare at you that makes your heart race in anxiety. Simon was always a serious individual by nature but this is how you imagine he looks when he’s on duty, “Hundreds of thousands of people are sick out there. The airborne strain no doubt got to hundreds of the soldiers meant to be protecting the civilians. Eventually, they’ll eat each other from the inside out –literally.”

“You mean even the military is going to collapse..?” you ask, horrified. You try not to let the tears fill your eyes but Simon’s words fill you with a dreadful sense of hopelessness. 

“Communications are cut,” he says finally, “Radio’s been silent all day. Not sure what’s goin’ on but it’s not good.”

The tears quickly began to fall down your cheeks. Before you could wipe them away, a calloused thumb was doing it. You sniffled and looked up at him.

“I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you confessed softly, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive, Simon.”

“Don’t you worry about that, love,” he whispered, grabbing your chin gently to make you look up at him, “I’ll take care of you, yeah?”

“I don’t want to be a burden…” you explain, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I took care of you,” he joked, though it held little humor, “You won’t be a burden. I’ll teach you what you need to know, alright?”

“You will?” he nods when you look up at him hopefully and you smile, “Thank you, Simon. I don’t really want to die by getting eaten by walking corpses.”

He chuckled under his mask, brown eyes crinkling around the edges a bit, “It is pretty fuckin’ mad, isn’t it?” You laugh, the first genuine smile you’ve cracked since before that first news broadcast, “Why don’t you come across the hall and stay with me, yeah?”

“Is that okay..?” You can’t deny the idea of being with company sounded more appealing than anything. You were definitely beginning to feel the ebbs of loneliness creeping in on you as the days of silence passed. Plus, Simon was…safe, “The news said not to…mingle in case of the disease spreading.”

He scoffed, “Rules like that don’t really apply anymore, love,” he mutters softly, “Plus, neither of us is sick so it’s not like we’ll spread it anyway. I can teach you some knife work and how to use a gun easier if we’re together, yeah?”

“Okay,” you smile, excitement surging in your chest, replacing the painful void of hopelessness you had, “Let me just get some things together and I’ll be right over, okay?”

“Sounds good, love,” you can tell he’s smiling under the mask. He gives you a pat on the shoulder before stepping away, “Just knock when you’re ready.”

You stand in your doorway until he disappears into his apartment. Once you’re alone, you cast a cursory glance around your living room, eyeballing everything you need to take before you dash into your bedroom. From the back of your closet, you grab a duffle bag that you have stowed away in the back of your closet from when you first moved in.

Navigating in the dark of your apartment was a bit of a challenge but you managed to stuff all the essentials into the bag. After slinging it over your shoulder, you step out of your apartment, making sure it was locked before knocking on Simon’s door. 

He opened it quickly, still wearing the same hoodie, jeans, and balaclava as before – his hood still up as well. He stepped aside for you to enter.

Unlike you, his apartment was illuminated by lamps – but his windows were covered with blackout curtains so no light would seep outside. It was pretty plainly decorated, just the essentials and a few photographs on the walls; upon closer inspection it looked like him and, you assumed, his comrades. 

You went to place your bag down but he stopped you, “I cleared out a drawer for you to put your clothes in for the time bein’.”

“Oh…” you gaped at him, surprised to hear that he had done something like that for you, “Thank you, Simon.”

He led you to his bedroom, standing in the hallway while you walked in. His bedroom was darkly decorated, black out curtains on the windows, navy blue sheets and a black comforter on his bed. His furniture was all dark toned as well. 

It suited him, you thought.

There were two drawers open and empty, letting you know that those were yours for the taking. You knelt down and opened your duffle bag, carefully folding and placing your items inside. When you got to your undergarments, you cast a glance towards the door to find that he was no longer standing there. Breathing a sigh of relief, you quickly filled the top drawer with all of your delicates before closing the drawers and standing up. 

Flicking on the light to his en suite bathroom, you placed your toothbrush and toothpaste alongside his, the sight making you blush before you went to add your belongings into the shower as well. 

Realistically, you knew that the water was going to go out sooner or later but you planned to enjoy it for as long as you possibly could until then. 

When you ventured into the living room, Simon was in the kitchen, the cabinets open as he scanned over all of his belongings.

“Is something wrong..?” you asked softly.

“Thinkin’ of how to ration,” he replied quickly, “Have you got any stuff over at yours still?”

You nod your head, “It’s not much but I have some canned food and like...rice and stuff if you want that.”

“Yeah, it’ll be good to consolidate all our supplies in the long run,” he explained, “You got your keys?”

“Yes!” you pull your keyring from your pocket and drop it into his open palm.

“I’ll be right back love, make yourself at home,” he gave you a gentle nudge towards the couch before leaving you there. 

You took a seat on the couch, realizing just how tired you were. You hadn’t realized how tense you’re been for so long on your own. Now that you were safe and with company, you could almost feel the tension sliding right off of you. You rested your head against the back of the couch and closed your eyes, intending to just rest your eyes and enjoy the peace you felt. 

You were startled awake by the sound of the door slamming shut. You nearly jumped out of your skin, wide eyes finding Simon’s who looked a little sheepish.

“Sorry, love,” he whispered, “Didn’t realize you’d be sleepin’.”

“Didn’t mean to…” you confess, standing up and stretching, watching Simon lug a bag of food into the kitchen.

“Haven’t been sleepin’ well?” he asked, his back to you as he began to stock up the cabinets. 

“Not really…” with a sigh, you lean back against the counter with your arms crossed over your chest, “I’ve been stressed about this whole situation.”

“It is…” he pauses in his words, placing a bag of dried beans into the cabinet, “Nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“Society is really collapsing around us, isn’t it?” you bravely ask, although you were scared to hear the answer.

“Yeah, darlin’,” his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it and that brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

“This is so fucked up,” you cry, burying your face in your hands, “Thank you, Simon. You didn’t have to offer to help me and I really owe you a lot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he closes the cabinet, the bag he brought finally empty before turning to you, “I’ll make sure you know everything you need to know to survive.”

“I doubt I’ll be as good as you,” you joke, a crooked, wobbly smile on your face. 

He steps forward and cups your chin, brushing his thumb against your cheek, “No one’s as good as me, sweetheart.”

You chuckle softly at his words. 

This is what you needed – someone by your side to keep you sane as society collapsed and everyone that you knew died. 

That night, you slept better than you had in days. Simon had given you his bed, offering to take the couch. You had argued, telling him that you couldn’t take his bed like that. 

“I’m up most nights anyway, love,” he had assured you, “At least someone around here can get a good night’s sleep in that bed.”

When you woke up, fully rested you might add, Simon was already awake, drinking some tea. You sat down beside him, enjoying a nice quiet morning.

“How do you feel about learnin’ some basics today, love?” he asked when he was cleaning his mug. 

“Sure!” you agreed, “I have to warn you though, I really know next to nothing…”

“That’s alright,” he chuckled, waving to you to follow him to the living room, “I’m a good teacher, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you watched as he stood up and went to a closet in the hallway, pulling out an assortment of bags and carriers.

He placed them down beside the couch and took a seat next to you. “I think it’s best if we start with you gettin’ comfortable with the feeling of holding a weapon in your hands,” he explained, pulling out a knife bigger than any you’ve seen, “This is a hunting knife.”

He handed it towards you, his fingers confidently gripping the blade between two fingers. You wrapped your hand around the handle, testing its weight in your hands. It was dangerous and nerve-wracking, holding a weapon in your hands. 

“I know it’s scary,” he assured, “But when you’re comfortable holding knives then you can learn to use them properly to protect yourself.”

“What about guns..?” you find yourself asking, still gripping the knife in your hands, turning it over and adjusting your grip just to desensitize yourself to it. 

“We’ll tackle guns when you get used to knives,” he replied.

“So you have guns?” you ask, letting him pull the hunting knife from your hands.

“Of course I do,” he reaches into a bag by his feet, pulling out a pistol. 

Your eyes go wide as you watch him handle it effortlessly, checking the chamber and moving it around in his hands like it wasn’t a dangerous weapon.

“When you’re ready, I’ll teach you to properly use one so you can use it in case of an emergency,” he explained, placing the pistol on the table carefully.

“I’m going to have to kill other people…” you mutter to yourself.

Simon pulled out another knife, passing it into your hands, “Combat knife,” he supplied simply, “And you’ll have to kill them but…I don’t think they’re people anymore, love.”

“I guess that’s true…” you mutter, holding the knife with a firm grip, “I’ve only seen them on the news before it stopped broadcasting. What about you?”

“Haven’t seen ‘em in person either,” he replies with a shrug, “Some of my…teammates,” the words seem awkward coming from his mouth but he continued, “Were givin’ me some information before they went radio silent.”

“What happened to them?” you couldn’t help but ask.

A brief flash of sadness flashed over his eyes but he quickly sobered up, leaning back against the couch with a sigh, “Not a clue. I guess there’s no way for me to know. I just know it was getting bad. Dangerous.”

“I’m sorry about your teammates,” was all you could find in supply of an answer.

Simon didn’t respond, simply letting his gaze fall back on the knife, “Let me show you some handling techniques for you to practice.”

Realizing that he didn’t want to talk about the world outside anymore, you let him lead you through a crash course on knife handling and knife safety. He took the time to teach you the different kinds of knives in his possession and you nodded along as best you could but if you’re being honest – it was primarily lost on you.

You’re not sure if Simon knew that but he seemed to enjoy teaching you, so you let him ramble on to his heart’s content. 

By the end of the day, you were confident enough in at least not accidentally cutting yourself on the sharp blades. 

In order to repay him, you made dinner for the both of you – though, really, it was just some heated up canned soup-- and did the dishes for him so he didn’t have to.

By the end of the night, you both found yourselves on the couch, watching a movie he had put on. With there being no way to watch anything else, you were grateful he had a collection of movies to his name – you simply streamed your favorite shows and movies and called it a day. 

It ticked late into the night and before you knew it, you were falling asleep on the couch, leaned against his shoulder. You could feel him shift and knew you should open your eyes, but the tugs of sleep at the edges of your subconscious kept you from doing so. Suddenly, you felt the soft beat of his heart against your ear and the heavy weight of his arm laid across you. You briefly registered that you were now wrapped in his arms before the final tug of sleep pulled you under.

When you woke up, you were in bed. 

And Simon wasn’t in the apartment. 

“Simon..?” you called, looking around everywhere for him – to no avail. 

You ventured to the door, carefully pulling it open and stepping out. You looked down the hall towards the stairwell before you heard a grunt of effort from the other end. 

“Simon!” you called, making him look up.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked, pausing in his task of pushing a large bookcase towards the elevator. 

“You weren’t inside…” you mutter, wandering down the hall towards him, “What’re you doing?”

“Barricading this elevator,” he replied, giving the heavy object another push with a grunt of effort. 

“Oh, right, you mentioned you wanted to do that,” you mumbled, taking a moment to look over him.

He wasn’t wearing his hoodie for once, instead wearing a tight black t-shirt that was sticking to his skin with sweat. He wore his jeans with a holster and gun on his hip as well. 

“Do you need any help?” you asked but he shook his head.

“No, you can’t help with this, love,” he grunted, giving the bookcase one final, heavy push before it was flush against the elevator doors. 

It was then that you noticed the straps nailed to the wall. He took them and secured them to the other side of the elevators, making sure the bookcase was fastened firmly. 

“Enough people push this and it’ll come down but at least it’s secure enough,” he explained, giving his work a final once over.

“Do you know where the others are?” you find yourself asking as he makes his way to the other end of the hallway

He pauses at that, seemingly thinking of his next words carefully, “I checked door to door. Most of our neighbors got the hell out to go see their families when everything went to shit. A few…were sick and turned in their apartments so I had to…put them down.”

You cringed at his wording, you knew he was trying to phrase it delicately for you but you weren’t sure if you would have preferred him to just say he killed them. ‘Put them down’ made it sound like they were rabid dogs and not people you once knew and smiled at in the halls. 

“Found some notes in some of them,” Simon said suddenly, waving you to follow him back to the apartment – to safety, “Guess we can only hope they made it to their families in one piece.”

“I hope so,” you muttered optimistically, slipping past him when he opened the front door for you.

You quickly realize how difficult it is to tell how much time is passing with Simon’s blackout curtains, which he refused to allow you to open for fear of attracting any unwanted attention. With there being no more news broadcasts or anything on TV, you didn’t even know the date anymore and you were too scared to ask for fear of knowing how long you’ve been living like this. Your food rations were slowly dwindling but neither of you talked about it. 

You know you’re still waking up in the mornings and sleeping at night – Simon seems to run on an extremely specific schedule. When you asked him about it, he told you it was from the military, which made sense. Either way, you were grateful to him for helping you keep on track.

The water and power were both still on, but Simon kept telling you not to keep your hopes up about it lasting long. 

You spent your days learning knife etiquette and practicing stabbing various targets that Simon made for you. You’ve grown much more confident. Of course, you would be no match for your teacher himself but against a bumbling walking corpse? You were sure you would be able to at least buy yourself time to escape if you needed. 

Eventually, Simon decided it was time to move onto what you were most scared of – guns. 

“I’m going to tell you a few things before I let you hold this,” he said, eyes hardened to show how serious he was as he held a pistol in his hands, “Are you paying attention?”

“Of course,” you breathe, wringing your hands in front of you as you eye the weapon.

“You can’t be scared of your weapons,” he advises, “You need to be confident and sure with every movement you make. It’s not a toy.”

“Hard not to be scared of it…” you confess, “What if I hurt someone with it or…I don’t know.”

“That’s why I’m teaching you all this,” he says, “You’ll get confident and less scared the more you handle them. We’re startin’ you off simple and you can build up to bigger and badder guns. For now…pistols will do.”

“Okay,” you swallow around the nervous lump in your throat, “Tell me what I need to know.”

“That’s the spirit,” he praises, holding the pistol up for you to see how he grips it, “First, never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re going to shoot. Just rest your finger on the side like this, see,” he turns his hand and lets you see the way he keeps his finger hovering beside the trigger rather than on it. 

You nod your head, “Got it.”

“Take it,” he says, “Carefully.”

You stare at the offered weapon for just a moment before you reach out and delicately take it from his hands, “Next, never point it at anyone you don’t intend to shoot. Whether it’s loaded or not, keep it pointed away from people and yourself.”

You mimic his grip, grimacing when you realize it's actually much heavier than you thought it would be. It was definitely going to take practice before you built up the ability to hold it for long periods. You follow his instructions and keep it pointed to the ground – albeit awkwardly.

“Here,” he suddenly steps behind you.

You feel your heart catch in your chest when you feel him press against your back. He’s incredibly warm and firm as you lean against him. He carefully takes your hands in his, supporting your hands and holding the gun eye level.

“Just practice lining up your sight and lookin at a target,” he says.

His face is so close to yours, his voice right in your ear, deep and gravelly with that heavy accent. You struggle to process his words, hoping to god he doesn’t hear how fast your heart has started racing.

You close one eye and focus on aiming at a photo on his wall, a small picture frame. His large, gloved hands dwarf your own and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of him. He smells like cigarettes and the body wash you may have taken a quick whiff of when you used his shower for the first time. You find yourself wondering when he has time to smoke since you’ve never actually seen him do it. 

Your mind is blank beyond anything other than him. How big and warm he is, how safe you feel with him wrapped around you, how good he smells and how much you love his voice as he utters tips and commands into your ear – sickly sweet in that way he always seems to talk to you. 

If you focused too much on it, you’d slowly come to the realization that you may have a crush on him. But you quickly dash that thought from your head and focus back on his gun lesson as he teaches you how to eject a magazine with ease. 

This is about survival. Neither of you have time to dwell on a silly crush. 

A few days later, you’re standing in the eerie hallway with him. He had offered for you to just stay in the apartment and relax while he did the work but you honestly didn’t want to be alone so you opted to sit with him as he worked.

Your back was against the wall, sipping a cup of instant coffee you had made. Simon was silent as he worked on barricading the door to the stairwell. You both agreed that it was best if it was still accessible just in case something happened, but you didn’t want any unnecessary visitors making their way into the safe little haven you’ve both made for yourselves.

“We should think about looting the empty apartments,” you said suddenly, trying to keep your eyes off of his bulging biceps as he yanked on a strap that was attached to the doorknob to keep the door from being opened. 

“That’s a good idea,” he grunted, stepping back to admire his handiwork when he finally finished testing its durability, “Let’s do it.”

He offered his hand and you smiled, taking it and letting him pull you to your feet. You brushed off imaginary dust in an effort to hide how flustered just holding his hand for that brief second made you. 

You started at the other end of the hallway from your shared apartment. Simon displayed a disturbing aptitude for opening up very locked doors. You chose not to comment on it, instead silently being thankful that he was able to do it at all. 

“How about we make a loot pile in the hallway so we can bring it all inside when we’re ready?” you suggest.

“Alright,” he responds, eyes scanning over the cabinets in the kitchen, “Food is our main priority but it wouldn’t hurt to have some medical supplies.”

You agreed and started helping him pick things out, filling your arms full of canned goods and pill bottles which you then deposited in the hallway by your apartment. 

The two of you made it through a handful of apartments, securing a nice resource pile for the two of you. You were feeling good, hopeful, as you stared at your future right there in the silent hallway.

It wasn’t until you opened one in particular— it belonged to a shy, college kid, you remember— that it seems everything changes for you. He couldn’t have been but 18, away from home for the first time and living in his first apartment on his own. 

Simon is busy looting the kitchen, you can hear him placing cans on the counter, consolidating whatever it is he chooses to bring with him. You check the bedroom, looking through the drawers and pocketing a bottle of aspirin and nausea medication before you move to the bathroom. 

The second you push open the door, you’re met with the force of another person shoving into you. You cry out as you hit the ground, the person falling on top of you. You panic and scramble out from under them, their coughing and wheezing forcing you to look at them. 

It’s the kid who lives there. He’s deathly pale, dark circles under his eyes which are bloodshot. His lips are crusty and dry, seemingly struggling with finding something to say.

“Pl-” he starts to whisper before you see movement in the corner of your eye.

“Simon, wait!” you cry when you see the knife.

But it’s too late, the hunting knife you had held with your own two hands more times than you could count, is embedded in the kids skull, spraying blood all over you. All you can do is make a pathetic squeak, fear and panic rendering you unable to say anything as you watch his now lifeless body flop onto the ground beside you, his still warm blood soaking into your clothes as it runs out of the gaping hole in his head.

“The fuck were you thinkin’?!” Simon suddenly shouts, storming over to you and yanking you to your feet roughly.

You stumble up, bumping into him as you stare at the dead body on the floor, “He..He was alive…I…”

“He was sick!” Simon snarls, roughly wrapping his hand around your throat, forcing you to look at him. There was a fire in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, making you cower, “You’re lucky he didn’t bite you! Fuckin’ hell, are you stupid?!”

“H-He was talking, he was just sick, Simon!” you argued, tears filling  your eyes as you stared up at him, “W-We could have given him medicine, could have–”

“He was a dead man walking,” he shouts, the volume making you flinch, “He was going to turn. Are you a fuckin’ idiot? Thinkin’ we could save him?”

The tears you were holding fell down your cheeks at his cruel words and you glared up at him, “I-I’m not stupid, I just…h-he talked to me!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Simon’s eyes narrow, “He was a threat. A liability. Don’t fuckin’ worry about him, worry about yourself.”

He releases you with a rough shove, taking out some of his anger on you. He continues to glare at you for a long minute before turning his back on you and stalking out of the room, muttering about how stupid it was that you could have killed yourself over some random kid. 

Your eyes fall on said kid, no more blood coming from the wound, simply coagulating on the floor around him, “Y-You’re a monster.”

The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, quiet and shaky. But Simon hears them clear, freezing on the other side of the doorway, in the hall. 

“I’m a monster..?” he asks, voice suddenly eerily calm. He turns around, his large body taking up an obscene amount of the doorway. You can tell he’s intentionally trying to intimidate you, a punishment that makes your cheeks heat up in anger, “I’ve been breakin’ my back to keep your stupid ass alive and I’m a monster? Because I put down some fucker that was gonna turn rabid in a day?” he glares at you, squinting through the mask and drawing his dark eyebrows together, “You think it’s easy for me? I’m doin’ everything I can to keep you safe!” he shouts so loud that your ears ring and you flinch from the sound alone, “But if you can’t appreciate that then maybe you should be on your fuckin’ own and see how long it takes before you’re ripped apart by those feral bastards!”

He storms off at that, loudly slamming the front door, indicating his final exit from the apartment. You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks only for more to replace them and you sniffle, casting a sorrowful glance at the dead kid before creeping out of the apartment yourself.

Simon is nowhere in the hall but the supplies you both gathered are still there. 

You carefully open the door to Simon’s apartment and peek inside, finding it completely silent and still. You’re not sure where he went but you decide to busy yourself with loading all your looted items into the kitchen and sorting them all for when he returns.

You’re not sure how long you take to finish but Simon still isn’t back and you become worried.

He had said you should be on your own but surely he didn’t actually just leave the building, did he?

You wander over to his supplies and find a handful of his weapons gone. Your heart shoots into your throat and more tears prick at your eyes before you’re dashing out of the apartment once again.

The door to the stairwell is no longer held shut, indicating that Simon had, in fact, gone that way. You curse yourself. If you had checked sooner then he would have at least been somewhere close but if he really left, he would be long out of the building by now. 

You creep towards the door and slowly push it open. You hadn’t even left the floor since before this whole thing started. It was eerily quiet, but if you listened close you could hear some muffled shuffling from somewhere. 

You crept out, quickly realizing how dark it was. You pulled out your keychain which held a tiny flashlight that you used to navigate when it was dark in the apartment. 

You crept down the stairs, holding your breath with every step until you finally reached the floor below you. You can hear muffled sounds from beyond the door and slowly push it open, flashing the light down the hallway. 

It's too small and weak to penetrate the stifling darkness. The power was not on on this floor for some reason and that immediately set you on edge. You could still hear some shuffling and strange, raspy noises from within the darkness. 

“Simon..?” you call into the impenetrable, oppressive darkness. The noises stop for a moment and you swallow around the nervous lump in your throat, “Simon?” you call again, louder.

The noises return, shuffling, heavy footsteps advance on you. You strain your eyes to see past the weak illumination that your flashlight provides. You’re breathing heavily, you realize, anxiety making your lungs feel constricted as the footsteps get closer and closer.

All of the sudden, a disgusting, rotted face appears in your sights, arms outstretched towards you. You scream out in unbridled terror as it grabs you, its bony, sickening fingers latching onto your shoulders. You attempt to push it away and run but you trip over your own two feet in your panic. Your flashlight flies out of sight, its dim illumination casting down the hallway, leaving you to push at the undead corpse as it collapses on top of you. Its weight is more than you thought it would be, leaving your arms trembling as you struggle to keep it from falling on top of you. It fights your resistance and chomps its disgusting teeth at your face, attempting to get a bite out of your flesh. 

It reeks, you realize, like the smell of a dead animal you pass by on the street. It makes your stomach turn and you fear you’re going to throw up from the smell alone. The rotting skin of its chest slips and pulls away from the bone and muscle and you gag, tears coming to your eyes as you realize the very real and terrifying danger you’re in.

You have no way to get out of this. 

As you look down the hall, where the light barely pierced the inky depths, you can see more figures emerging from further down the hall, shuffling and rasping in interest at your fight with the one on top of you.

Tears fall down your temples and a sob bursts from your chest as you slowly come to terms that this is how you’re going to die. You can’t hold the sheer weight of the undead above you for much longer.

“S-Simon…” you call out, weak and strained. You know even if he’s nearby he won’t hear you. You have to try harder, get your voice out, shout for him. You swallow around your tears and panic, taking a full breath before shouting, “Simon! Please! Simon, help me!”

You don’t even register the door opening behind you. But you do notice when the weight of the corpse is gone, a knife stabbing into its skull before a large hand grabs you by the back of the shirt and drags you back into the stairwell. The undead follow after you, slamming themselves against the door as soon as it slams closed. 

You’re trembling and unable to blink or breathe as the shock of what just happened washes over you. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Simon all but screams, grabbing you by the front of your shirt, dragging you onto unsteady feet that can’t hold you up before slamming you against the wall. You can still hear those zombies slamming against the door. Your ears are ringing and you barely register Simon shouting at you. 

He shakes you and it finally draws your attention to him. His eyes are wide, irises darting back and forth over your face. He doesn’t look nearly as angry as you would expect. Instead he looks…concerned. Scared.

“Simon…” you whisper, the tears not stopping as they fall down your cheeks. He’s the only thing holding you up right now, hands balled in the material of your shirt, keeping you pinned to the wall, “I-I was…I was looking for you…”

He’s panting, shoulders rising and falling as he struggles to compose himself, “Lookin’ for me?”

“Y-You said you were leaving and I…” you whimper, “I-I didn’t want you to go so…I went to find you…I didn’t think that…”

You see his jaw tense through his mask before he slowly lets go of your shirt. Your knees tremble under your own weight and your hands find purchase against his chest.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he mutters, stepping away from you with a heavy sigh, “Just don’t…do that again, got it?”

You nod your head, sniffling as you feel your tears slowly come to a stop, “Th-Thank you, Simon…for saving me…”

“Yeah,” he grunts, turning his back to you, storming back up the stairs to your floor. 

You unsteadily follow behind him, still a shaky and anxious mess. When you get into the apartment, Simon is in the kitchen, barely sparing you a glance.

“Go take a shower,” he orders you.

You linger in the doorway for a moment, hoping that he’ll look at you even for a second. But he doesn’t and you hang your head, skulking off to take your shower with a heavy heart. 

The night rolls around and Simon hasn’t said a word, putting you more on edge with each passing minute. He sits, manspreading on the couch with a glass of Kentucky bourbon in a glass, sipping on it and watching some old movie that he put on play. Usually, he asks you if you’d like to watch with him, but this time he didn’t and that just makes your heart ache even more. 

“Simon…” you venture to ask, casting a glance at him. His hard gaze doesn’t move from the TV, “I-I want to apologize–”

“For what?” he asks, the first words he’s spoken to you in hours. They’re cold and make you wince.

“F-For what I said…” you mutter, tucking your legs underneath you as you turn to look at him, “I…I was mean. I know you’re doing all you can for me and it wasn’t fair of me to get angry at you…I was just…startled, I guess.”

“You were naive,” he snaps, finally looking at you with a harsh glare, “You had no fuckin’ idea what those monsters were and you almost got yourself killed because of it.”

“Y-You’re right…” you whisper, feeling the tears pricking your eyes for the millionth time that day, “I’m sorry, Simon.”

He doesn’t respond, simply throwing back his glass of bourbon, downing it all before he stands up, “Sleep on the couch.”

The last thing you hear from him is his bedroom door slamming shut. You lay down that night, quietly crying into the pillow until you finally fell back asleep.

“Wake up!” a barking voice is what draws you out of your slumber. 

Still shaken up from yesterday’s previous events, you sit straight up, wild, fearful eyes looking around before your gaze falls upon Simon. He stands in front of the couch, dressed in full tactical gear. Even his balaclava is different, with a hard plate in the shape of a skull covering the front. He looks intimidating.

“Wh-What’re you doing?” you ask, turning yourself so your feet are on the floor. 

“We’re trainin’, get up,” he commands and you have no choice but to follow.

You find yourself following him out of the apartment and into the dimly lit hallway. It’s eerily quiet as always and you feel more intimidated than ever standing before him in nothing but some flimsy pajamas while he wears full gear. Even his gaze is different through that skull mask, hard and cold, looking down at you like you’re insignificant. 

It’s so different from before. He was so kind and patient with you before and you can tell that now he’s going to really train you. 

“What’re we doing today..?” you timidly ask, wringing your hands in front of yourself.

“Escaping,” he responds.

“Escaping?” you parrot back dumbly. 

His glare narrows down at you, “You’re going to try to get away from me and make it towards that exit.”

He points to the other end of the hallway, to the stairwell. You glance up at him, where he stands between you and your exit. 

“Okay…” you lick your lips nervously, “Do you want me to just run past you?”

“For now,” he drawls. He sounds almost bored, hands wrapped around the straps of his tactical vest.

You take a deep breath and attempt to bolt past him but his reflexes are frighteningly fast. His arm shoots out before you even realize it, catching you around your middle and halting you immediately. 

The air is punched out of your lungs from the force of his arms and you stumble back with a groan. 

“You’re goin’ to have to do better than that,” he says, looking down his nose at you like you had offended him with your poor attempt. 

You brace yourself again and attempt to run past him. This time, you attempt to fake him out and run in the other direction but it ends the same with his arm grappling around your middle and you still not any closer to the exit.

“Again!” he barks and you can’t help but wonder if this was how he was when he was training recruits in the military. 

You try again and again to run past him, duck under his arm, avoid his reach – everything to no avail. After several attempts, you’re left panting and frustrated. Simon is still as cool as a cucumber, staring at you in pure boredom as he awaits your next move. 

You run again, making rough contact with his arm once again. But this time you start fighting against his hold. You push with all your might, shoving at his arm and his side in an attempt to slip past him. 

“There you go,” he says, though it sounds more condescending than proud, “Fight me.”

You slam your fist down over his arm, successfully knocking it out of the way and giving you a chance to bolt past him. You have a clear view of the stairwell door and you can almost taste the success. 

But you’re stopped suddenly when a rough hand grabs the back of your shirt. You cry out in shock when he yanks you back towards him, carelessly tossing you to the floor. You hit the rough carpet harshly, the coarse material skinning your hands and knees and you cry out at the pain.

“Simon!” you chastise him, glaring up at him when he comes to stand in front of you, “That fucking hurt!”

“Oh, it hurt?” he sneers, squatting beside you, behemoth form still dwarfing your own as he gets down on your level, “It’s not supposed to feel good. This is training. You’re supposed to try and survive, not whine and cry because you fell on the floor.”

You sit on your burning knees and glare at him. He glares back at you, neither of you backing down. 

“Get up,” he commands, standing up, “Go again.”

By the time he allowed the training to be called off, your body was sore and bruised from the amount of times you’d been thrown to the floor. Your knees burn and ache from where the skin had been rubbed off and you fight back tears as you watch the dried blood crust on your skin. 

Simon is no more rough for wear than he was before – all your hitting, kicking, pushing, and biting hadn’t deterred him in the slightest. He wasn’t even winded. 

Worse more, you hadn’t made it anywhere near the door. 

You weren’t sure how Simon felt about it. If he was mad or disappointed, he didn’t say. As soon as you got into the apartment, he went about making dinner after ordering you to wash up. 

When you got out of the shower, he tossed a first aid kit to you and silently sat down in the kitchen to eat. 

Usually, you would sit with him but you found yourself deciding to eat on the couch by yourself. A sense of loneliness settled upon you that you hadn’t felt since before you had moved into this apartment with him and you find yourself hiding your tears in your food. 

Once again, you’re sleeping on the couch. You wouldn’t have minded it if it didn’t feel so much like a punishment. You felt like a dog banished to sleep in the dog house and you can’t help but curl in on yourself at the cold, empty feeling that it causes. 

The next morning follows much the same with Simon startling you awake with a barked order. Your body aches and your wounds sting with every movement you make as you drag yourself behind him to the hallway.

“Do we have to do this again today, Simon?” you ask hopelessly, “I’m really tired…”

“Do you think those undead freaks are going to care if you’re tired?” he snaps at you, arms crossed, making him appear even bigger than he already was, “You’re goin’ to learn how to escape from holds.”

“Simon…” you start to complain but a sharp look from him has the words dying on your tongue and you hand your head in defeat. 

He’s no more gentle than he was yesterday with you, rough grips and manhandling you around to fit his needs. He barks in your ear, ordering what you need to do and when to break various holds that he has on your body. 

He feels so much stronger and more powerful than those zombies had. At least they were mindless and slow. Simon was fast and smart. 

“Put your hand under mine to break the hold!” he shouts, clearly frustrated the more you fuck up breaking his holds. 

“Not like that! Are you daft?” he grits through clenched teeth, “You’re goin’ to fuckin wind up dead if you keep this up!”

You feel your heart rate speed up and you find yourself almost panicking under his completely oppressive energy. His shouting only sets you more on edge and the tears begin to prick at your eyes once again. 

“None of those fuckin’ tears,” he snarls, tightening his hold on you when you squirm and attempt to rid his body weight off of yours, “Do what I told you! You can break the hold if you just fuckin’ focus!”

“Simon, I-I don’t want to do this anymore!” you cry, the tears tumbling down your cheeks as you cry out the words. Your cheeks feel hot and you can barely catch your breath as you weakly punch at his chest.

“There’s no tappin’ out,” he snaps, tightening his grip on you even more. Your body aches where he holds and you know you’re going to be feeling those bruises for days to come. 

“Simon!” you practically screech, freeing one hand and harshly slamming your fist down over the hard faceplate. 

It seems to startle him enough into loosening his hold and you manage to kick back away from him in your panic, foot hitting him square in the chest in an effort to propel yourself away – putting as much distance as fast as you can between the two of you.

“Simon…” you whimper, voice wobbling, “I am not one of your soldiers. You need to stop trying to train me like I am!”

You watch him adjust his jaw through his mask before he pops his neck. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you and every hair on your body stands up in pure fear. 

He’s on top of you before you even have the chance to say another word. You cry out when the force of his body forces you back and your head cracks harshly against the floor. Your vision blacks out from the force and you groan in pain but he doesn’t stop, a rough forearm pinning against your throat, cutting off your air.

“That was good,” he says, voice cold and devoid of any emotion, “You managed to escape, now do it again!”

Your hands push weakly against him, but you’re worn out and your head is starting to hurt like hell. You open your mouth to say something but his hold on your throat ceases any words from escaping. 

You reach up to his face and his cold gaze narrows at you, “You already tried that. It won’t work again.”

But instead of hitting him, your fingers wrap around the face plate and you attempt to push it off – hoping that it’ll obscure his vision enough but he shakes you off with ease. 

He catches your gaze and what he sees gives him pause. Wide, teary eyes, red rimmed and filled to the brim with fear. Tears wet your cheeks and he finally notices the way your entire body is tense and trembling beneath him. 

“P-Please,” you finally find your voice when his weight eases a bit off of your throat, “I-I don’t want to do this anymore, Simon, please.”

That has his own eyes widening and you take his slackened hold as an opportunity to run away. He watches you scramble up from your spot on the floor and stumble back to the apartment, disappearing within with a slam that makes him flinch. He looks down at his own hands and finds that he can’t conjure up any thoughts that aren’t about you.

You hear him enter the apartment, his heavy footfalls pacing around the living room. You’re hiding in the bathroom, leaning against the door with your knees against your chest to muffle your cries. 

He enters the bedroom and pauses, no doubt looking for you before he approaches the bathroom and you feel a brief ping of fear that he’s going to open the door but instead he softly knocks. 

“Will you come out so we can talk?” he asks, voice holding none of the cold, harshness that it had for the last few days. 

“G-Go away, Simon,” you sniffle.

You can hear him sigh before he follows your request and steps away from the door. You can hear him linger in the bedroom for several more minutes, kicking his boots off before he’s quietly closing the bedroom door and leaving. 

The silence and loneliness sinks in once more and you find yourself sobbing into your knees all over again. Your head kills and you feel almost nauseous through your cries from the headache but you can’t stop yourself. 

You have no idea how long you cry for but before you know it, the bedroom door opens once again and you can hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he approaches the bathroom door once again.

“I made something for you to eat,” he says through the door, “Figured you might be hungry.” At the idea of food, your stomach growls, “It’ll be waiting for you at the table when you want it.”

You listen to him walk away and you know this is his way of luring you out of the bathroom. Part of you desperately wants to spite him for being so mean to you and refuse his food but the growling in your stomach is too much to bear and you can’t help but clamber to your feet and quietly pull the door open. 

When you reach the living room, Simon is facing the TV, giving no indication that he realizes you’ve come out of your hiding place. You sneak into the kitchen to see a bowl of soup sitting nicely at an empty spot. You take a seat and quickly devour the entire bowl, barely taking a break to breathe before it’s completely empty. 

You place it in the sink and carefully sneak back out of the kitchen, intending to slide right past him but in your haste you fail to notice that he’s no longer sitting on the couch. Instead, you come face to face with him sitting at the foot of his bed, clearly waiting for you. 

You freeze when you see him and all too soon that headache comes racing back to the forefront of your mind. 

Simon’s no longer wearing the skull plate and instead wears his usual black balaclava with the skull print on it. He wears a t-shirt and sweatpants, obviously having let himself get comfortable while you hid in the bathroom earlier. 

He looks up at you the second you step into the room and the two of you halt in a stalemate, simply staring at one another while you wait for the other to make the first move. 

You’re the first to break eye contact when a heavy throb goes through your head, making you close your eyes and bring your hand to your head until it passes. You hear the bed creak when Simon stands up before his hands are cupping your cheeks.

“You hit your head, didn’t you?” he asks, soft and gentle. 

You can’t stop yourself from glaring and snapping, “No thanks to you.”

His gaze softens as his hand finds its way to the back of your head, ever so softly prodding at the sizable bump that’s there, “I’m sorry, love.”

“If you’re sorry then why did you do it?” you find those damned tears returning all over again as you continue to glare up at him, “I told you I didn’t like it and I wanted to stop.”

“I know…” he whispers, hands once again cupping your cheeks, thumbing your tears away.

“What was your problem, Simon?” you tearfully ask, sniffling pathetically, “You hurt me. You were scary – scarier than those stupid zombies downstairs. Why did you do that?”

“I got…I was…” he struggled to find the right words before he stepped away from you with a troubled expression, “I was angry— scared. I just—I don’t know.”

“You were scared?” you scoff, “I’m the one who got attacked.”

“You think that wasn’t scary for me?” he asks in disbelief, “You almost got eaten alive on my watch.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” you sniffle, angrily storming over to the bed, letting yourself flop down on the comfortable mattress for the first time in days.

“I know,” he whispers, “Just let me explain, okay?”

You lay there silently, listening to his weight shift where he stands. You take notice of how his scent lingers much more on the blankets now that he’s slept on it. It smells good, you note, musky and delicate. He doesn’t wear anything that smells particularly overpowering. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, “Ever since this shit happened, I’ve been driving myself crazy. I lost contact with my team, my friends. I’m not able to get anymore information on what's goin’ on outside. I’m worried about you, I’m trying my hardest to make sure you can go out there and survive on your own if you need to. I feel like I’m going crazy and I’m scared because I’ve never felt this out of control before.”

You sit up and turn to face him, “How long have you been feeling like this, Simon..?”

“A while,” he mutters, turning his back on you when your gaze starts to feel like too much, “And then you called me a monster and I just…” he trails off, seemingly unsure of how to explain his feelings properly.

“I’m sorry for that, Simon,” you mutter sincerely, reaching out to grab his arm, urging him to turn around, “I never should have said that. And I didn’t mean it, really.”

“Well, you were right, weren’t you?” he scoffs, “I am a monster. Fuck, look at what I did to you – how I treated you. I was punishing you and I never should have.”

“We both made mistakes,” you compromise with a wobbly smile, “We’re dealing with a lot, right? The fucking world is ending and we’ve been trapped in this godforsaken building for who knows how long. It’ll get easier.”

He stares at you for a long moment, lashes fluttering as his gaze softens. You can’t find it in yourself to break eye contact. After a long moment, he seems to decide on something before reaching up and yanking the mask covering his face off. 

You feel your breath halt in your chest as your eyes widen, taking in every inch of his newly revealed face. His soft, brown eyes are a juxtaposition to the rest of his ruggedly handsome face. You stand up, never letting your eyes stray from him, a feeling of pure awe coming over you.

“You’re so handsome, Si,” you whisper, reaching forward to brush your fingers over a scar that cuts through his eyebrow to his eyelid, “It’s nice to finally see you.”

“I wanted you to see the real me,” he whispers, “Not the asshole soldier I was.”

“I’m glad you’ve trusted me with this,” you let your fingers wander along his skin, feeling the stubble on his jaw that he hadn’t yet shaved. 

“I need to tell you,” he sounds breathy, reaching up and catching your hand in his, pressing your palm flat against his cheek, “I was so scared when I heard you callin’ for me. I thought I was goin’ to be too late and I’d watch you die. I was terrified that I would lose you.”

“Simon…” you whisper in awe, watching how his soft, brown eyes display every tumultuous emotion that he experiences, “I’m sorry. I won’t do anything to worry you again.”

“I want you by my side for as long as you’re able,” he whispers, throat moving as he swallows.

“I won’t go anywhere,” you agree, stepping closer to him, “I promise.”

He leans in at the same time as you, meeting you for a sweet, tender kiss. It lasts only a second before you’re both pulling back to look in each other's eyes. Then, you’re both surging forward for a hungry, heated kiss. 

His hands grip your waist, squeezing there as he deepens the kiss. You whimper under his touch, standing on your tip-toes to match the intensity of his kiss. 

He moves you backwards, your knees hitting the edge of the bed, causing you to topple down. Simon follows, catching himself on his hands on either side of your head. He only breaks the kiss for a moment to move you further up the bed, easily manhandling you so your head is in the pillows before he’s kissing you all over again.

His hands are rough as they travel over your body, slipping your shirt up just enough to let him touch your bare sides. You quickly realize you’re still wearing your sleep clothes and that you don’t have a bra on. 

Clearly, Simon was aware because his hand quickly cups your bare breast with a rough, callused hand. His thumb finds your nipple, flicking over the bud as you whine into his mouth. 

He pulls back suddenly, cheeks flushed before he’s fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

“Arms up, sweetheart,” he coos, sickly sweet. 

You follow his orders and eagerly lift your arms up for him to tug the fabric of your shirt over your head. Once your breasts are bared to him, he’s leaning down to wrap his lips around one perked nipple while his fingers busy themselves with the other.

You cry out at the feeling of his teeth nipping at the sensitive bud, hands tangling in his soft, curly hair. He groans against your breast at the feeling of your pulling at his hair before he pulls back just a bit, breathlessly whispering, “Such perfect tits.”

“Simon…” you whimper, letting yourself relax into the bed as he switches to mouth at your other nipple, leaving the other to harden in the cool air before his hand travels down your stomach to your shorts, easily slipping underneath the fabric.

“Simon!” you call out again when you feel the heat of his hand cup your folds through your panties. 

“Shh, just let me do the work, love,” he mumbled, muffled by the fact he refuses to part from suckling on your nipple. 

His tongue drags over your breast, nipping and sucking marks into your skin. As he works the muscle, his hand in your panties remains stationary, just letting you feel the heat of it against your core. The teasing presence only makes you pulse and drool into your panties. You’re positive the fabric must be sticking to you by now from how wet you’ve become from playing with your breasts. 

“Your tits are so sensitive,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “Does it feel good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, arching your back to offer up your chest to him all over again.

He grins, a crooked little smile that makes your heart flutter. It was so nice to finally see him smile. 

But instead of mouthing at your breasts again, he leans back on his heels and pulls his hand from your panties. You whine at the loss but it’s cut short when he hooks his fingers into them and tugs them down your legs. You lift your hips to assist him but find yourself wincing when an ache goes through your body.

He notices and gently runs the palm of his hands up your thighs, urging you to relax.

“You sore, love?” he asks, voice filled with what you can only call guilt.

“A little…” you admit, biting your lip, “My thighs are killing me, actually.”

He shakes his head at himself and leans down, pressing a kiss next to the scrape on one of your knees as his hands slowly begin to knead the sore muscles in your thighs. You sigh and let your eyes flutter at the feeling. 

With your eyes closed, you don’t realize he leans down until you feel a hot, wet tongue slide from your pubic bone to your sternum. Your cunt clenches pathetically at the feeling. When you open your eyes, Simon’s pretty, brown eyes are half-lidded and his tongue hangs out of his mouth. You can’t resist cupping the back of his head and pulling him for a kiss, whimpering and moaning against his mouth.

“Fingers or tongue?” he asks, muffled and messy against your lips. 

“What?” your hazy mind can’t quite comprehend what he’s asking of you.

“Do you want my fingers or my tongue?” he reiterates, “I want to make you cum.”

You whimper at that, “B-Both!”

He scoffs, full brows furrowing, “Greedy.”

You find yourself blushing at that but he doesn’t deny your request. He sinks down your body, peppering kisses down your body on the way until he kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

He grabs your hips and effortlessly yanks you down so your legs hang off the edge of the bed. 

He spreads your thighs apart and you find yourself holding your breath, watching through your lashes as he trails kisses up your thigh, getting closer to where you want him the most. You’re trembling under his attention and it makes you clench pathetically around absolutely nothing. You’re sure he can see the way your cunt drools and leaks with every small kiss he peppers against your skin. 

Just when he gets close, he pulls back and kisses back down towards your knee. The teasing has you wound taut, feeling as if you’re almost on the edge without him ever properly touching you.

It feels like hours that he does it, kissing up and down your thighs. Occasionally, he nips at the skin there, swirling his tongue over the burning marks he leaves behind to soothe the sting. Finally, he moves his hand and you think he’s going to finally give you something but all he does is spread your folds apart with two fingers, exposing your hole and clit to the cool bedroom air. The action makes you whine but he pays you no mind. 

He carries on kissing your thighs and nipping at your skin. No matter how much you rut your hips, hoping to entice him into touching you and giving you what you really need, he ignores it. He ignores your whines and the cries of his name, ignores the way your cunt clenches and drools around nothing, clit twitching from how much teasing you’re enduring. 

The little bud aches, throbbing as it begs for anything – any little touch that he has to offer. He could blow air upon the nub right now and you’re sure you would explode in pure pleasure. 

When you sob his name, broken and needier than you’ve ever heard yourself, he finally looks up. His eyelids are heavy, concealing half of his iris and it makes him look positively fucked out. 

“Look at me,” he commands, licking his lips slowly, “Right in the eyes, let me see you properly.”

You force yourself to meet his penetrating gaze, almost struggling to compose yourself. You find yourself trapped in the eye contact, almost paralyzed under his intoxicating gaze. He holds you there for what feels like minutes but in reality is probably just a few seconds. 

His fingers finally hone in on your clit, pressing against the twitching, hardened bud. You cum immediately, still locked in that intoxicating eye contact. You cry out, hands slapping against the bed as he draws the orgasm out of you with slow circles on the little bud, sticky clicking sounds filling the room and mixing with your wild cries of pleasure. It seems like the high never stops, more and more cum gushing from your cunt and dripping down to stain the comforter beneath you. 

Simon watches you with keen attention, taking in every expression you make as he makes you cum against his fingers, the bud throbbing wildly until the orgasm finally dissipates. 

When you finally sag against the bed, your thighs fall completely open as the post-orgasm exhaustion quickly hits. You’re left trembling and twitching through the aftershocks, pretty pussy still drooling with every clench of your walls.

Simon takes the opportunity of you coming down to strip himself. He tugs his shirt off over his head and lets his sweatpants drop the floor, carelessly kicking them away. His gaze never leaves you, never leaves that twitching little cunt between your legs.

There’s a slick film of your cum coating your folds and his mouth fucking waters. 

Your eyes fly open, not even realizing that you had closed them, when he suddenly cups the back of your thighs and pins you wide open for him.

“Simon…” you pathetically coo, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair when he comes within reach.

“So sweet for me,” he coos, kissing your thigh once again and you’re scared that he’s going to tease you all over again, “A good orgasm got you nice and sweet, huh?”

“Mhm,” you mutter, dazedly looking at him as you feel his breath on your sensitive cunt. 

That alone makes you clench around nothing. You nearly whimper out loud when you see his tongue fall from his mouth, glistening with spit before he licks a slow, wide stripe between your folds. 

When he comes back up, he holds his tongue out and lets you see the creamy mess of your cum left behind. He makes a show of swallowing every drop in his mouth, making your cheeks flush in pure embarrassment at such a lewd display. 

You had no idea Simon would be so fucking filthy in bed but the way his eyes roll back at your taste tells you all that you need to know. 

He loudly slurps your clit between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sloppy bud as he whines and groans into your cunt. You tug harshly at his hair at the overwhelming feeling of having your clit doted on so expertly. 

His hands keep you pinned open, allowing him to slip his tongue inside you, occasionally taking a moment to visibly swallow every drop of your slick so you can see the way he absolutely savors your taste.

He swirls that offending tongue around your clit again, slurping it back into his mouth before two fingers are prodding at your entrance. You clench against him, the excitement of finally being filled with something making you whimper. Just the sound of you so eager makes him almost want to cum completely untouched. 

Your cum generously coats his face and he absolutely loves it. He pulls away suddenly, dark eyes locking onto your face as he pants from how lost he was in eating you out. He slowly presses two fingers inside you, letting them slide in, hugged by the plushness of your walls.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, love,” he coos, moaning sympathetically when you cry out from the feeling of being stretched on his fingers, “And so warm too, fuck.”

He decides, in that moment, that he doesn’t care if the world is ending outside, he feels nothing but bliss with you. He never wants this to end, he wants to get completely lost in the pure intoxication of you. 

He leans down, flattening his tongue against your clit once again. The feeling is heightened now that he’s got his thick fingers stuffed inside you. You clench around him at the feeling of his tongue on the sensitive bud once more. 

He suddenly crooks his fingers and your legs helplessly kick in the air at the overwhelming feeling of him pressing and prodding against that gooey little spot inside you. Your hips rabbit up and you practically wail at the overwhelming sensations he’s attacking you with. You squeal his name so sweetly before he finally backs off a bit, letting you sink back into the soft cushions of the bed.

He’s completely drunk off of you, off the creamy cum you gush out for him to lick up, off the lovely sounds you let out from how good he makes you feel. His cock is so painfully hard and he wants so badly to wrap his hand around himself but he knows he’ll blow his load the second he does, so he refrains. 

To distract himself from the ache in his cock, he doubles his focus on you and making you feel good. His fingers crook upwards again, prodding your g-spot again with renewed vigor. You cry out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he sucks your clit into his mouth, the suction making your thighs tremble. 

“I-I wanna cum!” you cry out, fingers still tugging harshly at his hair. 

He groans against you but doesn’t dare to part from you, too focused on bringing you to your high to actually goad you into it. His fingers move inside you, fucking you nice and deep, making sure he’s working that sweet little spot inside you as he continues to suck on your clit. 

It doesn’t take long before your entire body stiffens and you toss your head back. The choked out cry is music to his ears and his own eyes roll back when he feels the way your walls tighten around him, soaking his fingers generously. Your clit throbs in his mouth before he releases his suction on it, instead choosing to lick the pulsing little bud with the flat of his tongue to gently ease you through the high. 

You’re pushing his head away long before he’s ready to part but he willingly backs off nonetheless. His chin is wet with your cum, even dripping down his neck and the sight makes you flush. There’s a loud, squishy noise when he slowly pulls his fingers from the hot clutch of your cunt. 

“Scoot back for me, darlin’,” he commands you, slurring a little before he pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean of the mess you left behind. 

You do as he says, shakily pushing yourself back so you can lay your head in the pillows. With Simon standing at the foot of the bed, you finally get the chance to take a look at him. 

He’s obviously incredibly well built, broad and firm in all the right places. Most notably, he has numerous scars, some that looked like bullet wounds and others that were long and thin. 

“Are all those from the military?” you find yourself asking as he carefully crawls onto the bed, jostling you as the mattress moves under his weight.

“Yeah,” he breathes, leaning down to press his lips against yours.

You let him handle your body as he pleases, spreading your legs so he can comfortably situate himself between them. His cock, hard and heavy, rests against your folds and you find your eyes going wide at the sight of it.

“Somethin’ the matter?” he chuckles, like he can hear what you’re thinking. 

“That’s not going to fit,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze off the twitching, fat length of him.

“‘Course it will, love,” he breathes, pecking your lips again, letting his lips trail down over your jaw, “I worked you open real good, all you gotta do is relax and let me in.”

With a minute adjustment of his hips, the tip prods your entrance. He grips the base of his length, carefully pushing forward, mouth dropping open as he feels your hot, wet walls spread around the head of him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts, “Jus’ let me do the work.”

Your hands fly down to grip his forearms, nails biting harder into the skin there the deeper he sinks into you. The middle of his cock is the fattest, giving you an almost painful stretch that makes your face pinch up in a way that Simon doesn’t like.

He brings one hand to his mouth, licking his thumb before carefully pressing the digit against that sensitive bud. You whimper at the feeling, cunt clutching tight around him, easing more of his length inside. He circles your clit a few more times, watching your face for any clear signs of discomfort. Before long, his hips meet yours, filling you absolutely full to the brim in a way no one ever had before. 

He plants both hands on either side of your head, abandoning your clit in favor of simply rutting his hips against yours. His large body hovers over you, shielding you from anything outside of him and you find yourself completely lost in everything that is him – how full he makes you feel, how nice he smells, how safe you feel trapped beneath him like you are. 

Your hands wind around his neck, pulling him down so his chest presses against yours. Your breasts squish against his chest and he finds his eyes flickering down just to look at them. The sight makes you smile despite yourself – it’s cute, you think.

Tangling your fingers in his soft curls once again, you bring him down for a kiss. He’s still slowly, carefully rutting his hips against yours, his lower abdomen sliding against your clit as his cock stirs inside you, stretching you and hitting every sweet little spot inside you. 

You whimper into his mouth, gasping at the way he makes you feel so full and good while he barely does anything. Your knees bracket against his ribs, squeezing him so tightly you wonder if it hurts but he just continues to kiss you and circle his hips. 

“Wanna feel you cum around me,” he whispers, barely parting from your lips to request it, “Just like this, cover my cock. Be good for me.”

You knew you wouldn’t be able to disobey even if you wanted to. With the way he stirs you up and drags against every tender spot inside you all while grinding against your clit the way he is, you don’t stand a chance. Your third orgasm creeps up on you and your back arches just as it washes over you.

Simon groans at the feeling of you cumming around him for the first time – the tight, wet clutch of your cunt feeling better than he ever could have dreamed. As he watches you writhe in his bed, moaning and whimpering his name, he’s overcome with a plethora of feelings that just melt his heart. 

He can’t resist pulling you in for another kiss, cupping your jaw as he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock remains buried in your cunt. You’re still working on coming down from the orgasm he just gave you but he’s greedy – he wants to feel it again. He wants to fuck the orgasm out of you, make you ride it out and gush all over him.

He needs to show you how good he can be for you, hoping that this alone can get across just how much you mean to him. He’s never been the best with words, so he can only hope that this is enough for now.

Your hands press against his chest, aimlessly pushing at him from the overwhelming way he fucks you. You’re so sensitive, pushed into cumming more times than anyone had ever made you before. But he doesn’t show any signs of slowing or stopping. He’s a machine, built for stamina and he’s on a fucking mission now – to make you feel as good as he possibly can. 

You’re attempting to push him away, to give your poor, overstimulated body a chance to come down. But he’s having none of it. 

“Hands off, love,” he commands breathlessly. But you just stare up at him with dazed, teary eyes, panting and sweaty. He clicks his tongue, “You ignorin’ me, sweetheart?”

He grapples your wrists in his one hand, pulling yours away from his chest and pinning them above your head. He uses this new hold as leverage to really fuck you, pulling back and sinking back in as deep as he possibly can. His tip kisses your cervix, making your thighs tense up at the twinge of pain that comes with having him so deep. 

But the pain mixes so addictively with the pleasure that you find yourself getting completely lost in the slow, deep rhythm that he sets. Every time he sinks balls deep, his hips slap against yours and he rubs up deliciously against your clit. The pleasure on your bud doesn’t last long before he’s pulling back again, never allowing you to fully build up to another delicious high. 

Simon is lost in the way you whimper and whine. He can swear that he’s never heard anything as incredible as you being denied the pleasure he had been so generous with so far. He likes the desperate look in your eyes; it makes him feel amazing to know that you need him to make you feel good. He’s in charge of your pleasure in that moment and he finds himself relishing in that feeling of control over you. 

You look so sweet beneath him, pinned and helpless with teary eyes looking up at him. Your pupils are blown wide from the pleasure his cock brings you as he continues to fuck you nice and deep. 

Usually, Simon is a fast and rough kind of guy, but he finds himself thinking that he could definitely get used to a pace like this more often. As long as it’s you that’s underneath him. 

It doesn’t take you very long to break, those pretty tears falling down your cheeks as you breathlessly plead with him, “Please, Simon,” your voice cracks so cutely, “I want more!”

He chuckles under his breath and leans down, pressing a tender kiss against your temple before whispering, “What’s stoppin’ you from takin’ more?”

That seems to set you off. You’re bracing your feet on the bed, rutting your hips, rocking yourself against his cock. A moan rips from his chest at the sight of you using his cock like that. His heavy balls press against you and the feeling makes his cock throb, making him realize how badly he needs to cum. But he doesn’t want to give up this little show you’re putting on for him so soon. 

You’re so, so wet that he can feel how your messy little cunt squishes around him. You shamelessly soak every inch of him the more you work your own pussy on his fat cock. You tug your hands free from his grip and he’s left clenching the pillows in his fist when he watches your fingers descend.

He thinks you’re going to go for your clit, to push yourself over the edge like you so deserved for being so good for him. But instead, you reach for your own tits. The breath punches out of his lungs as the sight of you meanly pinching and tweaking your nipples as you continue to rock yourself against him.

Simon feels his balls tighten at the sight and he almost thinks he’s going to cum but he suddenly pulls his cock out. You wail in complete misery at the loss, tearfully watching him wrap his hand around the base of his cock, pinching off the impending orgasm.

You flop back down onto the bed, sniffling pathetically as you glare at him for ruining the orgasm you were so beautifully working yourself up to. He smiles crookedly at you, cupping the backs of your knees, crudely pinning them to your chest so your pretty, wet cunt is open and vulnerable to the way he suddenly stuffs himself back inside. 

With you completely pinned beneath him in a press, you can’t do anything except cry out and wail in pleasure as he finally fucks you fast and hard. His balls slap lewdly against your ass, your arousal dripping off of them. 

His eyes are locked on the way you’re stretched so wide around the girth of him. You’re creaming around him, a milky ring left in your wake every time he pulls out. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe or collect yours, simply fucking you with everything he has. It’s loud, wet, and fucking messy. 

“F-Fuck,” he chokes on the word, voice breaking as it comes out. He’s so close that it hurts, “Play with yourself for me, love, rub your clit.”

Your hand flies down to do as you’re told without a second thought. It only takes a few, quick circles around the hard little bud before you’re cumming with a cute little squeal. Your feet kick helplessly in the air, toes curling from how hard you cum around him. 

Simon groans at the sight and feeling of you losing yourself on his cock. You continue to swirl and tap at your clit, forcing yourself to cum harder and harder until you’re squirting around him with a choked off sob of his name. 

Simon’s hips never still or falter, fucking you fast and deep to work you through the orgasm. Your cum splatters across his hips, thighs, and chest. It makes his eyes roll up into his head before he lets his head fall back. His jaw opens and he moans, loud and deep as his own orgasm finally washes over him. 

His pace falters as you lay there twitching and crying, a few trembling thrusts of his hips as his cock spits rope after rope of cum inside you. He cums longer and harder than he has in a very long time. He continues with short, aborted little thrusts on his sensitive cock as he continues to cum.

Even when the orgasm dissipates, he finds himself fucking into the creamy mess drooling out of your twitching cunt. 

“S-Simon-!” you choke out, nails clawing down his shoulders, “S-Sensitive!”

“I know, love,” he pants, almost deliriously, “J-Just one more. G-Gotta fill you up again.”

You can’t do anything but lay back and let him use your cunt as he works to force another orgasm out of his overstimulated cock. He’s gasping and whining as he moves his hips, pulling his cock out only to stuff it back inside. A mixture of your cum and his drips down, soaking his cock, pelvis, and balls. It’s a heady, lewd mess that he can’t bring himself to worry about now but he knows it’ll be a pain to clean up later. 

You’re trembling and twitching with every one of his movements, tears dried and new on your cheeks. He feels a pang of remorse for you, you’re tired and overstimulated but he just needs to wring this one last orgasm out and then he’ll let you rest.

“You can be good for me, huh?” he coos sweetly, “Just be sweet and let me, fuck, use this pretty little cunt, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, nodding your head as your eyelids flutter in exhaustion.

Simon leans down, pressing his lips against yours. You both get lost in the kiss, with your arms wrapped around his neck. He loves how it feels to have you stuffed on his cock while your pretty, sweet body twitches and trembles beneath him. He knows it probably hurts by now and the fact you’re just laying there and letting him use you like this has him reaching his second high. 

He chokes on a moan, gasping as he cums for the final time. It’s much more lackluster than his first one but he still fills you up just like you both needed. His cock twitches almost painfully inside you as he slowly rocks his hips, wincing at the overstimulation. 

After a few, still moments, he pulls his length free from the soft plushness of your cunt and rolls off of you. You’re both panting, laying on your backs on the bed as you come back to yourselves.

You’re the first one to move, rolling onto your side and wrapping yourself around him. Simon finds himself smiling when he feels the sweet way you snuggle against him, seeking his comfort automatically. 

You start shivering, the mess of cum and sweat on your body causing you to become cold. He urges you to sit up despite your protests. 

“Let’s take a shower and sleep,” he offers sweetly, supporting your shaky body to the bathroom.

He continues to support you and hold you close through the shower. He finds himself grateful that there’s still hot water because you both certainly need it after such a messy tryst in his bed. 

You’re the first to fall asleep, tucked against his chest with your arms wrapped around him like a little koala. His hand strokes up and down your back, just staring into the inky blackness of his bedroom. 

Part of him feels like it’s all a dream, to have someone so sweet tucked against him, offering him comfort and feeling safe as they snooze peacefully. A sense of fierce protectiveness washes over him as he finds himself going through plans in his head – what the future may hold.

He’s torn from his thoughts when you shoot up from your deep sleep with a gasp. Your head wildly turns, looking around the room. His hand finds purchase on your back, making you jump before relaxing immediately in recognition.

“Bad dream?” he asks, tugging you gently to lay you back down against his chest.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I dreamt that I was trapped with them in that hallway again.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, wrapping his arms tightly around you to make sure you feel secure. You go still for a long time and he thinks you fell asleep again but then you ask him a question that surprises him.

“Who are those people in the photos?” you quietly question, “In your living room.”

He hums, rubbing a rough hand up and down your shoulder and arm, “My teammates. Friends, I guess.”

“You guess?” you chuckle.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Task Force 141; Captain John Price, and Seargets John ‘Soap’ MacTavish and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.”

“Soap is a silly name,” you comment, grinning up at him, resting your chin against his chest, “What about you?”

“Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley,” he responds with ease. 

“Do you know where they are?” you ask.

It’s an innocent question but it sends a pang of hurt to his chest. If he were a weaker, less trained man, he may have felt tears pricking his eyes, “I don’t know,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “I was in contact with Soap when everything started goin’ to shit. Lost contact with him though. He’s a tough bastard though, I’m sure he’s fine somewhere out there. I don’t know where the other two were or are.”

“If they’re even half as good as you, I’m sure they’re all fine,” you offer optimistically. 

Simon hums again, reaching a hand up to brush a stray flyaway off of your forehead. His big hand cups your cheek, stroking his thumb over your lips which you offer a gentle kiss against. 

“All I’m worried about now is you,” he confesses softly, “As long as you’re safe, I’ll be happy. I’ll do anything to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” you smile, laying back down to nuzzle against his chest, “I’m okay as long as you’re here.”

He wraps his arms around you again and closes his eyes, letting himself sleep peacefully with you held safe against him.

It’s not even a week later that you’re sitting on the couch with him, peacefully watching a movie with a full belly after cooking a quick dinner with him, that you hear a loud, mechanical thump and you’re plunged into complete silence and darkness. Your heart jumps and races in your chest, mindlessly grappling onto Simon’s arm as he sits still beside you.

“What happened?” you ask, whispering as if you’re scared to speak any louder.

“Power went out,” he responds, not sounding the least bit perturbed, “Knew it was comin’. Water’s probably out now too.”

“What do we do?” you ask, the tremor of fear in your voice practically breaking his heart. 

He stands up and you whimper in fear when he’s out of your reach. You can hear him moving around in the dark before a bright, blinding light lands on you. 

“We can’t stay here for much longer,” he responds, “We’ll have to move out and find somewhere with more resources.”

“How long have you been planning this?” you ask, getting to your feet to follow him down the hall to the bedroom.

“Ever since the news stopped reportin’,” he responds, grabbing a large backpack from the closet, “Let’s pack up.”

You linger beside him and he looks at you with a raised brow, “I’m scared, Simon.”

His gaze softens and he walks up to you, cupping your cheeks tenderly, “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises, “We’re goin’ to go out, find a small place to hunker down. We’ll look for a generator or a vehicle and get somewhere safe. You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod your head, “Of course I do.”

“Good,” he smiles, kissing your forehead, “Now take this backpack and fill it with what’s left of our canned food, alright? I’m goin’ to pack everything else we need, don’t worry about a thing.”

He offers you a flashlight, which you gratefully take and click on. You’re glad that he gives you an easy task to focus on. You take the smaller backpack he offers you and make your way to the kitchen. You only have about 5 cans of food left and you carefully place them inside the bag before opening the refrigerator to pack a few full bottles of water that you have stored in there. You make sure to toss in a can opener just in case before you place the backpack on the couch. 

Simon emerges from the room with the large, military backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“You get it all?” he asks, taking a seat to shove his boots onto his feet.

“Yeah and a couple water bottles,” you respond, approaching him slowly.

“That’s perfect,” he praises, looking over at you, “You should go get dressed. Jeans and a hoodie. Put your sneakers on and make sure they’re tight, got it?”

You nervously do as you’re told, disappearing into the bedroom to quickly dress yourself under the flashlight. You can hear Simon moving around in the living room, heavy boots thumping against the floor with every step he takes. 

You toss the hoodie over your head and make your way back to Simon, who stands in the living room, looking out the window. The sun is just beginning to come up over the horizon, casting a dim amount of sunlight to come through. 

He turns to look at you when he hears you approach. 

“There you go,” he hums, pulling the hoodie up over your head and tightening the strings, “Keep your neck covered. We’ll find you some better clothing somewhere along the way.”

You nod your head and take a glance over his shoulder out the window. You can barely see the ground from your position but you can see people shuffling around on the streets below. A pang of fear goes through you as you realize that they’re most definitely not normal people – the streets are crawling with those undead freaks. 

Simon leads you to the door and unsheaths a weapon for you – a machete he had taught you to wield with relative ease. You grip it in your hands, nervously twirling it around until you find a comfortable position. Simon nods his head and pulls out a combat knife, holding it low at his side before opening the door. 

The descent to the lobby is relatively easy, you walk over the undead that have already been taken care of in the stairwell.

“I took care of these already,” he explains without you even having to ask, helping you jump over a pile of 3 zombies at the foot of the stairs. 

“You got more kills under your belt than me,” you comment, mostly in jest to lighten your mood.

Simon huffs under his breath, slowly pushing open the door to the lobby, “You have no idea.”

You squint and turn off your flashlight when you step into the well lit lobby. The sun is now above the horizon, allowing you to see with ease once again. 

Simon remains in front of you, making your way to the double front doors. You peek around him, heart racing in your chest as your grip on your weapon tightens.

“Are you ready?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder.

“No…” you confess, shuffling closer to him.

“Everything will be okay,” he promises firmly and you actually believe him. 

When he pushes open the door, the groans of the undead fill your ears and you find your eyes darting frantically around the streets that you can now see with terrifying clarity. 

Hundreds of undead swarm the streets, stumbling and groaning as they shuffle around aimlessly in search of food. Simon reaches down and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You know it’s going to be the fight of your life but with Simon by your side, you have faith that you’re going to make it through and find somewhere safe together.

 property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.