More of my "Mark was one of Grace's students & gets saved by the Hail Mary" AU, because I need it more than air
(Part 1 here)
"WHAT THE FUCK!?"
"... Language."
"You're dead! You're telling me I got saved from that hell-hole by my dead school teacher who disappeared to SAVE THE SUN!?"
Mr. Grace frowned in confusion. "School teacher..?"
Mark threw up his hands, still in his bulky EVA suit. "THAT'S WHAT YOU GOT FROM ALL THIS?!!"
"no, wait - hold on."
"HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN ALIVE!"
"What did you say your name was?"
And Mark stops panicking. Because suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. Grounding him in a way he hasn't felt from another human being since - oh fuck, since before launch probably. The hand squeezed his shoulder through the suit, and he looks up. Straight into those supposed-to-be-dead eyes of Mr. Fucking Grace.
"It's Mark. Mark Watney."
"...Watney..."
Mark feels his shoulders slump and tries not to look visibly disappointed. "It's fine if you don't remember me, you probably had a lot of students..."
Suddenly, Mr. Grace clasps in his hands, like he always did when he had an epiphany. Mr. Grace's lightbulb-moment, his classmates used to call it.
He points at Mark excitedly. "Watney! You did your science-fair project about how seedlings develop in low-light and darkness! You built your own experimental setups from shoe-boxes, control-groups and everything!"
"You remember?"
"Are you kidding? I fought so hard for you to win first prize that year."
"I think I remember getting second-place..."
Mr. Grace fumbled with his gloves. "Yeah, well, I said I fought for you, never said I won that fight. Mrs. Halloway had a music student who built her own guitar and played it. Very impressive, don't get me wrong, but i feel like entertainment won out over real science that year."
Mark laughed at the absurd situation. Stuck in space with his science teacher, who's wayyy more butthurt about Marks science-fair loss than Mark himself.
"Did you ever do anything with that biology interest?" Mr. Grace said, reaching to the airlock handle to let Mark into the main body of the ship.
"Yeah, became a botanist. Space botanist. It saved my life on that planet, i've been growing potatoes on Mars to survive."
Grace's eyes widened. "Did you bring any?"
Mark grinned as he stepped over the threshold to the main area of the (famous, legendary, mythical, don't think about it too much) Hail Mary. "However much I managed to stuff into my suit."
Mr. Grace followed him in, saying something that sounded a bit like; "amaze, amaze."
But before Mark could ask what he said, he got bowled over by something he could only describe as a giant spider in a hamster ball.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?!"
"...oh, fudge, i forgot to tell you."
Edit: Part 3 (did the ground crew notice the Hail Mary approaching? Mayhaps. Did i have a great need to have Eva Stratt and Venkat/Vincent Kapoor interact? Absolutely)
A Job That Slowly Kills You (Bruises That Don't Heal)
Simon x Fem!Reader
Ch. 1, *Chapter 2*, ?
Word Count: 5.8k
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: nsfw/smut, based on Iron Lung(2026), angst, age-gap (23-ish+38-ish), Simon get's off on the age gap, everyone is touch-starved, fluffy smut, bottom Simon, implied virgin-reader, non-canon timeline (lowkey skipped a few scenes...), mentions of trauma, choking/strangling, marking/bruising, dry heaving, manipulation? (unintentional if so), desperate sex, sappy, Simon is in love, Simon traumatizes you lowkey but it's ok bc he loves you, listened to the Mitski How Deep is Your Love cover while writing the smut so yeah
Tears prick at your eyes as you begin your descent. Your chair rattled, metal groaned, and you didn't even care. The entire submarine could implode and you wouldn't care. The hope you once felt, the hope you both once felt, drained from the small room. The further you sank, the more it finally hit you.
You weren't getting out of that submarine. You weren't getting your freedom. They had manipulated you—used you— again. You were naive, again.
Always so fucking naive.
A voice came on over the radio, but you couldn't seem to focus on the words. Everything was static, the room blurry as tears filled your vision. Your hands began to tremble yet again, and you moved your fingers to your mouth, biting your nails.
It wasn't until the convict rushed over to press a button next to the porthole that you realized something was wrong.
You glanced over just in time for blood to shoot out of a crack in the window, hitting you in the face, spattering across your sweater, before the covering on the porthole closed up.
"You alright?" He asked, concern in his gaze, his voice gentle.
You nodded, wiping your face with your sleeve, your breath shaky.
You weren't going to cry, not in front of him. You were done crying. You were done being scared. You were done feeling anything.
As the submarine lowered, you couldn't help but to think of your life before this. Before your trial. Back when your friends were alive, back when you had family. When you were a child, your life filled with good food and people who loved you. Life still sucked, but at least you didn't have to worry about it.
You laughed to yourself, sharp and angry. You used to have it so easy, and still found time to complain. The stars were dying, yes, but that seemed to be such a far away problem. You never thought you would end up here.
You never thought you would have to barter for your freedom, for your life. You never thought this would be your life.
You would have never believed your last moments would be with someone you didn't even know. That didn't want to know you. You were going to die with someone who didn't care about you—who actively cursed your existence—and you could do nothing about it.
It didn't matter that he looked at you with such kindness now, that his warm gaze fueled something within you that you hadn't ever had the chance to feel.
It didn't matter that his hands, which clutched the wall of the sub and the chair he was sitting in, looked strong, rough.
You were just desperate, scared. You didn't want to get to know anyone called The Butcher. No matter how handsome. No matter how he looked at you. No matter how his eyes shimmered in the warm, flickering light of the bulb on the ceiling.
Yes, you were being sent to your death, but that didn't mean you had to throw out your morals too.
You looked away from his strong gaze, convincing yourself that the condensation streaming down the wall was more interesting than the man across from you.
Moments later, your world turned upside-down, something crashing into the side of the submarine. The both of you flew out of your seats, crashing to the floor.
You thought you were dead.
The world was dark, and you couldn't feel anything—couldn't even breathe— for what felt like eternity.
But then air rushed into your lungs, and you began to feel everything. Your entire body was sore, your head pounding. Blood dripped from multiple places on your body, and you could taste blood.
You were lying on your stomach next to the wall of the submarine. You tried to move, and cried out in pain as you felt a shooting pain in your ribs. They must have broken in the crash—or whatever that was.
You rolled over, breathing heavy and fast. You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, wincing at the pain and the feeling of blood oozing from it. You tried to sit up, propping yourself up on your hands as you got to your knees.
Your eyes began to adjust, but just barely. The dim glow of the button that worked the camera helped a bit, but not enough to truly see anything. You didn't see the other convict anywhere, but you knew he was around there somewhere.
Not like he could get out, right?
You laughed, wincing at the pain of the act.
You crawled over to the button, your arms giving out twice before you made it there. You propped yourself against the wall, your back against it. Your shirt was saturated in sweat from the heat of the blood outside and the effort of making it across the sub. You glanced around the room, holding down the button—hoping to whatever God existed that the camera still worked—until you could see the other convict.
After a few moments and camera flashes, you saw him. He was unconscious, hopefully not worse, near the front-left corner of the submarine.
You pressed the button again and began to crawl towards him, blinking away tears as you did so.
Please don't be dead. Please, please, please don't be dead.
You made your way over to him, propping yourself up next to him, and moved your ear next to his mouth and nose, listening for breathing.
His warm breath wafted over your ear, although faint. You sighed in relief, tears pricking your eyes as a small smile broke out on your face.
You placed your hands on his shoulders, shaking him, begging silently for him to wake up.
When he didn't move, his head lolling to the side as you shook him harder, you began to panic. The thought of being down there alone, stuck with a dead body, making you hyperventilate.
"Hey, look you need to wake up! Please wake up. I can't do this alone," You cried, voice wavering as tears began to pour down your cheeks.
You were on your back before you knew what was happening.
A pair of hands were around your throat, constricting your breathing. Your eyes widened, legs flailing.
The convict had you pinned to the ground, eyes wild as he strangled you.
You clawed at his hands, beating at his chest. Panicked thoughts filled your mind as you fought him off.
You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think about anything but the need for oxygen. Panic welled up inside you, claustrophobia taking over your senses. You didn't even realize you were crying—sobbing—until the hands around your throat released.
You crawled away blinking away the darkness that had become your vision from lack of oxygen, dry heaving as you tried to catch your breath.
You didn't notice the man across from you trembling against the wall across from you. You didn't notice anything until you finally caught your breath.
You finally looked up, face wet and sticky from tears and snot, and saw the convict—The Butcher— staring at you, wide eyed.
He looked panicked, his eyes shiny with tears.
You didn't feel bad. In that moment, you didn't feel anything but pure terror and rage.
Neither of you said anything, neither of you did anything but stare at one another, until you reached your hand towards your throat. Your fingers grazed your neck, flinching at the pain from the bruising that was quickly forming where his hands once were.
Like a switch flipped in him, he immediately rushed towards you. He mumbled apology after apology as his hands trembled, tracing the air around your body. He didn't touch you—he didn't dare after what he had done.
"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. What the fuck is wrong with me?" His deep voice shook as he begged for forgiveness.
You couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes, but you couldn't look away from him, opting to stare at his mouth as his lips moved.
You swallowed hard, trying to forget, instead being reminded as the pain washed over you.
You were stuck down here with exactly who you thought you were. He wasn't the kind, gentle, worrying man whose eyes shone with hope when he looked at you. You weren't down here, stuck underneath a blood ocean with a man who would fight for you, who would protect you.
You were down here with the Butcher, and you let yourself forget that. You let him manipulate you into thinking he was any different than the rest of the convicts on the surface.
You choked back tears as you began to speak, voice broken and raspy, "Get the fuck away from me."
You met his eyes, finally, and gave him the glare you wore when you first arrived in this hell hole. Tried to make yourself seem tough—scary—as if he hadn't just had you pinned to the ground by your throat.
His eyes were glassy, chin trembling as he slowly nodded, backing away to give you room.
You shoved past him, back towards the soft glow of the button, and sat—not in the chair located there, but curled up in the corner next to an old, non-functioning computer, in the dark. Alone.
Your heart panged, sadness radiating throughout your body, which was now trembling. You didn't immediately place what you were feeling, or maybe you did and you just didn't want to.
As you sat shaking, tears falling down your cheeks, you felt a longing for him to hold you. For the man who had just made you feel so small, so helpless, to hold you and make you feel better. In your mind, he could fix this. He could make it better.
Or maybe being with him was better than being alone.
You wiped your eyes, crawling, silently, over to the button and pressed it with a trembling hand.
The light flashed from the camera screen, nothing but darkness outside. The light illuminated the room, allowing for you to notice a locker of sorts next to where you had been sitting.
You promptly ignored the hopeful look in the convict's eyes as he looked at you, instead pressing the button again and making your way over to the locker.
You found a handle, prying open the locker with a creak. You heard quiet rustling of clothes and the sound of footsteps on metal as the convict approached, standing off to the side while you searched the locker.
You heard him press the button behind you, sitting down in the chair located there. You very deliberately chose not to turn around, not to thank him for the help.
You also chose to push down the quickly rising fear in your gut, the panic swirling around in your mind.
You focused, instead, on the first aid kit and canteen you found in the locker. You brought it back over to your corner of the submarine, in the corner where the camera flashes only barely illuminated the kit you laid in front of you.
Your hands grasped the metal canteen, first, opening the cap and sniffing the contents of the bottle.
Nothing, no smell.
You hesitantly brough the bottle to your lips, pouring the mystery liquid in your mouth. Refreshing, although lukewarm, water rushed past your lips, soothing your dry throat and mouth. You groaned in relief, not having had anything to drink since that morning—if it was even still the same day.
After a few more sips, you hesitantly looked up at the convict before sighing.
"Do you want any? It's water, I'm pretty sure," Any attempt at sounding tough failed as your voice broke, the pain in your throat caused your voice to waver.
He nodded, pausing for a brief moment before grabbing the bottle from your outstretched hand, briefly brushing your fingers with his.
You hated how much his touch affected you—your skin warming in a confusing sense of wanting more.
You distracted yourself by rummaging through the first aid kit sitting in front of you, forcing your eyes away from the way water dribbled down his chin and shone on his lips as he drank. You forced yourself not to focus on the sound of moaning as he drank, relief flooding through him as it had you.
The kit held basic items, such as isopropyl alcohol, rolls of bandages of various widths, Band-Aids, gauze, and some tape. You began taking out the supplies you would need, knowing you had at least a few cuts that needed to be cleaned and bandaged.
"Do you want any help?" You jumped slightly at the sudden noise, his quiet voice seeming loud in the small submarine.
You faltered, your hands pausing mid-air, before answering slowly, "Yeah, I guess so. I have a few cuts I need cleaned unless you don't want to—"
He cut you off, immediately getting up and walking over to you, sitting across from you and grabbing the bandage roll out of your hand, "No problem. Least I can do, right?"
His tone made it sound like he was making a joke, but his eyes were serious—pleading.
You shouldn't let him touch you, let alone forgive him, but you couldn't help it. He looked so sad, like a kicked dog. It made it hard to feel anything but pity for him.
It also didn't help that a heat pooled in your stomach at the thought of his hands on your skin, underneath your clothes.
You squeezed your eyes shut in pain as you slowly slipped your shirt off, trying to take a look at the bruising on your chest and stomach. It was extensive, there were even a few gashes on your side, towards the waist of your pants.
The only thing you could focus on, however, was the sharp intake of breath from the man in front of you. You looked up at him, his face flushed and jaw clenched. Your skin warmed once you realized—you were, in fact, shirtless in front of this man. You became a bit flustered, an embarrassed smile breaking out on your face as the realization washed over you that he was flustered as well.
"I'm sorry. I should have said something before taking it off I just—"
"Don't apologize, please. I just wasn't expecting it. Can I touch you?" He asked after cutting you off, holding up some gauze and bandages.
After a moment of debate between the rational half of your brain, which told you not to let him anywhere near you, and the other half of your brain, which told you to make him touch you, you nodded.
You sat back on the floor, leaning your back against the cool, damp wall of the sub, and shut your eyes, sighing, trying to relax.
"I found some alcohol, so, I should probably clean those. Might hurt," The man mumbled, voice closer this time.
You just nodded, squeezing your hands together in your lap anxiously. You bit your lip, trying not to tense up as you felt the gentle press of fingertips against your hip, tracing the outline of the gash in your side.
You peeked through half-closed eyes at the man in front of you, who was intently trying to figure out which bandage to use on your size of cut.
When he saw you peeking at him, he smiled, gentle, and spoke, "So... since I have seen you shirtless, think I could get your name?"
He wet a piece of fabric with alcohol, smiling at you with soft eyes.
You smiled back, unable to help yourself. It was as though his smile was contagious. He had the ability to make you let down your guard in a fraction of a second, and you hated it.
"Y/N, what about you?" You asked, calm for the first time since your descent.
He smiled sadly at you as he answered, "Simon. Haven't told anyone my name in years."
You nodded in understanding. Names weren't commonly used in the COI. You hadn't been referred to as anything but Convict in years.
"Well, Simon, thank you. For helping me out," You leaned your head back against the wall, "and, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for how I reacted."
He smiled sadly yet again, "I thought I said not to apologize? That was my fault, you did nothing wrong, Y/N. I just—I panicked. I woke up to someone shaking me and freaked out. I've learned over the years that surprise wake-ups are never a good thing—not that that's an excuse. I'm so, so fucking sorry."
Before you could react, Simon pressed the soaked fabric to your waist.
"Fuck!" You cried out, alcohol burning as he cleaned your wound.
He laughed this time, a loud, barking laugh. A smile broke out on his face—a real one this time—crinkling the skin at the corner of his eyes, eyes that held warmth for the first time since you had been sent down into the depths.
"What the hell are you laughing about?" You asked, unable to hold back a smile seeing him so happy, warmth flooding your skin.
"Sorry, sorry. I don't mean to laugh it's just,—you sure curse a lot for someone I thought was so... so gentle."
You smile, a chuckle leaving your lips as you let him continue to clean your cuts and bandage you up.
"Gentle. Call me that again and I'll show you who's gentle, asshole," you grinned, teasing.
As he finished bandaging your wounds, he began to feel the rest of your stomach, around your ribcage. His rough fingers gently caressed your bruised skin, grazing across your chest until he finally made his way to your neck. His face crumpled as sadness washed over his expression.
"I can't believe I did that to you," His eyes tore away from yours, as if he couldn't bare looking at you anymore, and dropped his hands from your skin, "You shouldn't be down here with someone like me."
Your heart broke, tearing in two hearing the way he spoke about himself.
"You didn't mean to, Simon. It honestly doesn't even hurt that bad anymore," You lied, reassuring smile on your face.
He smiled back at you, less enthusiastic this time.
You took the bandages from him, "Your turn? I think I saw some blood on your arm and I thought I saw some on your chest earlier."
"If you're sure you want to," Simon replied, only removing his shirt once you enthusiastically agree.
You gulped, eyes widening in shock. You didn't expect him to be so—so large. Most convicts were on the skinnier side due to lack of food. They had some muscle, if they still had the motivation to work out in their tiny makeshift cells. But Simon was big. He could snap you in half without even trying, his arms larger than your head.
A black harness wrapped around the top half of his chest and around his arms, complementing the muscular pecs on his chest.
Your eyes raked over his form, taking in every inch of him, before moving impossibly close to him.
Even when kneeling in front of you, he towered over you, his large hands propped on his knees, eyes expectant.
You gulped, trying to regain some form of composure, "Well," You started, "Doesn't look like you have any cuts on your chest, maybe a little bruising," You trailed your fingers along his chest, tracing the hair of his chest down to his stomach, where a thick line of hair created a happy trail leading down farther.
His body went rigid, stomach muscles clenching beneath your fingertips and he let out a long groan. His chest heaved up and down as his breath quickened, his hands clenching the fabric of his pants. His teeth bit down on his lip, drawing visible blood as his eyes squeezed closed.
You quickly remove your hand from his skin, stammering, "I- I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
His eyes met yours, darker, somehow, than before, lips slightly trembling.
"Simon?"
"No. It- it didn't hurt," He licked his lips, moving his trembling hand to guide yours back to his skin, his eyes exploring yours, searching for something, anything.
You looked at him, puzzled.
"Well if I didn't hurt you then what the hell-" You stopped, mid sentence, your eyes locking onto Simon's pants.
Or more specifically, a wet patch in the crotch of his pants.
Oh.
Your eyes drifted back towards his desire filled ones.
Oh.
Your mouth went dry, your face flushing and eyes widening at the realization. Your breathing quickened, and you realized you had slowly begun leaning closer towards his panting, shuddering body.
You knew you had been deprived of your needs, being imprisoned and all, but you hadn't thought about how deprived someone like Simon had to be, being locked away for far longer than most, unable to feel any gentle human touch.
You lifted your hand, grazing your fingers over the soft skin of his chest, trailing over the dark, rough hair on his jawline. His entire body shook, his muscles clenching at nothing, his fingers flexing, itching to grab at something, anything.
You were stunning, sitting there in the dim glowing light, sweat dripping down your face, your chest. He tried not to look at the purple-blue bruising covering your throat. Instead, he took in your scars, how beautiful they were. The rough, white lightning bolts lined the entire left side of your body. Your eyes were hesitant, yet desire pooled deep within them. He didn't know how long you had been locked away as he had, but he knew that neither of you had been touched in a long time.
Hell, he didn't know if you had ever been touched.
He wanted to be the first, or at the very least, the last.
Your fingertips trailed against his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and his mind raced with a million different thoughts.
Part of Simon wanted to beg for you to touch him—to break him—just to make him whole again. He wanted you to make him bleed, just to make him apologize for making a mess on the floor. The other half of him wanted to grab your wrists and pin you to the floor, to make you plead for him, to beg for release. He wanted to hear his name pour from your lips until it was the only thing you knew how to say.
He wanted so much, he wanted everything.
He wanted you.
He wanted time—time he didn't have—time that neither of you had. He wanted forever, he wanted eternity with you in his arms.
Before he could stop himself, he rushed forward, his face moving up towards yours. His lips pressed roughly against yours, a small gasp leaving you at the sudden contact. Hot tears began to fill his eyes as his rough, calloused hands gripped your face.
He didn't want you to see him cry, but he couldn't stop himself as tear drops fell from his lashes onto your skin, matching time with the condensation dripping from the ceiling and walls.
You stiffened against him, giving him pause.
Just another thing he's fucked up, he thought.
Just before he could pull away, however, he felt your fingers lace through his hair. Your lips moved against his as you began to straddle his lap.
He shuddered at your touch, smiling against your lips. This time, however, the smile was genuine, for the first time in forever. There was no rhyme or reason to anything either of you were doing, just hands and spit, skin against skin, as desire and longing fueled you both.
In the face of death, you found each other.
He prayed, in that moment, for whatever God was out there to please, please, let him live. To let him survive long enough to feel you, to know you, inside and out. To let him leave this damn submarine, to get his life back—this time with you in it.
You pulled at the roots of his hair, forcing a whimper out of him as his hands began to move down from your face to your hips, gripping tight. He knew he was leaving bruises, almost hoped he was leaving bruises. Proof that you were his, all his. It didn't matter that nobody could see them. It didn't have to make sense to anybody else but him.
The air was knocked out of his chest as you pushed against him, toppling him over. He shivered as his back hit the cold floor, his head slamming down next. He winced, anger bubbling towards the surface on instinct. However, any anger he felt towards you disintegrated as you cradled his head in your gentle hands. Your soft lips kissed his face over and over, apologies tumbling from your lips in between giggles.
"I'm so sorry Simon," Your warm breath fanned out over his skin, his mouth breaking out into a smile despite the pain in his head.
He chuckled, the sudden movement jostling you on top of him, "Just don't hurt me too bad, yeah? Not exactly as tough as I used to be, baby."
You leaned above him, hands stabilizing yourself on his chest. A sight he would never want to forget. A sight he would remember for the rest of his life.
"Well," You started, voice teasing, "If I do, I promise I'll kiss it better. That work for you, old man?"
His heart hammered against his chest, his stomach doing somersaults as you began to unbutton his pants, your hair falling in your face. He didn't know how much his reaction was the fact your hands were so close to there, or your nickname for him.
His hands shot up, gripping your wrists, stopping your movements. You meet his eyes, guilt and worry written all over your face.
"Oh God—I'm so sorry—got a little ahead of myself didn't I? Do you want me to stop?" You asked, making his heart practically stop right then and there.
"No!" He practically shouted, before calming himself, "I mean—no. But, um... how old actually are you?"
He couldn't believe he didn't think to ask this sooner.
Idiot.
You smiled shyly at your hands which were playing with the thin hairs on his chest, and bit your lip before answering.
"Twenty-three, I think? I've tried to keep track of birthdays but you know..." You trailed off, glancing at him as you did.
Twenty-three?
He had lost track of the days a long time ago, but he knew how long he'd been in there when they gave him this deal. He had to be— he did the math quickly— 37? Maybe 38?
"Jesus, I'm over a decade older than you sweetheart, you know that?" He chuckled, his hands gripping your wrists harder, the words making you blush.
He felt your thighs press together around his thighs, your eyes refusing to meet his as you bit your bottom lip.
He teased, "You like that? Huh, baby? You like the thought of being with an old man?"
He bucked his hips against yours, causing you to gasp, falling forward against him. He chuckled, releasing his grip on your wrists, pushing your hair behind your ears.
"You sure you want this, sweetheart? I'm just teasing you, you know. You don't have to do this if you don't wanna..." He trailed off, his breath caught in his throat at the thought of stopping now.
Your eyes met his, darkened now by lust, "I want this, Simon. Please, " You said, your voice breathy—music to his ears.
"Well, since you said please, pretty girl," He responded, taking your mouth with his, cupping your breast on top of your bra.
You moan into his mouth, every touch electrified as you grind down onto him. He feels your hand reach down again, finishing undoing his pants, reaching underneath the waistband to palm his throbbing, twitching bulge over his damp boxers.
His head thrusts back, hitting the floor yet again, causing you to giggle again. He doesn't even feel the pain, this time, because your hand is all he knows. Your touch is his Heaven. Fuck Eden. Fuck everything.
If it isn't this, he doesn't want it.
Before he can cum again, he grips your wrist, moving it away from his groin. He accidentally grinds up into you as he lifts up his hips, desperately trying to yank down his pants and boxers, forcing a moan out of both of you.
"Simon, baby, slow down. Let me take care of you, okay?" You murmured into his ear, slowly standing up.
He watched, desperately, as you slowly shimmied your pants and panties down your legs. You turned around as you undid your bra, covering your chest as you turned back to him.
He couldn't breathe. You were perfect. Every inch of you, laid bare to him, and he couldn't believe that it was all his. You were his. All of a sudden he didn't care if he lived to see tomorrow. He had you now, and, for the moment, that was enough.
You walked over, skin red from embarrassment, and straddled his waist. You let go of your chest to shimmy his bottoms down the rest of the way, throwing them to the side with the rest of your clothes. He thought his heart was going to explode. He would never say it, never even admit it to himself. But he was in love. It might be the fact that he hadn't felt cared for in decades, that he was so, so lonely. Or it could be that you were totally, completely his.
He didn't care, because the way you grabbed his bare cock and slid it against your folds was enough to break a man, and God, he was broken. Broken for you, because not only were you his, but he was yours. Always, completely, forever. If he lived past tonight, if he made it out alive, he was ruined for anyone—everyone else.
His eyes rolled back and hands gripped your hips as you grinded down on his length, groaning loudly. Your hand covered your mouth, eyes squeezed shut as your thighs trembled, his tip being thrust against your clit as you used him.
He had just enough sense to stop you right before you slid him inside your aching core.
"Wait," He started, breathy as he panted, dick twitching in your hand, "We don't have a condom or anything, so I don't know if you want to—"
"Simon," You cut him off, breathing heavy, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we are more than likely going to die by tomorrow. I don't care if you have an STD or something, and I don't think I can get pregnant by tomorrow, so I do not care."
"Right, good point. Carry on," Simon said, feeling incredibly stupid.
As he felt your warmth envelop his length, your core tightening and clenching around him, he saw stars. He couldn't think straight, your nails digging against his chest, your moans filling his ears as they echoed around the submarine.
You grinded against him, his hands moving up to squeeze your tits, his fingers circling your nipples. Your eyes squeezed shut, your thighs pressing against his as you began to bounce on him.
He couldn't speak anything but your name, a prayer on his lips. His senses were clouded by your body, the wet sound of skin on skin and your moans tangling in his ears. Your skin was soft, yet rough where your scars were. He traced them absentmindedly as you clawed at his skin, desperate for something to ground you.
"Fuck, you feel so good Simon. Shit, so good f'me," You moaned out, trembling against him.
He felt his dick twitch inside you at the praise, causing him to move one of his hands from your breast to your clit, rubbing soft circles into the nerves there with his calloused fingers. You stopped being able to hold yourself up, falling against his chest as you moaned into his shoulder.
He continued rubbing circles into your sensitive clit and ignored your breasts, instead moving to grip your waist. He began to ruthlessly thrust into you, desperate for release. Your continual praise driving him further and further to release.
"'M so close Simon, please, please," You begged, close to your own release.
His thrusts grew sloppy, getting closer and closer to the edge, His grip on you grew harsher, his fingers adding more pressure to your clit. You grided against his fingers and bit into his shoulder—causing his hips to stutter, unable to stop himself or warn you before his release tore out of him, coating your insides white.
You weren't far behind, trembling and moaning as your thighs shook with your release.
You both panted as you came down from your highs, and he began to rub circles on your back, kissing your forehead.
"Thank you so much, sweetheart. That felt so good, baby. You did so good," He didn't know what else to do but praise you.
He couldn't tell you how much he loved you, even though he desperately wanted to. He had wanted to scream it when he came, instead opting to bite into his lip.
At the end of the day, you were right. You were both going to die down here. There was no use pretending otherwise.
So he was going to make time down here enjoyable, pleasant. He was not going to make it messy by confessing his love to a girl he just fucking met.
"Simon?" You murmured, voice slurring with sleepiness.
Simon smiled, heart warming at your voice.
"Yeah, Y/N?" He responded, voice quiet, calm.
"Can we stay like this, just for a little while?" You asked, looking up at him.
Simon smiled, again, kissing you on the forehead and brushing hair out of your face.
"Of course, sweetheart. As long as you want."
He didn't want to move. When you moved, he knew he would have to do anything in his power to get you out of here, to get you both out of here. He couldn't think of a reality where you weren't alive, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to let you die.
But thoughts of death and despair left his mind as your breathing slowed, soft snores coming from your mouth. His heart swelled, the trust you had in him to sleep, after everything. His eyes filled with tears, refusing to let the moment end, terrified to move, not wanting to wake you.
It was no longer freedom he was after, but forever, with you.
He might not make it out of here alive, but he vowed, promised to whatever God was listening to him, that you would survive this.
He closed his eyes, drifting off to dream about a future he would never have, one with you. Together. Waking up next to each other day after day, growing old together. Children. He wanted every experience possible with you.
(a/n: this takes place sometime during where Day was still alive and sending Folly out to find Harvest because I’m too lazy to rewrite the beginning; also yessssuhhh, the siblings everrrrrrruuhhhh !!!! This is an sfw tickle fic,, if that’s not your thing scroll or block idc)
summary: Folly wants to go out shopping with her brother Harvest before she fights him due to orders from Day, but while shopping Folly can’t seem to find an outfit she really likes. So,, Harvest try’s to point her in the right direction. ((Honorable lee!harvest, ler!lunar and earth mention!! :3
“Harveesssttttttt- wakey wakeyyyyy..-!” Harvest would slowly open his eyes; Folly poking his cheek waiting for her brother to wake up
“Harvest..-!” She’d whisper as Harvest groaned in annoyance,
“What is it that you want, Folly.” He’d tilt his hat down to cover his eyes only for Folly to push it back up,
“Harvesttt, Day told me to come here and beat you up but I don’t feel like doing that right nowwwww…”
In which Harvest would only groan again, “Well get to it then..” he grumbled, turning on his side.
“But I wanna go shopping with youuu, pleaseeee I’m so boreddddd-!!” Folly would poke at Harvest’s sides only to get swiped at by him.
Folly would give up and just pout, “Hmph. Fine then. Have it your way.”
What sounded like Folly walking away had Harvest make a sigh of relief being able to rest now, at leastttt until he felt his sister attempt to pick him up and decide to drag him instead.
“grrrugh.. why don’t you just leave me alone..?”
“because I need someone who’s not Mars to go shopping with me this time.”
Harvest grumbled once more before being taken away to the mall with his sister Folly.
——————
“euughhh….” Harvest groaned, carrying all of folly’s groceries, as Folly looked around another store, finding absolutely nothing she liked. Jeez Folly didn’t think this mall would be that bad.
She swore this one looked really good but none of these clothes suit her! They all looked so gross and ugly.. ugh! Maybe she had gone into the wrong place, they found so many other good ones how could she have possibly picked a bad one??
“Folly!!”
Harvest would yell, finally gaining his sister's attention, man.. she did get carried away in her own thoughts didn’t she-?
“Folly, I'd like to know what’s taking you so long! we came here to shop, did we not-?”
“yes harvest. but everything in this whole store is utterly.. boring or distasteful.. eeugyuck!!”
Her brother would only grumble setting down the bags he’d been carrying. He then grabbed for a black t-shirt and red flannel skirt,
“Does this not look appealing to you, folly?”
When harvest turned to look at his sister he noticed that she didn’t even bother looking over and was obsessing over clothes she thought looked hideous or like trash.
“Folly.”
“Dear god now would you get a look at that one-!! it’s so- eugh.”
“Folly..”
“ew, this one looks rather tacky too!!”
“Folly!”
Folly would only swat at him, “not now harvest im complaining..”
— now this small cycle would go on for a while, Harvest suggesting actually good outfits out of the little materials he had to work with and Folly just completely ignoring him. It’s gotten to a point where Harvest has had enough of his sister's ignorance.
“Folly…”
“give me a second harv-“ Folly didn’t have more than a second till her brother had tackled her to the ground,
“Now just what do you think you're doing Harvest..?” She asked with either a hint of annoyance or playfulness,, or even both.. Harvest couldn’t exactly tell.
“You’ve been ignoring me this entire time Folly without even realizing it. I’ve been trying to show you some outfits I’d say are quite acceptable and match your preference, but you’ve been so ignorant.. only complaining about all these “tacky clothes” rather than finding something you actually like or paying any mind to anyone rather than yourself.”
“And..?”
“And? .. you dare to ask me what else, sister-? Is that not purely enough information..?”
“Your rants are honestly boring Harvest I was hardly even paying attention without dozing off..”
Harvest only grumbled in frustration, what a brat.. he thought; time to put my arrogant sister in her rightful place.
———
“You do realize I have the upper hand right now, right Folly?”
“And what ever makes you say that-? Har-vest??”
“This.”
Harvest would dig his fingers into his sisters sides, causing her to flinch before starting to squirm around with an unwilling smile,,
“snrk*.. ha- harvest…”
“Yes Folly..?”
“whahat- ksh… ahare you-“
Harvest started to smile a little after starting to hear his sister start to crack, finally… he was going to win something for once.
Folly would twist and turn, holding back her laughter, very unsure of what he was even doing and why she had the need to laugh so badly..
“I’m tickling you Folly. It seems like a just punishment.” (a/n; also just as in justice, like- yeah.. iykwim)
“tihihickling-??” she’d snicker out,
“To be fairly honest I had suspicions about such a thing but I didn’t think you actually would be ticklish. I suppose it just works more in my favor though, now doesn’t it-?”
“nahaha-!! Haharvest- gehet off-!!”
“I will eventually do so Folly but not at the time being, I’d like to explore some of your weak points actually. This would be a good test for that.
Now.. what if I just dig right into your underarms…”
Folly would scream, laughing and kicking,, telling Harvest that she’d kill him if it wasn’t for the vulnerable position she was in,,
Which would only cause Harvest to quietly laugh along with her, the thought of it amusing him.
—
“Should I move onto a different spot now, my dear sister Folly-?”
“YEHEHES-!!! NAAHHAAHAH- HAHAHAHARVEHEST.. YOULL BE SOHOHORRY ONCE I- *squeal* GEHEHET MY HAHANADS OHON YOUHUHU!!!”
“I doubt I’ll allow for that to happen.. but I do suppose I should let up and go for a different spot,”
Harvest let’s Folly take a rest while he thinks of where he’ll go for next,, — and so after about a minute or two he starts back up with a very quick countdown..
“I think I’ll go for your neck next folly, In about 3, 2, 1…”
And Folly would scrunch up her shoulders, giggling lightly and squeaking,
“mhmhm-! thihis is so *hic* embarrassing..-!!”
“I personally think it’s rather interesting how you react in different spots, Folly; I also find it to be quite cute.”
“ghk- shuhut.. up!-!”
“I personally think that this tickles your fancy, very well..”
Harvest would chuckle, scribbling and scratching at either side of her neck and shoulders, he himself snickering just a little every time she would jump,
——————
After a couple more minutes Harvest would let up, helping her up and showing her the clothes he thought would look good on her or match her preference, which Folly did take in his advice now and although she won’t admit it she’s very happy with all the clothes she was given.
—-
Later on, the two travel together to sit in the fields for a while, it’s.. peaceful there.
“Harvest?”
“Yes Folly?”
“So how’d you find out about something as stupid as tickling..? what even is it??”
Harvest sighs, “I was met up with it during my first encounters with Earth. She told me more about it and how it can be more of a.. fun encounter or punishment where just a few wiggles of a finger can make someone smile or laugh. It’s rather peculiar..”
…
“I can say that I’ve had it before at a firsthand experience, the first time I’ve ever been tickled was by Earth,”
“Anyone else tickle ya?”
“A little blue fellow who I’d much rather not talk about…”
Harvest grumbled, turning his head away,, Folly would look over at her brother curiously, seeing a red hue on his face after mentioning lunar having had tickled him before.
“Pft- so Lunars got you before huh-? that’s funny.”
She said poking his side and watching him jolt and swat her hand away again.
Folly would only laugh, “I think there’s some revenge for me that’s been overdue, don’t you think.. Harrrvestt-??”
“No.”
“Aw cmonnn- just a little-?? just a few pokes, just a few tickletickletickles-???”
Folly would start playfully poking Harvest’s side again, making him start backing away from her,
“Folly- I must get back to the plex- we can do this another time and I’m not up for these childish games-“
“Well if they’re so childish then why are you so giggly-??”
“I am not- gihihigly-“
Folly finally had caught up to harvest, pushing him down slightly by his shoulder and poking all over his stomach and sides and wherever she could reach really-
Harvest would cover up his stomach and try to protect his sides with his arms,, not much use though when you’ve been caught off guard and jolt every time you’re poked.. and are a very quiet giggling and snickering mess.
Ehehe I've had the idea for an amnesia AU for a WHILE! Here's a lil glimpse :3 For Whumptober Day 24: Amnesia
Contains: Amnesia, referenced noncon, gilded cage, manipulation, vampires, identity loss
~~~
There was a celestial who stalked the halls of the castle.
At least, Light thought the being was a celestial. His Lord told him as much, and he had no reason to disbelieve his Lord’s word. And he certainly seemed divine, with his large golden wings and fierce, blazing eyes. Just… there was something about him. Something grounded.
Something almost familiar.
The rare times their paths crossed, the sight of the celestial made shadow and sorrow claw through his mind and encircle his heart. The ever-present ache in his chest only grew worse whenever he met the celestial’s burning, plaintive gaze. If he ever let himself linger too long—in his presence, on the thought of him—the dream-memories that lurked in the corners of his mind would swell like an angry tide and overwhelm him, dragging him down to depths where only pain and grief dwelled.
The scent of blood on the air, metal cutting into his skin, but he barely felt it, because profane magic was prying open his mind—
The voice of his love, his soul, cut through the agony, and he turned his head, because A̸̡̝͖̤͊͒͌̐̕͘͜l̵̛̛̻̜̱͎̄̌̀̈͐͝t̸̡̬̙̖̫̹̠͇́͘a̴̧̡̤͔̹̒̇̇͆̕͝ȋ̴̙͉͔̓͑̈́̃̀͘r̴̼̮̼̺͎̘̰̘͐̐̀͑̔̽͝͠ was in pain, and he couldn’t fix it, because someone was in his head, and they were hungry—
Shadows wrapped around his thoughts, crawled down his throat to claim his heart, and he didn’t even have the strength to scream.
So he tried not to linger. The consequences were too much for him to withstand.
Sometimes, though, he couldn’t avoid the strange man whose presence left him feeling unsteady and feeling more whole than he ever had. Sometimes, when the celestial was injured, his Lord called them both into his study so that Light might offer healing. He was more than happy to help, to heal the wounds that painted the celestial man’s body (more than just normal battle injuries, burns and lashes and worse, yet he never seemed to flinch, almost as if—) but he was often left feeling drained and dizzy and disoriented. The celestial’s eyes seemed to stare straight through him, as though asking him for something he didn’t know how to give.
Light was never allowed to touch his wings, though. Even when they were bloody and broken, he was always told to leave them be. Heeding that request, seeing the strain in the celestial’s body that he tried so hard to hide, hurt almost as much as the freezing fire in Light’s own mind that the celestial’s presence created.
Once, he had asked his Lord about it. About the celestial, and his injuries, and the somber yearning that Light saw in his gaze sometimes. He didn’t remember the rest of that conversation. He only knew the aftermath, the ache in his neck that was so much worse than usual, the overwhelming dizziness and disorientation, and the yawning emptiness in his soul that wanted to consume everything that was left of him.
And even that was a mercy. He knew his role at his Lord’s side. Light was only ever meant to give—affection, blood, magic, whatever his Lord needed. He was never to want, never to doubt, never to unfurl beyond the bounds of his carefully cultivated life. His existence was devotion, devotion to a Lord who was the first face he remembered, whose hands dealt out pleasure that only ever felt like pain, who held incredible power but only wanted his Light at his side.
He had everything he ever needed. The other denizens of the castle were of no concern to him. His Lord’s love should have been enough.
Why, then, did his thoughts keep drifting to the celestial, no matter how much thinking of him hurt? Why did the aching familiarity never go away? Why did he keep wondering if the somber man was as lonely as he couldn’t help but feel?
That loneliness, inordinate as it was, drove him out of his chambers and to the library sometimes when he couldn’t sleep. The idea of confinement in his room was just too much, and he would flee to a place where he could at least distract himself from his anxious mind. He should have sought out his Lord in his study, or in the observatory, but some nights he just couldn’t bring himself to be subject to that concentrated attention.
One such night, he slipped into the library only to find a candle already lit, and the celestial curled up on one of the reading chairs facing away from the door. Normally, he was a large and imposing presence, but now, with his wings tucked tight against his back, he seemed small.
The celestial hadn’t noticed Light come in. Light could have (should have) let him be. It wasn’t his place to interrupt.
He couldn’t do that, though. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but from the way the celestial’s shoulders were trembling, the way he curled in on himself, it was clear he was hurting. Light couldn’t just leave him.
Careful not to startle him, Light stepped around to kneel down in front of the chair. The celestial tensed when Light entered his field of vision, but only for a moment, before softening. Slowly, Light laid a hand on the celestial’s knee, a gesture he hoped would comfort him, would ground them both.
“You…” The celestial’s voice was hoarse. “I… Do I know you?”
Light hadn’t spoken in so long. His Lord didn’t like him to, and no one else in the castle ever gave him the chance. The words felt strange on his tongue, his voice almost foreign. “I have healed you before. Do you need healing now?”
The celestial shook his head. “I’m fine. I meant from… before. I know you. What’s your name?”
So the celestial felt it too, then. That strange familiarity. Maybe he also felt the cloying shadows that were rapidly surrounding Light’s mind. “I am Light. What is your name, celestial?”
Distaste flickered across the celestial’s face. “Is that your name or just what he calls you?”
“I—I am sorry, I do not understand.”
“The vampire. He calls me Ruin. That’s not my name. I—“ The antipathy in the celestial’s tone mixed with frustration. “I don’t know what my name is. But I know it’s not that.”
“Ah.” Was that why ‘Light’ felt more like a collar than an identity? His voice grew quiet. “I… do not know my own name either.”
His temples were starting to ache. The tidal wave of incomprehensible memories was threatening to swallow his thoughts. He didn’t know what would happen if he stayed, if he kept talking to the celestial who shone like a beacon in the dark.
He couldn’t bear to leave.
Trembling, he reached out his other hand. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”
A warm hand found his and squeezed. “We can. We will. I know it.”
"Care for the boy? Do not be foolish." Hera coughed, wiping her mouth as she glared at her older brother. "He's just another one of Zeus's toys!"
But when she said that last part her voice shook, as if she hated the words.
"..." Hades sighed, shaking his head. "Don't lie to me. You see yourself in that boy."
Hera went quiet, holding her cup out for Iris to quickly refill, she downed it before placing it down firmly. She sighed, having the realization... she truly cared for him, didn't she?
"So what?" She says, defensive again, crossing her arms like an annoyed child. "Yes I care for the boy. So what?"
"There's no reason to get defensive, Hera." Hades shushed her, sitting up. "The boy needs that. Sure, the children may try to hide him, but Zeus will find him, your the only one that can truly keep him safe Hera."
Hera sighed again, sinking into her her seat as Hades walked away.
"Iris!" She barked, the young goddess quickly shuffling over, offering her more wine.
"Yes, my goddess?" She asked, though she seemed more at peace now that they were alone.
"Fetch me Ganymede. I don't care if he's taking a bath or riding a horse, find him and bring him here." She ordered, Iris hummed and ran off.
