Hi! Making a pinned post so it’s easier to learn a bit more about me. My name is Skylar. I’m a 21 y/o college student (ugh). Tumblr has always been a place for me to browse, not really post. Maybe I’ll find it interesting enough to at some point, but idk. Biggest self shipper!!! Jiraiya can get it ANYTIME, trust.
It was hard to believe that someone who was notoriously known as a bully, like Michael Afton, had a crush on someone that wasn't some cheerleader or popular girl at school. Y/N was a total nerd but that didn't stop him from crushing on her for years. After the grace of god, when he got the chance to ask her out she was skeptical but took it. But how would others react to the strange parring?
It was right before sunset on Halloween night. The perfect time to begin Trick or Treating adventures. At Y/N’s grown age, she wasn’t the one going door to door, asking for candy, but she wasn’t past dressing up. After begging her mother for months, she finally was allowed to wear the costume she had been wanting to do for years. The Scarlet Witch.
She had gotten a red one-piece swimsuit. Underneath was pink tights, accompanied by knee high red boots. The red cape matched her swimsuit, and so did the wig. The only thing that she had to make herself was the headpiece.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she was proud of how well everything came together. The best part about the costume was the fact that she convinced Michael to match her, dressing up as Vision.
“Y/N! Michael is here!” Erik screamed from the bottom of the stairs.
Y/N was quick to leave her room and run down the stairs, cape flowing nicely behind her. Michael stood in the doorway, dressed in a bright-green body suit, yellow cape, and face painted bright red.
When he laid his eyes on her, his jaw dropped. “Wow, you look so good! I look stupid in this.”
“No, you look good!” Y/N rebutted, running up to him.
“Ew.” Erik yelled out. “Don’t you dare kiss in front of me.”
Y/N rolled her eyes at Erik before turning back to Michael. “Shall we go?”
Michael nodded his head as he held the door open for Y/N. They both walked to the car together.
“Oh I forgot to tell you.” Michael said a bit wary.
“What?” Y/N asked, getting worried.
“My dad put me on babysitting duty.” Michael sighed in annoyance. “We gotta take Liz trick or treating for a bit.”
Michael clearly wasn’t happy with this. The last thing he wanted to do on his date was babysit his little sister, and the last thing Elizabeth wanted was to be a third wheel to Michael’s date.
“That sounds like fun!” Y/N said happily. “As long as we make it to Amy’s by seven, we should be good.”
After spending some one on one time with Elizabeth, Y/N had grown close to Elizabeth. Michael didn’t share- or rather, as an older brother, he refused to believe- that Elizabeth was an enjoyable little girl. She may be a bit bossy, but she and Y/N became friends in a way.
“What is she dressing up as?” Y/N asked Michael as they got in the car.
“Alice in Wonderland.” Michael said, starting the engine.
“Awe! That’s so cute!” She was now excited to see.
Michael drove the both of them back to his house. Even though Y/N was excited, Michael sure wasn’t. All he wanted for Halloween was to spend time with his girlfriend and friends, but now he had to follow his annoying sister around and watch her get candy, while he got nothing. The only upside was Y/N was allowed to join.
Elizabeth ran out of the door before Michael could even put the car in park. “Come on Michael!”
“I had to pick up Y/N.” He fought back, getting out of the car.
Y/N had already jumped out, quickly following Elizabeth to the end of the driveway. “Michael, you need to hurry or Elizabeth will be snubbed of all the good candy!” She called out to tease him, knowing that it would annoy him.
“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Michael complained, walking up to the two girls.
Y/N gave Michael a sly smirk with a wink before turning to Elizabeth. The three of them walked together. Y/N and Michael stood beside one another, hands lightly brushing each other. Eventually, Michael got the courage to grab Y/N’s hand, not caring about his sister seeing.
“Your costume looks very nice.” Y/N complimented Elizabeth. Even though they were forced to go along with the young girl, Y/N wanted to make it feel as though they were one group.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth said proudly with a smile. She turned to the couple walking behind her, getting a look at the both of them together. That is when she realized that they were connected by the hands. “Ew! Don’t show PDA around me.”
“She’s my girlfriend.” Michael reminded her. “I can hold her hand if I want!”
“She’s so out of your league.” Elizabeth huffed.
“You don’t think I don’t know that.” Michael fought back.
Elizabeth ignored his comment, continuing on to insult him. “I mean just look at your costumes. Y/N looks really good, but you Michael? You look like a bloody booger.”
“Hey!” Michael shouted, offended.
“I think he looks great!” Y/N butted in, knowing they’d be fighting unless she stepped in
“I don’t get what you see in him.” Elizabeth said to Y/N.
“I know you just see his faults because he’s your brother.” Y/N pointed out to Elizabeth. “But he is an amazing boyfriend.”
They walked up to the first house, Elizabeth rang the door bell. Before the owner could answer, she only gave Y/N a dirty look in response.
Once the door opened, Elizabeth’s mood immediately flipped. Her disgusted look upturned into a happy smiley one as she asked for candy. The woman smiled kindly at her, grabbing a few pieces of candy out of her bowl, putting it into Elizabeth’s pillow case.
The second the door closed behind Elizabeth’s sweet smile turned to one of greed as she looked into her case to see what she got. Groaning in frustration, she clearly didn’t enjoy what she was given. She had blamed Michael’s poor time management to be the cause of it.
That is how the rest of the Trick-or-Treating went. Elizabeth insulting Michael, Michael fighting back, and Y/N trying to calm them down. They only stopped when Elizabeth began to complain about how her shoes were hurting her feat.
In the end. Michael had to carry Elizabeth to the house on his back, while Y/N held the candy. Every once in a while, Elizabeth would demand a piece of candy from Y/N. Making Michael complain about how much of a brat Elizabeth was.
By the time they got back to the house, all Michael wanted was to spend alone time with Y/N. “Can we just stay here?” He begged.
“No, we promised we’d go.” Y/N replied.
She was standing in the bathroom, fixing her makeup. Michael stood outside the bathroom in the hall, watching her lovingly. “Yeah, but I just want to spend time with you.”
After she finished reapplying her lipstick, she turned to Michael. “We’ll spend time together… With our other friend.”
Michael only groaned in response. Y/N chuckled at him, leaving the bathroom. They walked out of his house together, heading to the car. Sadly enough for Michael, it was a quick drive to Amy’s.
Everyone had already gotten there hours ago, just waiting on the couple. When Amy opened the door, it was pure chaos. Even though the part was just their small friend group, the energy was high.
Holly and Lily were in the kitchen giggling over Jeremy, who was sat on a chair. There was a bunch of makeup spread all over the table. Once they heard the others enter the kitchen, they stepped back to let Y/N and Michael see what they had done in their absence.
Jeremy had all kinds of colors and glitter all over his face. He seemed very amused by their antics. “Do you see what they did to me?” He asked Michael. “This is what happens when you leave me with the girls.”
Michael didn’t try hiding his laugh, bursting out and mocking his friend. “Oh my god! You look so stupid.”
“No he doesn’t” Lily defended. “He didn’t come with a costume, so we decided to make him a unicorn”
“I already told you, I was Johnny Cade from The Outsiders.” Jeremy argued back. “Michael and I always go as Ponyboy and Johnny.”
“You guys look like that all the time. It's not much of a costume.” Holly rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, you look much better like this.” Michael snickered.
“Well at least I didn’t make myself look stupid like you did.” Jeremy fought back.
“Hey!” Y/N butted in, feeling offended by his words. “I worked really hard to get this couples costume for the both of us.”
“Exactly. At least I have a girlfriend to match with.” Michael said proudly, putting his arm around Y/N’s waist.
“Oh yeah?” Jeremy responded, grabbing the open mascara brush. “Match this!”
Jeremy smeared the mascara across Michael’s red face. In turn, Michael let go of Y/N grabbing the lipstick off the table and breaking it on Jeremy’s face, smearing it all over as Jeremy went to grab more.
“My mother’s makeup!” Amy shouted, getting in between the two, attempting to stop the fight.
When stepping into the middle, Michael and Jeremy smeared makeup on her clean face at the same time. They both paused, not meaning to get her as well. Anger boiled over Amy as she grabbed the makeup off the table, throwing it at both of them.
Now feeling left out, Y/N, Lily and Holly decided to join in, grabbing different types of makeup to attack others with. It ended with everyone having makeup smeared all over one another, and all over the floor, and them laughing.
“My mother’s going to kill me.” Sadly sighed, the reality of everything hitting her.
Holly began picking up the broken palettes. “Better clean it up before she gets back then.”
They all agreed, cleaning up the kitchen before wiping off the makeup that hadn’t stained. By the end of the night, they were watching a movie. Michael made sure to pick one of the scariest movies he knew, Gremlins. The reasoning as to why planned out perfectly. The whole movie, Y/N was cuddled up against him, using him as a human shield against the scary movie.
By the end, she didn’t want to part from him, sticking by as closely as possible to him as they walked out to his car. Being the gentleman he was, he made sure to walk her to the passenger side, not wanting her to be alone in this fear.
“I can always stay over at your house.” Michael suggested, getting in the car and starting it.
“My parents wouldn’t allow that.” Y/N responded.
“They don’t have to know.” Michael said with a sly smile, beginning to drive toward Y/N’s home.
Y/N laughed, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re crazy.”
“Crazy for you.” he said while turning to her.
“Keep your eyes on the road Michael Afton.” She told him, not wanting him to accidentally get them into a crash. “I am crazy for you too though.”
“You tell me to keep my eyes on the road but tempt me like that?” He let out a chuckle. “How cruel.”
“It's ironic that the bully is calling me cruel.” Y/N responded.
“Former bully.” Michael corrected her. “You have refined me.”
“Well I’m glad that I have fixed not only one, but two bullies.” She said proudly, thinking about how Jeremy also joined the group.
To Michael’s dismay, they arrived at her house in no time, knowing their time together had come to an end. After turning off the car, he turned to her, remembering their first date.
“I love you.” He abruptly admitted.
Y/N was pleasantly shocked by his words, but quickly recovered. Smiling at him, she responded with “I love you too.”
Before Michael could say anything else, Y/N leaned into him, planting a kiss on his lips. The kiss was over just as quickly as it had begun, that he almost missed it. He couldn’t get another word out before she was running out of the car, bashfully giggling at her actions.
Once he regained composure, she was almost to the door. Rolling down the window, he shouted.
“Sleep well! Don’t let the gremlin’s get you!”
She was quick to shout back. “Don’t say that!” Before eventually opening the door, “Goodnight Michael.”
He watched the door close, warmth filling his body as the feeling of their love settled into his bone. Michael Afton knew from that moment, she was the one.
Hello all!!! I am so sorry this took forever to get to, but I promise that there was a good reason. I started this fic in my Junior year of Highschool when I was 16. YN and Michael are about 16-17 in this fic, so everything was all good and fine. But then i turned 18.... With the fact that I was an adult and writing minors dating was eh. But the biggest reason as to why i couldn't write it anymore was because there are so many elements of this fic that are based off of my real life. So overall it just felt really weird for me to write this.
So this is the last chapter! I wanted to write something that resmbles and ending, even though i think its shitty. but so you guys had some kind of closure.
Thank you all so much for all of the love and support throughout the years. maybe ill write one where they're actually adults and i am able to write a full real full thing, but idk if I will. If you like my writing style, go check out my other fics, or join my discord to get updates on what im doing!
when I say I want jiraiya and they think I mean the 25 year old skinny era, but in reality I mean the 50 year old perv, with hands big enough to crush my head, and a death wish era
Summary: Simon was all of your firsts—your first date, your first kiss, your first boyfriend. So why not make him one more of your firsts? (2-ish years post events of Iron Lung)
nsfw- not proofread!!//virginity kink//virginity loss//corruption kink//dacryphilia//10+ year age gap//dom!Simon//fingering-fem!receiveing//wet-dream//dirty talk//no PiV//oral-fem!receiveing//dry humping, pillow humping//forgot Simon was supposed to have one arm until after I finished so whoops
Note- I thought that first pic WAS Mark when I first saw it on Pinterest, so I knew I had to use it for something. You can't tell me it doesn't look like him with his hair in that in-between length? Think him growing it out during Unus Annus? Idk kinda gives Dave Torres vibes too.
You had kissed other people before Simon. Of course you had.
Okay, fine. You had kissed a person.
...
Fine. You hadn't kissed anyone before Simon.
Simon was all of your firsts in life. Your first boyfriend, your first kiss, your first hot-and-steamy make out session on a dingy couch in his apartment.
Your first date was with Simon, in his living room, having a picnic on an old, scratchy blanket. Candles, which ordinarily would have been rationed for emergencies, burned as the hours went on. The date had ended with the two of you falling asleep in each others arms on the floor, wine drunk and giddy.
You had found hope in Simon. Hope for a future—for a life outside of the end-of-the-world.
No matter how long you had been together, a little more than a year now, you had never told him any of this. You had meant to, you really did. But how do you bring up the fact that you had never held hands with anyone else—let alone made out with them—to your very experienced boyfriend. Your boyfriend who was more than ten years older than you were?
You were afraid, deep down, that he would leave you. That he would see you as a kid—immature and inexperienced.
Which is why you had never brought up having sex with him. You wanted to, desperately, but every time you thought about it you got nervous and scared all over again.
And Simon? He was too much of a gentleman to bring it up, at least with you. He had talked to you about his past, sparingly, whenever you asked.
He told you about the girls he had slept with, telling you he had never really had a serious girlfriend before you. He had always been too devoted to Eden, to his brothers, to make time for date nights or romantic gestures. But he had plenty of experience in other areas.
He was too much of a gentleman to rush you, to make you feel like you had to. But you could tell he was beginning to lose patience, just as you were.
His touching, which had always been soft and gentle—always sticking to your hips or above—had begun to move lower. His hands would lower to cup your ass when you were walking together. His hands gripped your waist rougher than normal when his lips would meet yours.
Even his kisses had begun changing, moving from gentle and sweet to feverish and passion fueled. His lips had begun marking your skin in bites and bruises all over your exposed skin.
He always apologized, when he noticed what he had done. But it wasn't like you didn't want it, you very much did, but you knew what he wanted to come next. What you both wanted to come next.
Which is what led you to his apartment tonight, your hand hovering in front of the metal door, hesitant to knock.
You had woken yourself up, your thighs pressing together, skin hot, panting. You had dreamt of Simon, of his lips somewhere other than pressed against yours. His body flush against yours, your nails digging into the skin of his back.
The thought made you blush, yet again.
Your fist banged against the door, a repeated clunk-ing sound echoing in the dark, empty hallway.
After a moment, the sound of muffled footsteps sounded from the other side of the door, getting increasingly louder before the door creaked open.
Simon rubbed the sleep from his eyes, answering the door. His shirt was nowhere to be seen, wearing only his plaid pajama pants which hung low on his hips.
His tattoos were clearly visible like this, even in the dark. His scars shone in the light, littering the skin of his chest. You knew they covered his back as well.
"Honey? Everything alright? What'cha doing here so late?" Concern laced his voice, his sleepy eyes searching your body for any injuries.
"Everything's fine, don't worry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you up. God, it's so late. I should go—" You started, getting cut off with a hand on your shoulder.
"Don't worry 'bout it, honey. Why'd you come over? Something on your mind?"
You bit your lip, tearing your eyes from his. You took a shaky breath, not knowing how to say everything you were feeling, everything you needed to say.
So you didn't.
You looked up at him, newfound confidence in your gaze, and reached up and cupped his face with your hands. Before he could say anything, you brough his lips to yours, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist, stumbling backwards into his apartment. A sound of surprise escaped his mouth before he pressed his lips harder against yours.
He kicked the door closed, dragging you backwards towards his couch, falling backwards onto the cushions and taking you down with him.
You straddled his lap, breathing heavy, before Simon pulled you away. You whined in response, your hands curling in his soft hair.
"Honey. Slow down. I need you to tell me what'cha want if you want me to help you, alright baby?" His voice was quiet, breathy, but calm.
You pushed your face into the crook of his neck, embarrassment flooding your face, "You know what I want, Simon."
A small laugh rippled through him, vibrating against your body.
"No, I don't. I can't know unless you use your words. Can you do that for me? I need you to say it, baby."
He pulled your face away from his body, forcing you to look him in the eyes.
Your need for him, for his body and lips to be against yours, outweighed any embarrassment you felt, "I want you-I want you to touch me, please. Please touch me, Simon," you begged, your hips grinding against him, your hands moving to grip his shoulders as he brings you in for a kiss.
"Are you sure? You know we've never—" You cut him off, forcing your lips against his for a moment before answering.
"Yes. Please, Simon."
As if he had been preparing for this moment, as if he hadn't been asleep twenty minutes prior, he picked you up, hands gripping your ass, and carried you into his bedroom.
You didn't care enough to look around for long, noticing his bare walls and lack of personal items—something you would be sure to ask him about later, when you weren't quite so preoccupied.
He laid you on the bed, gentle as ever, before turning on his bedside lamp.
You looked at him, puzzled, before he chuckled lightly, "I want to be able to see you, honey. Want to remember this," He explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
And maybe it was.
Simon traced his fingers along your figure, undressing you with his eyes, before moving to remove the tank-top you had been sleeping in that night.
You panicked, hands going to stop his, "Wait!"
He immediately stopped, panic and concern lacing his features.
"I-I-" You couldn't form a sentence.
You didn't want him to stop, in fact it was the last thing you wanted. But you didn't know how to explain that to him without telling him he was the first. The only. And if everything went the way you planned, the last.
"I'm sorry, y/n. I pressured you and I shouldn't have done that. We should wait, until your ready. Okay? I am so sorry. God, I always fuck everything up—"
"No! I don't want you to stop. I want nothing more for than you to keep going, I just- I'm just nervous, is all. Please don't feel sorry, baby, please." You stopped him, hating that he felt like he was doing the wrong thing.
"Nervous?" He chuckled, "Sweetheart, why are you nervous? If anyone should be nervous right now, it's me."
You let out a nervous giggle, "Yeah... well. At least you have, you know, experience in this department," You let out another chuckle, taking a nervous glance at his reaction.
You could see his thoughts on his face, his rapidly changing emotions reflected in his eyes as his hands absentmindedly traced circles on your thighs.
He was, at first, clearly puzzled. His eyebrows scrunched together, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as they squinted slightly in confusion. Then his eyes widened, his fingers halting briefly against your thighs as he realized what you meant. You were a virgin. Then something changed.
His fingers stopped tracing circles against you, instead opting to grip your thighs, not enough to bruise, but enough to make your stomach flip. You could feel his darkened eyes devouring you, dragging up and down your body. It, despite being fully clothed, made you feel naked, uncovered—like no secrets existed between the two of you.
His tongue darted out against his lips, before he brought his bottom one between his teeth.
"My baby girl is a virgin?" He teased, his voice deeper than you had ever heard it.
His hands moved up, teasing the waistband of your pajama shorts. Your thighs pressed together in response before quickly nodding.
"Oh. Well, I'm not sure I believe you. Why would such an innocent, sweet girl come over this late at night just for sex? Hm? Answer me, baby," He teased, his fingers leaving your shorts, instead moving underneath your tank-top, moving to trail the skin just under your breasts.
"I- I had a dream," You quietly mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.
Simon chuckled in response, removing his hands from your body altogether.
"A dream? Well, what exactly happened in this dream? Maybe I can make it a reality for my sweet girl?" His voice had an edge to it that you had never heard come from him before, a mix of the Simon you knew and a Simon you desperately wanted more of.
"Simon," You begged, reaching up from your spot on the bed to grab at his hands, dragging them back to the waistband of your shorts, "Please, stop teasing."
He sighed, rolling his eyes, "Fine. If you want to be desperate and needy, I'll treat you like the dirty little girl you are."
At that, Simon tugged down your sleep shorts, pulling them off your legs and throwing them on the floor somewhere behind him. His hands massaged your thighs, playing with the elastic band of your panties, before getting down onto his knees in front of the bed.
"Simon?" You started, propping yourself up on your knees to see what your boyfriend was doing better.
Simon froze, his eyes meeting yours, "Yeah, baby? Want me to stop?"
You smiled at him, falling more in love with the man than you thought possible, before giggling to yourself.
"No. Trust me, I'll tell you if I want you to stop. I just don't know what you're doing." You responded in between giggles.
Simon smiled back at you, his eyes glowing in the dim warm light of the bedside lamp. He positioned himself in between your legs, kissing the inside of one of your thighs, before hooking his fingers around the elastic band of your panties, beginning to drag them down your thighs.
"Well, sweetheart, I am, currently, taking off your pretty little panties. Then, I plan on making you feel so fucking good you scream my name, if that's alright with you?"
He smirked, knowing he was being a smart ass.
God, you loved it when he was a smart ass.
You nodded in response, trying, and failing, to clench your thighs together at the thought.
After your panties were on the floor behind Simon, adding to the pile of clothes forming there.
You couldn't drag your eyes away. Simon's fingers trailing along the skin of your thighs and tummy, just along where you needed him most. He pressed kisses along your thighs, sucking and biting, leaving small marks that would later form dark bruises to remind you of this moment. As if you would ever forget.
You were able to bite back any noises you were dying to make, only letting out a groan once his lips pressed a kiss to your clit, one of his fingers moving to circle your entrance.
His chuckle vibrated against your pussy, causing you to whimper.
"Good girl. My sweet baby purring f'me, isn't she? Sweet girl, letting me make her feel good, yeah?" He mumbled against you, subtly grinding his hips against the edge of the mattress, forcing him to groan into your folds.
One long, thick finger pushed into your entrance, forcing a moan out of you. He could reach farther than you ever had on your own. You laid back on the bed, your arms giving out and unable to hold you up any longer.
"That's my girl, let me hear you, baby. Let everyone in this damned place hear how good I make you feel," He grumbled against you, "So fucking tight f'me. Can barely fit a single finger, I dunno how I'm ever gonna be able to fit inside you, baby."
His words caused you to clench around him. The sounds of him sloppily making out with your cunt made your head feel all fuzzy, your eyes rolling back in your head.
"Simon, fuck- please," you moaned, your thighs clenching around his head, hips bucking, desperately trying to feel more.
"Tell me what you need. Use your words, baby girl, come on," Simon purred, devouring you, pressing another finger into your dripping pussy.
"Oh- Simon. I'm gonna-" you couldn't string a sentence together. All you knew was that you were close, inching closer and closer by the second.
Simon's beard scratched against your clit, his mouth making obscene noises as he slurped against your pussy, his fingers squelching as they curled inward, matching the thrusts his hips made against the mattress.
"Come for me, my girl. My dirty slut, come on my fingers. I wanna taste it when you do, baby."
The filthy words streaming from his mouth forced you over the edge, your body convulsing as you came. Simon didn't stop. His fingers thrusted harder, mouth sucking hard at your clit. You screamed his name, reaching down and pulling at his hair, unable to decide whether to shove him away or pull him closer.
You saw stars, tears beginning to drip down your face, before Simon finally slowed to a stop, shuddering against you as he, without you even knowing it, came as well, dripping cum into his boxers and soaking the front of his pajama bottoms.
He pulled his fingers from your aching pussy, rising from his position at the edge of the bed, and ran his tongue over his digits.
His mouth, and the skin and beard surrounding it, were wet, shiny with your release. Your legs were trembling, and you were still breathing heavy.
Simon crawled into the bed next to you, wiping the sweat off your brow and brushing the hair out of your face, before laying a gentle kiss to your forehead, then lips.
"You did so good, honey. You were perfect."
"Yeah?" You sighed, your eyes fluttering closed, unable to stay open.
He chuckled, before laying down and wrapping an arm around you.
"Yeah."
You were content, with the quiet, almost asleep. A calm washing over you. You were in the arms of the love of your life the person who you knew, deep down, you would be with for the rest of your life.
Before you drifted off to sleep, after the bedside lamp was switched off and the both of you had been tucked under the sheets—after Simon had gotten up and thought enough to change his pants and boxers and grab a cloth to wipe you down, all while you were half asleep, you heard him mumble something against your skin before sleep took you away.
I love you. I'd go through all of it over again just to have you, you know that?
Among The Blood - Simon could've sworn he was dead. But then, who was this? How does she know so much about Filament Station, about E.D.E.N, or about the C.O.I? And more importantly, can he trust her?
Inside These Iron Walls 1 - 2 - 3
Not A Hallucination 1 - 2 - 3
AUs and Oneshots 1 - 2 - 3 - 4
Beyond The Veil 1
Among The Earth (Concept)
Cluttered Mind
The Butcher
In Your Arms
Darkiplier
Mistreated (1 - 2) - Every year on the same day, Dark receives memories of what happened to Celine and William and everyone else he cared about in the mansion because of Actor. And every year, Y/N tries to help him out by comforting him and doing things to make him happy. This year was no different except that Dark snaps out of no where.
You Promised
Hold On
My Home, His Cage
Profess, Sir 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7
The Nanny
Take A Break
Story warnings/triggers (may or may not be in this first chapter): sexism, 'racism', prejudice, body horror, torture, experimentation on humans, murder, blood, bones, descriptions of mutilation, eye horror, needles
Please let me know if there are any triggers I missed, this list will be updated as the fic continues
This story will be mostly gender neutral with a few exceptions, chapters that require very gendered language/descriptions will be marked as (fem)reader
Word count: 1458
Summary: Most of the COI believed that the Edenites were nothing but killers and religious fanatics. But when a hard headed Sergeant is tasked with watching The Butcher of Eden, who could predict how they'd end?
"How old is he? Any injuries from his capture," they ask in a monotone voice as they walked through the halls of the COI holding cells. They fixed their shirt, flattening it against their stomach and tried to ignore the whistling the movement earned them.
"Damn dogs," they growled under their breath.
"Not sure what exactly his age is but he should be roughly in his later twenties. No visible injuries besides a busted lip. Can't say the same for our soldiers," a man responds, flipping through what little information he had on the new face.
"Where was he caught?"
"Filimant Station. He was the only Bastard of Eden we could find alive. The other cowards died in the reactor explosion."
They couldn't help but flinch at that phrase. Bastards of Eden. It was like a cult, or more likely it absolutely was one, and had all the children call each other Brother. Their leader was called Father and he was the only one who could marry and have children.
That was all the COI knew about them so far.
That was all the Sons of Eden would share, even with torture.
In a way it was admirable, they were so close and cared so much about each other that they refused to give out any information on each other. Then again it could just be how they were trained.
They found themselves in front of a lone, solid door. Towards the top center of the door was a small sliding blind. Pulling it open they saw a man kneeling on his knees, arms tied behind his back and head low, his hair covering his face. He was bloodied and bruised. Some of it came from his own injuries, but the amount of blood said that he had taken a few people out before the COI brought him in.
"Name," they question, directing the question to their cadet who stood behind them nervously. Something was different about this convict, he wasn't just an Edenite.
"He's called The Butcher, that's all we know about him."
They paused and turned back to the cadet who was fumbling and shuffling through the few papers he had. Poor boy was flustered and was bad at hiding it.
"Cadet, at ease," they say softly, moving and putting a gentle hand on his shoulders. He paused and took a breath before searching through the files he had, lifting up a headshot of the convict inside.
He had a smaller forehead with thinner but dense eye brows. He had small, mono-lid eyes, a wider nose with a higher ridge. He had thin lips and the beginnings of a beard and mustache that didn't quite connect.
If he was a part of the COI, he would be handsome and wouldn't be in the cold dark cell all by himself.
"He killed five of our guys are once. He seems to know a lot about people's weak points. Fitting for a Butcher."
They rolled their eyes, at the nickname before turning to look at the man. He hadn't moved. It was hard to see him breathing but the slight movement of his hair gave away his ragged breathing.
"What's the extent of his injuries?"
The cadet paused and looked up at his higher up. Most of the COI guards didn't care about this convict. They actively despised the man.
"Um..he doesn't have any broken bones," they say in a questioning tone, unsure what exactly they were asking for. The doctors felt over the man and didn't feel any breaks in bones. They just didn't do an x-ray, they couldn't spend that limited radiation on some murderer.
They hummed in response then turned back to the cadet and crossed their arms over their chest, lost in thought for a time.
The cadet knew this side of their sergeant. They often got lost in their thought and went silent. So he simply moved to stand on the other side of the door and planted his feet, shoulders square and back straight. What ever the sergeant was planning should be fine.
_______
"Sergeant are you sure about this," the cadet asks in a hushed tone, shuffling the supplies in his arms. A suture kit, gauze, and tape. The doctors hadn't patched up the convict, would it be ok for them to do it?
"At ease cadet, it will only be me entering the room," they respond as they searched through the keys on the key holder. All of the keys were at some level of reflective except one. It was rusted and dull with chips in the head of the key.
They couldn't help but roll their eyes as they pushed the key into the lock, giving it a twist and took a half step inside the cell. They turned their upper half and grabbed the supplies from the cadet's arms. They pulled it close to their core and smiled at the cadet.
They walked into the room, leaving the door open about a quarter of the way, letting the hall light into the room and onto the convict. He still hadn't moved.
With a concerned expression, they put down the supplies on the floor, between their and the convict's knees. They gently moved his hair out of his face and looked over him. A cut on his nose and eyebrow. A busted lip and a deep stab wound near his collar bone. There was more injuries but the sooner they cleaned the small ones the sooner they can work on the more intense ones.
They grabbed a piece of gauze and poured some isopropyl alcohol onto it then lifted it to the man's face. They watched in concern as the man failed to respond. Did they knock him out with blunt force? Did they check if he had a concussion?
As they worked on cleaning the wounds, they could hear the cadet shuffle around on his feet. He normally was perfectly still so they knew they had to work quickly.
They carefully thread the thick needle, moving to the mans right side and prepared to stitch the large gash that ran from his shoulder down to the crook of his elbow.
They pushed the sharp metal into the man's skin and the few severed muscles, then pushed the needle out the other side. They turned a bit to search for the forceps, which they hadn't thought of until now when suddenly they saw movement in the left corner of their eyes.
Time moved slowly.
They were in danger.
They turned their body, pulling out a small surgical knife from the supplies. They raised their arm in a stabbing motion, fear taking control, as they gripped the thin handle tightly in their hand. They could suddenly reach the convict's neck and chest, if they stabbed in the right spot it'd be over quickly.
They weren't fast enough.
They tried to suck in a breath but soon found the convicts right leg had wrapped around their throat and arm, essentially wrapping their own arm around their throat. They instinctively dropped the knife as they tried to claw at the man's leg.
They couldn't help but cough once their chest hit the ground. They choked as they continued clawing at the mans leg, trying to dig their nails deep into his skin to get him to let go.
They felt a knee on their back, heavy and right on their spine. They let out a choked growl before moving their free hand to the floor, reaching and searching for the surgical knife, unintentionally knocking it out of their reach.
Their vision was getting blurry and dim, if they didn't act fast they'd suffocate.
They tried calling out to the cadet, tried to shout that they were in danger but no sound left their throat. A weak rasping was all that could be heard.
Their hand moved back to the convict's leg, weakly trying to pry it off somehow. They let out a weak whimper as their hand slowed and stopped digging into the mans calf. Their vision was a small dot.
Then it was gone.
Then there was a grunt and a thud and the pressure around their throat was gone.
The young sergeant gasped and moved their hands to their throat, coughing and choking on the air that rushed through their lungs. They could barely hear the cadet talking to them. They were pulled to stand and lean against the young man who carried them out of the room.
They stole a glance at the convict as they left, he lay on his chest, arms still cuffed behind his back and his head rest just in front of the first aid that was now abandoned.
Simon the Convict x Convict F!Reader
Prologue
Word Count: 878
Content Warning for the entire fic: eldritch horror, body horror, night terrors, violence, inhumane treatment of prisoners, cosmic beings, religious references (EDEN)
A/N: Reader has some described features but nothing that deals with original appearance. Otherwise, Reader is undescribed
Simon’s eyes snapped open when he heard the jingling of keys before the door to the cell beside his opened up, looking over and watching as the guards shoved another convict into that cell. The prisoner stumbled a bit before turning and lunging at the guards just as they shut and locked the door. Their face was concealed by a hood similar to his own but every noise they made sounded muffled, suggesting that their mouth was covered.
Your hands came up and slammed against the metal door, the cuffs binding your wrists beginning to dig into your skin and draw a bit of blood. You tried to scream out and yell at the guards to release your hands but the muffling muzzle they put on you silenced most of the sound you made. Your hand closed into a fist and punched the door hard, the following ache making you flex your fingers with a small wince before you noticed the feeling of being watched. Your head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing at the convict in the cell next to yours. Your bound hands came up and you attempted to pry the muzzle off but it was useless, and you made your frustration known by tossing your head back against the wall and huffing as you slid down to the floor. Your neighbor’s gaze remained on you for a while longer before he looked away and proceeded to stare at the ceiling of his cell, seeming to ignore your presence.
You opened your eyes and turned your head towards the door of your cell when you heard the mechanisms inside it signify that it was being unlocked. You scowled when your eyes landed on the face of the Captain, Ava, as she approached and held out her hand for your cuffs. You obliged and glared at her while she unlocked the cuffs and released your hands before tossing the key at you for the muzzle on your face. You didn’t hesitate to rip off the muzzle and threw the constricting piece of metal at the floor. “Don’t even think of trying to escape. You may have been a phantom on those other ships but not here.” Ava warned, exiting the cell. You growled, the sound animalistic and seemingly distorted. The other prisoner was looking at you again.
“What the hell are you staring at?!” you snapped, glaring at the man. He simply stared at you for another few seconds before looking away and rolling over on his cot to face away from you. “That’s what I thought.” you muttered, rolling your eyes before going over to your own cot and sitting as tucked away into the corner as you possibly could.
It was late into the Quiet Hours when you heard shuffling in the cell beside yours. “You’re not from E.D.E.N.” The voice said. You tried to ignore him but he continued. “How’d you end up here?” You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath, giving away that you weren’t asleep. “You got a name or am I stuck calling you 273?” You sat up quickly and shot him a glare through the bars, a low, trilling sound coming from your throat before you cleared it.
“You always this nosy?” You snipped, glaring at the man from under your hood. The other shrugged, unbothered before looking at you, seemingly waiting for a response to any of his questions. You sighed in annoyance, leaning back against the wall. “No, I’m not from E.D.E.N.” You crossed your arms and continued glaring at the other convict. He leaned back against the wall behind him, facing you. “I came from the Mars Colony that separated itself from EDEN and the COI.” You added, watching the surprise bloom on his face. “Don’t act so surprised. It’s not new information that there were others besides these two shitholes.” You shook your head and looked towards the door of your cell, letting the silence settle in the air again while leaning your head against the wall.
“What was it like?” He asked. You sat for a moment, thinking back to life in the colony that you were a part of before being taken by E.D.E.N. and then by the C.O.I.
“It was nice. We were small but that left no room for conflicts because we all relied on each other for support and comfort after the Quiet Rapture. Until E.D.E.N. came along and ruined it all.” you seethed the last part, your expression contorting into a glare without you realizing it. The man in the other cell stayed silent for a while.
“I’m sorry.” You looked at him with a raised brow when he apologized, curious about why he was. He seemed to sense your confusion because he continued. “I was a part of E.D.E.N.” He clarified. “I was a child then but….look, I’m sorry that EDEN ruined your perfect little sanctuary.” His tone became bitter, making you narrow your eyes at him. You were considering accepting his apology despite it being unneeded or wanted until his tone changed with you so you remained silent and allowed the time to tick by until Lights Up.
i am now avoiding doing my actual job in favor of writing filthy things about our blorbo... i'm in deep. credit to @/uzmacchiato for the divider <3
Ship: The Convict x Mechanic!Fem!Reader
Rating: 18+ (NSFW)
Wordcount: 1.8k
Warnings: IRON LUNG SPOILERS, dom!convict x sub!reader, light bdsm, we're heavy on the consent here folks, oral (m!receiving), breathplay, hair pulling
Series: Butcher Dripping Blood
Blurb:
Whoops.
You might have made a mistake. But really, when Simon had glared at you like that, how could your mind not completely crumble under the intensity? Dark brows furrowed, lips a harsh line, pupils so blown his eyes were nearly black.
A butcher dripping blood after a fresh kill.
It made you weak in the knees. It made your head spin and your throat run dry and your hands shake. Some primal part of your mind knew you should have been afraid by what you saw. The scars on his hands didn’t just appear on their own. There was a history behind that stare drenched in scarlet.
And fuck, you wanted to see it all.
Whoops.
You might have made a mistake. But really, when Simon had glared at you like that, how could your mind not completely crumble under the intensity? Dark brows furrowed, lips a harsh line, pupils so blown his eyes were nearly black.
A butcher dripping blood after a fresh kill.
It made you weak in the knees. It made your head spin and your throat run dry and your hands shake. Some primal part of your mind knew you should have been afraid of what you saw. The scars on his hands didn’t just appear on their own. There was a history behind that stare drenched in scarlet.
And fuck, you wanted to see it all.
Enlarged pupils covering the rest of their eyes in a shroud, Simon’s gaze trailed across the planes of your face. A slight furrow to his expression indicated he was deep in thought. Other than that subtle, thoughtful look, it was near impossible to read him. His movements were languid. Unhurried. Thumb stroking along your bottom lip like the flesh was the finest velvet.
“Si…” you breathed. The noise snapped his attention to yours from its lazy path down your neck. He took a steady inhale and straightened his posture. God, he was almost menacing in this light. The glowing sconce above the sink was entirely eclipsed by Simon’s head, casting his face in deep shadow.
Another beat passed as you stared into his eyes. The edges seemed to harden, like he’d made a decision you weren’t aware of. His thumb fell from your lip as his hand settled like a scarf around your throat.
Simon’s voice took on a tone he only ever used when settled into a position of power. When he oversaw maintenance in the garden, when someone got in his path while he was carrying something heavy, when he needed assistance with marking and labeling the various maps he’d created.
“On. Your. Knees,” he said, voice even and naturally commanding.
Your legs immediately buckled.
Thud.
You landed on the floor in front of Simon, face parallel with his groin. He kept his hand around the base of your neck. A reminder, a warning, that he was in control now. And fuck, if the thought of that didn’t send heat between your legs.
“If we do this, like this, there need to be rules,” he started with that same, balanced tone. You looked up at him from your place at his feet. Simon took in a sharp breath before continuing, “One. The second you’re uncomfortable, say ‘stop’ and we stop. Got it?”
You nodded. The hand around on your collarbone hooked under your chin and pulled, straining the back of your neck. Simon loomed over you to make sure your eyes met his.
“Words. Now. Got it?”
“Yes-yes, I get it,” you wheezed. The pressure on your jaw lessened as he shifted to cupping the side of your face.
“Good girl,” he purred, tone slipping into its lower register. Your legs clenched around nothing. Simon straightened his back again and said, “Two. If you try to quiet those noises you make, you’ll be punished. Got it?”
“Got it,” you answered shakily. He resumed the stroke of his thumb along the heated skin of your cheek. A low hum rumbled deep in his chest.
“Good. Last one. If I ask ‘who do you belong to,’ what do you say?”
You swallowed a lump that’d gathered in the back of your throat, “You. I-I say you.”
He let a ghost of a smirk cross his lips. Everything about him in this moment radiated dominance. The spread of his legs, the shadows swirling behind his eyes, the touch of his fingers on your cheek, the thunder brewing in his abdomen. You weren’t a pious person. You weren’t raised believing in a God or salvation or heaven. You had no idea if some great deity controlled the fate of humanity, or if there was a plan for the fucked up state of the universe.
Looking up in this moment made you a believer that there was a higher power. A very benevolent power. And whatever it was had a veritable feast towering over you.
The clinking of his belt and the absence of the hand at your cheek drew your attention to what was now at eye-level. Canvas pants wrinkling around his thighs, the material whispering against itself with every movement. One prosthetic hand and one human hand struggled to open the fly. You couldn’t help the saliva pooling in your mouth at the sight of his cock tenting the fabric.
“One more time.” The button came loose. “If you need to stop.” The zipper was undone. “We stop. I don’t care about how good it is. For either of us.” The waistband of his boxers slid down beneath his touch. “You say the word and we’re done.”
Before you could answer, his half-erect cock graced you with its presence. Veins trailed up the hard line from the base. Threads of a tapestry weaving their way under his skin. The scent of earth and salt stroked along the sides of your mind. Mouthwatering. It filled you with this hunger that was almost foreign to you. You’d gone down on Simon before, but never like this. Those moments were serene, gentle, a time for worshipping the silken skin between his thighs. Quiet whines would slip between his lips as you would soak idolatry into his flesh.
“What’s the word that ends this?”
“Stop.”
“Do you want to say it now?”
You took in a shaky inhale, “No.”
“Good girl.”
He gripped the base of his cock, crisp hair hidden behind his fist, yet didn’t push forward. An expectant look peered down at where you were memorizing every centimeter of his skin.
“Go ahead. Nice and slow,” Simon uttered. His prosthetic hand slipped into your hair and fisted the strands. No pressure against you. It was more so there for stability than to force you. Despite the waves of arousal spilling from his pores and making him pant, he let you proceed at your own pace.
You rested your palms along the canvas fabric covering his thighs. Hands motionless, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to the underside of his shaft. A shudder rolled up his spine. Another kiss, this one just beneath the tip, and he let out a quiet “fuck” under his breath.
The rasp of your tongue along his cock made a groan rattle in his chest. You licked a stripe from the base to the tip, taking your time, making sure he felt every tastebud drag against his skin. Breaths fell from his lips in quick bursts. You kept your eyes locked with his as you took the head into your mouth, cradling it in the swell of your tongue. That earthy and salty smell broke its way to the forefront of your mind as the taste coated your throat.
“God-fuck,” Simon gasped, thighs shaking the longer he kept still. The hand on his cock released its grip and collided with the wall behind you for stability. You hummed, the vibration making a choked whine ricochet from him.
You set an almost agonizingly slow pace. Sliding his cock further into your mouth, opening your throat to let the tip bump the back, then sucking your way back to the head. It took almost a full thirty seconds for each pass. The way you could feel him harden against your tongue was hypnotizing. Even on your knees, even with Simon being the one in control, you were the one pushing the two of you along the path of sin.
Simon tightened the grip in your hair to draw you to a pause at the base of his cock. You breathed through your nose, breath stirring the crisp hair on his abdomen.
“Doin-Doing good?” he asked, chest heaving. You hummed your affirmation as you minutely nodded your head. Simon grunted at your response, “Ah, okay. Good. I’m gonna go faster now. Alright?”
Another hum, another flare of his nostrils, and the hand tangled in your hair started to move. You were directed up and down that hard, heavy line of him like the obedient pet you were. It was slow, at first, as both of you grew acclimated to the new pace. Heat pooled between your legs from being used like this. Nothing more than a vehicle for Simon to reach his orgasm. The thought made you clench your thighs together, seeking any fraction of friction.
He let out a huff of a laugh, “You like this, don’t you? Being-fuck-being used?”
It was hard to nod in your current position but you did your best. A flurry of curses spilled from between his clenched teeth. His hand tugged at the roots of your hair, guiding you on his cock faster, your nose brushing his stomach with every pass.
He started to meet your motions with the thrust of his hips. His belt clinked against your cheek, tip of his cock knocking into the back of your throat every other second. You were so lost in the sensations you’d abandoned breathing. The burn between your legs echoed the ache in your lungs.
Maybe if you just…
One of your hands slid down the canvas material coating Simon’s thigh. He didn’t notice, too far gone within the pleasure your mouth provided. The near brutal pace kept up as you slipped your hand under the waistband of your own pants. Already, the fabric clinging to you was soaked. Fiery heat greeted your fingertips the further south you traveled.
Just a touch. Just a little bit to relieve the pressure building in your core.
A surprised grunt blew through your nose as Simon pulled your forehead flush with his stomach. He was panting, sweat clinging to his skin like glass beads. The hand he’d kept braced on the wall met its twin within the growing birdnest of your hair.
His chest rumbled, “Don’t you fucking dare. That cunt belongs to me tonight. You get nothing unless I give it to you. Understood?”
Fuck.
Your hand quickly returned to its place on his thigh as the embers in your chest were stoked into a bonfire. Quick breaths heaved through your nose like a bellows. He hummed, his warm hand releasing your hair and stroking your cheek.
“Mm, good girl,” he said in a low murmur, “Why don’t I just keep you like this for a bit? You’re a lot less mouthy with a cock down your throat.”
God. Fuck. How were you supposed to not touch yourself when he started talking like that? Especially when he’d only ever been gentle and loving with you until this moment. A weak moan buzzed inside your sore throat. Simon smirked at your response.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, voice gravelly.
This man was going to fucking kill you.
a more brief bit since i've been struggling with writing this fic. simon's just so squishy he barely cooperates when i tell him to be mean
A Job That Slowly Kills You (Bruises That Won't Heal)
Divider Credits: @pixopix
Simon x Fem!Reader
Chapter 1 / 2
Word Count: 4.8k
Summary: Two death-row inmates are sent on a mission at the bottom of an ocean of blood to earn their freedom. When they lose contact with the surface, tensions rise and hope dwindles. They soon realize they were never meant to make it out alive, but they will get their freedom... right?
Warnings: Based on the movie Iron Lung (2026), OOC(?) Simon (is it misogyny or does he just hate people?), scars, cursing, no smut (yet...), you watched the movie (blood, claustrophobia, etc. etc.), woman trapped in a tin can with a strange man, can you tell I don't know what to write for warnings?
Author's Note: This is a Multi-POV fic. The different dividers mean different things!!
This one means a change in POV (either you or simon):
While these mean that there is a bit of a time skip (because I don't think you want 15-30 minutes of filler writing, feel free to correct me tho lol):
Ok! Have fun reading!
The echoing of the heavy chains that weighed on his limbs were his only sensation besides rough hands guiding him as he walked down the corridor. Rough fabric of a makeshift blindfold caressed his eyelids, blocking out any light he might use to guide his path. He couldn't say where he was going, not for certain.
Deep down, however, he knew it was time.
He had been given an "opportunity", a way for him to earn back the freedom that had been ripped away from him all those years ago. To travel down into the ocean of blood, to find something, and make it back in one piece.
How hard could it be?
He almost laughed, but thought better of it. Nothing's easy. Not anymore.
There had been talk that someone else had taken the deal, mutterings through vents and under doorways, inmates drooling for something as trivial as gossip. He couldn't trust they were right. Hell, he couldn't trust they were real. It wouldn't be the first time he heard something that wasn't there.
If there was another person, he hadn't seen 'em.
The grip on his arms let go, causing him to stumble forward slightly. Bright light blinded him as his blindfold was ripped from his head, his eyes squinting in return. He blinked a few times, his vision coming into focus. A figure stood before him.
"Hello, Convict," The woman in front of him greeted, "I assume you know why we've brought you here?"
He nodded his head before answering, "The... opportunity, right?"
His voice cracked, years of non-use evident in his speech. You don't get much opportunity for discussion here. Not unless you are comfortable talking to yourself.
The woman sighed, short with her reply, "Yeah. Right."
She turned to what Simon made out to be a small, haphazardly put together submersible, and motioned for the welders to stop their work, the bright, flying sparks halting almost immediately.
"Alright, Convict, we're going to take these off," She motioned to his shackles, "I trust you aren't going to take off on us, yeah?"
Simon nodded, hope blooming in his chest for the first time in what felt like forever as two men unlocked his chains. Before explaining any further, the men escorted him into the partially-finished tin-can-esque submarine, telling him to sit in one of the two chairs inside. One of which sat in front of a navigation panel, the other on the back wall of the sub.
To say it was small would be an understatement. He could touch both walls at the same time without trying. It wasn't very long, either. His stomach was already cramping at the thought of staying in there long, his head swimming at the thought of going under in this thing.
It was already stiflingly hot, probably from the constant construction going on near the sub, and sweat began to drip from his hairline to his brows.
And there was still a metal panel missing from the side. The panel they were going to weld him inside with.
The thought made him woozy, and he rushed to sit, plopping down into the seat nearest the navigation panel.
The woman stood just outside the opening, and began to speak again, her tone more bored now than anything.
"You and the other convict, who should be here any minute, will stay in the SM-13 until we get what we need from you. If either of you don't make it back up in one piece, the deal is off. Understood?"
Simon understood. No killing each other until you're back up with what they need.
Got it.
"Who's the other guy?" Simon asked, dreading the answer.
He began to hear the rustle of chains coming from outside the sub.
"Speak of the devil," The woman said before leaving Simon to go and greet his new co-pilot in the submarine of hell.
After a few anxiety-inducing moments, the heavy thud of boots against metal began to move closer.
He braced himself, waiting to see who he would be trapped in this stuffy metal box with for- well, he actually didn't know for how long.
Just another thing to stress about.
To Simon's surprise, a woman walked in.
You wore similar clothing to him, rips adorning the cloth of your worn, gray sweater. Dirt crusted the outside of your pants and what looked like blood was smeared on the front of your sweater. You had dark circles under your eyes, probably from lack of sleep.
Sleep didn't come easy, here.
You didn't even spare a glance at him as you made your way to the other seat, your eyes glued to the floor as you sat, rigid.
He could see what looked like a scar of sorts on your neck, continuing under your shirt, but couldn't tell how big or what it could be from. Not that he was judging, of course. He had more scars that he could count, especially after being in this Hell.
How could they put a woman on death row? What could you have done to land yourself there?
Plus, seemed like a waste to have a young woman on death row when all of humanity might go extinct.
His mouth turned up into a smile, directed at you. He didn't know why, he didn't smile. Never had much to smile about.
You didn't smile back.
He tore his eyes away from you and your brooding, instead focusing on the woman who had put you both there, who had given you this opportunity to win back your freedom.
"Alright you two, we're gonna weld you in now? If you have second thoughts, now is the time to back out," The woman's voice echoed off the metal walls of the submarine, causing fear to course through Simon's veins.
A pit formed in his stomach. His gut told him to run, to get the hell out of there before he was trapped, forever. His gut had never steered him wrong before.
At least, not in a while.
But this was his last chance, his only chance, to get out of this prison. To get his freedom.
He swallowed down his fear, steadying his breathing, and looked at where his hands clenched together in his lap.
He had to do this. He had to.
I will get my freedom.
Your breathing quickened as sparks flew outside the small porthole window of the submersible and the last piece of metal was welded onto the SM-13 shut, trapping you in with him. Your hands shook, and you shoved them into your pockets, shooting a glance at the man across the sub.
You knew who he was, everyone did. He was the Butcher. The amount of people he has killed? Too many to count. You had done your fair share of evil, according to everyone else. But was it truly evil to do what it took to survive? Not in your book.
You had been stuck, trapped in a prison for trying to survive on your own, for years. You were done. You would do whatever it took to have your freedom. To escape from Hell.
So here you are. Freedom just on the horizon.
And you were still trapped. And this time? With a completely different beast than the one in your own mind.
You looked around the submarine for the first time since you walked in. It was smaller than you would have liked. Stuffy. Hot. You were already claustrophobic and you hadn't even been lowered down yet.
You noticed there wasn't a door, either. Which meant that you would need to be cut out when you returned. Not exactly a thought that helped your claustrophobia...
You took another look at the man. He didn't look very intimidating, almost... soft? Not like a man who could be labelled a Butcher. His hair was long, hanging down in his face despite the bandana he wore as he stared down at his hands. You could tell he used to be handsome... maybe still was, underneath the grime, grease, and desperation.
The submarine jolted, clanging as machinery began to lower it into the depths. The radio above, near the front of the sub, buzzed, coming alive.
"Alright convicts, you have one job. We are going to send you to a certain depth, and you are going to use a camera on the outside of the sub to take pictures through the blood. We have given you coordinates. There are a few safety features I'm going to run by you really quickly," A gravelly voice spoke through the static.
You glanced, yet again, at the man across from you. He was staring at the radio as the voice on the other end explained various safety mechanics, gripping the seat he was in.
He didn't say anything, but you could tell he was just as nervous as you.
Both of your futures, your freedom, were riding on this.
He glanced at you, determination in his dark brown eyes.
Neither of you could risk fucking this up.
It took ten minutes, fifteen tops, to make your way to the depth required. Neither of you had spoken yet, and the tension in the small sub was overwhelming.
He kept glancing at you before looking back down at the coordinates and manuals he had pulled out during the descent. You didn't know if he knew what he was doing, but you certainly weren't going to ask.
You were, however, going to ask for whatever manual worked the camera. You were pretty sure that's what the button on the wall behind your chair did, but didn't want to press it without knowing for sure.
No risks.
"Excuse me?" You started, voice quiet and slightly scratchy, "Do any of those manuals say what this button does?"
Your breath caught in your throat as his eyes met yours for the first time. His eyes were dark, reminiscent of a night sky, at least from what you remember one looking like. He looked slightly annoyed, as though your presence alone bothered him.
However his voice was cautious, overly gentle, as though he didn't want to scare you or seem too intimidating.
You thought it came across as a bit... condescending.
"Yeah. The button is hooked up to a camera at the front of the ship, like they said. Press the button, camera takes a photo," He spun in his chair, turning back around to stare at the coordinates, pushing a lever and turning a dial every so often.
You paused for a moment, curious, then pressed the button. A flash of white light enveloped your vision before dimming, a quickly fading black and white photo lighting up on the wall next to you. Not much to see.
"What the fuck was that?" The other convict asked, loudly, startled as he got up to come see what was going on.
You stammered over your words, backing up as much as you could in your chair as he towered over you, "I took a photo. I- I was curious as to what would happen. You told me it was for the camera."
"Yeah? Well next time tell me before you go flashing bright lights in the tiny ass ship I'm driving! Scared the shit outta me with that thing," The convict's voice raised in volume, frustration echoing in his words.
You weren't going to say anything. You really weren't. The last thing you needed was to get on his bad side, especially down here where no one could hear you scream, where nobody could save you.
But then he muttered something under his breath, something that sounded an awful lot like "fucking bitch", before he went and sat back down.
"What did you just call me?" Your voice echoed in the small submarine, reverberating off the walls, and you stood up, trying to seem intimidating.
You may be scared of him, but you sure as hell weren't going to let him see it.
He spun around in his seat, "I didn't say anything. Just focus on your little button, alright princess?"
He rolled his eyes, turning back to the coordinates as though the conversation were over.
You scoffed. This wasn't the first time you had been disrespected since being arrested and imprisoned. People knew what you did, the people you hurt, how you hurt them, and still said shit about how easy you had it. People like him, who thought they had it harder for whatever fucking reason, who judged you just for the sole reason that you were a woman.
Well you were fucking sick of it.
"Stand up," You demanded, "Stand the fuck up so I can take your difficult job of sitting there and moving a damn lever!"
The soft, almost cautious man you saw previously was gone. His eyes projected deep-rooted anger, his mouth curling into a snarl. It was a look you were sure many of his victims saw right before the end.
You stood your ground, although slightly less confident than before. You had forgotten, for just a moment, who you were trapped down here with. This wasn't just any convict. This was the convict. The one who was responsible for wiping out the entirety of Filament Station, along with dozens more. A damn cultist, at that.
He closed his eyes, breathing deep, before standing up, jaw clenched.
He began to walk towards the soft green glow of the button, "Fine. See how easy it is when you can't see where the hell you're going and your driving though walls of rock."
You huffed, sitting down in your new spot.
Turns out, navigating with coordinates is harder than you thought. Not that you would ever let him know that. You got the hang of it quickly, but trying to make heads or tails of the stupid manuals just wasn't working out. You had almost called out to the brooding man behind you, but thought better of it.
Before long, despite not really understanding how half of the navigation worked, you trudged your way to one of the location on the map.
"We made it to one of the coordinates, so you can take a picture if you want," your voice quiet, barely so much as glancing at him.
He couldn't blame you. He wouldn't want to look at him either. He really shouldn't have been so harsh. He definitely shouldn't have called you a bitch.
His mother would be so disappointed.
He was startled by the thought. He hadn't thought of her, of Mom, in a long, long time. Not since his death sentence. He didn't know where it had come from, as though an outside force shoved the thought into his head.
He shook it off, licking his dry, cracked lips and pressing the button next to him, lighting up the space around him.
He squinted at the resulting photograph. Nothing too spectacular, just what looks like some sort of rocks, jagged and sharp at the points. One photo down, at least.
He sighed, squirming in the stiff seat. Sweat began to bead at his brows, the bandana he wore doing nothing to combat the immense heat of the submarine. He felt completely too warm in his multiple layers, but didn't think he could stomach taking them off in front of someone else, especially you.
His face warmed, not from the heat- well, not just from the heat- but from the thought of undressing in front of you. The thought of you watching him shed his layers, of letting his guard down. The thought that maybe you someone might want to see him that way.
He coughed, "Alright. Picture taken. Let's keep moving, get out of here sooner rather than later."
You sighed, forcefully pushing forward on the lever, the sub jolting in response.
"Just let me know if anything cool comes up in the pictures, alright?" You asked, your voice barely registering in his racing mind.
He grunted in response. He just wanted to get the hell out of here. Every photograph taken was one step closer to freedom. He would be able to live, not just survive. As you both inched closer and closer to the next coordinate, hope began to swell inside him yet again.
He might actually make it out of this.
Neither of you had spoken, and he certainly wasn't going to start another argument that clearly wasn't going to get anyone anywhere. And the radio hadn't come back on yet. The only sounds came from the occasional beeping from the navigation and the metal creaking and groaning due to the immense pressure the sub was under.
But other than that, and the stifling heat, everything was going well.
You had navigated to a few different coordinates, the corresponding pictures being a bit boring looking, to say the least. Mainly rock formations. Nothing too interesting. But he was just happy everything was going smooth.
Until it wasn't.
"Are you sure there isn't anything there?" You spoke, the frustration and annoyance in your voice causing him to grind his teeth.
"Yes. For the third fucking time there isn't anything there. Are you looking in the right direction?" He responded, slamming down on the button again, hoping for some sort of change in the results.
He knew he was coming across like a dick, but you weren't exactly being sweet either.
Before either of you could say anything you were goin to regret, the radio crackled to life, the woman's voice from the surface coming through, "Convict? Is --- alright?" The voice went in and out, Simon could barely understand what she was saying.
"Yeah, well, I mean, no. We're okay but there isn't anything down here! We are at the coordinates but nothing is there," Simon spoke, his frustration rising.
"Are you sure? Convicts are you sure nothing is there?" The radio crackled.
He sighed, annoyed, "Yes. I am staring at a whole lot of nothing right now."
The voice on the radio told the two convicts to try going forwards some more, after some trial and error with the radio. It wasn't the same as a regular ocean down there, there was no ocean floor, just bubbles of blood keeping them afloat. Things moved all the time, apparently.
Just our luck.
Simon grumbled to himself, glaring at the dimming picture of nothingness before turning to look back at you.
You gripped your hand around the lever once more, gliding it forward, and for a moment, just a moment, his frustration and rage lessened.
He admired you, the way your hair fell over your face as your head tilted down, your eyes squinting in intense concentration as you watched the controls. Your hands were gentle, your fingers wrapping around the lever with a softness that he had longed for every day for the past decade, maybe longer.
His face flushed as he forced himself to look away, swallowing hard.
"Alright try and press the button now? I can turn the sub if I need to," You voice soft, your piercing eyes meeting his.
He nodded, unable to speak, and pressed the button, softer this time. The light flashed. As his eyes adjusted to the light yet again, this time the photo was not empty. Outside of the ship lay a skeleton. He couldn't quite tell of what, but it was definitely bones.
"There's- there's a skeleton? Do things live down here?" He asked.
You jumped up and ran over to Simon, your hand resting on his shoulder absentmindedly as you leaned over to look at the photograph. Confusion and excitement showed on your face, your lips turning up into a small smile.
Simon smiled, gentle, warmed at your soft beauty and gentle touch. God, how he missed someone touching him like that.
"Convict? Did you say a skeleton? Are you sure?" The voice on the radio yelled, multiple people talking in the background, snapping him out of his trance.
"Yeah-Yeah, I know what a skeleton looks like. How stupid do you think I am?" He half-joked, barely able to look away from your soft smile to press the button again, lighting up the small space yet again, the skeleton still there in all it's glory.
"We're bringing you back up, sit tight," The voice broke through the static.
Both convicts looked at one another, smiles breaking out on their faces, before you rushed to sit in your seat, bracing for the jolt you both knew was to come.
They were getting out of there.
They were getting their freedom, once and for all.
"I'm sorry, for earlier. I just-" Simon started, before being cut off.
"I know. Me too. For what it's worth, I'm glad I've made this trip with you, instead of someone else who would've treated me far worse," You spoke, your glowing smile wide and eyes caring.
He smiled back, larger than he'd smiled in decades, even though his heart shattered at the thought. He hadn't even though about how scared you must have been, seeing him of all people. How nerve wracking it must have been knowing you were going to be trapped, under an ocean of blood, with a man known for his heinous crimes. He didn't think, before, at all about how you must have felt.
Him calling you names and snapping at you were the least of your worries.
Before he could continue spiraling into shame, the sub jolted.
But this time, it was different. Instead of moving up, the sub slid sideways, the two convicts almost being thrown from their chairs with the force of it. They shared a wary look before you spoke up.
"Hey, did you guys just move us? I think something's wrong," your voice wavered slightly, concern creasing your brows.
The radio droned on, crackling every so often, before the voice finally broke through, "What --- mean? Are you --- okay? Convicts? Is the --- okay?"
Words broke apart, static overwhelming the radio frequency for a moment before, finally, words came in clear.
"Convicts, answer me! Is the hull damaged? Are there any leaks?"
"No. No damage that I can tell, but something hit the side. Something big. Bring us up, now," Simon demanded, wanting more than anything to be out of there.
Seeing how terrified you were set his nerves on edge, his fear bumping up a notch.
So close to freedom, yet still so far away.
Static hissed, then the radio went dead.
The submarine was moving, this time upwards, far quicker than the descent. Metal creaked and groaned, and a small leak dripping blood onto Simon's hand, which he quickly wiped off onto his pants.
It was so fucking hot, clear, yet somewhat milky liquid dripped down the walls and off the pipes on the ceiling.
Condensation. It's just condensation.
As they got closer to the surface, the sounds of metal quieted, and the porthole covering slid back down, revealing the viscous red fluid outside the submarine walls.
Simon didn't like thinking about the thick, dark blood.
He didn't like thinking about it surrounding them, covering them whole, with no escape.
So he didn't, he blocked it out. Instead, he focused on you sitting in front of him, taking note of things he missed before. Your nails were chewed down about as far as they could get, yet your hands looked soft. Somewhat well cared for, despite everything. Your lip trembled whenever one of the pipes in the sub would clang a bit too loudly, and you would bite down on it to keep it still.
Your eyes were the part he liked best. They, despite everything you must have gone through, looked so full of life. Full of compassion and warmth. Full of strength and energy. Like if he stared into them too long he'd never want to look away.
You had more scars than he originally saw. They were lighter, the ones on your face, and more subtle. Some looked deeper than others, but they all circled one of your eyes, the left one.
Every time he looked at you he found something else he admired. He found things he wanted to ask about, a life he wanted to know. One he, although he would never truly admit it, to himself or otherwise, wanted to be a part of.
He knew he would never meet anybody else who had shared this experience with him, who had dove into the deep and lived to tell about it. He knew that was the only reason he cared, the only reason he craved your warmth, your touch. It couldn't be that he craved someone gentle, someone compassionate. Someone who's hands didn't hurt, but instead held with love, with care.
He had only known you for an hour, maybe two, but he felt as if he'd known you a lifetime.
And he didn't even know your name.
They jerked again, almost being thrown to the floor yet again. The blood on the porthole window was wiped away.
"Welcome home, convicts," The woman outside the sub spoke.
Simon rushed to the porthole, leaning past you to put his face closer to the glass.
"We can get out of here now, right? Take the photos then I'm free, that was the deal," Simon practically pleaded, hope in his voice.
"Let us look at the pictures, then we'll talk," The woman spoke, walking away, back towards a set of computers.
Blood dripped back over the porthole, and before long, it was covered yet again.
The lights shut off inside the SM-13, and the two convicts were plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the green glowing button for the camera.
Simon groaned, his fist hitting the wall before he could think twice about it. A gasp sounded from beside him, followed by the rustling sound of fabric.
Fuck.
"Sorry, damn it. That wasn't directed at you," He muttered.
You didn't respond.
It seemed like whatever choice he made, it was the wrong one.
The porthole was wiped clean again.
"That's definitely a skeleton. You both did great, and we thank you for the work you have done..." She trailed off.
Simon could sense a "but" coming. The hope he had built up, the future he made for himself, was slowly slipping away, drifting off into the depths of the ocean.
"You aren't sending us back down there. You aren't sending me back down there. No, no fucking way!" Simon yelled.
He couldn't do it again. Send you, send her, send anyone fucking else. Not him. Not again.
He can't do this again.
"I'm sorry, convicts, but we are going to need a sample of that skeleton. It would take far too long and take far too many resources to take you out and put somebody else back in. The SM-13 is welded shut, remember? One more time, that's it."
"I don't have a say in this, do I?" Simon asked, voice shaking slightly as he held back tears.
"No. No, you don't," She responded.
Sparks began to fly outside the glass.
You quietly whispered to him, your voice barely audible over the work outside the sub, "What are they doing out there?"
"I don't know," Simon responded, anger fueling him as he rushed back towards the glowing button.
His hand was slamming down on the button before anyone could tell him to stop, before anyone could warn him.
He just wanted to see what was going on outside.
He didn't mean for it to happen.
He didn't mean for anyone to get hurt.
Not the first time he's had to say that.
Screams let out and a blinding light enveloped the submarine, blinding him for a moment. The woman outside was banging on the side of the submarine, screaming at him. You were yelling and rubbing your eyes, asking what had happened. Asking what he had done.
Simon couldn't stop staring at the screen, at the photo of three human skeletons positioned at the front of the sub.
Guilt rushed in, like it always did after he did something stupid without thinking. He ran to the porthole glass.
"I'm sorry, what happened? Is everyone okay?" Simon's voice shook.
"No! Everyone is not okay. You just blasted Jack and everyone else with fucking radiation you idiot! What the fuck were you thinking?"
"I- I didn't know! You think maybe you should have told me there was a fucking radiation gun attached to this thing?" He yelled back, defensive yet again.
It wasn't his fault.
It's not his fault.
He didn't mean to.
"Yeah, I'll try to remember that next time. If the tumors don't kill me first," The woman outside muttered angrily, yelling at someone to finish welding and to send them down.
A few moments later, the lights inside came back on, and the SM-13 started its descent yet again.
You continue pressing the button periodically, following Simon with your eyes as he starts to search the sub, running his hands along the seams in the wall.
From where you're standing you see a little spark from under the floor panels. “Hey, did you see that?” You point to the little hole in the floor where you saw the flash of light from.
“See what?“ he asks, confused.
”Hold on.” The two of you wait a few moments before the spark goes off again. Simon quickly moves towards it and tries to lift the panel up. “Fuck- no good. It’s screwed down.”
”Maybe we’ll find a screwdriver somewhere?” You offer.
”Oh sureee. And maybe some ice cream, and a teleporter while we’re at it-“ Simon added helpfully.
You roll your eyes, but smile. ”I could go for ice cream…haven’t had any since my last trip down to…” Down to Mars, which didn’t exist anymore. “haven’t had it in forever.” Simon graciously ignores your slip up.
”There’s gotta be something…” He resumes his search of the walls, and after a few more moments you hear him softly cheer, ”Ah-hah! a locker.” He pulls it open as you press the button one more time before stepping closer to look. At the top there’s a single bright orange life jacket.
”Oh look, a life vest for one person. How helpful.” You mumble sarcastically.
”As if that little thing could save either one of us from this deep down.” Simon rolls his eyes as he grabs the life jacket and throws it behind him.
You put a hand on his shoulder, “If we go down…you can have it.” You say holding back a smile.
He responds flatly, ”Gee, thanks…my hero,” but he mirrors your half smile. For a second you allow yourself to be grateful to have at least been stuck in this horrible mess with someone with a sense of humor. You walk back to the button to press it again, and by the time you turn back you see Simon has pulled out some sort of metal box. He places it down near the X-Ray screen, and opens it.
Inside there was an arrangement of items, including a water bottle, a small container of alcohol, a few rolls of medical tape, and some metal forceps. “We had water this whole time?” Simon scoffs in disbelief as he reaches for it and pulls it out. Your eyes lock onto something else though.
You reached into the box and grabbed the forceps, opening them, and holding them in a way your teachers in the past would have scolded you for. You look towards Simon with a grin. “See? Screwdriver.”
You actually manage to draw a laugh from him with that. “Yea sure, whatever.” He reaches out his hand but you shake your head. “Your turn on the button, I wanna try.” Simon just shrugs, opening the water bottle and heading over to the button. “Don’t chug it, I’m pretty sure that’s all the water we’ve got.”
”I wasn’t gonna-“ You just hum as you get to work unscrewing what was holding the floor panel down. You might not have known him for long, but you’ve seen how, when Simon did anything, he did not half-ass it. After a few minutes of Simon pressing the button and sipping on the water, you were able to remove all the screws and go to lift the panel. It takes some effort but you manage to get it open. Simon walks over, and you both stare into the dark abyss the opening leads into. Simon groans,“Oh, fuck that-“
You can’t help but agree with him. “Um…I‘ll go back to pressing the button…”
”Oh sure, now you wanna trade jobs.” You smile sheepishly, but you move over to the button, there was no way you were going down there. You manage to remember that the life vest had a light, so you grab it from where it had been tossed to the floor.
“Can I have the water?” You ask.
“Sure.” He hands it to you, and you take a few sips before putting a drop on the water activated light.
”Here. A flashlight. Don’t die.” You say flatly, though you really do mean it.
”It’s a crawl space, not a death trap.” He rolls his eyes.
“This whole place is a death trap.” You reply as he takes the light, and starts to descend into the dark. You stay near the button, pressing it as soon as the light of the previous photo dims. You hear shuffles and then some curses, muffled by the metal floor. “Hey, you ok?” You call out.
”Yea, I think I see the generator, I just went the wrong fucking way…” You let out a relieved laugh. He yells out a bit louder, “So glad you find my pain funny.”
”I’ll apologize as soon as the lights turn back on.” You chirp, suddenly feeling a bit more hopeful. Simon's determination was starting to rub off on you. After a few more muffled curses, and some metallic cranking noises, you hear his voice call out.
With a note of finality he goes, ”Ok...here goes nothin’.” You hold your breath, holding on to the small sliver of hope that this would work, because… because it had to. You hear a heavy thunk, followed by a loud whir as the light flickers back on. You let out an ecstatic cheer that had no place echoing around the rusty and bloody submarine walls of your shared prison, but in that moment, you couldn’t care less. When Simon crawls back out, you can see his face clearly in the light, and he’s beaming. ”Told you it’d be fine.”
You’re so incredibly relieved you instinctually reach out a hand to grab one of his, Eden had always been known for how causally affectionate everyone was. Hugging and such being common greetings between fellow brothers and sisters, but you got a bit worried you might’ve misjudged the situation when Simon didn’t immediately return the gesture. You let go, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry, I just got excited-“ You saw him finally blink from his slightly stunned expression before he shook his head.
“No- no don’t apologize. I’ve just been in that cell for so long I…” He reached out to grab your hand again, squeezing it reassuringly. You squeeze his hand back and giggle, you couldn’t help it, you were still deliriously happy about the lights coming back on. “That happy to finally see my face again huh?” You roll your eyes and release his hand to instead gesture at the ship.
“5 minutes ago I was sure we were both dead. That’d we just have to sit here til we ran out of oxygen. Now we actually have a chance. At least we can do something!” You weren’t stupid, you knew your chances of survival were still incredibly low, but at least they weren’t zero, not anymore.
Simon let out a surprised chuckle, “Damn, you must have hit your head harder than I thought.”
“Oh shut up-“ you laugh.
“Come on, now that we can see, we can patch you up.” He turns towards the first aid kit still on the ground, and sits down next to it.
“It’s like one cut- I’m fine.” But you sit down next to him anyway. You reach for the alcohol, and search the box for some gauze.
“Here, there’s barely anything actually in there.” Simon reaches for the bottle, and you hand it to him. He pulls his sleeve over his hand, and dampens his sleeve with the alcohol.
”That is not sanitary…” You grumble, face scrunching up.
”You got a better idea?” He asks. You just shut your mouth, and tilt your head up to give him better access to the cut you assumed was on your jaw. You can’t really see it yourself anyway, but you sure as hell could feel it. You wince when his sleeve touches your skin, the alcohol making it sting that much more. “Don’t be such a baby…” he chides, but when his other hand goes to stabilize your chin, his hold is gentle. You roll your eyes but bite your tongue, trying not to flinch again. It stings a bit as he cleans your wound, it must’ve been worse than you initially thought.
When he pulls his hands away and reaches for the medical tape you ask, “How bad is it?” He unrolls a piece, and then holds it up to your face, rotating it a few times before squinting in concentration.
“It’s not too deep, just kinda long…I uh…don’t know…?” He rips off a piece of the tape and tries to put it on your wound, you wince through your gritted teeth. When he lets go, the tape falls off as soon as he’s not holding it in place anymore. “Well…fuck.”
You just chuckle, “It’s fine, if it’s not bleeding I'll just try not to touch it. Your turn.” He nods in response, and lightly rubs his forearms. He pulls his sleeves up and you wince at the sight of all the scratches down his arms. “Did you get those while you were down…?“ You start feeling a sense of guilt start to tug at you.
”Nah, I’m pretty sure I had these when I woke up.” He tries to pull his sleeves up higher, but the fabric’s not stretchy enough. You look at him trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. You quickly but brush the thought away. Why would he lie? Just to save your feelings?
You quickly look away as he finishes taking off his outer harnesses, and goes to pull off his shirt. He notices and laughs. “You can watch, I don’t mind.” His tone is almost teasing, and you can’t believe you were getting flustered in such a perilous situation such as this, but you couldn’t help it. You were never a soldier talking with friends in locker rooms. You were used to closeness with others in Eden, but this? Not so much.
You stay looking away until Simon waves a hand in front of your face. “Hey, are you gonna help me or what?” He still has the ghost of a smirk on his face. “I guess I can do it myself if it makes you uncomfortable, but-.” You shake your head.
”No, no I got it.” Get over it, he’s hurt and you're acting like an idiot. You pull at your own sleeve and dampen it with alcohol before pressing it against the scratches on his arm to clean them off. Simon hisses at the contact. “Now who’s being a baby?” You tease, holding his arm in place as you clean it.
”What is that shit, acid?” He mutters through gritted teeth. You finish with the first arm and move onto the next. You don’t mean to, you swear it, but your eyes drift up to his bare chest in the harness and you have to tilt your head back down to hide your flustered expression. You quickly focus back to the task at hand.
”I’m pretty sure it’s just rubbing alcohol.” You focus on cleaning his other wounded arm and internally scold yourself for even looking.
“So…what you’re saying is we shouldn’t take shots of it when we’re done.” You laugh at his words, and glance up at him with a slightly judgemental look. “What?” he chuckles.
”We’re stuck in a submarine, in the depths of a blood ocean, and that’s what you want to use our little bit of alcohol for? Sharing like, one shot?” You shake your head, but can’t help but crack a smile. You finish cleaning off the cuts, and reach for the medical tape.
He sighs, “You're right…you can have all of it, for your nerves.” You roll your eyes as you start to gently wrap the tape around his arm.
”Gee thanks..my hero.” You return the tone he gave you earlier, and he laughs in response. “Stop moving, I'm trying to bandage you up here.” you scold him, stifling your own laugh.
He stills for the most part, but has to bite back a chuckle. There’s a moment of comfortable silence as you finish wrapping up his other arm. You look up at him to see his gaze locked on you, expression soft but serious. His voice is gravely genuine when he finally breaks the silence. “I’m glad I got stuck here with you. Not that I wish this fate on anybody…but…if I had to be stuck here alone…I-“
”I know.” Your voice is just as serious as his. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve given up to panic when the lights shut off if I was by myself.” Simon shakes his head, and rests a hand on top of yours.
”No, you- you're stronger than you think. I might not have known you for long but…I can tell.” You smile and turn your hand over to hold his. You let yourself believe his words, even if you're not sure if you truly agree. ”After…” Simon takes a shaky breath before he continues. “After all this, because there will be an after.” He squeezes your hand to emphasize his seriousness. “Would you…would you want to get dinner sometime?” Your eyes widen as you look up at him, not a hint of joking in his expression. You let out a surprised chuckle, which slowly turns into a laugh as his expression turns confused. He rolls his eyes, “I don’t know what’s so funny. You could’ve just said no-“
”No! I mean, not no. I meant- wait-“ You can’t get a straight answer out though you're laughing, you try to hold it together but you can’t. The weight of the situation hits you all at once, and this was the funniest possible thing that could’ve happened when the C.O.I. decided to send you two down here as punishment for your supposed crimes. The world was over, humanity was over, but that didn’t mean your heart didn’t skip a beat when you looked into Simon’s dark, kind, eyes.
You manage to calm your laughing fit, grabbing hold of his hand with both of yours and holding it close to your chest. “I’d love to.” You look into his eyes to let him know you're serious, and after searching yours for a moment, he softly smiles. “Maybe we could even get some ice cream?” You knew you were being silly, there was no more milk, no more cows, no more grass. But you wanted to indulge in this little fantasy as long as you could.
”Sure. Anything for you.” Simon's eyes soften. “I mean it though, you know? When we make it out, I’ll make you plastic flowers and everything.” You squeeze his hand tighter, holding his gaze, trying with all your heart to believe him. To believe there was a world where you both escaped this hell, and got to go out like normal people.
”I know…If we-“ You start but Simon softly interrupts you.
”When.” His voice is soft, but firm. Determined. And you decide to believe him.
”When, we make it out. I’ll cook you dinner myself.” You gaze into each other's eyes for a moment before Simon shakes his head.
”No way-“ He chuckles, “Not unless you let me help.” You roll your eyes, the touching moment fading back into banter.
“You’ll probably just end up setting something on fire-“ You tease, and he scoffs, offended.
”Wow, you have such little faith in me.” You both release each other's hands with a final squeeze, and get up. You gaze into each other's eyes for one more moment before reminding yourself that in order for any of that to happen, you both had to make it out of here first.
”Figure out where we are, and let's see if we can move somewhere with a signal. We have the sample, we just need the C.O.I. to pull us back up.” Your voice is filled with something you almost don’t recognize, a new sense of determination.
“Aye- aye- Captain.” Simon salutes you before, heading back to the head of the sub. You head back to your position by the button, smiling. You were gonna make it out of this…
You had a date to look forward to.
. . .
. . .
. . .
There is only one regret that passes through your mind as the submarine starts to explode. It wasn’t that you were dying, that would actually be a relief from all the pain. The agonizing pain of your own skin betraying you, thick blood clinging on to it, and tugging at you like it was a creature of its own trying to drag you down into the depths to join it. Death would be an escape from the screaming voices trying to stop you from giving humanity its last hope.
You don’t regret your decision, and you know Simon doesn’t either. Neither of you would consider yourselves heros, but the two of you might just have become humanity's last hope. To think, the fate of all of mankind is left to two unnamed convicts. If your lungs weren’t so full of blood, maybe you’d laugh
You can’t help the feeling though, a small pang of regret flows through you as you shut your eyes one last time. Because now…you don’t think you were going to make that date.
