#but well people who like light stories did like it

[sillylittlesimp]

New Orleans Beignets

HUMAN ALASTOR X FEM WIFE!READER (She/Her pronouns)

Summary: Y/N is one of the leading bakery owners in the entirety of New Orleans! People travel minutes, hours to try the sweet treats that reside within her bakery. But there's one special radio host who's obsessed with none other than her famous New Orleans Beignets.

E/N: This is based off of Princess Tiana's Beignets. It was too perfect not to make into an Alastor story so why not + she's one of my favourite princesses.

This story isn't proofread so it's not perfect. Also I haven't written for a while so I might be a little rusty, but I hope you all enjoy it anyways! x

No trigger warnings besides some light kisses! (Lmk if I forgot any.)

Rainy afternoons were never the brightest time for those in New Orleans.

The freezing cold, the shivering of finger tips, the multiple layers worn in hopes of being able to keep at least a little bit warm. It was always certainly a surprise when people realized that instead of the usual sunlight and humidity, it was going to rain.

So, what do those in New Orleans do during these miserable days? Well there's one of two things. Stay inside, bored half to death, or go find a nice place to have a cozy meal and settle down for the day. And what better place to go rather than Y/N's bakery?

That's the thought that Alastor thought of every day when these storms swept through New Orleans (and every usual day too.)

No rain, hail, nor shine could prevent him from leaving the studio on his lunch break to go check on his dearest wife who was slaving away in her bakery, and in the process of greeting her, he could never resist stealing one of her heavenly Beignets.

"Hello, anyone home?" Alastor spoke loudly, his radio voice on show as he entered the door. He watched as Y/N perked up from behind the counter after hearing the short chime of the door opening. "Hello, stranger." She laughed softly, standing up straight to brush off her dusty apron. It was adorned with pastry batter and powdered sugar from all the sweets made throughout the day, if anything it was just a sign of how hard she worked.

"Yes, I did prepare your Beignets darling." She admitted without a question needed, walking over to her husband to pass over a small brown paper bag, inside two hot Beignets showered perfectly with powdered sugar. They smelled divine, it was like heaven itself had been baked into two small pastries.

"Just how you like it." She nodded slightly, moving forward to kiss her husband's cheek nonchalantly.

"Thank you my dear, without you I fear I would starve!" Alastor laughed, looking at his wife with such a thankful and loving look plastered across his face. "You truly are such a darling when it comes to spoiling me."

"Only for New Orleans finest radio host." She said proudly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Alastor leaned forward, kissing her forehead softly for a moment before pulling away, smiling down at his gorgeous girl. "And only for New Orleans finest Beignet maker."

E/N: I'm tweaking I hate this. Am I still going to post it? Yes.

PLEASE don't be hesitant to send me some Alastor ideas or head cannons you'd like me to write. I really don't enjoy writing without a plot like this story, you can see the laziness within my work.

All dandy though, have a wonderful evening everyone!

- Weedie 🥀

#alastor x reader #human alastor #human alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor radio demon #alastor hartfelt #alastor x wife reader #female reader #no smut

[matan4il]

Today's the day when we celebrate Jerusalem, our eternal capital, the symbol of Jewish existence no matter where around the world we may live.

Two things I'm thinking of today.

First, I once heard an Ethiopian man recount the story of his family's journey to Israel. Specifically, how hard it was, starting their way by foot across a country torn by civil war back then, with antisemitic thugs lurking about. The man's dad was apprehensive, maybe they shouldn't go on this journey? But the mom was certain. "If I am going to die, I want to die facing Jerusalem." She did pass away before getting to Israel, but thanks to her determination, her son gets to live here. I can't even think of that woman without tearing up and feeling so grateful that I'm privileged to be a part of the same people as her.

Second, this day when I was at the Jerusalem Light Festival, waiting to go into the Cave of King Tzidkiyahu (from which it is believed the stones for the Temple and the Temple Mount Walls were carved). But the amount of people inside is limited for safety reasons, so there was a line to get in. As I stood there, waiting for my turn, I looked up at the upper part of the Jerusalem mountain rock (the cave's opening is found in its base), and saw a pigeon perched inside a naturally formed cleft in the rock. And immediately the words from the Bible, from the Song of Songs, sprang into my mind: "יונתי בחגו�� הסלע" (yonati be'chagvei ha'sela, "my dove is in the clefts of the rock") and it suddenly occurred to me that it's very possible the man who first wrote down this sentence, and then wrote it down for posterity, who it's believed was a Jewish king ruling from Jerusalem, was standing right where I was, or somewhere nearby, looking at a sight just like I was. And the fact that I had his words in our language to describe the same kind of natural scene in the city that's holy and historical to us both, despite thousands of years between us, it struck me that THAT is what an indigenous experience, enabled by a land back movement, is all about. That's what Zionism has gives us back. I was and forever will be so grateful for that moment.

So to Jerusalem, most beautiful of cities, the beating heart of the world to me as a Jew, may we always celebrate what you were always meant to represent - our identity, as well as the peaceful existence of all humankind (as it's believed your name comes from the Hebrew words for "city of peace," ירושלים - עיר שלום).

For this occasion, here's an incomplete list of some of my fave songs about or mentioning Jerusalem that I know.

"And if you're gonna bring salvation, and if you're gonna bring peace, then bring it today."

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, city of my dreams..."

Jerusalem - Matisyahu ('coz apparently I'm not allowed to celebrate Jerusalem with more than 10 embedded vids, thanks Tumblr)

Sissu et Yerushalayim (Rejoice in Jerusalem)

Love you, my city. So blessed I get to live my life in you. I'm remembering that today more than ever.

#jerusalem #ירושלים #israel #israeli #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #ישראבלר #israeli music #music #jewish music #jewish stuff #jewish tumblr #ישראל #Youtube

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part four)

Previous | Next

Danny slowed his car down, staring at the black iron gate coming into view; Bats and ivy welded on in an elegant pattern, obviously more thought-out than The Drake's ducks had been. He had to give it to Tim, the kid had been right about how stupid the ducks looked.

Glancing around, Danny found he was completely alone on the dirt road. The gray sky slowly brightened as the sun climbed higher in the distance, trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and birds chirped.

If it hadn't been for his experiences at Vlad's place, he would have found the scenery comforting, maybe even inviting. But the knowledge that this was the home of a billionaire, one that went out at night to fight crime like a furry on crack nonetheless, ruined it.

Maybe he should just head back to the motel...

...

Fuck it, when had Phantom ever backed down? That's right! Never! Danny was going to stick to his metaphorical guns and follow through with his admittedly stupid plan.

Taking his foot off the brake; Danny activated his intangibility, shared it with the car, and drove through the gate. (look, what were his powers for if not to make his life convenient? He deserved it after literally dying for them. AND the gate was probably locked. There was no way he could convince someone to let him in at this time in the morning, so...)

Danny kept an eye on his surroundings as he drove, he doubted Bruce Wayne would have ghost vultures working for him, but that doesn't mean Danny wouldn't be prepared if he did.

Eventually, a large building came into view. Its gothic architecture and obvious timely design set it apart from Vlad's modern monstrosity of a castle. Danny could just tell this was a home for a family with old money; the weathered roof and aged water fountain told stories of the people who used to live there. This was a home, not just a house.

Pulling his car over and parking, Danny quickly sent a mental prayer to the home's ancestors. He hoped they could forgive him for what he was about to do.

Grabbing his backup phone and his keys, Danny tossed the car door open and stepped out. Immediately his senses were clouded with grief and anger. It was so strong he almost lost his footing. The house was just drenched in the emotions, tendrils reaching out and wrapping around anything and everything.

Closing his eyes, Danny held his breath so he could focus on blocking the emotions out. (flashes of someone else's memories rushed past his mind; a glimpse of a young boy sitting in a library reading a book. An older man sitting next to him silently. In another flash, the two were now in a dark cave, the light of a computer the only thing illuminating them as the older man draped a blanket across the boy's back. whispered words of sincere promises echoed in his head.)

He had believed Tim, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. Ancients, this was worse than when he had to deal with Spectra.

Batman definitely needed therapy.

...

Maybe Jazz should be Robin instead, she'd know how to handle this properly. but Jazz wasn't here right now, she was in Sweden learning all about mental health. Which meant Danny would have to do this himself.

yay.

He had two options; One, he sits down with the man and they have a sincere and very emotional conversation. Or two, he beats it into the guy's head that he needs to stop going out and trying to get himself killed. Based on everything he knows about Batman? It was going to be number two that was going to get results... Well, at least Danny had experience punching things until he got what he wanted. (even if it didn't always work.)

Shaking himself out of his mind, Danny started making his way to the front door. It was past five in the morning, Bruce should be home now. Whether he was sleeping like Danny would assume he usually did, was a different question altogether.

Glancing around the door, Danny found there was a large rope hanging to the left. Vlad had the same thing at his place, it was an old-fashioned doorbell.

shrugging, Danny pulled on the rope and waited.

and waited.

and waited.

After a minute or two, Danny pulled the rope again. Suddenly the door swung open to reveal an older man dressed in a nice waistcoat and trousers.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, a British accent completing the look.

Danny blinked for a second before quickly focusing back on his task. "My name's Danny. Bruce is being a dumbass who needs to take a chill pill and take a step back from hospitalizing criminals. Can I come in?"

It was the old man's turn to stare and blink at him. After a minute, the man stepped back and opened the door, his eyebrow raised. "I would like to see how you plan to tell this to Master Bruce. His office is this way, young man."

"May I ask what exactly you're doing here?" the man asked, closing the door behind Danny.

Danny shrugged, "I'm here to beat some sense into him. He's going to get himself killed and no one wants to see what happens when he does."

The butler, because the rich fruitloop would obviously have one, hummed as he nodded his head in agreement. "I see. Maybe this is what he needs then. he won't listen to me, no matter how much I nag him."

Nothing else was said as he guided Danny through the manor, eventually stopping at a fancy dark wooden door. "Master Bruce, you appear to have a visitor." Then He opened the door and gestured for Danny to enter.

He only had a moment to ponder how he should do this before he entered the room. He should keep his powers hidden, for now at least.

He was greeted with the sight of an exhausted man in a bathrobe sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He was clutching a very worn and loved book in his hands, his brows slightly furrowed. (Danny noted that it was the same book the kid had been reading, The Hero and the Crown... or something like that, Danny hadn't really gotten a good look at the title.)

The butler stepped back, closing the door, and stood next to it to maybe await his new orders. Ones he probably wouldn't get any time soon, if the way Bruce hadn't moved or responded meant anything.

Well, if the old man wanted to see this then who was Danny to stop him?

Stepping forward, Danny leaned over the desk and slapped the back of Bruce's head. The man swiftly turned and stared at him, raising one of his hands to touch his head in shock. Danny heard the butler choke in surprise but ignored him. He could only pray to Clockwork that Bruce didn't kill him for this.

"You are being absolutely idiotic, dude." Danny declared. "Do you think Jason would have wanted you to act like this?" Bruce stood up, his chair slamming into the wall, his eyes burning in anger. "No? Then get your shit together and be the man he would be proud of."

Bruce lunged over the desk, his fist pulled back to hit Danny. It was just like Danny expected, just like Tim had told him, the man was letting his emotions control his actions. Dodging to the side, Danny continued talking, "This going out every night, fighting more and more dangerous and outlandish people all by yourself? It's going to get you killed."

Bruce gave up on trying to punch him, instead, he threw himself forward and body-slammed Danny to the floor. Danny coughed, quickly blocking his face as Bruce took a swing at him. Using the man's blind anger to his advantage, Danny kicked Bruce in the chest and sent him flying into his desk. "Jason's dead. It sucks. and it hurts. It's probably the worst pain you've ever experienced, but there's nothing you can do about it."

Danny glared at the man as he scrambled into a crouch, waiting to see what Bruce did next. "Shut up," the man growled, shoving himself up and away from his desk. He picked up his stapler; he was probably either going to use it as a blunt weapon or throw it at Danny. Widening his stance, Danny got ready to dodge or lunge.

He remembered reading about him, online when he first became Phantom. He remembered reading about Robin and Batman and how they worked together to protect Gotham. How they tirelessly worked day and night to put their rogues away every time they got out again.

He remembered seeing pictures of Batman standing next to little Robin, a proud smile on his face as the police took the criminals away. Pictures of the man helping and protecting Robin whenever the boy couldn't handle whatever mess he had gotten into. There was even a memorable one of Batman scolding an obviously sheepish Robin, a knocked-out Riddler slumped behind him.

He had wished so badly for someone to help him back them, for someone to be his Batman when times got hard. He remembered how devastated he was when it turned out the only person like him was Vlad. Vlad, who had wanted to murder his father and marry his mother. Vlad, who had overshadowed people to gain more wealth and power. Vlad, who hadn't seen how wrong it was to try and clone him.

He remembered the comments and videos from the citizens of Gotham, cheering for their heroes when they succeeded in capturing the rogues. How they still supported them when they failed. It was nothing like Amity's reaction to him.

He remembered how Gothom reacted when Robin was pronounced dead. How the city had cried and raged. He felt it all the way over in Amity, the grief and anger. The whole city had come together to mourn the boy who protected them. Even two years later, Danny could still feel the echoes.

"Jason's dead. He's dead and gone and you're letting yourself get consumed with your grief. but you made a promise Bruce."

Danny knew he had, it was the same promise Danny had made just four years ago.

Bruce's eyes widened and the anger that was surging in his eyes froze for just a moment. His hand loosened around the stapler but didn't let it go. The butler looked concerned, unsure if he should interfere or not.

"You made a promise all those years ago when you first dawned that stupid bat suit. You promised to do everything in your power to help your city. To protect it. Robin made the same promise. When he took up his suit. They both did."

Bruce's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. Danny lowered his body, still ready to dodge at a moment's notice.

"You made a promise to your son, Bruce. Even if he didn't know it. One that you couldn't keep."

Bruce threw the stapler, making Danny jump to the side to dodge it. His mistake was not keeping an eye on what Bruce did after throwing it. The man quickly rushed up to him, eyes blazing in anger. "You don't know anything!" he cried, his fist slamming into Danny's jaw. Danny staggered back but ducked under the next punch.

"I lost my son! I wasn't there!" Bruce shouted, kicking Danny's legs out from under him. Danny's back hit the floor, knocking the breath out of him. Bruce followed him down, breaking his nose with another punch to the face. "I promised I would protect him and I wasn't there!"

Danny growled, catching Bruce's fist in his hand and sending a punch at the side of Bruce's head. Bruce tried to lean back, Danny's fist clipping his forehead. Bruce grunted, reaching up to grab Danny's fist to keep him from punching him again.

"You couldn't protect him! I get it, it sucks!" Danny shouted back, flashes of Dani's melting form grasping at his shirt in panic pulled to the front of his mind. "It leaves a black hole in the center of your chest! It sucks all the warmth out of you, leaving only the cold bitter knowledge that you couldn't save him!" (that he couldn't save her)

Bruce pulled his fist out of Danny's hand, slamming his elbow down into Danny's chest and twisting Danny's right arm sharply in an attempt to break it. Danny kept talking though, ignoring the pain as he pulled his arm out of Bruce's grasp, "But Jason made a promise! and you're doing nothing to keep it!"

Danny grabbed onto Bruce's bathrobe and flipped them so Bruce was the one on the floor now. Quickly reaching up, Danny grabbed both of Bruce's hands and held them as still as he could. Bruce was strong, but Danny had years of fighting Skulker and the other super-strong ghosts under his belt. "He made that promise knowing that you had made the same one!"

Bruce growled, throwing his head up in an attempt to hit Danny with it. Danny leaned back, accidentally loosening his grip just enough for Bruce to break out of it. Bruce shoved him off of him, making Danny slide back and hit a chair.

Grunting, Danny stood up and lunged at Bruce. Bruce dodged to the side, dropping down to pick the stapler back up. "I can't claim to know what Jason would have wanted," Danny spat, backing up to give himself more space as Bruce stepped toward him. "but I know as someone who made the same promise, I wouldn't have wanted you to change into what you are now!"

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Danny, "Yeah, and what's that?" he growled.

"A careless, suicidal, moron," Danny growled.

Bruce froze, stopping in place as he stared at Danny.

Danny took his chance to drive his point home; standing up straight, he raised his hands up in surrender. "He was your son. He looked up to you for protection. For guidance. And sure, maybe you weren't the best dad, and maybe you made mistakes. But you were his dad."

Danny stepped forward, watching as the butler stepped forward to reach out to the man. "and what kind of son would want his dad to kill himself?"

Bruce dropped his stapler, his eyes falling to the ground and catching onto the book he had dropped earlier. It was opened to the front page, written words in messy writing covering it.

"You need to stop, Bruce," Danny said, slowly crouching down and reaching out for the book. Bruce watched him as he stood up, the book still open to the front page in his hands. Jason's writing visible to all of them.

"you couldn't keep your promise to protect him. It sucks and it hurts. but you can keep his promise. The same promise you made all those years ago."

Bruce looked up at him, his blue eyes filling with tears, the butler's hand resting on his shoulder. Danny stepped forward again, holding the book out for Bruce to take.

"You can't protect Gotham if you're dead."

Jason's handwritten note stared up at them, the ink messy and smudged.

'to the best dad in the world and the many adventures we'll go on!'

and Bruce? Bruce crumbled to the floor with a sob, leaving Danny to stand in front of him. Blood running down his face, staining his hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pants, the book still held out with steady hands.

Next

#Danny pretends to be Robin #Post Jason's death #The Wrong Robin Au #danny's only had tim for two hours #but if anything happened to him #he'd kill everyone in the room and then himself #danny fenton #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #tim drake #Wrong Robin Au #bruce wayne #batman #danny phantom #dpxdc #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #clockwork #maybe a little out of character #but this is when burce is greiving jason #so him fighting Danny would be more likely to happen then one would think #he's not thinking clearly #danny's a stranger who just walked into his house and slapped him #and then called him out by using his dead son #he's a little angry at that #Danny knew exactly what he was doing by saying all that

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for deliberately running into a guy?

🥰 to recognize

I recently spent a weekend in a well known party town - to the point the street in the main party area is closed to cars after a certain time. I was walking back from the party area (no bars nearby but still a lot of foot traffic) with friends when I saw there was a guy standing in the middle of the sidewalk on his phone. There were plenty of places he could have pulled over, but it looked like he had just stopped and started texting. After a night of dealing with inconsiderate people and being tired and, admittedly cranky, I decided “fuck it” and ran into him. Which I know is rude and, normally, I would feel horrible about immediately after and would think about for weeks from then on.

Instead, I kept walking without saying anything and after a moment I heard “oh, did I run into you?” I could pick up on the tension and kept walking without saying anything. This man then proceeded to follow me, falsely apologizing for about a minute before switching to insulting me and yelling at me. The phrase “this fat bitch ran into me” was screamed multiple times.

I kept walking and didn’t interact with him, and he followed me for at least two blocks, (it was about 10 minutes), yelling the whole time. One of my friends did tell him “sir, you’re an adult and you need to use adult words” at one point but he didn’t have a good response. He also demanded I say “excuse me” in between insulting me, which I didn’t do. Eventually he lost interest and stopped following me.

However, at the next stop light an older couple (mid 60s?) condescendingly told me “you know, when you run into some one, you do say ‘excuse me’”.

Thankfully, my friend who had yelled earlier leaped in to tell them he had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk and should have expected to get bumped. They were unimpressed and the woman of the couple kept making up scenarios like “well if I got tired and stopped, would you run into me?” And I wasn’t entertaining hypotheticals from a person who watched a man follow and yell at me for the last two blocks and did nothing besides decide to scold me, so I just told her “yes, you’d be self-centered and rude” to any of her various, increasingly wild scenarios.

I wrote this off, but recently I was retelling the story and someone agreed “well, that was very rude of you” and I feel like I’m loosing my goddamn mind. To me, any amount of rudeness I had was vastly overshadowed by that man’s actions. I feel like he should be run into more, to build character - I personally wish I had piledrived him into the ground. I know I was initially the asshole, but I feel like that man (especially) and that couple (more minor) were such huge assholes it’s cancels out my initial assholness. But what does the internet think?

#aita #am i the asshole

[darkfluffydragon]

Operation Abundance: About Golden Cheese Cookie

Note: Golden Cheese will be referred to as Aureate, as that is her AU name.

Why would Aureate allow Shadow Milk into her body? She can very well force him out of it, the Light of Abundance is not compatible whatsoever with the weakened Light of Deceit. Yet, he still controls her, using her as a host. Her story isn't all that different either, there is no grand tragedy that leaves her kingdom in an unfixable shamble. Sure, there were more glitches and errors in canon. and a bit more horror, but the conclusion was still the idea of her becoming more greedy, to become more powerful. Enough that she would be able to bring not just their souls, but their dough as well. To bring back her Golden Kingdom in its entirety.

One important detail that did change though was that she didn't follow Gingerbrave and the others, Instead, she told them that she would go to the Vanilla Kingdom later (never getting the closure of seeing her friends again after assuming Pure Vanilla died, and waking up as the only one to try and dig his body out of the Vanilla Kingdom rubble after Dark Enchantress’ bannishment), instead wishing to spend some time with the Cheesebirds she had originally forgotten and neglected for so long. To bathe in the sunlight of her real kingdom.

Then Shadow Milk came and dragged her into the false paradise of her dreams. She would fight, knowing none of the people there had souls, not like her kingdom. That they were not real, not what she desired. Not even when the other ancients were there, not when the dream was far grander, far more perfect than her own reality.

The real reason why she eventually relented, was when Shadow Milk, Charcoal Cheese, would reveal information about the other beasts. Specifically about Burning Spice.

The Souljam of Change. The other half of her Light of Abundance.

...

Surely, it was rightfully hers, was it not? If it had been stripped away from the injured Beast by the witches, then surely, the other half was justifiably, meant to be under her ownership? They had, after all, deemed her worthy of Abundance. Was this not the world giving her a sign? An opportunity, like so many centuries ago when she first found her Souljam? She would take the power, she would become more than simply Abundance, she would become Change. She would return all that had been taken from her, back into the golden sunlight so that her treasure, her temples, her streets, her cookies, they may all bathe in her radiant glory once more.

Having her closest friends there really only made the offer even more enticing...so she took it. She would bide her time, she would wait. And when the moment came, she would make her soul whole.

After all, Aureate had always been a greedy, selfish cookie.

To explain what I meant by her never getting closure, Aureate never got to see Pure Vanilla alive. Sure, she got the message from Gingerbrave, but she never saw him and the others with her own eyes. The last she saw of him was at the hall with Dark Enchantress, and the explosion. Before she would wake up in the ruins, alone. She’d have panicked, thinking that the others had died when in reality, they got separated and woke up at different times. She was the last one, and would start digging through the remains of the vanilla castle trying to find her friends. For hours, perhaps the entire day despite her wounds. She would come across a message left behind by Hollyberry, telling anyone who found it that she was returning to her kingdom. Then a message from Dark Cacao. She would find traces of White Lily’s magic, and she would find Pure Vanilla’s flower staff. The one he never left behind, unless with one of them because he trusted them dearly. That could only mean one thing

‘How could they leave so readily? How could they not even leave a memorial for our Treasure?

How could they leave me?’

They didn’t leave her and Pure Vanilla, they searched as well. They repeated the same cycle she did and had assumed that she, too, perished in that battle. Each grieved and mourned in their own way. They were simply not fortunate…unfortunate? Enough to find the staff.

She would leave the staff behind, a memorial, where the flower would always be able to see the sunrise. And then, she would leave, to find her fallen empire. She never got to properly see Pure Vanilla be alive, nor did she get to have a talk with the others to sort out their misunderstandings. Yet still, in her false dreams, they are what she desired the most.

The staff would also be how Pure Vanilla knew she was alive. Unlike Hollyberry and Dark Cacao, who were still known, had traces of their existence, Golden Cheese vanished. But it hadn’t been Hollyberry or Dark Cacao who placed his staff in such a place in such a fond way. There was only one other person he knew who would do such a thing.

#fyp #cookie run kingdom #cookie run #crk #cr kingdom #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #vanillaverse #operation abundance #golden cheese cookie

[starringthesturniolos]

surprise- sturniolo triplets

summary- you've always wanted a cat and matt, chris, and nick come make your dream a reality.

contains- platonic relationships only<3 its just a cute little drabble fr.

------------------------------------------------------------

"she is going to flip the fuck out when she sees him." chris looks back at the little surprise him, matt, and nick got for you while rubbing his hands in anticipation. now that the car is parked matt looks back as well, and his eyes light up for the second time today. "Awww, he is sooo cute. such a handsome man." he coos making both chris and him chuckle. "I don't know...he looks like he'd bite the shit out of me." nick adds right after, making the two in the front seat burst out in laughter. "of course you think that nick" chris says. after they both calm down a little, nick shifts his attention to the camera at the front of the car.

"OKAY so if you guys watch our videos, you know Y/n and you also know how much she talks about wanting a cat. we figured it would be so fun if we just bought her one and got her reaction on camera. I, for one, am so so excited to see how happy she's going to be." he looks out the window at your front yard and sighs happily. "Y/n is so sweet, I love her." he says almost tearfully.

"here he goes, getting all emotional and shit" chris adds giggling at nicks nonsense.

after talking a little bit more about the story about getting the cat, they all walk out to go up to your front door. nick has a key, so there was no need to knock. they just walked right in to your tiny apartment. matt trails behind nick and chris as they make a beeline for your room. "she's probably still sleeping, im kinda scared to wake her up." nicks says fear creeping into his voice. you were one of the sweetest people they have ever met, but you are a whole other person when you first wake up. not only are you grumpy, but your also pissed with the person who interrupted your sleep. one time, nick went to wake you up from a nap to see if you wanted to go to top golf and you ended up shooing him out your room with a broom. lets just say, you didn't go to top golf and nick did not go into your room for about a week after that. chris and matt shudder at the memory, but chris is quick to reassure nick. "nah it'll be okay, she won't be annoyed we woke her up for long. I'll go in first. matt stay outside the door for a little until we call you in. " okay" matt says barely paying attention and just staring at the cuteness that is your kitten.

chris opens your door to find you sleeping. tissues surround the floor next to your bed, and you stir upon hearing someone opening your door. you sit up straight and sigh when you see him. "chris, what the hell are you doing here this early."

"we just wanted to come see you, feels like we haven't seen you in sooo long." he says with way more energy than you felt at the moment. "I would give you a hug, but you look like shit" he chuckles. your eyes were bloodshot red, your hair a mess, and your nose bright red from blowing it all night. even so, you shoot him a glare but your eyes soften when you see his smile. chris always reminds you of a kid in a candy store, and his bubbly attitude is contagious.

"yeah well, im hoping its allergies." you say smiling back at him before nick walks in.

"okay girl, you don't have allergies. lets be real, your sick." nick points at you. "sickie sickie doesn't get any kissy kissies." he says in a strange high pitch voice. matt has to cover his mouth to keep himself from laughing too loud and revealing his hiding spot. chris on the other hand laughs while cringing openly. "dude, never say that shit again, that was really bad." you laugh along before going into a coughing fit. both boys look at each other and then look at you with concern. "Jesus" nick says and chris hands the camera to him. chris approaches your bed and softly sits next to you. he moves the hair out of your face and then places his hand on your forehead. "oh you are burning up, hun. we'll make this quick."

"make what quick? and where is matt?" you question just as he walks into the room your surprise in hand. he took him out the carrier so you could hold him immediately.

"SUPRISE" he yells. you wince a little at how loud he was but quickly recover when you see the kitten he's holding. sick and all, you rush to get out of your bed to go see him. your body is fatigued from being sick for two days so when you get up, you stumble. good thing nick is there to catch you.

"careful there girl" he laughs nervously while grabbing your arm to walk you to matt. you pay him no mind, completely focused on the bundle of cuteness in matts arm.

"AWWW matt, he's so cute!!! whose is it?" you say while picking it up and cuddling the kitten into your chest. nick steps back a little to get both you and matt in the frame.

"its yours y/n" matt says softly and you freeze.

"its mine?" you say tears of joy filling your eyes.

"of course it is y/n, we got him for you because we love you" chris adds smiling at your heartfelt reaction.

"thank you guys" you say as tears stream down your cheeks. even though your sick all three of them came to hug you, touched by your gratitude. you lean your head into matts shoulder and sigh looking down at your new pet in your arms.

"sooo what's his name gonna be?" chris inquires as you all break away from the group hug. you pause to think for a minute, and then your face lights up.

"angel" you say dreamily.

"angel" nick repeats chuckling for no reason at all.

"angel." matt repeats the name as well. "its perfect sweetheart." he sends you a soft smile. you look around at the three boys, grateful to have the most amazing best friends in the world.

@bbernard-03

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you

[vantabone]

i read the tang bo side story and i collected my thoughts down below

i cant share where i read it, as the one who translated it asked not to share it outside! sorry!

i already had some info abt the side story based on kr fandom's review & talk abt it on twitter but its a different thing to read it all together...!!!!!

this is pre first meeting... just thinking about tang bo...

there's this pervasive air of desolation around tang bo. i guess you could even classify him as depressed here: he states he's addicted to the strong mix of alcohol and poison, and the first thing he's described with is smelling strongly of it.

he's short with everyone (to the point they sent out apyeong instead since tang bo's soft on him) and doesn't seem to care much about his responsibilities.... he seems aimless and dragged down, actually... which is a stark contrast to how chung myung remembers him: a guy who loves freedom and a "bright" person.

his attitude is justified too; he's keenly aware of the downfall his family is subject too because of their methods. he's ostracized within the family as well. he's treated with fear and avoidance. (helped also by his attitude usually, which i guess makes it a loop)

only two people are shown to treat him normally, apyeong and the current tang clan head. the former is the only other person who is also aware of the eventual downfall of the family.

no wonder his personality was like that.... he's pretty much helpless....... (i also like that duality of him. dark tang bo you are sexy.... sorry i find your miserableness sexy...)

(interesting to note is that this part of his personality is only shown in a later part of the novel when the pov isn't chung myung)

anyway, ending is that they reason only by proving himself to be the strongest he can make a reasonable stand against the elders of the family.

we alr know how that ends...lol...he challenges chung myung and gets beat up. contrary to popular fanon, chung myung acknowledges his strength with a grin. he gives tang bo advice, steals his money and hops away.

my favourite moment is right after that!!! face on the ground, utterly humiliated within seconds: tang bo laughs. he laughs and laughs, uncaring if his cheeks hurt or people find him weird. it's the happiest moment of his life.

i think this was the turning point of his life.... the metaphorical taking the fish out of the pond.... the chung myung effect at its finest. he finally has a solid goal in life... a direction...drive.... he's a lil bit acting like how chung myung remembers him!

THIS IS PART OF THE TANGCHUNG AGENDA!!!!!!! if you think about how tang bo was helping chung myung's find his reason to laugh, to live past the war... it's because chung myung did the same to tang bo in his darkest moment. they both, at one point, became each other's "light". what was biga cooking with these two seriously.......?

my other favorite moment was tang bo complaining about his family and chung myung saying he'll "take care of it" ominously. leave it to him, okay. probably delighted at a chance of beating someone up rightfully.

its hilarious to find out he's beaten up two generations of the tang elders hes sooo funny

#rotmhs #my ramblings

[arshifiesta]

Welcome to Arshi Fiesta!

Phati-sari's aur Sanka Devis, hum tumka forgetyay naahi gaye hain! Hum toh ee lobhbirds ko surprisewa deve ke khatir tumka bulawat hai! Samjheev? Ab ee ka baat padho, e khoon bhari taang kaa introductionwa likh ke gayi hai dekho to jara👀

Theme Introduction: Colours of Love!

If you didn't know already, "Satrangi Re" is a song from the movie Dil Se which is based on the concept of seven stages of love depicted in Arabic Literature. Each stage is denoted by a color so let's look at Arshi's story through these colours!

1. Black for Attraction (hub)

The song starts with a hauntingly energetic tune (spooky!) and we weave through a maze of passages till we finally meet our protagonists. Quite like how Arshi started out as strangers who didn't look like a compatible match initially until all the pieces of puzzles fell into its place.

The beautiful lyrics captures the essence of their dhak-dhaks, their initial attraction that exists from their very first meet. They've hated each other, loved each other but have never ever stopped being attracted to one another. As if a magical magnetic force has kept bringing them together over and over again (guess who? Devi Maiyya of course!) 🖤

2. Violet for Infatuation (uns)

Uff, Infatuation inke jaisa toh aur kisi couple me nahi hai, right? The subtle yet lingering touches, intense gaze, impulsive kiss games and everything about their chemistry is absolutely electrifying! No one does infatuation like them 💜

3. Blue for Love (ishq)

Love love love. Love took so long to blossom between them, like a long drawn out fire. Was it blazing or were there only a few embers alight? One could barely tell. Love started from care first. But they could only care once they hurt each other, right? Oh and hurt they did, they hurt each other really bad. But, isn't it only the people you care about who could hurt you? 💙

4. Green for Trust (akidat)

Trust is tricky. Trust takes longer than love. Because you can only trust someone blindly when you love them. From the chain of broken pearls to the soft and patient unwinding of fairy lights... somewhere between that Arshi started trusting each other. And it strengthened when Arnav stepped up to dance with Khushi, strengthened again when despite all evidence against Khushi and Shyam, Arnav decided to confess his love to her... as if it was the last thing he had left to do. And later when he came to know about Garima's past, he trusted Khushi again. Because things aren't always as black and white as they look. Sometimes they're green 😉💚

5. Yellow for Worship (ibaadat)

What is love or partnership without worship? From strangers to enemies to lovers, at each stage Arnav has worshipped Khushi. Taken care of her in ways that she needed, in ways that people around her couldn't. Tangled feelings and arms entwined in one another's. A shower of gifts, a series of intoxicated confessions. Arnav may be an atheist but if he has worshipped someone apart from his family, that's Khushi. Khushi is as good as any religion to him.

6. Red for Madness (junoon)

The first thing when you think of Red is probably danger or hell-fire. And that's right too because the fierce fire they have isn't like any other. It burns and scathes. It leaves scars. It is a mad love. They hurt and insult each other, they shout at each other. Their egos are too big for one another. And when they're done hurting, they love each other just as fiercely too. ❤️

As Aakash ji has nicely put it, "Khushi ji thodi pagal hai na?". Arey Aakash ji, aapke bhai bhi thodi kam pagal hai? (Don't tell him I said that 🫢)

7. White for Death (maut)

Death is not always about dying. Well sometimes it is... like the time when Khushi nearly dies at the cliff and Arnav fin-fucking-ally kisses her but only for CPR 😒. Or when they both pretend to die on stage as star crossed lovers Heer & Ranjha.

But death is also about other things like the death of hierarchy between them when Khushi was no longer Arnav's employee. The end of anger between them during holi after days of fooling each other with farq nahi padta post contract marriage. The end of difficulties in their path (almost) when they were about to get married again, for reals. The death of distance between them, not just physically but emotionally too, when they spend the night at the hut after running away from the goons. Like they literally met at a grave (dargah) for their second encounter, no? 😌🤍

Accha toh tum padh li ho kaa? Haan, toh e par se tumka kachu toh banave ka pade, aage tumko khoon bhari taang hi samjhayegi okayyy?

Ab jao, thoda paani piyo aur humka bhi pila diyo haiin... Bahutay garmi hai aaj🔥 Hello hi bye bye!

Never mind sasuma, you guys! We're here to celebrate toh let's wish the couple first! A very very Happy 13th Anniversary to these two AND every single one of you who has loved them, adored and cherished them at some point!

Tagging the people who liked the introductory post in comments below because it wasn't clear if y'all wanted to be tagged or not oof! :((

Index to prompts here

In case you missed the first post!

P.S. Search #moodboard or #word prompt on this blog to easily find all the prompts :)

#ipk 13th anniversary fiesta #ipkknd #arshi #arnav singh raizada #khushi kumari gupta #13 years of ipkknd #and it begins! #who all are here? #colours of love #stages of love #arshifiesta

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for (indirectly) getting a man killed? (A/N if anyone guesses the fandom you are my new best friend) I will be referring to everyone by their skills for anonymity.

I, Ult. Detective (16M), am trapped in a... game, with a few others. Until recently, my twin brother Ult. Sidekick (16M), was here too, along with Ult. Inventor (20s probably M). The aim of the game is, well, to kill people. That's the whole game.

I haven't been the nicest person in this time. The only person I really trust is Ult. Sidekick, and maybe Ult. Entertainer (30s M). I've been really paranoid and standoffish, I am TA when it comes to that. But Ult. Sidekick wasn't any of these things. He was kind, and trusting, and I didn't like that. I thought it'd get him hurt, or worse. And I told him that, but he didn't listen. Or I didn't think he did.

Flash forward a bit here. One of the guys controlling this, who says he's the Ult. King but I don't believe that, introduces a new motive (motives are things that might make people want to kill.) But get this, Ult. King only gives the motive to 5 of us. The next morning, of course, nobody wanted to admit they got a motive. So we didn't know who had them, which made me even more paranoid.

I got into a fight (not physical) with Ult. Inventor, who I'd been suspicious of from the beginning. I thought he had something to do with all of this, and he did, but that's a different story for a different day. He said some hurtful things, and I did too. This isn't anything new, I've been in fights before, and we all moved on. I thought.

The next morning, I woke up, NOT where I fell asleep. Me and Ult. Sidekick had been moved in our sleep, for seemingly no reason. And then the alert went off. Ult. Inventor was dead. We did our investigation of the body, then went to the trial. And, get this, they started accusing me! Me! I didn't do it! I'll admit, there was some evidence that could point to me, but it was circumstantial!! Even my brother was pointing fingers at me! And get this, Ult. Bowtician (30s F) said she saw me! I was asleep, I was!!

And then he slipped up. Ult. Sidekick said that Ult. Bowtician saw me on the second floor, but she never said where she saw me. Stuff started to fall apart after that. I- I didn't want to believe it, but when everything came to light... my brother killed Ult. Inventor. And he admitted to it.

Here's where I may be TA (I know that was a lot of context, sorry. There's a lot of setup to this). Ult. Sidekick did it because of the motive he was given. If he could kill someone and get away with it, we'd both go free. He said he realized I was right, we couldn't trust anyone, and killed Ult. Inventor because of the fight I had with him. If I had been kinder, more trusting, Ult. Inventor wouldn't have died. I know Ult. Sidekick wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for me.

Was I TA for (kinda) convincing my brother to kill someone?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

[yume-fanfare]

today's procrastination strategy are scp

#you know why #reading reviews for the novel and apparently its a bit of a mess hslkdjshmljdk #ITS SOOOO FUNNY i keep going 'yeah that sounds like akira' #''there is so much exposition it's all exposition and then some filler'' yeah that would be my buddy akira #''the author didnt know how to end the novel'' YEAH THAT WOULD BE MY BUDDY AKIRA AKJDSFHLKSJDFHMLKSJFD #god. #disappointed to hear its p much slice of life isekai cmon i know he could do better #but well people who like light stories did like it #it sounds like a good intro to the scp concept although without much horror #apparently the novel was listed as volume 1 and there never was a second one #he should get weirder about it #mar's midnight rambles

[shalvis]

Xenoblade 1 is the best game like ever fucking made and it has two of the most dogshit sequels ever fucking made

#meows #remembering just how insulted I felt in 2017 when I preordered the sequel and really really tried to like it #I hadn’t experienced Game I Don’t Like before 2 and it took me like 40 hours to realize I hated it #and that shit at the end is such an INSULT. such an insult #you’re telling me that [redacted] was actually only half of himself the whole time and that 1 and 2 are taking place at the same time??? #and that oh actually [expunged] is one of three computers when the first game made no mention of any of that #y’all really went back to say your complete first game actually is only HaLf of the story? that someone like [expunged] is only a third of #the force that ended our planet #y’all went back and hollowed out your existing characters to make room for worse versions of the same characters #AND you play as a dork nerd child who ends the game with three gfs bc this is story #and the gfs do nothing but sacrifice themselves for you like three times and look pretty #but they don’t look pretty to like. normal well adjusted people #they look pretty to the I like questionable art of 17 year olds crowd #and the GALL. the GALL. of changing [expunged]s design in the switch port to try to stitch his afterthought purpose into the old game #while also making him just whiter and whiter until by 3 he’s like fucking light grey #and having him have a canon genderbend that’s just anime waif #who is also fucking white #and giving Klaus’ counterpart a name that has nothing to do with Gnosticism #even though so much other stuff in the first game comes from Gnosticism. #who the FUCK is Galea!!!! her name is fucking Sophia #killing biting maiming #and the gacha system? with bad odds for no reason in a game you’ve already paid for #it’s so fucking messy #it lacks a unified art direction #it’s soulless and even a game like 3 where only HALF of it is 2 flavored can’t beat the original because of the portion of 2 in it #and like what. is it like the two universes reunited after [redacted] died🙃 #why did any of this need to exist! why did any of this have to be retconned #x is fine I don’t hate x and I don’t count it as a sequel to Xenoblade 1 bc there’s no #half assed tie back to 1 in x #2 and 3 would have been better as like. tales of games

[bastardlybonkers]

i feel like not enough ppl are factoring in the cultural clash between laios and shuro and the many micro agressions shuro faced while being in their group. literally the name 'shuro' in itself is one

his name is toshiro 😭 lets also not forget that he has his own communication issues, in the opposite way that laios does- thats literally a factor in their argument, that his envy for laios's ability to express himself sincerely manifested as part of his distaste for him.

ig all this to say like, was their fight heart wrenching, especially when reading laios as autistic? absolutely. anybody whos ever been in laios's position knows how much it hurts to realize someone you thought was your friend doesnt actually like having you around, especially when they didnt tell you and you had no way of knowing due to not understanding their cues. but im begging yall to step back and see the nuance of this situation cause im gonna be real a lot of you are kinda just brushing over it acting like everything is toshiros fault and that hes a terrible person when in reality hes an average guy who really, really clashed with laios and it led to a very long misunderstanding due to their supremely opposite methods of communication. even laios and toshiro, after letting everything out in their fight, were able to come to an understanding and start a foundation for an actual friendship built on better communication

ok yknow what Edit: i shouldve made it even more explicit at the end of this post, i hadnt thought i would need to since i started the post with this, but i think a few too many people are missing my point so i just wanna clarify. i shouldnt have said 'really clashed' and left it at that because yeah they did, but it wasnt just their opposite methods of communication, it is also very much that toshiro was experiencing microaggressions via laios. it may have been unintentional on laios's part, but it still happened and wore him down, made it harder for him to communicate on top of both the more subtle social cues that he was raised with and his own communication difficulties. i also want to say that the fandom reaction to toshiro and the complete ignorance of this point is also racist tbh or at the very least ignorant. i understand that the anime did not cover this panel, and neither did the manga, as this was an omake, but im gonna be real with you guys. there are enough context clues within the story to clue you into this. if you didnt pick up on it thats ok, but i think this is a good lesson in picking up subtext in the stories that youre watching and/or reading. kui shouldnt have to explicitly say 'by the way laios was racist to toshiro' for this point to be understood, and at the very least, when the author portrays a character in a sympathetic light (as kui clearly does) it should make you question Why they are doing so and what makes them sympathetic, rather than youre immediate and only reaction to be 'well i hated what this guy did/said so i hate them and they suck'. idk exactly how to finish this, just. idk. question your biases and gut reactions to things you see in media and stories, and think about whether or not theres subtext that youre missing.

#dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #shuro dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #toshiro nakamoto #dont get me wrong i understand relating to a character and hating whoever wrongs them cause youre protective or you relate really hard #but i think toshiros been getting the short end of the stick for a long time now 😭 #even his love for falin is misunderstood #he literally states all the reasons he likes her #and none of them are superficial #but hes so closed off and has such difficulty expressing himself that instead of asking her out or smth he just #proposed to her out of the blue 😭 #leading a lot of ppl to just assume that he went 'white woman spotted' and proposed #do Not misunderstand me i am #a HUGE farcille stan #obviously #but i dont think toshiros feelings are surface level and i think theyre absolutely crucial to understanding him and his motivations #as a character in this story

[rowarn]

MONSTER (m.)

neighbor!simon riley x reader

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

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

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

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

16.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted it all to be over. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Simon…” you whispered in relief. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums, “Are you sick?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It suited him, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chuckle softly at his words. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you woke up, you were in bed. 

And Simon wasn’t in the apartment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod your head, “Got it.”

“Take it,” he says, “Carefully.”

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

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

“Here,” he suddenly steps behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You started at the other end of the hallway from your shared apartment. Simon displayed a disturbing aptitude for opening up very locked doors. You chose not to comment on it, instead silently being thankful that he was able to do it at all. 

“How about we make a loot pile in the hallway so we can bring it all inside when we’re ready?” you suggest.

“Alright,” he responds, eyes scanning over the cabinets in the kitchen, “Food is our main priority but it wouldn’t hurt to have some medical supplies.”

You agreed and started helping him pick things out, filling your arms full of canned goods and pill bottles which you then deposited in the hallway by your apartment. 

The two of you made it through a handful of apartments, securing a nice resource pile for the two of you. You were feeling good, hopeful, as you stared at your future right there in the silent hallway.

It wasn’t until you opened one in particular— it belonged to a shy, college kid, you remember— that it seems everything changes for you. He couldn’t have been but 18, away from home for the first time and living in his first apartment on his own. 

Simon is busy looting the kitchen, you can hear him placing cans on the counter, consolidating whatever it is he chooses to bring with him. You check the bedroom, looking through the drawers and pocketing a bottle of aspirin and nausea medication before you move to the bathroom. 

The second you push open the door, you’re met with the force of another person shoving into you. You cry out as you hit the ground, the person falling on top of you. You panic and scramble out from under them, their coughing and wheezing forcing you to look at them. 

It’s the kid who lives there. He’s deathly pale, dark circles under his eyes which are bloodshot. His lips are crusty and dry, seemingly struggling with finding something to say.

“Pl-” he starts to whisper before you see movement in the corner of your eye.

“Simon, wait!” you cry when you see the knife.

But it’s too late, the hunting knife you had held with your own two hands more times than you could count, is embedded in the kids skull, spraying blood all over you. All you can do is make a pathetic squeak, fear and panic rendering you unable to say anything as you watch his now lifeless body flop onto the ground beside you, his still warm blood soaking into your clothes as it runs out of the gaping hole in his head.

“The fuck were you thinkin’?!” Simon suddenly shouts, storming over to you and yanking you to your feet roughly.

You stumble up, bumping into him as you stare at the dead body on the floor, “He..He was alive…I…”

“He was sick!” Simon snarls, roughly wrapping his hand around your throat, forcing you to look at him. There was a fire in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, making you cower, “You’re lucky he didn’t bite you! Fuckin’ hell, are you stupid?!”

“H-He was talking, he was just sick, Simon!” you argued, tears filling  your eyes as you stared up at him, “W-We could have given him medicine, could have–”

“He was a dead man walking,” he shouts, the volume making you flinch, “He was going to turn. Are you a fuckin’ idiot? Thinkin’ we could save him?”

The tears you were holding fell down your cheeks at his cruel words and you glared up at him, “I-I’m not stupid, I just…h-he talked to me!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Simon’s eyes narrow, “He was a threat. A liability. Don’t fuckin’ worry about him, worry about yourself.”

He releases you with a rough shove, taking out some of his anger on you. He continues to glare at you for a long minute before turning his back on you and stalking out of the room, muttering about how stupid it was that you could have killed yourself over some random kid. 

Your eyes fall on said kid, no more blood coming from the wound, simply coagulating on the floor around him, “Y-You’re a monster.”

The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, quiet and shaky. But Simon hears them clear, freezing on the other side of the doorway, in the hall. 

“I’m a monster..?” he asks, voice suddenly eerily calm. He turns around, his large body taking up an obscene amount of the doorway. You can tell he’s intentionally trying to intimidate you, a punishment that makes your cheeks heat up in anger, “I’ve been breakin’ my back to keep your stupid ass alive and I’m a monster? Because I put down some fucker that was gonna turn rabid in a day?” he glares at you, squinting through the mask and drawing his dark eyebrows together, “You think it’s easy for me? I’m doin’ everything I can to keep you safe!” he shouts so loud that your ears ring and you flinch from the sound alone, “But if you can’t appreciate that then maybe you should be on your fuckin’ own and see how long it takes before you’re ripped apart by those feral bastards!”

He storms off at that, loudly slamming the front door, indicating his final exit from the apartment. You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks only for more to replace them and you sniffle, casting a sorrowful glance at the dead kid before creeping out of the apartment yourself.

Simon is nowhere in the hall but the supplies you both gathered are still there. 

You carefully open the door to Simon’s apartment and peek inside, finding it completely silent and still. You’re not sure where he went but you decide to busy yourself with loading all your looted items into the kitchen and sorting them all for when he returns.

You’re not sure how long you take to finish but Simon still isn’t back and you become worried.

He had said you should be on your own but surely he didn’t actually just leave the building, did he?

You wander over to his supplies and find a handful of his weapons gone. Your heart shoots into your throat and more tears prick at your eyes before you’re dashing out of the apartment once again.

The door to the stairwell is no longer held shut, indicating that Simon had, in fact, gone that way. You curse yourself. If you had checked sooner then he would have at least been somewhere close but if he really left, he would be long out of the building by now. 

You creep towards the door and slowly push it open. You hadn’t even left the floor since before this whole thing started. It was eerily quiet, but if you listened close you could hear some muffled shuffling from somewhere. 

You crept out, quickly realizing how dark it was. You pulled out your keychain which held a tiny flashlight that you used to navigate when it was dark in the apartment. 

You crept down the stairs, holding your breath with every step until you finally reached the floor below you. You can hear muffled sounds from beyond the door and slowly push it open, flashing the light down the hallway. 

It's too small and weak to penetrate the stifling darkness. The power was not on on this floor for some reason and that immediately set you on edge. You could still hear some shuffling and strange, raspy noises from within the darkness. 

“Simon..?” you call into the impenetrable, oppressive darkness. The noises stop for a moment and you swallow around the nervous lump in your throat, “Simon?” you call again, louder.

The noises return, shuffling, heavy footsteps advance on you. You strain your eyes to see past the weak illumination that your flashlight provides. You’re breathing heavily, you realize, anxiety making your lungs feel constricted as the footsteps get closer and closer.

All of the sudden, a disgusting, rotted face appears in your sights, arms outstretched towards you. You scream out in unbridled terror as it grabs you, its bony, sickening fingers latching onto your shoulders. You attempt to push it away and run but you trip over your own two feet in your panic. Your flashlight flies out of sight, its dim illumination casting down the hallway, leaving you to push at the undead corpse as it collapses on top of you. Its weight is more than you thought it would be, leaving your arms trembling as you struggle to keep it from falling on top of you. It fights your resistance and chomps its disgusting teeth at your face, attempting to get a bite out of your flesh. 

It reeks, you realize, like the smell of a dead animal you pass by on the street. It makes your stomach turn and you fear you’re going to throw up from the smell alone. The rotting skin of its chest slips and pulls away from the bone and muscle and you gag, tears coming to your eyes as you realize the very real and terrifying danger you’re in.

You have no way to get out of this. 

As you look down the hall, where the light barely pierced the inky depths, you can see more figures emerging from further down the hall, shuffling and rasping in interest at your fight with the one on top of you.

Tears fall down your temples and a sob bursts from your chest as you slowly come to terms that this is how you’re going to die. You can’t hold the sheer weight of the undead above you for much longer.

“S-Simon…” you call out, weak and strained. You know even if he’s nearby he won’t hear you. You have to try harder, get your voice out, shout for him. You swallow around your tears and panic, taking a full breath before shouting, “Simon! Please! Simon, help me!”

You don’t even register the door opening behind you. But you do notice when the weight of the corpse is gone, a knife stabbing into its skull before a large hand grabs you by the back of the shirt and drags you back into the stairwell. The undead follow after you, slamming themselves against the door as soon as it slams closed. 

You’re trembling and unable to blink or breathe as the shock of what just happened washes over you. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Simon all but screams, grabbing you by the front of your shirt, dragging you onto unsteady feet that can’t hold you up before slamming you against the wall. You can still hear those zombies slamming against the door. Your ears are ringing and you barely register Simon shouting at you. 

He shakes you and it finally draws your attention to him. His eyes are wide, irises darting back and forth over your face. He doesn’t look nearly as angry as you would expect. Instead he looks…concerned. Scared.

“Simon…” you whisper, the tears not stopping as they fall down your cheeks. He’s the only thing holding you up right now, hands balled in the material of your shirt, keeping you pinned to the wall, “I-I was…I was looking for you…”

He’s panting, shoulders rising and falling as he struggles to compose himself, “Lookin’ for me?”

“Y-You said you were leaving and I…” you whimper, “I-I didn’t want you to go so…I went to find you…I didn’t think that…”

You see his jaw tense through his mask before he slowly lets go of your shirt. Your knees tremble under your own weight and your hands find purchase against his chest.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he mutters, stepping away from you with a heavy sigh, “Just don’t…do that again, got it?”

You nod your head, sniffling as you feel your tears slowly come to a stop, “Th-Thank you, Simon…for saving me…”

“Yeah,” he grunts, turning his back to you, storming back up the stairs to your floor. 

You unsteadily follow behind him, still a shaky and anxious mess. When you get into the apartment, Simon is in the kitchen, barely sparing you a glance.

“Go take a shower,” he orders you.

You linger in the doorway for a moment, hoping that he’ll look at you even for a second. But he doesn’t and you hang your head, skulking off to take your shower with a heavy heart. 

The night rolls around and Simon hasn’t said a word, putting you more on edge with each passing minute. He sits, manspreading on the couch with a glass of Kentucky bourbon in a glass, sipping on it and watching some old movie that he put on play. Usually, he asks you if you’d like to watch with him, but this time he didn’t and that just makes your heart ache even more. 

“Simon…” you venture to ask, casting a glance at him. His hard gaze doesn’t move from the TV, “I-I want to apologize–”

“For what?” he asks, the first words he’s spoken to you in hours. They’re cold and make you wince.

“F-For what I said…” you mutter, tucking your legs underneath you as you turn to look at him, “I…I was mean. I know you’re doing all you can for me and it wasn’t fair of me to get angry at you…I was just…startled, I guess.”

“You were naive,” he snaps, finally looking at you with a harsh glare, “You had no fuckin’ idea what those monsters were and you almost got yourself killed because of it.”

“Y-You’re right…” you whisper, feeling the tears pricking your eyes for the millionth time that day, “I’m sorry, Simon.”

He doesn’t respond, simply throwing back his glass of bourbon, downing it all before he stands up, “Sleep on the couch.”

The last thing you hear from him is his bedroom door slamming shut. You lay down that night, quietly crying into the pillow until you finally fell back asleep.

“Wake up!” a barking voice is what draws you out of your slumber. 

Still shaken up from yesterday’s previous events, you sit straight up, wild, fearful eyes looking around before your gaze falls upon Simon. He stands in front of the couch, dressed in full tactical gear. Even his balaclava is different, with a hard plate in the shape of a skull covering the front. He looks intimidating.

“Wh-What’re you doing?” you ask, turning yourself so your feet are on the floor. 

“We’re trainin’, get up,” he commands and you have no choice but to follow.

You find yourself following him out of the apartment and into the dimly lit hallway. It’s eerily quiet as always and you feel more intimidated than ever standing before him in nothing but some flimsy pajamas while he wears full gear. Even his gaze is different through that skull mask, hard and cold, looking down at you like you’re insignificant. 

It’s so different from before. He was so kind and patient with you before and you can tell that now he’s going to really train you. 

“What’re we doing today..?” you timidly ask, wringing your hands in front of yourself.

“Escaping,” he responds.

“Escaping?” you parrot back dumbly. 

His glare narrows down at you, “You’re going to try to get away from me and make it towards that exit.”

He points to the other end of the hallway, to the stairwell. You glance up at him, where he stands between you and your exit. 

“Okay…” you lick your lips nervously, “Do you want me to just run past you?”

“For now,” he drawls. He sounds almost bored, hands wrapped around the straps of his tactical vest.

You take a deep breath and attempt to bolt past him but his reflexes are frighteningly fast. His arm shoots out before you even realize it, catching you around your middle and halting you immediately. 

The air is punched out of your lungs from the force of his arms and you stumble back with a groan. 

“You’re goin’ to have to do better than that,” he says, looking down his nose at you like you had offended him with your poor attempt. 

You brace yourself again and attempt to run past him. This time, you attempt to fake him out and run in the other direction but it ends the same with his arm grappling around your middle and you still not any closer to the exit.

“Again!” he barks and you can’t help but wonder if this was how he was when he was training recruits in the military. 

You try again and again to run past him, duck under his arm, avoid his reach – everything to no avail. After several attempts, you’re left panting and frustrated. Simon is still as cool as a cucumber, staring at you in pure boredom as he awaits your next move. 

You run again, making rough contact with his arm once again. But this time you start fighting against his hold. You push with all your might, shoving at his arm and his side in an attempt to slip past him. 

“There you go,” he says, though it sounds more condescending than proud, “Fight me.”

You slam your fist down over his arm, successfully knocking it out of the way and giving you a chance to bolt past him. You have a clear view of the stairwell door and you can almost taste the success. 

But you’re stopped suddenly when a rough hand grabs the back of your shirt. You cry out in shock when he yanks you back towards him, carelessly tossing you to the floor. You hit the rough carpet harshly, the coarse material skinning your hands and knees and you cry out at the pain.

“Simon!” you chastise him, glaring up at him when he comes to stand in front of you, “That fucking hurt!”

“Oh, it hurt?” he sneers, squatting beside you, behemoth form still dwarfing your own as he gets down on your level, “It’s not supposed to feel good. This is training. You’re supposed to try and survive, not whine and cry because you fell on the floor.”

You sit on your burning knees and glare at him. He glares back at you, neither of you backing down. 

“Get up,” he commands, standing up, “Go again.”

By the time he allowed the training to be called off, your body was sore and bruised from the amount of times you’d been thrown to the floor. Your knees burn and ache from where the skin had been rubbed off and you fight back tears as you watch the dried blood crust on your skin. 

Simon is no more rough for wear than he was before – all your hitting, kicking, pushing, and biting hadn’t deterred him in the slightest. He wasn’t even winded. 

Worse more, you hadn’t made it anywhere near the door. 

You weren’t sure how Simon felt about it. If he was mad or disappointed, he didn’t say. As soon as you got into the apartment, he went about making dinner after ordering you to wash up. 

When you got out of the shower, he tossed a first aid kit to you and silently sat down in the kitchen to eat. 

Usually, you would sit with him but you found yourself deciding to eat on the couch by yourself. A sense of loneliness settled upon you that you hadn’t felt since before you had moved into this apartment with him and you find yourself hiding your tears in your food. 

Once again, you’re sleeping on the couch. You wouldn’t have minded it if it didn’t feel so much like a punishment. You felt like a dog banished to sleep in the dog house and you can’t help but curl in on yourself at the cold, empty feeling that it causes. 

The next morning follows much the same with Simon startling you awake with a barked order. Your body aches and your wounds sting with every movement you make as you drag yourself behind him to the hallway.

“Do we have to do this again today, Simon?” you ask hopelessly, “I’m really tired…”

“Do you think those undead freaks are going to care if you’re tired?” he snaps at you, arms crossed, making him appear even bigger than he already was, “You’re goin’ to learn how to escape from holds.”

“Simon…” you start to complain but a sharp look from him has the words dying on your tongue and you hand your head in defeat. 

He’s no more gentle than he was yesterday with you, rough grips and manhandling you around to fit his needs. He barks in your ear, ordering what you need to do and when to break various holds that he has on your body. 

He feels so much stronger and more powerful than those zombies had. At least they were mindless and slow. Simon was fast and smart. 

“Put your hand under mine to break the hold!” he shouts, clearly frustrated the more you fuck up breaking his holds. 

“Not like that! Are you daft?” he grits through clenched teeth, “You’re goin’ to fuckin wind up dead if you keep this up!”

You feel your heart rate speed up and you find yourself almost panicking under his completely oppressive energy. His shouting only sets you more on edge and the tears begin to prick at your eyes once again. 

“None of those fuckin’ tears,” he snarls, tightening his hold on you when you squirm and attempt to rid his body weight off of yours, “Do what I told you! You can break the hold if you just fuckin’ focus!”

“Simon, I-I don’t want to do this anymore!” you cry, the tears tumbling down your cheeks as you cry out the words. Your cheeks feel hot and you can barely catch your breath as you weakly punch at his chest.

“There’s no tappin’ out,” he snaps, tightening his grip on you even more. Your body aches where he holds and you know you’re going to be feeling those bruises for days to come. 

“Simon!” you practically screech, freeing one hand and harshly slamming your fist down over the hard faceplate. 

It seems to startle him enough into loosening his hold and you manage to kick back away from him in your panic, foot hitting him square in the chest in an effort to propel yourself away – putting as much distance as fast as you can between the two of you.

“Simon…” you whimper, voice wobbling, “I am not one of your soldiers. You need to stop trying to train me like I am!”

You watch him adjust his jaw through his mask before he pops his neck. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you and every hair on your body stands up in pure fear. 

He’s on top of you before you even have the chance to say another word. You cry out when the force of his body forces you back and your head cracks harshly against the floor. Your vision blacks out from the force and you groan in pain but he doesn’t stop, a rough forearm pinning against your throat, cutting off your air.

“That was good,” he says, voice cold and devoid of any emotion, “You managed to escape, now do it again!”

Your hands push weakly against him, but you’re worn out and your head is starting to hurt like hell. You open your mouth to say something but his hold on your throat ceases any words from escaping. 

You reach up to his face and his cold gaze narrows at you, “You already tried that. It won’t work again.”

But instead of hitting him, your fingers wrap around the face plate and you attempt to push it off – hoping that it’ll obscure his vision enough but he shakes you off with ease. 

He catches your gaze and what he sees gives him pause. Wide, teary eyes, red rimmed and filled to the brim with fear. Tears wet your cheeks and he finally notices the way your entire body is tense and trembling beneath him. 

“P-Please,” you finally find your voice when his weight eases a bit off of your throat, “I-I don’t want to do this anymore, Simon, please.”

That has his own eyes widening and you take his slackened hold as an opportunity to run away. He watches you scramble up from your spot on the floor and stumble back to the apartment, disappearing within with a slam that makes him flinch. He looks down at his own hands and finds that he can’t conjure up any thoughts that aren’t about you.

You hear him enter the apartment, his heavy footfalls pacing around the living room. You’re hiding in the bathroom, leaning against the door with your knees against your chest to muffle your cries. 

He enters the bedroom and pauses, no doubt looking for you before he approaches the bathroom and you feel a brief ping of fear that he’s going to open the door but instead he softly knocks. 

“Will you come out so we can talk?” he asks, voice holding none of the cold, harshness that it had for the last few days. 

“G-Go away, Simon,” you sniffle.

You can hear him sigh before he follows your request and steps away from the door. You can hear him linger in the bedroom for several more minutes, kicking his boots off before he’s quietly closing the bedroom door and leaving. 

The silence and loneliness sinks in once more and you find yourself sobbing into your knees all over again. Your head kills and you feel almost nauseous through your cries from the headache but you can’t stop yourself. 

You have no idea how long you cry for but before you know it, the bedroom door opens once again and you can hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he approaches the bathroom door once again.

“I made something for you to eat,” he says through the door, “Figured you might be hungry.” At the idea of food, your stomach growls, “It’ll be waiting for you at the table when you want it.”

You listen to him walk away and you know this is his way of luring you out of the bathroom. Part of you desperately wants to spite him for being so mean to you and refuse his food but the growling in your stomach is too much to bear and you can’t help but clamber to your feet and quietly pull the door open. 

When you reach the living room, Simon is facing the TV, giving no indication that he realizes you’ve come out of your hiding place. You sneak into the kitchen to see a bowl of soup sitting nicely at an empty spot. You take a seat and quickly devour the entire bowl, barely taking a break to breathe before it’s completely empty. 

You place it in the sink and carefully sneak back out of the kitchen, intending to slide right past him but in your haste you fail to notice that he’s no longer sitting on the couch. Instead, you come face to face with him sitting at the foot of his bed, clearly waiting for you. 

You freeze when you see him and all too soon that headache comes racing back to the forefront of your mind. 

Simon’s no longer wearing the skull plate and instead wears his usual black balaclava with the skull print on it. He wears a t-shirt and sweatpants, obviously having let himself get comfortable while you hid in the bathroom earlier. 

He looks up at you the second you step into the room and the two of you halt in a stalemate, simply staring at one another while you wait for the other to make the first move. 

You’re the first to break eye contact when a heavy throb goes through your head, making you close your eyes and bring your hand to your head until it passes. You hear the bed creak when Simon stands up before his hands are cupping your cheeks.

“You hit your head, didn’t you?” he asks, soft and gentle. 

You can’t stop yourself from glaring and snapping, “No thanks to you.”

His gaze softens as his hand finds its way to the back of your head, ever so softly prodding at the sizable bump that’s there, “I’m sorry, love.”

“If you’re sorry then why did you do it?” you find those damned tears returning all over again as you continue to glare up at him, “I told you I didn’t like it and I wanted to stop.”

“I know…” he whispers, hands once again cupping your cheeks, thumbing your tears away.

“What was your problem, Simon?” you tearfully ask, sniffling pathetically, “You hurt me. You were scary – scarier than those stupid zombies downstairs. Why did you do that?”

“I got…I was…” he struggled to find the right words before he stepped away from you with a troubled expression, “I was angry— scared. I just—I don’t know.”

“You were scared?” you scoff, “I’m the one who got attacked.”

“You think that wasn’t scary for me?” he asks in disbelief, “You almost got eaten alive on my watch.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” you sniffle, angrily storming over to the bed, letting yourself flop down on the comfortable mattress for the first time in days.

“I know,” he whispers, “Just let me explain, okay?”

You lay there silently, listening to his weight shift where he stands. You take notice of how his scent lingers much more on the blankets now that he’s slept on it. It smells good, you note, musky and delicate. He doesn’t wear anything that smells particularly overpowering. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, “Ever since this shit happened, I’ve been driving myself crazy. I lost contact with my team, my friends. I’m not able to get anymore information on what's goin’ on outside. I’m worried about you, I’m trying my hardest to make sure you can go out there and survive on your own if you need to. I feel like I’m going crazy and I’m scared because I’ve never felt this out of control before.”

You sit up and turn to face him, “How long have you been feeling like this, Simon..?”

“A while,” he mutters, turning his back on you when your gaze starts to feel like too much, “And then you called me a monster and I just…” he trails off, seemingly unsure of how to explain his feelings properly.

“I’m sorry for that, Simon,” you mutter sincerely, reaching out to grab his arm, urging him to turn around, “I never should have said that. And I didn’t mean it, really.”

“Well, you were right, weren’t you?” he scoffs, “I am a monster. Fuck, look at what I did to you – how I treated you. I was punishing you and I never should have.”

“We both made mistakes,” you compromise with a wobbly smile, “We’re dealing with a lot, right? The fucking world is ending and we’ve been trapped in this godforsaken building for who knows how long. It’ll get easier.”

He stares at you for a long moment, lashes fluttering as his gaze softens. You can’t find it in yourself to break eye contact. After a long moment, he seems to decide on something before reaching up and yanking the mask covering his face off. 

You feel your breath halt in your chest as your eyes widen, taking in every inch of his newly revealed face. His soft, brown eyes are a juxtaposition to the rest of his ruggedly handsome face. You stand up, never letting your eyes stray from him, a feeling of pure awe coming over you.

“You’re so handsome, Si,” you whisper, reaching forward to brush your fingers over a scar that cuts through his eyebrow to his eyelid, “It’s nice to finally see you.”

“I wanted you to see the real me,” he whispers, “Not the asshole soldier I was.”

“I’m glad you’ve trusted me with this,” you let your fingers wander along his skin, feeling the stubble on his jaw that he hadn’t yet shaved. 

“I need to tell you,” he sounds breathy, reaching up and catching your hand in his, pressing your palm flat against his cheek, “I was so scared when I heard you callin’ for me. I thought I was goin’ to be too late and I’d watch you die. I was terrified that I would lose you.”

“Simon…” you whisper in awe, watching how his soft, brown eyes display every tumultuous emotion that he experiences, “I’m sorry. I won’t do anything to worry you again.”

“I want you by my side for as long as you’re able,” he whispers, throat moving as he swallows.

“I won’t go anywhere,” you agree, stepping closer to him, “I promise.”

He leans in at the same time as you, meeting you for a sweet, tender kiss. It lasts only a second before you’re both pulling back to look in each other's eyes. Then, you’re both surging forward for a hungry, heated kiss. 

His hands grip your waist, squeezing there as he deepens the kiss. You whimper under his touch, standing on your tip-toes to match the intensity of his kiss. 

He moves you backwards, your knees hitting the edge of the bed, causing you to topple down. Simon follows, catching himself on his hands on either side of your head. He only breaks the kiss for a moment to move you further up the bed, easily manhandling you so your head is in the pillows before he’s kissing you all over again.

His hands are rough as they travel over your body, slipping your shirt up just enough to let him touch your bare sides. You quickly realize you’re still wearing your sleep clothes and that you don’t have a bra on. 

Clearly, Simon was aware because his hand quickly cups your bare breast with a rough, callused hand. His thumb finds your nipple, flicking over the bud as you whine into his mouth. 

He pulls back suddenly, cheeks flushed before he’s fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

“Arms up, sweetheart,” he coos, sickly sweet. 

You follow his orders and eagerly lift your arms up for him to tug the fabric of your shirt over your head. Once your breasts are bared to him, he’s leaning down to wrap his lips around one perked nipple while his fingers busy themselves with the other.

You cry out at the feeling of his teeth nipping at the sensitive bud, hands tangling in his soft, curly hair. He groans against your breast at the feeling of your pulling at his hair before he pulls back just a bit, breathlessly whispering, “Such perfect tits.”

“Simon…” you whimper, letting yourself relax into the bed as he switches to mouth at your other nipple, leaving the other to harden in the cool air before his hand travels down your stomach to your shorts, easily slipping underneath the fabric.

“Simon!” you call out again when you feel the heat of his hand cup your folds through your panties. 

“Shh, just let me do the work, love,” he mumbled, muffled by the fact he refuses to part from suckling on your nipple. 

His tongue drags over your breast, nipping and sucking marks into your skin. As he works the muscle, his hand in your panties remains stationary, just letting you feel the heat of it against your core. The teasing presence only makes you pulse and drool into your panties. You’re positive the fabric must be sticking to you by now from how wet you’ve become from playing with your breasts. 

“Your tits are so sensitive,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “Does it feel good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, arching your back to offer up your chest to him all over again.

He grins, a crooked little smile that makes your heart flutter. It was so nice to finally see him smile. 

But instead of mouthing at your breasts again, he leans back on his heels and pulls his hand from your panties. You whine at the loss but it’s cut short when he hooks his fingers into them and tugs them down your legs. You lift your hips to assist him but find yourself wincing when an ache goes through your body.

He notices and gently runs the palm of his hands up your thighs, urging you to relax.

“You sore, love?” he asks, voice filled with what you can only call guilt.

“A little…” you admit, biting your lip, “My thighs are killing me, actually.”

He shakes his head at himself and leans down, pressing a kiss next to the scrape on one of your knees as his hands slowly begin to knead the sore muscles in your thighs. You sigh and let your eyes flutter at the feeling. 

With your eyes closed, you don’t realize he leans down until you feel a hot, wet tongue slide from your pubic bone to your sternum. Your cunt clenches pathetically at the feeling. When you open your eyes, Simon’s pretty, brown eyes are half-lidded and his tongue hangs out of his mouth. You can’t resist cupping the back of his head and pulling him for a kiss, whimpering and moaning against his mouth.

“Fingers or tongue?” he asks, muffled and messy against your lips. 

“What?” your hazy mind can’t quite comprehend what he’s asking of you.

“Do you want my fingers or my tongue?” he reiterates, “I want to make you cum.”

You whimper at that, “B-Both!”

He scoffs, full brows furrowing, “Greedy.”

You find yourself blushing at that but he doesn’t deny your request. He sinks down your body, peppering kisses down your body on the way until he kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

He grabs your hips and effortlessly yanks you down so your legs hang off the edge of the bed. 

He spreads your thighs apart and you find yourself holding your breath, watching through your lashes as he trails kisses up your thigh, getting closer to where you want him the most. You’re trembling under his attention and it makes you clench pathetically around absolutely nothing. You’re sure he can see the way your cunt drools and leaks with every small kiss he peppers against your skin. 

Just when he gets close, he pulls back and kisses back down towards your knee. The teasing has you wound taut, feeling as if you’re almost on the edge without him ever properly touching you.

It feels like hours that he does it, kissing up and down your thighs. Occasionally, he nips at the skin there, swirling his tongue over the burning marks he leaves behind to soothe the sting. Finally, he moves his hand and you think he’s going to finally give you something but all he does is spread your folds apart with two fingers, exposing your hole and clit to the cool bedroom air. The action makes you whine but he pays you no mind. 

He carries on kissing your thighs and nipping at your skin. No matter how much you rut your hips, hoping to entice him into touching you and giving you what you really need, he ignores it. He ignores your whines and the cries of his name, ignores the way your cunt clenches and drools around nothing, clit twitching from how much teasing you’re enduring. 

The little bud aches, throbbing as it begs for anything – any little touch that he has to offer. He could blow air upon the nub right now and you’re sure you would explode in pure pleasure. 

When you sob his name, broken and needier than you’ve ever heard yourself, he finally looks up. His eyelids are heavy, concealing half of his iris and it makes him look positively fucked out. 

“Look at me,” he commands, licking his lips slowly, “Right in the eyes, let me see you properly.”

You force yourself to meet his penetrating gaze, almost struggling to compose yourself. You find yourself trapped in the eye contact, almost paralyzed under his intoxicating gaze. He holds you there for what feels like minutes but in reality is probably just a few seconds. 

His fingers finally hone in on your clit, pressing against the twitching, hardened bud. You cum immediately, still locked in that intoxicating eye contact. You cry out, hands slapping against the bed as he draws the orgasm out of you with slow circles on the little bud, sticky clicking sounds filling the room and mixing with your wild cries of pleasure. It seems like the high never stops, more and more cum gushing from your cunt and dripping down to stain the comforter beneath you. 

Simon watches you with keen attention, taking in every expression you make as he makes you cum against his fingers, the bud throbbing wildly until the orgasm finally dissipates. 

When you finally sag against the bed, your thighs fall completely open as the post-orgasm exhaustion quickly hits. You’re left trembling and twitching through the aftershocks, pretty pussy still drooling with every clench of your walls.

Simon takes the opportunity of you coming down to strip himself. He tugs his shirt off over his head and lets his sweatpants drop the floor, carelessly kicking them away. His gaze never leaves you, never leaves that twitching little cunt between your legs.

There’s a slick film of your cum coating your folds and his mouth fucking waters. 

Your eyes fly open, not even realizing that you had closed them, when he suddenly cups the back of your thighs and pins you wide open for him.

“Simon…” you pathetically coo, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair when he comes within reach.

“So sweet for me,” he coos, kissing your thigh once again and you’re scared that he’s going to tease you all over again, “A good orgasm got you nice and sweet, huh?”

“Mhm,” you mutter, dazedly looking at him as you feel his breath on your sensitive cunt. 

That alone makes you clench around nothing. You nearly whimper out loud when you see his tongue fall from his mouth, glistening with spit before he licks a slow, wide stripe between your folds. 

When he comes back up, he holds his tongue out and lets you see the creamy mess of your cum left behind. He makes a show of swallowing every drop in his mouth, making your cheeks flush in pure embarrassment at such a lewd display. 

You had no idea Simon would be so fucking filthy in bed but the way his eyes roll back at your taste tells you all that you need to know. 

He loudly slurps your clit between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sloppy bud as he whines and groans into your cunt. You tug harshly at his hair at the overwhelming feeling of having your clit doted on so expertly. 

His hands keep you pinned open, allowing him to slip his tongue inside you, occasionally taking a moment to visibly swallow every drop of your slick so you can see the way he absolutely savors your taste.

He swirls that offending tongue around your clit again, slurping it back into his mouth before two fingers are prodding at your entrance. You clench against him, the excitement of finally being filled with something making you whimper. Just the sound of you so eager makes him almost want to cum completely untouched. 

Your cum generously coats his face and he absolutely loves it. He pulls away suddenly, dark eyes locking onto your face as he pants from how lost he was in eating you out. He slowly presses two fingers inside you, letting them slide in, hugged by the plushness of your walls.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, love,” he coos, moaning sympathetically when you cry out from the feeling of being stretched on his fingers, “And so warm too, fuck.”

He decides, in that moment, that he doesn’t care if the world is ending outside, he feels nothing but bliss with you. He never wants this to end, he wants to get completely lost in the pure intoxication of you. 

He leans down, flattening his tongue against your clit once again. The feeling is heightened now that he’s got his thick fingers stuffed inside you. You clench around him at the feeling of his tongue on the sensitive bud once more. 

He suddenly crooks his fingers and your legs helplessly kick in the air at the overwhelming feeling of him pressing and prodding against that gooey little spot inside you. Your hips rabbit up and you practically wail at the overwhelming sensations he’s attacking you with. You squeal his name so sweetly before he finally backs off a bit, letting you sink back into the soft cushions of the bed.

He’s completely drunk off of you, off the creamy cum you gush out for him to lick up, off the lovely sounds you let out from how good he makes you feel. His cock is so painfully hard and he wants so badly to wrap his hand around himself but he knows he’ll blow his load the second he does, so he refrains. 

To distract himself from the ache in his cock, he doubles his focus on you and making you feel good. His fingers crook upwards again, prodding your g-spot again with renewed vigor. You cry out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he sucks your clit into his mouth, the suction making your thighs tremble. 

“I-I wanna cum!” you cry out, fingers still tugging harshly at his hair. 

He groans against you but doesn’t dare to part from you, too focused on bringing you to your high to actually goad you into it. His fingers move inside you, fucking you nice and deep, making sure he’s working that sweet little spot inside you as he continues to suck on your clit. 

It doesn’t take long before your entire body stiffens and you toss your head back. The choked out cry is music to his ears and his own eyes roll back when he feels the way your walls tighten around him, soaking his fingers generously. Your clit throbs in his mouth before he releases his suction on it, instead choosing to lick the pulsing little bud with the flat of his tongue to gently ease you through the high. 

You’re pushing his head away long before he’s ready to part but he willingly backs off nonetheless. His chin is wet with your cum, even dripping down his neck and the sight makes you flush. There’s a loud, squishy noise when he slowly pulls his fingers from the hot clutch of your cunt. 

“Scoot back for me, darlin’,” he commands you, slurring a little before he pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean of the mess you left behind. 

You do as he says, shakily pushing yourself back so you can lay your head in the pillows. With Simon standing at the foot of the bed, you finally get the chance to take a look at him. 

He’s obviously incredibly well built, broad and firm in all the right places. Most notably, he has numerous scars, some that looked like bullet wounds and others that were long and thin. 

“Are all those from the military?” you find yourself asking as he carefully crawls onto the bed, jostling you as the mattress moves under his weight.

“Yeah,” he breathes, leaning down to press his lips against yours.

You let him handle your body as he pleases, spreading your legs so he can comfortably situate himself between them. His cock, hard and heavy, rests against your folds and you find your eyes going wide at the sight of it.

“Somethin’ the matter?” he chuckles, like he can hear what you’re thinking. 

“That’s not going to fit,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze off the twitching, fat length of him.

“‘Course it will, love,” he breathes, pecking your lips again, letting his lips trail down over your jaw, “I worked you open real good, all you gotta do is relax and let me in.”

With a minute adjustment of his hips, the tip prods your entrance. He grips the base of his length, carefully pushing forward, mouth dropping open as he feels your hot, wet walls spread around the head of him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts, “Jus’ let me do the work.”

Your hands fly down to grip his forearms, nails biting harder into the skin there the deeper he sinks into you. The middle of his cock is the fattest, giving you an almost painful stretch that makes your face pinch up in a way that Simon doesn’t like.

He brings one hand to his mouth, licking his thumb before carefully pressing the digit against that sensitive bud. You whimper at the feeling, cunt clutching tight around him, easing more of his length inside. He circles your clit a few more times, watching your face for any clear signs of discomfort. Before long, his hips meet yours, filling you absolutely full to the brim in a way no one ever had before. 

He plants both hands on either side of your head, abandoning your clit in favor of simply rutting his hips against yours. His large body hovers over you, shielding you from anything outside of him and you find yourself completely lost in everything that is him – how full he makes you feel, how nice he smells, how safe you feel trapped beneath him like you are. 

Your hands wind around his neck, pulling him down so his chest presses against yours. Your breasts squish against his chest and he finds his eyes flickering down just to look at them. The sight makes you smile despite yourself – it’s cute, you think.

Tangling your fingers in his soft curls once again, you bring him down for a kiss. He’s still slowly, carefully rutting his hips against yours, his lower abdomen sliding against your clit as his cock stirs inside you, stretching you and hitting every sweet little spot inside you. 

You whimper into his mouth, gasping at the way he makes you feel so full and good while he barely does anything. Your knees bracket against his ribs, squeezing him so tightly you wonder if it hurts but he just continues to kiss you and circle his hips. 

“Wanna feel you cum around me,” he whispers, barely parting from your lips to request it, “Just like this, cover my cock. Be good for me.”

You knew you wouldn’t be able to disobey even if you wanted to. With the way he stirs you up and drags against every tender spot inside you all while grinding against your clit the way he is, you don’t stand a chance. Your third orgasm creeps up on you and your back arches just as it washes over you.

Simon groans at the feeling of you cumming around him for the first time – the tight, wet clutch of your cunt feeling better than he ever could have dreamed. As he watches you writhe in his bed, moaning and whimpering his name, he’s overcome with a plethora of feelings that just melt his heart. 

He can’t resist pulling you in for another kiss, cupping your jaw as he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock remains buried in your cunt. You’re still working on coming down from the orgasm he just gave you but he’s greedy – he wants to feel it again. He wants to fuck the orgasm out of you, make you ride it out and gush all over him.

He needs to show you how good he can be for you, hoping that this alone can get across just how much you mean to him. He’s never been the best with words, so he can only hope that this is enough for now.

Your hands press against his chest, aimlessly pushing at him from the overwhelming way he fucks you. You’re so sensitive, pushed into cumming more times than anyone had ever made you before. But he doesn’t show any signs of slowing or stopping. He’s a machine, built for stamina and he’s on a fucking mission now – to make you feel as good as he possibly can. 

You’re attempting to push him away, to give your poor, overstimulated body a chance to come down. But he’s having none of it. 

“Hands off, love,” he commands breathlessly. But you just stare up at him with dazed, teary eyes, panting and sweaty. He clicks his tongue, “You ignorin’ me, sweetheart?”

He grapples your wrists in his one hand, pulling yours away from his chest and pinning them above your head. He uses this new hold as leverage to really fuck you, pulling back and sinking back in as deep as he possibly can. His tip kisses your cervix, making your thighs tense up at the twinge of pain that comes with having him so deep. 

But the pain mixes so addictively with the pleasure that you find yourself getting completely lost in the slow, deep rhythm that he sets. Every time he sinks balls deep, his hips slap against yours and he rubs up deliciously against your clit. The pleasure on your bud doesn’t last long before he’s pulling back again, never allowing you to fully build up to another delicious high. 

Simon is lost in the way you whimper and whine. He can swear that he’s never heard anything as incredible as you being denied the pleasure he had been so generous with so far. He likes the desperate look in your eyes; it makes him feel amazing to know that you need him to make you feel good. He’s in charge of your pleasure in that moment and he finds himself relishing in that feeling of control over you. 

You look so sweet beneath him, pinned and helpless with teary eyes looking up at him. Your pupils are blown wide from the pleasure his cock brings you as he continues to fuck you nice and deep. 

Usually, Simon is a fast and rough kind of guy, but he finds himself thinking that he could definitely get used to a pace like this more often. As long as it’s you that’s underneath him. 

It doesn’t take you very long to break, those pretty tears falling down your cheeks as you breathlessly plead with him, “Please, Simon,” your voice cracks so cutely, “I want more!”

He chuckles under his breath and leans down, pressing a tender kiss against your temple before whispering, “What’s stoppin’ you from takin’ more?”

That seems to set you off. You’re bracing your feet on the bed, rutting your hips, rocking yourself against his cock. A moan rips from his chest at the sight of you using his cock like that. His heavy balls press against you and the feeling makes his cock throb, making him realize how badly he needs to cum. But he doesn’t want to give up this little show you’re putting on for him so soon. 

You’re so, so wet that he can feel how your messy little cunt squishes around him. You shamelessly soak every inch of him the more you work your own pussy on his fat cock. You tug your hands free from his grip and he’s left clenching the pillows in his fist when he watches your fingers descend.

He thinks you’re going to go for your clit, to push yourself over the edge like you so deserved for being so good for him. But instead, you reach for your own tits. The breath punches out of his lungs as the sight of you meanly pinching and tweaking your nipples as you continue to rock yourself against him.

Simon feels his balls tighten at the sight and he almost thinks he’s going to cum but he suddenly pulls his cock out. You wail in complete misery at the loss, tearfully watching him wrap his hand around the base of his cock, pinching off the impending orgasm.

You flop back down onto the bed, sniffling pathetically as you glare at him for ruining the orgasm you were so beautifully working yourself up to. He smiles crookedly at you, cupping the backs of your knees, crudely pinning them to your chest so your pretty, wet cunt is open and vulnerable to the way he suddenly stuffs himself back inside. 

With you completely pinned beneath him in a press, you can’t do anything except cry out and wail in pleasure as he finally fucks you fast and hard. His balls slap lewdly against your ass, your arousal dripping off of them. 

His eyes are locked on the way you’re stretched so wide around the girth of him. You’re creaming around him, a milky ring left in your wake every time he pulls out. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe or collect yours, simply fucking you with everything he has. It’s loud, wet, and fucking messy. 

“F-Fuck,” he chokes on the word, voice breaking as it comes out. He’s so close that it hurts, “Play with yourself for me, love, rub your clit.”

Your hand flies down to do as you’re told without a second thought. It only takes a few, quick circles around the hard little bud before you’re cumming with a cute little squeal. Your feet kick helplessly in the air, toes curling from how hard you cum around him. 

Simon groans at the sight and feeling of you losing yourself on his cock. You continue to swirl and tap at your clit, forcing yourself to cum harder and harder until you’re squirting around him with a choked off sob of his name. 

Simon’s hips never still or falter, fucking you fast and deep to work you through the orgasm. Your cum splatters across his hips, thighs, and chest. It makes his eyes roll up into his head before he lets his head fall back. His jaw opens and he moans, loud and deep as his own orgasm finally washes over him. 

His pace falters as you lay there twitching and crying, a few trembling thrusts of his hips as his cock spits rope after rope of cum inside you. He cums longer and harder than he has in a very long time. He continues with short, aborted little thrusts on his sensitive cock as he continues to cum.

Even when the orgasm dissipates, he finds himself fucking into the creamy mess drooling out of your twitching cunt. 

“S-Simon-!” you choke out, nails clawing down his shoulders, “S-Sensitive!”

“I know, love,” he pants, almost deliriously, “J-Just one more. G-Gotta fill you up again.”

You can’t do anything but lay back and let him use your cunt as he works to force another orgasm out of his overstimulated cock. He’s gasping and whining as he moves his hips, pulling his cock out only to stuff it back inside. A mixture of your cum and his drips down, soaking his cock, pelvis, and balls. It’s a heady, lewd mess that he can’t bring himself to worry about now but he knows it’ll be a pain to clean up later. 

You’re trembling and twitching with every one of his movements, tears dried and new on your cheeks. He feels a pang of remorse for you, you’re tired and overstimulated but he just needs to wring this one last orgasm out and then he’ll let you rest.

“You can be good for me, huh?” he coos sweetly, “Just be sweet and let me, fuck, use this pretty little cunt, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, nodding your head as your eyelids flutter in exhaustion.

Simon leans down, pressing his lips against yours. You both get lost in the kiss, with your arms wrapped around his neck. He loves how it feels to have you stuffed on his cock while your pretty, sweet body twitches and trembles beneath him. He knows it probably hurts by now and the fact you’re just laying there and letting him use you like this has him reaching his second high. 

He chokes on a moan, gasping as he cums for the final time. It’s much more lackluster than his first one but he still fills you up just like you both needed. His cock twitches almost painfully inside you as he slowly rocks his hips, wincing at the overstimulation. 

After a few, still moments, he pulls his length free from the soft plushness of your cunt and rolls off of you. You’re both panting, laying on your backs on the bed as you come back to yourselves.

You’re the first one to move, rolling onto your side and wrapping yourself around him. Simon finds himself smiling when he feels the sweet way you snuggle against him, seeking his comfort automatically. 

You start shivering, the mess of cum and sweat on your body causing you to become cold. He urges you to sit up despite your protests. 

“Let’s take a shower and sleep,” he offers sweetly, supporting your shaky body to the bathroom.

He continues to support you and hold you close through the shower. He finds himself grateful that there’s still hot water because you both certainly need it after such a messy tryst in his bed. 

You’re the first to fall asleep, tucked against his chest with your arms wrapped around him like a little koala. His hand strokes up and down your back, just staring into the inky blackness of his bedroom. 

Part of him feels like it’s all a dream, to have someone so sweet tucked against him, offering him comfort and feeling safe as they snooze peacefully. A sense of fierce protectiveness washes over him as he finds himself going through plans in his head – what the future may hold.

He’s torn from his thoughts when you shoot up from your deep sleep with a gasp. Your head wildly turns, looking around the room. His hand finds purchase on your back, making you jump before relaxing immediately in recognition.

“Bad dream?” he asks, tugging you gently to lay you back down against his chest.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I dreamt that I was trapped with them in that hallway again.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, wrapping his arms tightly around you to make sure you feel secure. You go still for a long time and he thinks you fell asleep again but then you ask him a question that surprises him.

“Who are those people in the photos?” you quietly question, “In your living room.”

He hums, rubbing a rough hand up and down your shoulder and arm, “My teammates. Friends, I guess.”

“You guess?” you chuckle.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Task Force 141; Captain John Price, and Seargets John ‘Soap’ MacTavish and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.”

“Soap is a silly name,” you comment, grinning up at him, resting your chin against his chest, “What about you?”

“Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley,” he responds with ease. 

“Do you know where they are?” you ask.

It’s an innocent question but it sends a pang of hurt to his chest. If he were a weaker, less trained man, he may have felt tears pricking his eyes, “I don’t know,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “I was in contact with Soap when everything started goin’ to shit. Lost contact with him though. He’s a tough bastard though, I’m sure he’s fine somewhere out there. I don’t know where the other two were or are.”

“If they’re even half as good as you, I’m sure they’re all fine,” you offer optimistically. 

Simon hums again, reaching a hand up to brush a stray flyaway off of your forehead. His big hand cups your cheek, stroking his thumb over your lips which you offer a gentle kiss against. 

“All I’m worried about now is you,” he confesses softly, “As long as you’re safe, I’ll be happy. I’ll do anything to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” you smile, laying back down to nuzzle against his chest, “I’m okay as long as you’re here.”

He wraps his arms around you again and closes his eyes, letting himself sleep peacefully with you held safe against him.

It’s not even a week later that you’re sitting on the couch with him, peacefully watching a movie with a full belly after cooking a quick dinner with him, that you hear a loud, mechanical thump and you’re plunged into complete silence and darkness. Your heart jumps and races in your chest, mindlessly grappling onto Simon’s arm as he sits still beside you.

“What happened?” you ask, whispering as if you’re scared to speak any louder.

“Power went out,” he responds, not sounding the least bit perturbed, “Knew it was comin’. Water’s probably out now too.”

“What do we do?” you ask, the tremor of fear in your voice practically breaking his heart. 

He stands up and you whimper in fear when he’s out of your reach. You can hear him moving around in the dark before a bright, blinding light lands on you. 

“We can’t stay here for much longer,” he responds, “We’ll have to move out and find somewhere with more resources.”

“How long have you been planning this?” you ask, getting to your feet to follow him down the hall to the bedroom.

“Ever since the news stopped reportin’,” he responds, grabbing a large backpack from the closet, “Let’s pack up.”

You linger beside him and he looks at you with a raised brow, “I’m scared, Simon.”

His gaze softens and he walks up to you, cupping your cheeks tenderly, “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises, “We’re goin’ to go out, find a small place to hunker down. We’ll look for a generator or a vehicle and get somewhere safe. You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod your head, “Of course I do.”

“Good,” he smiles, kissing your forehead, “Now take this backpack and fill it with what’s left of our canned food, alright? I’m goin’ to pack everything else we need, don’t worry about a thing.”

He offers you a flashlight, which you gratefully take and click on. You’re glad that he gives you an easy task to focus on. You take the smaller backpack he offers you and make your way to the kitchen. You only have about 5 cans of food left and you carefully place them inside the bag before opening the refrigerator to pack a few full bottles of water that you have stored in there. You make sure to toss in a can opener just in case before you place the backpack on the couch. 

Simon emerges from the room with the large, military backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“You get it all?” he asks, taking a seat to shove his boots onto his feet.

“Yeah and a couple water bottles,” you respond, approaching him slowly.

“That’s perfect,” he praises, looking over at you, “You should go get dressed. Jeans and a hoodie. Put your sneakers on and make sure they’re tight, got it?”

You nervously do as you’re told, disappearing into the bedroom to quickly dress yourself under the flashlight. You can hear Simon moving around in the living room, heavy boots thumping against the floor with every step he takes. 

You toss the hoodie over your head and make your way back to Simon, who stands in the living room, looking out the window. The sun is just beginning to come up over the horizon, casting a dim amount of sunlight to come through. 

He turns to look at you when he hears you approach. 

“There you go,” he hums, pulling the hoodie up over your head and tightening the strings, “Keep your neck covered. We’ll find you some better clothing somewhere along the way.”

You nod your head and take a glance over his shoulder out the window. You can barely see the ground from your position but you can see people shuffling around on the streets below. A pang of fear goes through you as you realize that they’re most definitely not normal people – the streets are crawling with those undead freaks. 

Simon leads you to the door and unsheaths a weapon for you – a machete he had taught you to wield with relative ease. You grip it in your hands, nervously twirling it around until you find a comfortable position. Simon nods his head and pulls out a combat knife, holding it low at his side before opening the door. 

The descent to the lobby is relatively easy, you walk over the undead that have already been taken care of in the stairwell.

“I took care of these already,” he explains without you even having to ask, helping you jump over a pile of 3 zombies at the foot of the stairs. 

“You got more kills under your belt than me,” you comment, mostly in jest to lighten your mood.

Simon huffs under his breath, slowly pushing open the door to the lobby, “You have no idea.”

You squint and turn off your flashlight when you step into the well lit lobby. The sun is now above the horizon, allowing you to see with ease once again. 

Simon remains in front of you, making your way to the double front doors. You peek around him, heart racing in your chest as your grip on your weapon tightens.

“Are you ready?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder.

“No…” you confess, shuffling closer to him.

“Everything will be okay,” he promises firmly and you actually believe him. 

When he pushes open the door, the groans of the undead fill your ears and you find your eyes darting frantically around the streets that you can now see with terrifying clarity. 

Hundreds of undead swarm the streets, stumbling and groaning as they shuffle around aimlessly in search of food. Simon reaches down and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You know it’s going to be the fight of your life but with Simon by your side, you have faith that you’re going to make it through and find somewhere safe together.

 property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.

#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

[omgeto]

☆ COVER UP — tattoo artist!GETO SUGURU

summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.

wc: 3k

cw: afab!reader, geto gives you backshots, he's kinda obsessed w/ your ass here, unprotected sex (since I forget condoms) BUT he's a gentleman pulls out </3 your kinda a meanie. he's kinda a meanie so light angst (?) but barely. MDNI

an: haven't posted a longer work in a hot minute, but here is how you meet tattoo artist boyfriend!geto soooo give this one a chance big fanks to my lil twat @kazushawty for helping me out and reading bits of it.

as you push open the heavy glass door of ‘cursed ink studios,’ a subtle bell chimes softly, announcing your presence. instantly, the atmosphere inside crackles with an electric charge. the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of ink, mingling with the sterile bite of antiseptic. the walls are adorned with vivid flash art form a chaotic tapestry, while the rhythmic hum of a tattoo gun echoes through the room.

and there he is, geto suguru – a tall, enigmatic figure with jet-black hair and sleeves of mesmerising tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. he sits at his workbench, surrounded by an array of ink bottles and tattoo machines, his piercing eyes never leaving the art he's creating. a carefully curated playlist of music plays softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional buzzing of the tattoo gun.

he glances up from his intricate work as you enter, his gaze slowly travelling up and down your form. there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he's wondering why you, of all people, have ventured into his sacred space. his expression, however, suggests that he's far from thrilled about the interruption.

"need something?" he asks, his irritation evident.

"i need a cover-up” you swallow your nerves, holding your head high, your voice steady, ”my ex's name."

geto raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your request. "ex's name, huh? you people never learn."

your jaw clenches at his condescending tone. "well, i'm here now, so can you do it or not?"

he continues to scrutinise you, his gaze feeling like a judgmental weight. finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. "fine, show me."

with a sigh of resignation, you turn around, your heart pounding as you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to reveal the offending name covering your left ass cheek. it's a constant reminder of a relationship gone wrong, and you're more than ready to be rid of it.

"this won't be easy," he mutters, his fingers cool against your skin as he traces the outline of the name. his touch lingers, just a little too long, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. his fingers, skilled and confident, continued to trace the inked letters of your ex's name on your skin — almost toyingly. and you could feel the chill of the tattoo parlour's air-conditioning contrasted by the warmth of his touch.

his voice, though still gruff, held a trace of disgust "who did this?" he asks, not looking up from the tattoo.

you hesitate, your memories of that past relationship flooding back. "my ex-boyfriend," you reply tersely.

geto's fingers stop their tracing, and he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "you let your boyfriend do a shitty tattoo on you, and you let him make it his name," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you practically let him brand you."

“is it your job to be such a bitchy artist?” you snap, already fed up by his comments. you’ve heard it from your parents, your friends, ever since you got that trashy tattoo. but couldn't disagree with that sentiment — you knew it was a shit tattoo. “i thought i was paying you for your artistry, not your smart mouth.”

"listen," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "you walk in here with that god awful mess on your skin, and you've got the nerve to criticise my attitude? if you want to be rid of it, you'll do well to keep that attitude in check, sweetheart."

you bite back a retort, realising that you've indeed crossed a line with your comment. there's a palpable tension in the air now, a simmering anger beneath the surface, and it seems that geto has no intention of backing down.

with a deep breath, you swallow your pride and offer a reluctant apology. "i'm sorry," you mutter, a touch of remorse in your voice. "i shouldn't have snapped at you."

he continues to hold your gaze for a moment, his expression still stern, before finally nodding. "apology accepted."

you didn’t actually have an idea of what you wanted for the cover up, you just knew you needed it gone. geto was a highly sought out cover artist so you had no doubt that he’d be able to do you good. with your initial meeting being heated, you thought it was best to leave him to do his thing.

with a sense of relief that the confrontation has subsided, you decide to give geto some space to work his magic. "i'll leave you to it," you say, your voice quieter now, and you turn away from him.

"good," he mutters, his focus fully on his ipad as he starts to sketch, not even looking as you leave the shop. 

geto usually was quick to draw up tattoo sketches for clients, but when it came to you he was stunned — too busy thinking about how your ass looked rather than what he was meant to tattoo on it. from the moment you stepped in his shop, he was intrigued, you didn’t see the type to get work done by him and the marking stretched on your ass didn’t seem like it would belong to someone with an attitude like yours. 

his mind was anything but focused on the design. he couldn't help but replay the encounter with you in his thoughts, your brashness and the way you'd stood your ground, even under his scrutiny.

"why the hell did she get that shitty tattoo?" he mutters to himself, his fingers deftly working his pen. the sketch was beginning to take shape, but his mind kept drifting back to the curve of your ass. he couldn't deny the attraction he felt, and it frustrated him. he was supposed to be a professional, detached from his clients beyond the art he created on their skin. but something about you had thrown him off balance.

“so you ready to get this tatted on you?” is the first thing he asks when you return the following day. you inspect his sketches in awe, of course you never doubted his talent but you didn’t think he’d be able to draw something you wanted without you even having to say.

“well it seems you do live up to your reputation,” you comment with a neutral facade, but you both know that you were downplaying your excitement — you were pleased. and like with any client, that made geto satisfied that he was doing his job correctly. but when he saw the way your eyes lit up when he initially showed you the sketches, it was a sight he wanted to see again. “i guess we can start the tattoo.”

“okay i’ll get my stuff set up, get rid of those,” he says nodding towards your jeans, “and lay down when you’re ready.” you slip yourself out of your bottoms, leaving the itty bitty thong that you knew you’d need for the appointment and that a small part of you hoped he liked.

he pauses when he sees you laying down on the seat in his station, your head resting in your arms, your ass slightly raised.  ‘this is gonna be a long session,’ he thinks to himself as he smirks, shaking his head as he works his way to his seat.

as he sits down, he places the stencil over your ass, and you berate yourself for getting giddy at the feeling of him rubbing over the design to make sure it was in place — wishing that his hand stayed for longer. 

“how are you with pain?” he asks, and from the way you were laying you weren’t able to see the way he was gawping at your ass.

“what type of pain?” you retort.

“y’know the type of pain where someones drilling into your ass for hours,” he comments as if it’s obvious but you both knew his words were hinting at more than just the tattoo.

“choice words there,” you muse, “but any type of pain i’m alright with, so give me your best.”

geto's needle hovers just above your skin, poised for action. "you sure about that?" he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive.

a coy smile tugs at your lips as you respond, "I can handle it if you can."

with a deliberate, almost tantalising slowness, he lowers the needle to your skin. the first touch is a sharp, stinging sensation, but you refuse to flinch. you're determined to hold your own, to meet geto's challenge head-on.

he continues to work, the needle dancing across your skin with a practised precision. the room is filled with the rhythmic sound of the tattoo machine, creating a hypnotic backdrop to your growing tension.

as minutes turn into hours, you find yourself lost in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. the pain is undeniable, but there's something oddly exhilarating about it. you steal a glance at geto, his intense focus on his work, and you can't help but wonder if he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"still doing okay?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and something more primal.

you bite your lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. "i told you, i can handle it."

geto smirks, his gaze locked on your ass as he continues to tattoo. "you've got quite the threshold for pain. impressive."

“is it really? i'm sure you’ve worked on a lot of other clients with higher thresholds for pain.”

“but none of them have had an ass like yours though,” he mumbles to himself — but you hear him loud and clear, a grin forming on your face at the confession. “anyways, we’re all done now, go ahead and look in the mirror.”

you stand in the full length mirror, your head slightly turned at an angle as you gawp at your ass. your eyes widen seeing what was once your shitty exes name, now turned into a piece of true art. 

“so what d’you think?” he asks, and you didn’t even notice him coming to stand behind you until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, “this shit is hot right?”

“you can say that again,” you agree, keeping your eyes focused on the tattoo, trying to ignore the quickening of your heart beat at the presence of him, “this is really great though, like i couldn’t imagine my ass could look this good after having that tattooed on on it all his time.”

“well no need to imagine anymore,” geto’s face forms a smiling grin, you can tell he was admiring way more than just his artwork, “you mind if i take a picture… for my instagram?” he says, barely asking as his phone is already out of his pocket and is in his hands, he looks up at you for permission and you give a slight nod before he’s snapping away at your ass.

“are you sure this is for your instagram,” you tease, as he continues to take photos crouched down, as he circles your ass with his phone, “or is this just for your personal wank bank?”

“would you like it to be?” he retorts back swiftly, there wasn’t even any mischief in his eyes as he looks up at you, just pure lust.

“um i–” you stutter, only now feeling exposed — as if he hadn’t been working on your ass already for the past six hours.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he coos, standing up to face you head on, “y’gonna let me finish off making you forget that ex or yours or what?”

“be my guest,” you respond, trying to come across as nonchalant, but the eager look in your eyes gave geto all he needed to know. 

he pushes you softly, as he commands, “hands against the mirror and spread your legs.” and you do just that, as he comes behind you, fitting in between your legs perfectly. his hand forces ur back down, deeping the arch of your spine before both of his hands grab onto your ass.

geto really rubs and digs his thumbs into your cheeks, biting his lip at the sight at the way his fingers mould into your ass. “fuckk man,” he groans out, he’s not even in you yet and he was already obsessed with every inch of you. 

he frees his dick from his pants, and pumps it quickly before sliding it across your already gushing slit. you hiss at the contact, a pleased smile working its way on your face as the tip of his dick edges into you.

“s-shit,” you stammer, as he inches himself into you deeper, “w-what about the rest of the shop?”

“what about them?” he shrugs, “you don’t want them to hear naught you’re being right now? HEY GUYS—”

“oi,” you hiss out, your eyes widening as you turn your head to look directly at him.

“i’m just playing, i’m not ready to share you quite just yet,” he retorts, his dick moving in you at an achingly slow pace, “now, keep your eyes focused on the mirror, and you better not let those hands slip.”

before you can respond, he thrust his hips into you as deep as he could, his dick slamming into you. you moan out at the surprising force, trying your best to keep your palms flat on the surface of the mirror, as you stare straight at him — watching how he works his hands from your ass to your hips so he can drive into you with all of his force. 

“this pussy is s-so fucking good,” he praises, the sloppiness of your cunt making it easy for him to slide his dick in and out of you. “oh and this ass,” he continues giving a hard spank on your ass cheek, to emphasise his point, “c’mon throw your ass back on my dick, i wanna see it bounce.”

you fuck him back, doing exactly as he says, your ass meeting his hips with the same amount of force. his spanks encourage you to be quicker, to give him everything he wants. his repeating, strong strokes, have you feeling weaker, your hands slipping as you try to stay up right, when all you want to do is collapse and cum everywhere. 

“f-fuckk it’s too much,” you whine, as he drills into you.

“nah,” he says, shrugging his head, “it’s not enough,” he lifts up his legs, his digits pressing into your deeper, as he now angles his strokes even further into your pussy, hitting your spot with ease. “give it to me harder, i know you can” he encourages, another two swift spanks landing on your ass.

with his continuous contact of your ass and his hips, and the way his dick pushes into you deeper, you felt like you were splitting in two. but you kept going, thinking back to your earlier conversation, you didn’t want to prove him wrong, you wanted to show him that you can handle it, handle him.

geto was practically beaming, licking his lips feverishly at the sight of your fucked out face through the mirror as he watches himself plough into you, your body rocking forward with every thrust. his eyes concentrate on your ass, as he says, “d’you see how your rocking my work on you now?” and you nod dumbly, too busy trying to reach your climax to string a sentence together, “so fuck that ex of yours and his shitty ass tattooing, from now on you only can me on your body, you got that?” he asks and you nod again, but he shakes his head, his hand moving from your waist to your chin as he grips it making your eyes stay locked on his through the mirror, “i said do you got that?”

“ahhh s-shit yet i do, i do,” you say, mirroring his words, “i will only have you on my body, ‘promise.”

“good girl,” he approves, giving your chin a squeeze before letting go, “now cum.” 

with those simple words, you release all over him, your stance getting weaker, as you shoot out cum all over his dick. he’s quick to pull out of you though, stroking his dick as he sprays his cum all over your ass, with a deep groan.

your hands are still on the wall, as you take deep breaths, trying to recollect yourself. but you turn around swiftly seeing a flash of a camera behind you, and geto is back to crouching down, with his phone out, taking pictures of your cum covered ass.

“you mind if i keep these in my wank bank forreal this time?” he asks, smirking as you nod, “i’ll take some more later, but i got two questions to ask.”

“and those are…” you say, prompting him to continue.

“first, let me take you out after this?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer. after the way he just dicked you down, you’d be a fool not to let him wine and dine you, “second, y’gonna come suffocate my face with that ass of yours or not?” you couldn’t even answer the second question since he’s pulling you down to the floor with him, with a joyous grin on his face.

AN: IGNORE THE FACT THAT HE CUMS ALL OVER UR FRESH TATTOO. LIKE JUST IGNORE IT. just focus on the fact that you have a lovely ass and geto loves it too. but yes do you want to see more, I HAVE ENOUGH IDEAS TO EVEN MAKE A LIL MASTERLIST FOR IT. I love tattoo artist boyfriend!geto so so much, like when u guys become an established relationship it actually gets so good. BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE THIS ONE, BUT IF U GUYS FW IT I PROMISE ILL ACTUALLY WRITE AND POST THE ONES I LOVE. BUT I FELT LIKE I HAD TO WRITE THIS FIRST SO YOU COULD SEE HOW U AND GETO STARTED. LMK UR THOUGHTS

#stampedwithanE★ #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

[inhonoredglory]

Aziraphale’s Choice, the Job Connection, and Michael Sheen’s Morality

Update: Michael Sheen liked this post on Twitter, so I'm fairly certain there is a lot of validity to it.

I’ve had time to process Aziraphale’s choice at the end of Season 2. And I think only blaming the religious trauma misses something important in Aziraphale’s character. I think what happened was also Aziraphale’s own conscious choice––as a growth from his trauma, in fact. Hear me out.

Since November 2022 I’ve been haunted by something Michael Sheen said at the MCM London Comic Con. At the Q&A, someone asked him about which fantasy creature he enjoyed playing most and Michael (bless him, truly) veered on a tangent about angels and goodness and how, specifically,

We as a society tend to sort of undervalue goodness. It’s sort of seen as sort of somehow weak and a bit nimby and “oh it’s nice.” And I think to be good takes enormous reserves of courage and stamina. I mean, you have to look the dark in the face to be truly good and to be truly of the light…. The idea that goodness is somehow lesser and less interesting and not as kind of muscular and as passionate and as fierce as evil somehow and darkness, I think is nonsense. The idea of being able to portray an angel, a being of love. I love seeing the things people have put online about angels being ferocious creatures, and I love that. I think that’s a really good representation of what goodness can be, what it should be, I suppose.

I was looking forward to BAMF!Aziraphale all season long, and I think that’s what we got in the end. Remember Neil said that the Job minisode was important for Aziraphale’s story. Remember how Aziraphale sat on that rock and reconciled to himself that he MUST go to Hell, because he lied and thwarted the will of God. He believed that––truly, honestly, with the faith of a child, but the bravery of a soldier.

Aziraphale, a being of love with more goodness than all of Heaven combined, believed he needed to walk through the Gates of Hell because it was the Right Thing to do. (Like Job, he didn’t understand his sin but believed he needed to sacrifice his happiness to do the Right Thing.)

That’s why we saw Aziraphale as a soldier this season: the bookshop battle, the halo. But yes, the ending as well.

Because Aziraphale never wanted to go to Heaven, and he never wanted to go there without Crowley.

But it was Crowley who taught him that he could, even SHOULD, act when his moral heart told him something was wrong. While Crowley was willing to run away and let the world burn, it was Aziraphale (in that bandstand at the end of the world) who stood his ground and said No. We can make a difference. We can save everyone.

And Aziraphale knew he could not give up the ace up his sleeve (his position as an angel) to talk to God and make them see the truth in his heart.

I was messed up by Ineffable Bureaucracy (Boxfly) getting their happy ending when our Ineffable Husbands didn’t, but I see now that them running away served to prove something to Aziraphale. (And I am fully convinced that Gabriel and Beelzebub saw the example of the Ineffables at the Not-pocalypse and took inspiration from them for choosing to ditch their respective sides)

But my point is that Aziraphale saw them, and in some ways, they looked like him and Crowley. And he saw how Gabriel, the biggest bully in Heaven, was also like him in a way (a being capable of love) and also just a child when he wasn’t influenced by the poison of Heaven. Muriel, too, wasn’t a bad person. The Metatron also seemed to have grown more flexible with his morality (from Aziraphale's perspective). Like Earth, Heaven was shades of (light?) gray.

Aziraphale is too good an angel not to believe in hope. Or forgiveness (something he’s very good at it).

Aziraphale has been scarred by Heaven all his life. But with the cracks in Heaven’s armor (cracks he and Crowley helped create), Aziraphale is seeing something else. A chance to change them. They did terrible things to him, but he is better than them, and because of Crowley, he feels ready to face them.

(Will it work? Can Heaven change, institutionally? Probably not, but I can't blame Aziraphale for trying.)

At the cafe, the Metatron said something big was coming in the Great Plan. Aziraphale knows how trapped he had felt when he didn’t have God’s ear the first time something huge happened in the Big Plan. He can’t take a chance again to risk the world by not having a foot in the door of Heaven. That’s why we saw individual human deaths (or the threat of death) so much more this season: Elspeth, Wee Morag, Job’s children, the 1940s magician. Aziraphale almost killed a child when he couldn’t get through to God, and he’s not going through that again.

“We could make a difference.” We could save everyone.

Remember what Michael Sheen said about courage and doing good––and having to “look the dark in the face to be truly good.” That’s what happened when Aziraphale was willing to go to Hell for his actions. That’s what happened when he decided he had to go to Heaven, where he had been abused and belittled and made to feel small. He decided to willingly go into the Lion’s Den, to face his abusers and his anxiety, to make them better so that they would not try to destroy the world again.

Him, just one angel. He needed Crowley to be there with him, to help him be brave, to ask the questions that Heaven needed to hear, to tell them God was wrong. Crowley is the inspiration that drives Aziraphale’s change, Crowley is the engine that fuels Aziraphale’s courage.

But then Crowley tells him that going to Heaven is stupid. That they don’t need Heaven. And he’s right. Aziraphale knows he’s right.

Aziraphale doesn’t need Heaven; Heaven needs him. They just don’t know how much they need him, or how much humanity needs him there, too. (If everyone who ran for office was corrupt, how can the system change?)

Terry Pratchett (in the Discworld book, Small Gods) is scathing of God, organized religion, and the corrupt people religion empowers, but he is sympathetic to the individual who has real, pure faith and a good heart. In fact, the everyman protagonist of Small Gods is a better person than the god he serves, and in the end, he ends up changing the church to be better, more open-minded, and more humanist than god could ever do alone.

Aziraphale is willing to go to the darkest places to do the Right Thing, and Heaven is no exception. When Crowley says that Heaven is toxic, that’s exactly why Aziraphale knows he needs to go there. “You’re exactly is different from my exactly.”

____

In the aftermath of Trump's election in the US, Brexit happened in 2018. Michael Sheen felt compelled to figure out what was going on in his country after this shock. But he was living in Los Angeles with Sarah Silverman at the time, and she also wanted to become more politically active in the US.

Sheen: “I felt a responsibility to do something, but it [meant] coming back [to Britain] – which was difficult for us, because we were very important to each other. But we both acknowledge that each of us had to do what we needed to do.” In the end, they split up and Michael moved back to the UK.

Sometimes doing the Right Thing means sacrificing your own happiness. Sometimes it means going to Hell. Sometimes it means going to Heaven. Sometimes it means losing a relationship.

And that’s why what happened in the end was so difficult for Aziraphale. Because he loves Crowley desperately. He wants to be together. He wanted that kiss for thousands of years. He knows that taking command of Heaven means they would never again have to bow to the demands of a God they couldn’t understand, or run from a Hell who still came after them. They could change the rules of the game.

And he’s still going to do that. But it hurts him that he has to do that alone.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #it's kinda like capt america: civil war #with Azi as Tony Stark: traumatized and trying to do the right thing #and Crowley being Steve Rogers: fuck the establishment let's go rogue #gos2spoilers #good omens meta #good omens 2 meta #go s2 #michael sheen #go s2 meta #go meta #*mine #*mymeta #ineffables husbands #ineffable soulmates #*mybest

[sturnsbae]

heyyy can you write smth about matt calling the reader "my baby" in podcasts, videos and even in front of their families without caring who's around?

MY BABY - MATT STURNIOLO

warning: very very soft matt, so if you’re not into pure fluff then this story is not for you!!

—

matt never fails to express his love for you. he’s so passionate about loving you, and making sure you know that. one day around the beginning of your guys’ relationship he had accidentally let a new nickname slip, and you fell in love with it.

you were wrapped in his arms cuddled up in his bed as both of you were dozing off. “i love you. you’re my baby,” matt had groggily let slip out of his mouth. the corners of your lips had turned up when he said this.

“i love that nickname,” you had said. so then it became yours. all yours.

~

the guys are recording a podcast episode on happiness and your name is brought up per usual. matt’s face lights up immediately and a big smile appears on his face.

“oh yeah she’s a huge form of my happiness. it’s like an instant serotonin boost whenever she’s around, she’s my baby.” he smiles, not at all ashamed that both of his brothers are around, as well as all of the viewers who will be listening to the podcast episode.

“it’s so cute that you call her that,” nick smiles in awe.

“it’s disgusting nick, don’t lie to him,” chris groans.

“shut up chris, you’re just mad that you’re single,” matt retorts.

~

matt’s phone rests on the center console of the car facing with the screen up. he’s in the middle of talking to nick when he feels a buzz and notices his screen light up out of the corner of his eye. his head turns and he notices that it’s a snapchat from you.

he grabs his phone and leans back in his chair as nick and chris bicker, opening the photo from you and immediately blushing. he bites the insides of his cheeks to prevent a smile, but ultimately fails when chris calls him out on his so called “antisocial” behavior.

“dude get off your phone, stop being antisocial! we’re filming!” chris rolls his eyes.

matt shuffles to put his phone away, not enjoying the sudden spotlight on him. “sorry sorry, i was just snapping my babyyyy,” he sing-songs to piss chris off.

“ew dude! i hate couples,” chris huffs and crosses his arms as he slides down in the passenger seat.

“you’re just mad that matt is cheating on you with y/n,” nick chuckles from the back seat.

“you know what, you’re right!” chris says as he sits up and gets close to the camera shaking his finger at it, “you know what y/n! i’m matt’s passenger princess not you! and i was his baby first too!”

“oh my god,” matt laughs and rolls his eyes playfully at his brothers antics.

~

you were visiting his parents in boston for the first time, and you were beyond nervous to say the least. it was such a nerve wracking feeling to be meeting the most important people in his life besides you and his brothers.

“they’re gonna love you, y/n. you’re my baby, they know how much i love you. they’re gonna love you just as much, maybe even more!” matt reassures you as you both walk a few paces behind his brothers in the airport.

you give matt a nervous smile as you both approach the car where both of his parents are waiting in the pickup line. mary lou quickly gets out of the car and hurries to hug her boys, before approaching you and matt with a big smile.

“hi sweetie,” she smiles to matt

“mom, meet my baby y/n!” matt smiles as mary lou wraps you in a tight hug.

“it’s so nice to meet you, mrs sturniolo,” you smile.

“oh please honey, call me mary lou,” she smiles at you. you then walk off towards the trunk and put your bag into it. as you walk off, mary lou turns to matt, “now i see why you call her that. she’s such a sweet and pretty girl. you did good, matt.”

—

i’m sooo sorry if this is bad it was so rushed 😭

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x you #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo fluff