Expect: Star Trek, fandom du jour, linguistics, science, and puppies... So, basically, this the the place where I plan to dump all of the stuff I like. there is no structure; hedonistic chaos.
magneto is literally marvelâs version of cassandra from greek mythology she always knew what would happen in the future but was cursed to never be believed and magneto has been right about what would happen to mutants so many times but nobody ever seems to listen to him and actually prevent what he says is going to happen
I finished the last constellation tonight. All 40 of them are now done! Went through and double checked and every stitch is in place for them and all the beads are in place. Which just leaves the milky way part to do.
Started stitching the Milky Way in. Slowly making progress on it as I am hiding the travelling thread so the back will look nice.
Looks pretty cool and keeps the readability of the other stitches. Very happy with it. Just a thousand or so to do. As they are in a grid roughly every centimetre apart.
Update on the constellation quilt. I have gotten the last Milky Way stitch done now. Which means the quilting part of this project is done. My next step will be to baste the edges down, remove the pattern, trim the quilt square, and lastly attach the binding.
Progress on the constellation quilt has come along quite a lot now. Finished the binding on the quilt over the weekend. I prefer to machine stitch the binding to the front then hand stitch the back side. It gives such a nice finish to the quilt. Took the time to measure it also and it ended up being 72" by 72" (183cm by 183cm).
With that done I could finally start removing the pattern. Which is taking both less time and more time that I thought it would. As it rips really easily so that goes fast, but the tiny corners and removing it under the beads is slow. You can now see the difference in the glow effect with it against the dark front of the quilt instead of the pattern.
Behold the stars of the constellations of the northern sky! I love how this quilt has turned out. It was a lot of fun to work on and the effect is so cool in person. Overall I would estimate it took about 90-100 hours to complete. Give or take 10 hours if you want to count the time I spent custom dying the fabric.
I made sure to get a nice photo of it in daylight. For once I also remembered to get a quilt label on it. The back really shows the difference in readability of the quilting on the ice dyed fabric compared to the solid front. Thank you everyone that has followed this. I am glad you all found joy in it.
Those that are interested, here is the pattern I used by Haptic Lab. I made the large northern hemisphere version, and plan to make the matching southern hemisphere one next year. I also got your back for the less crafty people. Haptic Lab sells finished quilts in this pattern, both as a large quilt and a small one.
pro-tip: your blog is about you. be self-indulgent, self-absorbed, and self-possessed. go all in on your obsessions. this is a work of self-expression, a living monument to your heart.
actually I think you should be normal about ordinary citizens of authoritarian countries and yes that applies even to that country you're thinking of right now
"but they support [dictator] and [violent action]!" okay is it possible that a combination of propaganda, election rigging, and authoritarian crackdowns on dissent could lead a population to look like it supports something most people would find distasteful under more reasonable circumstances
Also, as a Hungarian: just because you can't see every single individual dissenting in a way you'd recognise or know about, that doesn't mean we all support the authoritarian regime. It is, in fact, often in the interest of the resistance in non-democratic circumstances to remain covert, because loudly declaring that you're planning actions that go against the regime will bring a swift and possibly unpleasant end to your efforts.
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 youâused youâ 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 youâwho actively cursed your existenceâand 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 anythingâcouldn't even breatheâ 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 crashâor 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 buttonâhoping to whatever God existed that the camera still workedâuntil 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 cryingâsobbingâuntil 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 convictâThe Butcherâ 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 youâhe 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 toughâscaryâas 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 satânot 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 morningâif 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 youâyour 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 toâ"
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 seriousâpleading.
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 realizedâyou 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 justâ"
"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 justâI 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 thingânot 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 faceâa real one this timeâcrinkling 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,âyou 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 soâso 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 himâto break himâjust 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 timeâtime he didn't haveâtime 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 backâthis 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 GodâI'm so sorryâgot 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 meanâno. 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 beâ he did the math quicklyâ 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 breathyâmusic 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 anyoneâeveryone 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 toâ"
"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 shoulderâcausing 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.
I love the âcaptainâs logâ mechanism in Star Trek as a method for time skips and exposition.
I am, however, devastated that we never got an episode where any captainâs voiceover is strained and slow. very precise about the events theyâre describing. While the screen itself is showing the most batshit insane events and making it clear that the captain is trying VERY HARD to keep everyone involved out of a court martial.
Thinking about ghost who is completely unfazed by your period.
Truthfully, his knowledge of periods prior to meeting you was...limited. his father called it "women's business" and the guys in the barracks would make crude jokes about girlfriends and bloody sheets, but that was about it.
The first time your period starts in his apartment is...eventful to say the least.
"Love. Yer bleeding." You wake up to ghost shaking you, a string of spit connecting between your mouth and his thigh where you had fallen asleep mid-movie.
It takes a moment for the words to register, then connect with the warmth between your legs before you're finally hopping up. You stare in mortification at the unmistakable red patch on ghosts couch, tears welling in your eyes "fuck! Fuckâ I'm sorry, simon. I didn'tâ i didn't meanâ"
"'S okay love, jus' blood." Ghost stands as well, attempting to soothe. He pulls the blankets off the couch and...flips...the cushion....over....
...Revealing a much larger, dried blood stain.
"Oh. Uh, siâ"
"Alroight, what do you need?" Ghost breezes past the stain, looking you up and down like he's reading blueprints before a raid "shop's still open."
"Oh. I need pads, unless you have some?"
"....oi have gauze." Because of course he does.
Which is how you end up sitting on the couch with a wad of gauze stuffed in your underwear, waiting for ghost to get back from the shops and eating the only sweets he owns. Sour gummies.
"I'm back, lovie. Got meds too." Ghost announces, dumping what must be at least twenty different boxes of pads and tampons on the coffee table. At your astonished look, he raises a brow "wot? You don't patch a bullet hole with a bandaid, and you don't stuff gauze into a papercut, right?"
He seems all too pleased when he concludes "you need variety."
That explains the four bags of snacks he bought, too.
Ghost is...shockingly amazing at handling your period. Maybe because he just accepts everything that happens and rolls with it.
It's nice, being able to rely on someone for this....the fact he's willing to let you chase your libido through multiple rounds is simply a plus.
