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non-operator · 2 months

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okay... let me start off with "I'm sorry" because I lied and I'm bored, gave H*llavu B*ss a go because my feed is full of it and HH now and I have no impulse control and I also can't leave things unfinished. And HB is free on youtube; I can technically pirate hh but I don't want to be in that much effort for that...

And like, I think it's the same as I feel about that one song from HH. It's not that great, though I guess I can see why people like it? But in a "I don't think you people ever moved past deviant art era plot and art". Which, to be nice, isn't bad by itself but objectively speaking, there is better media and stories out there. All in all, I'm giving it a 2.5/10; I think the best way to summarize HB is that it's a show made for people who were already in love with it before watching it, not a show that tries to win over its audience.

Plot

It is episodic, so I will admit that plot isn't that big of a factor in the series. But I will say that it loses sight of its premise pretty fast. Like, it's advertised and set up as a "wacky hijinks in a found family assassination business", but after the first few episodes or so, it stops showing them doing work/killing people and how they go about that, and focuses more on what happens around or outside of work. For example, ep 6 and 7 just doesn't even show them working and skips straight to the aftermath and what they're going to do after work. The Spring Break episode does show them working, but it glosses over it; IMP is more like a plot device than a premise. Ep 2 straight up has them doing other stuff (aka bodyguarding, something that is explicitly said to be not a service IMP offers). Fuck it, even the Harvest Moon Festival ep is not work-related. For a show that is supposedly centered on IMP and the main cast killing humans on behalf of sinners with a grudge, it doesn't actually interact or play with that concept. And I think it basically drops completely out of focus in Season 2.

And like, I can understand if the show wants to make it more about character dynamics than the business, but the pilot (and ep 1 kind of) promises to explore that *through* IMP work. And that leads into the next big problem with HB

Character

I feel like everyone except Blitzo is underdeveloped, especially the women in the show. We get a lot of insight into Blitzo's motivations and emotional baggage and how he copes with that in unhealthy and asshole-y ways. But literally everyone else is kind of thrown under the bus unless it's relevant to Blitzo. The only character that kind of escapes this treatment (but not wholly) is Moxxie.

But Millie is only defined by how she's Moxxie's wife, and basically nothing else. Loona-- does have some more characterization than Millie, but her biggest-- and basically only-- role in the show is being Blitzo's difficult adopted daughter; her character arc about idk getting more in-touch with her feelings and being more expressive is centered around how she feels about Blitzo. And then the side characters: Octavia and Stella. Octavia is also about being a daughter to her father, and that's kind of it! Even though she's struggling with her parents' (incoming) divorce, she's only shown to be interacting/having an emotional connection with Stolas; Stella is never in the picture. Stella is-- just a major bitch, and that's it. That's all she has to her character.

But Octavia and Stella are side characters, so I can accept them having pretty flat personalities, but Millie and Loona? Those two are part of the main fucking cast. How are they being sidelined this hard??

I think a lot of the show revolves around Blitzo, so if the characters don't matter to him or don't bounce off well with him, they kind of get shafted by the writing. Like Millie. She is just generally so easygoing with Blitzo's antics that there's nothing for Blitzo to really react to there, so she's just essentially a background character.

Speaking of, almost all the characters and relationships are kind of built to parallel Blitzo and Stolitz (we'll get to this ship in a minute). Like, Moxxie is supposed to be a nice foil to Blitzo because they're both afraid of rejection, but they deal with that in opposite ways; Moxxie is polite, professional, no backbone because he doesn't want confrontation lest it lead to rejection whereas Blitzo is crass and a dick about everything so he can push people away before they reject/hurt him. And they both want to be loved, but Moxxie has a healthy relationship with Millie whereas Blitzo has no such thing in his life, so another contrast. And also daddy issues.

This is okay on its own. It makes a compelling dynamic between Blitzo as a boss and friend to Moxxie.

But then they do this for almost every character?? Loona (basically) has daddy issues and can't express herself that well because she's under-socialized and Trauma, Octavia is a daddy's girl and is too emo to communicate her feelings, Stolas has daddy issues and also communication issues, Fizzarolli has daddy issues (when he doesn't need to???)

And then there's the fact that it feels like the other relationships we see are supposed to work as parallels/foils to Stolitz as well? Moxxie and Millie and happy and healthy and committed, unlike Stolitz. Fizz and Asmodeus manage to work around that class disparity/power imbalance because they can communicate with each other, unlike Stoliz. They kind of just function as a "this is what Stolitz could be if they got over themselves and talked"

And generational trauma and the desire to be loved can be a major and shared theme, but there should at least be nuance between each representation of it?? These are literally all the same in that it boils down to "I don't know how to ask for proper intimacy".

Ships

There's only one main ship and it's Stolitz, and... I find it compelling?? But it's just not executed well enough. They just rush through the development, so when the show actually reveals that there's mutual attraction, it just feels like it comes out of nowhere and the audience has to do a lot of the legwork to figure out what the fuck happened from point a to point b.

It's also like, it steals a lot of attention from other aspects of the show. I feel like a lot of Season 2 episodes kind of focuses more on that relationship in favor of other characters who need screen time and development (like Millie)

I could give a really long analysis on Stolitz, but I'm just going to say that the problem kind of just boils down to the show doesn't sell that they actually feel genuine affection for each other. I can see them projecting their own emotional baggage onto the other and using each other, but there's no transition from the transactional relationship they have in the beginning to liking each other as people. In fact, I don't think they even know each other outside of sex and work. Which is bad. Because I can buy them fucking up communicating their wants and thus settling for fucking each other for "professional" reasons, but if the show really wants to sell this ship, there has to be something genuine between them that draws them to each other.

Which is to say, Stolitz is a ship for people who already love and want the ship, not for people who are just There. As in, the show seems to make the assumption that the audience wants this ship to happen and that the ship will happen, so they don't really take the time to establish a solid foundation and growth arc for it. It just feels like big emotional or romantic moments without the actual necessary context to make it work. Which is just a problem for the general show.

Pacing

It's bad. It's so bad. I can understand leaving arcs unresolved for a bit so that there's suspense or whatever, but they keep adding more arcs and problems while leaving unfinished plotlines unfinished. Only to then resolve it super quickly. Like ??????? It's all so cramped and rushed-- but then they sometimes slow it down in the worst way possible in that it just kind of ignores previous developments for a one-off episode or something (like S2 Ep 2 where they just ignore the Stolitz drama for wacky adventure in the human world and Stolas and Blitzo are just acting like nothing wrong happened). (And I Know! I know they showed details in the background that explain that this happens because both of them are ignoring the problem, but even so, they shouldn't be acting so casual with each other; it should be made more clear that they're both still uncomfortable but *acting*) (and something that changes the relationship should be shown to the audience clearly? Not just put in as "blink and you'll miss it" text messages??)

And sometimes this rushed pacing leads to info-dumps or telling, not showing. Like with Stolas' focus episode where we learn his backstory. It's not super bad, but it weakens the impact of big plot moments; we just hear Stolas saying he endured his loveless marriage for his daughter, but we. never really see that...? The times he's with her when she's a child doesn't count because Stella's not a picture in that. The one time we kind of see something related to this statement is when Stella's kind of being loud in the kitchen and he checks in on her sleeping peacefully, but like. That's not really and example of him enduring Stella's temper and insults for Octavia's sake. He hasn't even seen Stella at all before he drops by Octavia's room. The next time is when Stella is throwing an imp at him in the kitchen and Stolas is trying to be... nice? reasonable? But at this point, I think it's clear to Octavia that her parents don't love each other. And even then, we never really see him paying attention to her or expressing concern about what Octavia might think or feel during the fight, or trying to reassure her that this is just a normal spat between married couples afterwards as damage control. We can just take his word for it, but it's just not as powerful. I'd say the same goes for when we learn about Moxxie and his father/traumatic childhood. Would've been great to see how he struggles with that specifically or had more clues to that before we see him completely resolve to stand up to his father.

It just feels like the show itself expects the audience to be completely in love with it, so it doesn't really bother to develop its world or characters until Big Emotional Moments and at that point, it just gives the necessary context to pull it off real fast, so everything just feels so... compact and dense and not very natural. It's not trying to sell itself to a new audience, it's catering to an audience that's been supporting them since the pilot.

#can't say much about the character designs bc I'm going to be honest. i'm not that good at doing it #and i have low standards. my thoughts are literally 'they certainly Look' and that's it. I go 'that's an imp. that's a hellhound. okie'#they don't make me go 'wooowww amazing design' but they don't make me go 'that's horrible and lame'#best i can describe my feelings is that the designs just rank as mediocre to me. there's nothing really original or inspiring about them #but there's nothing i can say is particularly like. blasphemous or atrocious #and the songs.#they're okay?#there's some that i like and some that i don't and other where i'm like 'i guess it's good? objectively? but it's not really my taste?'#like. they fucking got a broadway singer?!?! and Jafar from aladin?????? that's fucking wild to me #but i don't actually care for the songs as much as i care about the writing #and the writing is.... bad. there's no other way to put it #I can see the potential. but on god. they need to slow things down and let things develop naturally #or take the time to put their scripts through another round or two of editing #but i can kind of see why people like it. it's like. middle school era catnip #but also so much stuff about characters and worldbuilding that's left untouched or unaddressed #it might as well be free real estate for fanfic/fanart #but for me at least. it's too poor quality that i can't even feel inspired to play around with it #there's nothing of substance there to even play with. you might as well just write your own version of hb

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stars-for-circe · 3 months

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Ellie’s Camera Roll

Support Palestine

Tags / cw: fluff, some suggestive themes, quite straightforward so let’s see what’s inside!

Taglist: @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @r3starttt @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @ratdungeon @peanutbutterandjayjay @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @abbyshands

A screenshot of a savage starlight poster on EBay, going for the $49 that Ellie can’t cough up.

A selfie of Ellie and Joel at an NFL game for the Dallas Cowboys. Joel’s frowning because they lost, Ellie’s smiling because she gets to go home.

A photo of the stars from when she was visiting Jackson.

A snapchat of Ellie, Joel, Tommy, and you playing monopoly as a massive argument over property starts out. The screen then effectively goes black as the phone is dropped and a loud crash is heard. Then, a flipped table is seen once it it picked up again.

A video of Ellie skulling down a beer with Jesse and Dina behind her, before throwing it to the side and dry heaving because it was warm.

A video of Ellie, Jesse, and Dina running the fuck away from security while laughing - the video showing their shoes and the road only - because they chose to record that in a gated park at midnight.

A video you secretly took of her while she was driving late at night, the roads around you just woods and darkness. In the background you can hear Joel’s playlist faintly as Ellie keeps rambling on about the full moon that night, and which stars and constellations to look out for. And in her window side reflection you see yourself smiling dumbly at Ellie, because it’s when she talks about the things she cares about that you remember why you fell in love with this girl.

Grainy photo of her Call of Duty ranking on her pc (she forgot how to screenshot).

Screenshot of her Fortnite ranking.

Screenshot of her Rocket League ranking.

A photo of a pissed off looking Jesse in the backseat of Ellie’s car, with soda all over him. The Live Photo shows the exact moment it spilled after Ellie hit a speed bump too fast.

A saved Snapchat of Jesse trying to wipe it off with a sweater Ellie left in the back, to the sounds of Ellie’s threats after he did that, and the shaking of the camera as you try not to laugh.

A photo of “No Pun Intended” volume three.

A screenshot of your drunk texts, sappy ‘I love you’s with typos and all.

A screen recording of your recent FaceTime with Ellie. You’re at work and she’s panicking in the bathroom with all of this drugstore makeup around her. You’re trying not to laugh as she’s figuring out how to use a beauty blender on her neck while cussing you out for leaving so many hickeys the night before. She then looks at the phone and starts cussing you out for laughing.

A live photo of a shooting star.

Thirty seven 0.5x selfies of yourself in her deleted folder, and 19 blurry photos of her running towards you, trying to grab her phone - you stole it while she was in the shower.

A screen recording of a Tiktok because the saves were off, showing a tutorial on making a flower bouquet with pipe-cleaners.

A photo of Ellie's split lip, after she tried to open a beer bottle with her teeth.

A screenshot of the groceries list from her notes app.

A video sent to her from Joel, from a small gathering back in Jackson during Summer. Everyone's all by the house, talking and laughing loudly. Someone's on the barbecue and someone's bringing food out from the house, much to everyone's cheering. Some old 70's playlist is playing faintly from inside, and there's a few people dancing to it. But then the camera pans down to the left, where you and Ellie are sitting near some steps, her head on your shoulder as you laugh at something she said. Then the video gets shaky from Joel trying hit the 'stop record' button as Tommy comes up to him and sees you both. And faintly in the background, you might hear him say something about Ellie marrying you someday, but only if you listen close enough.

A bathroom mirror picture of her and Jesse wearing suits and black glasses to go and see the minions movie.

A selfie of her and JJ in her lap, who’s grabbing the camera and smiling while she's not paying attention to what he's doing.

A screenshot of a very short haircut.

A screenshot of your very emotional texts telling her not to get that haircut.

A video of her dead asleep on your lap, with you brushing her hair out of her face as she scrunches her face in her sleep, before relaxing at your hand cups the side of her face softly.

A photo of her face after JJ tried to put 'makeup' on her.

A video of you all singing happy birthday to Joel, who's wearing a pink glittery tiara that says '60' in cursive.

A video of Ellie smushing a small chunk of cake on his face.

A video of Joel smushing a full piece of cake in her face.

A video of you both laughing in the bathroom while trying to get the cake off Ellie's face and shirt. You're wiping her face with a dishtowel while she's sitting on the counter, and when you lean in and reach behind her to wet the cloth in the sink, she just pulls you closer into a kiss. It turns into a messy makeout session, the cake still everywhere on her face.

A screenshot of your texts with Joel later that night-

'Happy birthday! cake tasted great'

'But you didn't take a piece the entire party?'

#tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #ellie the last of us #Ellie Williams tlou2

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jellieland · 5 months

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"You know," says Jimmy smugly, "I think second is the best spot to die in, actually."

"Really," says Mumbo, exasperated.

"Yes, I don't know what you're so happy about," says Lizzie. "You barely lasted ten minutes more than me."

"Doesn't matter. Not out first, baby!" He crows, triumphant, to the neverending void.

"And you killed me last session!"

"...Yes, I, uh, I'm sorry about that one. Sort of. Mostly," he says, momentarily cowed.

"I can't believe you people," says Lizzie. "They didn't have a funeral for me. I died first, and you got one, and they didn't even have a funeral for me!" She sounds indignant, but a look of genuine hurt crosses her face for a moment.

"I'm going to be honest, Lizzie," says Mumbo awkwardly. "I think they had bigger things to worry about. I- I think Joel was quite sad about it, though. If that helps?"

"I suppose it's better than nothing." She crosses her arms.

"But- wait, hang on. Jimmy?" says Mumbo abruptly. "Did you say you wanted to go out second?"

"No!" Jimmy protests. "I just think if you have to go out, then second is sort of ideal, really, if you think about it!"

"No!" says Mumbo, indignant. "No, surely third is better, actually! And to extend that logic, fourth would be better as well, and fifth, and- well, you get the idea. Anyway, my point is that I did better than both of you!"

"Hey, don't bring me into this!" says Lizzie.

"Anyway, you're wrong," says Jimmy, back to being smug again.

There is a short silence.

"You, uh. You gonna elaborate on that one, buddy?" asks Mumbo.

"Well," says Jimmy. "Obviously going out first is terrible. Would not recommend. I don't know why anyone would do it, honestly, I know I would never-"

"You're going on my list," says Lizzie, cheerfully.

"Wait wait wait, no, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I really am!"

"Hmm." Lizzie narrows her eyes. "Acceptable. For now."

A few moments pass.

"You may continue," she says.

"Right," says Jimmy. "What was I saying?"

"You were being wrong about how the ranking in this game works," offers Mumbo.

"No I wasn't!" says Jimmy. "Just, let me explain. Now, you obviously don't want to go out first, sorry Lizzie, but it's true."

"I will concede that point," says Lizzie. "It wasn't great."

"But—have you seen how they get?"

"How they... get?" Mumbo frowns. "What do you mean?"

"The people who don't die."

"I- now, I don't know if you remember this," says Mumbo, "But third is a new record for me, so I really don't know how you expect me to know that."

"Anyway," interjects Lizzie, "Mumbo and I have only done this once before. I mean, I guess people started losing it a bit once you two died, but it wasn't that much different to how it already had been. Although I wasn't around for that long at that point."

"Yes, but, it-" Jimmy frowns. "I haven't seen much of it either. But there's something- I don't know how to explain what I mean. Maybe you haven't noticed, but there's stuff with Grian, Scott, Pearl."

He stops, sighs. Looks at the ground.

"Martyn's going to be alone, now," he says.

"Well," says Lizzie, a little acerbic. "You don't have to have people die for that to happen, you know."

Jimmy gives her a look that is a combination of sheepishness and genuine regret. "Ah. Yeah. I guess not."

"So you're right," says Lizzie. "I don't know what you mean."

"...I did feel bad," says Jimmy, quietly.

"You... did?" asks Lizzie. "What about?"

Jimmy looks at her, then off to the side. "...When I killed you."

"Oh."

"I really didn't mean to," he says. "I felt bad. It wasn't satisfying. It was just... a person I cared about. Dead. Because of me. Because I acted without thinking, because I wasn't paying attention."

"...Oh." says Lizzie, softly.

"And that was when I knew you would come back," says Jimmy.

Lizzie and Mumbo exchange glances, unsure.

"I'm good with second," says Jimmy. "I think it's the closest you can get to winning, actually."

They stand there, silent, for some time.

"Well," says Mumbo eventually. "I still feel like third is a bit better, though."

"Mumbo!" cries Jimmy.

"Mumbo, come on, we were just having a moment!" says Lizzie.

"Yes well, look, I really need this, guys," says Mumbo, shifting his weight from side to side. "I don't know if you know this, but I've had a really bad day. It was just terrible!"

"I think we've all had pretty bad days, Mumbo!" says Lizzie, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we all died!"

"Yes, I- I had picked up on that, actually."

"I don't know," says Jimmy. "My day was great!"

They keep talking, and bickering, and the emptiness stretches off into the distance.

It's nice, not to have to be there alone.

#secret life spoilers #secret life smp #jimmy solidarity #i think it's really interesting how both lizzie and mumbo have only been in one other season and died quite early on #I've just been thinking about those three #together after the end.#my writing

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multifandomimagin3s · 11 months

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The Reader gets hurt whilst saving them - 141, Los Vaqueros + Konig

Requested by Anon

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon's a complicated person, so it's hard to decipher what's going on inside his head - even people who've worked alongside him for years never truly know what he's thinking.

He never lets himself get emotional - well, any other emotions aside from anger are rarely shown.

Case and point - his initial reaction when he sees the blood seeping out of a bullet-wound in your side.

A bullet that was meant for him but you shoved him out of the way.

He stares at you for a millisecond, gaze unreadable, before he grapples you as you're about to fall to the floor.

"What the fuck did you do that for, you tit?!"

Charming, right?

He quickly realises that his angry screaming is falling on deaf ears, as you faded in and out of consciousness.

All he can do is stare as your face begins to pale from blood loss, relaying what had happened to Price over the comms.

He continues to stare at you as you're loaded onto the helicopter, strapped to a gurney with a Medic keeping constant pressure on your wound.

On the outside, he looks utterly livid - and he is.

Doesn't matter if he's your Superior, or vice versa - regardless of rank he'd have chewed you out for doing something so foolish and reckless all the same, even at the expense of a write-up.

But seeing you in the medical wing, bandaged up in a hospital bed, in critical condition, it makes a cocktail of emotions swirl in his stomach.

And he doesn't like it, not one bit.

Why save his life at the expense of your own? He doesn't understand that at all, and honestly he doesn't think he's worthy of it either.

He's by no definition an angel and has done things that would probably give Satan himself an aneurysm, so the fact that you put yourself in harms way like that just doesn't sit right with him at all.

The entire ordeal would probably keep him up til the early hours of the morning, thinking - he knew he harboured a certain amount of feelings for you, but he never realised just how much.

If it had been a new recruit or any other military personnel, he probably wouldn't have cared as much - unless it was someone from his own Team, in which case he probably still wouldn't be loosing sleep over "their own fucking stupidity."

It had been almost a week since the incident and he was still trying to wrap his head around it all.

But all he could do was visit you, waiting at your bedside for you to wake up - to an onslaught of questions and probably another barrage of swearing for being so "bloody stupid" and to "never pull that stupid shit again."

He can try and deny his feelings all he wants, but he knows the truth - he can lie to others but he can't lie to himself.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

He's a complete contrast to Ghost - where Ghost hides his feelings under layers and layers of denial and a gruff demeanour, Soap is an open book.

He's been openly flirting with you since the day you met, and was planning on making his move to ask you on a date as soon as you got back after the mission.

But seeing you with a ballistic knife sticking out of your shoulder, slumping back against a wall for support, really put a spanner in the works.

The enemy had spotted Soap crouched down planting some C4 and explosives, and had timed their throw to aim for his neck as he stood up - but they hadn't seen you.

You jumped in front of Johnny, shooting the enemy with quick precision but at a cost.

"Aw, for fuck sake!"

Luckily, the knife didn't pierce anything important, so with a good number of stitches and bandages you were good to go.

But an angry Scotsman stood at the door to the medical wing, eyebrows knitted together as he watched the Nurse put clean dressings on your wound.

"Don't ever dae that again," Johnny grunted, arms crossed across his chest. He didn't want to be too hard on you, given that Price had all but screamed at you the moment you were dragged onto the helicopter for being "a reckless fucking muppet."

Johnny didn't want anyone risking their life like that, for him - especially not you.

A smirk tugged at his lips, as his hand thumbed the bandages that wrapped down from your shoulder to just below your elbow," Cannae take you out if someone takes you out, can a?"

Captain John Price

To say that he's angry at you would be the understatement of the century.

Doesn't hide it either.

Even if you were already in a relationship at this point, he's going to be vocal about his anger - but the words he chooses may be slightly less abrasive.

"Why would you do something so stupid, you muppet?!"

The enemy had planted explosive devices as a booby trap - Soap had disarmed them all, or so he'd thought; the sneaky bastards had planted another a few feet away, which detonated and sent pieces of shrapnel flying in all directions.

Some of the shrapnel had embedded itself in your forearms and ribcage, when you'd jumped in front of your Captain to shield him.

Which led you to where you were now, with a Medic picking the pieces of metal out with tweezers - and an angry Price staring you down, arms crossed across his chest as he fixed you with a stern look.

He's been in the military for a long while and has seen a lot of stuff that would make the average person's hair curl - and he's lost a lot of people in the field that he cared about.

So for you to risk your life for his own -- he wasn't having it.

"Count yourself lucky that I won't be writing you up for this."

He has to keep up appearances - he's a high-ranking officer, and it no doubt would be frowned upon (to say the least) if it got out that he was fraternising with one of the soldiers in his team.

But in private, he's softer.

He thumbs over the bandages and dressings covering your wounds, brows knitting together in thought.

"Please don't do that again, Love - can't lose you."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Doesn't realise what's happened until he hears your body fall to the floor with a thud.

A sniper had set their sights on taking Gaz out, laser trained on his back - he hadn't noticed, distracted with trying to hack into the enemy base's security system.

The shot shattered the window pane behind him, which made him whirl around in his chair, gun drawn - putting the pieces together in his head, he should've been in your position in that moment, but you'd taken the bullet for him.

You'd taken the bullet for him.

it isn't until Price is practically roaring through the comms at the Sergeant that he comes to, hurriedly relaying the situation to Price as he checks your vitals.

You're alive - thank god.

The evac and the flight back to base was all a blur, as you faded in and out of consciousness.

You were lucky - the bullet hadn't punctured any vital organs, so with surgery and a few transfusions you were beginning to make a recovery.

Of course Price gave you a gutting out as soon as you were well enough - but in typical Dad fashion, he gave you a slightly awkward head pat and wished you a gruff "Get well soon, (Y/L/N) - be good to see you back on your feet again."

Gaz shows up to visit you, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

He's angry at you, so naturally he has a heated discussion with you about being reckless and to never risk your life like that again - especially since it was his own fault for not being more aware of his surroundings and for not watching his six.

But he's still soft for you.

"Thank you for saving my life, Love - but don't ever fucking do that again."

Alejandro Vargas

Oof.

Out of everyone in this list, his reaction is by far the most heated.

He's angry - more than angry, he's livid.

Doesn't matter if it was a cut from a knife whizzing past you, or something more serious - he's a big guy, he can take whatever life throws at him.

But for you to jump in and take the onslaught for him, injuring yourself in the process? He's pissed.

He probably would avoid you for a while, not wanting to risk exploding into a fit of rage when he sees your injuries.

It would be Rudy who would be the voice of reason, pushing him to go and speak to you instead of stewing over his anger and guilt - guilt of not being able to stop what happened from happening.

Alej would visit you in the infirmary - he'd go into a rant, letting all of his emotions out.

And then would pull you into a kiss.

He's a passionate man and feels his feelings very deeply.

Rudy Parra

Like Alejandro, he's absolutely pissed.

Only difference between him and his comrade is how he shows it.

He's silent - so silent it's borderline scary.

He's livid - one, because you risked your life for him, and two, he's angry that you were so blasé about it.

It was as if you truly valued his life more than your own, and the thought of that alone only serves to make him angrier.

He hovers around in the medical bay while a Medic stitches your wounds closed, his arms crossed across his chest with a stoic expression.

The tension is palpable, and it's as if you can feel his blood boiling even from a distance.

It isn't until the Medic has patched you up and lets you leave that he finally speaks.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Querida / Querido?!"

Proceeds to chew you out for the entire walk back to your room - it was strange to see Rudy so heated, especially towards you, given that he was usually relatively easy going.

But then again, he got the rank of Sergeant Major for a reason.

Once he has his rant out of his system, he sighs, eyeing the bandages covering the expanse of your arm.

You were lucky to have made it back to base in one piece, after the enemy had lunged at Rudy from behind with a hunting knife - you'd jumped in the way, managing to take down the target but not without a fair amount of wounds.

Rudy gently grasped your forearm, thumbing over the soft bandages in thought.

"Please don't do that again, mi amor."

König

This guy would probably disappear for a bit when he realises what happened.

Probably to figure out his own feelings before he sees you again.

Because he's feeling a lot of emotions - anger, being one, guilt is another.

He's not used to anyone putting their own safety at risk for his sake - KorTac had hardly the healthiest of working environments, and mercenaries will typically only watch out for their own backs at the end of the day.

So the fact that you'd put yourself in harms way to keep him safe really doesn't sit right with him at all.

He feels guilty because he let it happen - he was so engrossed with plowing through all the targets he could see that he completely missed the ones that he couldn't.

But you noticed, jumping in the way - taking bullets that were meant for him.

He doesn't remember much of the mission after that - he can blame it on adrenaline and whatever other hormones were pumping through his system at the time, but he knows the real reason why.

The sight of you coughing up blood because of a bullet to the chest made the world slow down for him, his worst nightmare playing out in front of his eyes.

Lingers around the medical bay as Medics and Doctors rush around you, medical jargon flying in the air as you're hooked up to various machines.

His frequent visits don't help quell the rumours swirling around the base - that König, the not-so-gentle giant, had a thing for you - but he couldn't find it in him to care, even if his Superiors were to give him a stern lecture about it.

He makes sure he's there when you wake up - he had a lecture prepared in his head, about how what you did was reckless and stupid, and you shouldn't have risked your life for his.

But the words die on his tongue when he makes eye contact with you, and all he can do is take your hand in his - without his gloves, he was even tempted to take off his hood.

"Don't scare me like that again - ich werde dich nicht zulassen, mein Lieber."

#simon riley #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas #rudy parra #konig #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #rudy parra x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #multifandomimagin3s #cod #call of duty

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icewindandboringhorror · 10 months

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my personal Media Genres tier ranking and also Neopets Species tiers. put together in the same post just due to being adjacently related because they're on the same website lol

links to the specific tier makers: Media Genres --- Neopets

#(might have to right click open image in new tab to zoom and see some of them. tumblr always makes screenshots tiny)#Also I think this is why I have trouble finding things to watch/just don't watch media very often since I'm so so so hyper specific and #particular that I just end up disliking or neutrally not caring about like.. SO MANY things ghfg #Even being aware of my particular-ness I was still surprised to see how many were in the 'dislike' and 'not care' categories lol #Also it is so so so hard being an Action and Romance genre hater YET being a Fantasy and Historical genre lover ghhjb #EVERY fantasy story is also an action romance.. every historical story is a romance.. ouch oof taking psychic damage always #KIND of like how I LOOOOVE point and click mystery puzzle games but I also generally dislike the horror genre #but many point and click puzzle games I used to see would have horror elements or be 'scary' in some way #and it's like HHRgghh.. I just want to navigate a creepy old dilapidated mansion collecting secret codes from books but NOT in a scary way!#just like I want fantasy & historical content but NOT in an action romance way!!#Also.. NEOPETS.. I think my two favorites are both one of the most common choices and also one of the least lol #like EVERYONE loves aishas pretty much. I think they even won a favorite neopets poll on tumblr. But then nobody talks about vandagyres #or even cares about them (seemingly) and they have like so few clothes or good options because they're just irrelevant apparently #also I know it seems very uncharacteristic for the neopet that's basically A Cat to not be in my favorites but I just gjhjhbj #the eyebrows of the wocky bother me. it doesn't match everything else. Even in different paintrbsuh colors it will be #nice and cohesive and pastel or something and then two big dark lines. I aesthetically love thick dark eyebrows on people it just looks wei #rd on a cartoon cat. ANYWAY.. fun to think about #I love ranking things always #also curious to know if anyone has similar opinions... my fellow vandagyre lovers.. and action movie haters.. cutthroat kitchen fans.. :0c #AND as someone tired of romance in general & ESPECIALLY cardboard cutout cishet romances. yes I would of course like to see more lgbtq+#stories in media etc. The genre is just not placed higher because so much seems to be Modern Young Adult Romance which of course I hate #those themes lol.. We need some drama comedies with a cast of gay 300yr old elves in victorian costume. please.. ghjgj.. (and like ACTUAL #300 yr olds. NOT 'is immortal bt still acts like an irrational 15yr old bc plot'. what abt jaded eccentric elder romance? hmM? lol) ANYWAY #always manifesting a 'high fantasy historical mystery comedy drama satire psychological character study (with vampires)' into existence lol #if I could make a tv show set in my world... the sheer power I would have.. and nobody would watch it because it would have NO action or #romance (at least none that was serious/was not framed as lame/goofy/comedic) & would have intricate complicated worldbuilding and be very #VERY broadly unmarketable.. but I would finally have a show that meets my tastes lol

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authorhjk1 · 12 days

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Home

Mother and Daughter

(Kwon Eunbi X Winter X Male Reader)

With tears in her eyes, Minjeong quickly unlocks the front door. She hates it. She hates school. She hates the other girls. She hates the guys. She just hates it!

"Welcome home, dear!"

"Hi mom."

Minjeong is able to hold back a sniffle as she heads to her room. Her mother, busy with making dinner, had her back turned towards her. When she turns around, expecting her daughter to tell her about her day, she is surprised that she already left.

Inside her room, Minjeong throws her backpack onto the bed. With clenched fists, she kicks a dirty sock under her bed. Why does she have to watch this shit everyday? A boy and a girl messing around during the break? Both of them sharing meaningful glances in class?

"Argh!"

Minjeong stops herself from kicking her bed. She tries to calm herself down by taking deep breaths. This wasn't the first time she had to watch one of her friends make out with a guy from school. So why did it bother her so much today?

She shakes her head in annoyance. What does her friend has that she doesn't? Isn't Minjeong funny? Isn't she polite and caring? Isn't she pret-

Minjeong's eyes fall on the mirror. Is that it? She sees her sad face in the reflection of the clean glass. Is she unable to find a boyfriend, because she isn't pretty enough?

"Oh man!"

Minjeong lets herself fall face first onto the bed.

What is she supposed to do then? All her friends are bragging about boyfriends and...and... and sex...

Minjeong shakes her head. That's exactly the reason why she finally wants to have her first time! She hates feeling this way! She blushes when it's a topic of a conversation. She wants to know how it feels.

Raising her head slightly, she glances at the mirror again. What is it with her? She is desperately trying to ignore the obvious. The thing, or rather things, she can't change.

She is, well, naturally pretty, if you can call it that. Rather cute than sexy, but that isn't so bad. Is it?

Minjeong's eyes finally land on her cleavage. That must be the problem. She hates her chest. Why does she have to be so small? She sometimes hears the guys talking about the girls in her class. Allegedly they even made a list, ranking all the girls.

"I'm definitely last."

Minjeong groans in annoyance.

Why isn't she growing bigger? Her friends all look way better than her. Especially Karina. She is Minjeong's best friend. But in moments like these, Minjeong hates her guts. Why does Karina have it all? A beautiful, sexy face, a big chest, full thighs, a round ass.

"What is wrong with me?"

Minjeong kicks her legs into the mattress, feeling like the ugliest girl in the world.

"Minjeong-ie!"

She hears her mom knock on her door.

"What is it, ma?"

"I made us dinner, sweetie."

"A minute!"

Minjeong tries to pull herself together. Looking at the mirror again, she checks if her eyes have become red from crying.

Eunbi watches her daughter sit down on the other side if the table.

"Are you doing alright, honey?"

"I'm fine, mom."

Eunbi raises an eyebrow in suspicion, but she doesn't pressure her. At least not now. She has always taught Minjeong and her brother to respect other people's boundaries, so she always leads by example.

But throughout the unusual quiet meal, Eunbi starts to become more concerned about her daughter's condition. Minjeong just pokes at the meat on her plate, instead of actually eating it. How is she supposed to cheer up her daughter?

You come to mind.

"Are you excited for tomorrow, Minjeong-ie?"

"Tomorrow?"

Minjeong raises an eyebrow in confusion. She doesn't even remember what day it is, too busy thinking about how to become more attractive. Should she eat more? That way she could make her chest a little bigger maybe. But she doesn't want to get called fat at school. It's a dilemma.

"What day is tomorrow?"

"It's the 10th."

Eunbi gives Minjeong a meaningful look.

The tenth...

"(Y/n) oppa!"

Minjeong is suddenly smiling brightly. She almost forgot that you would come home tomorrow. After not having seen you in person for almost half a year, Minjeong is longing to hug you for hours, once you are back.

"Exactly."

Eunbi smiles as well, happy to see her daughter being finally in a good mood.

"He will come home late though, so you will see him on the day after tomorrow."

"But..."

"No but. You have school."

That's something Eunbi always prioritizes. School. It sucks for Minjeong. She hates school. But she gets why her mother has that obsession with school.

After her husband left her, Eunbi had to take care of both of you, while needing to find a job as well. Because she didn't go to college or anything, it was hard for her to find a well paying job. Once you were old enough, you started working at a sporting goods shop, having been interested in soccer and sports, since you can remember.

You were able to help your step mom out enough to make up at least a little bit of the damage your father had left. But your already bad grades started to suffer even more. And eventually, you dropped out of school.

That's why Minjeong doesn't argue further with Eunbi about staying up late and welcoming you. It's not like you are gonna run away, before she can even see you.

"Talking about school... How is it going?"

Eunbi rests her chin on her hand, looking at her daughter.

"I-It's alright."

Eunbi notices how Minjeong is suddenly very interested in the food in front of her.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes. Everything is great, mom."

Minjeong manages to smile at her, before looking down again.

"And how is it going with your love life?"

Eunbi winks at her sheepishly.

"Mom!"

"What?"

Minjeong looks at her puzzled mother, embarrassed that she was going to take it out on her.

Eunbi always told the both of you to be open minded and always listen to other people's perspectives. And that includes relationships as well.

"I-I don't have anyone."

"Oh, that's alright, sweetie. You are still so young."

"No I'm not. (Y/n) is only a year older than me. And Karina and the others all have boyfriends already."

"That's true."

Eunbi nods, now realizing where her daughter's sour mood might come from. But that's not something she can actively help her with as her mother. Respecting Minjeong's boundaries, Eunbi decides to not press her further. If she needs advice or someone to talk to, Minjeong knows that Eunbi will be there for her either way.

While Eunbi starts doing the dishes, Minjeong goes back to her room to finish her homework. Math. Something she could totally live without.

As she tries to read the next task for the next problem, her mind seems to be somewhere else.

"Come on."

Minjeong grumbles, annoyed with herself.

She eventually finishes her homework. Later than she hoped though. Realizing that she has to go bed now, because of school tomorrow, Minjeong starts to get ready for bed.

Debating on what pajama to put on, she looks around her closet. They all look ugly to her today. She really hates this. How can she be sexy, if she doesn't even have sex clothes?

Suddenly Minjeong feels this tingly excitement creeping up, when she remembers the purchase she made a month ago. Today isn't the first time she hated her body. It's more like an every day occurrence. But the last time it was this bad, Minjeong got herself something to make her feel better about herself.

She takes her chair from the desk and puts it in front of her wardrobe. Her mom is not gonna come into her room today anymore, already having said good night. Minjeong gets on the chair and then on her tip toes, trying to reach the parcel at the back.

Once she got her hands on it, Minjeong opens it, taking out the underwear that's hidden inside. She is so glad that she was able to buy it online. If she would've had to buy it in a store, she probably wouldn't have had the confidence to do so.

A smile creeps onto her face as Minjeong puts the box back to its rightful place, before starting to put on the lingerie. Karina told her once that she got something similar in black for her boyfriend. Hers is peach colored though. She feels the smooth fabric hug her skin as she slowly puts it on. After a couple of moment, she checks herself out in the mirror.

White stockings wrap around her slim legs, making her look a little thinner than she usually does. The peach garter belt around her hips is actually more of a tiny skirt. Minjeong is able to see a hint of her lace panties, even without needing to lift it up. The small bow in the front is a little darker than the rest. The same goes for the short strings that connect her belt and her stockings. Minjeong's stomach is fully exposed and she can't help but let a hand wander over it. She is proud of at least that part of her body. Not everyone looks as fit as she does. But the bra still looks a little too big for her.

Minjeong sighs in disappointment. It has the same lace patterns as the skirt, but she is unable to fill it completely. Why doesn't she have her mother's genes? She always envies her. Her mother has had a couple of boyfriends throughout the years. They were all unable to focus, whenever Eunbi wore a low cut top. But why can't Minjeong be like this? She wants to turn all the boys' heads in class, when she enters the classroom.

But looking into the mirror a little longer, Minjeong realizes that she isn't as ugly as she thought she is. She might not have the biggest chest. But apart from that...

Minjeong gets on the bed, finally, at least a little bit, comfortable in her own skin. She mindlessly lets a finger run along the straps of her bra, looking up at the ceiling. Her naked thighs slowly start to rub together. Suddenly, Minjeong is horny. She doesn't even remember what she thought about a moment ago, after she lied down. But the increasing heat in her lower area makes her reach out for her laptop on the desk.

With shaky fingers, Minjeong types in the address of the porn side she usually goes to. It always feels wrong and dirty, whenever she opens it. But she can't stop.

Minjeong scans the home page, looking at the new videos that came out, after she watched something last time. Her cursor finds itself on a video she hasn't watched before.

Once the video starts, Minjeong quickly skips past the annoying scenes of the woman, showing off her body. She reaches the point where the guy fucks her doggy style. Minjeong watches how the woman's tits sway with every thrust. Jealous, but turned on even more, Minjeong finds her right hand rubbing her lace panties. She is wishing so desperately to be that woman. She finally wants to get fucked like her. She wants to be able to tell everyone that she isn't a virgin anymore.

Eunbi yawns as she steps out of the bathroom. She feels small butterflies in her stomach, thinking about you, coming home tomorrow. She hasn't talked to you properly in so long. She wants to tell you how proud she is. What a great man you've become.

Wondering what the two of you should do together during your stay, Eunbi passes Minjeong's room. She stops in her tracks, when she hears light moaning.

"Fuck my little pussy harder!"

She furrows her eyebrows. That's not Minjeong, is it? Is that why she disappeared so quickly into her room when she came home? Is this the reason, why she acted like this during dinner? Is she hiding her boyfriend from her?

Eunbi is disappointed. She hoped that, when the time comes, Minjeong would tell her about everything. Curiosity slowly starts to creep in.

"Maybe just a quick peek."

She slowly turns the doorknob, before looking inside.

"Mom!"

Minjeong is thrown out of her blissful moment, when she hears the door crack open. Horrified by realizing that her mother just saw her masturbate, she quickly closes the laptop and covers herself with her sheets.

"Baby..."

"Go away, mom!"

"There is nothing wrong with doing this, Minjeong-ie."

The young girl's cheeks flush red. This must be one of the most embarrassing moments of her live.

"I-Please leave."

"Minjeong-ie, I want to us to be as close as we've always been. You don't have to be ashamed by what you are doing. It's totally normal."

"R-Really?"

"Yes. I do it too."

"Mom!"

Minjeong covers her ears, not wanting to hear about her mother's sexy life.

"Don't be so childish. We can talk about this like adults."

Eunbi finally opens the door completely, before stepping inside.

"You look really pretty by the way."

She slowly walks over to Minjeong.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

With a warm smile, Eunbi sits down on the edge of the bed.

"The colour matches your skin really well. And your body is just perfect. I'm still surprised you haven't found anyone yet."

"Mom..."

Minjeong seems more sad than embarrassed now.

"I-No one likes me. I'm not pretty enough."

"How could you say something like that?"

Eunbi's heart brakes as she gasps in surprise.

"You are the prettiest girl I've ever seen. You are by far better looking than all the girls your age."

"Oh please, mom. I will never be as hot as you."

Eunbi can't help but feel a little warm inside at her daughter's compliment.

"Don't say that. Everyone is pretty in their own way. Tell me something that I have that you don't. I'm sure you can't-"

"Y-Your chest."

Minjeong's shy comment makes Eunbi look down on herself. She glances back at her daughter, who is lying on the bed, looking up at her with a sad look on her face.

"Oh come on, Minjeong-ie. Yours aren't as small as you think."

Eunbi reaches out and feels her daughter's tits.

"They are maybe not as big as mine, but bigger doesn't always mean better."

"It does."

Eunbi shakes her head.

"You are not ugly, just because you don't have a big chest. Your face is so gorgeous. And you take so much care of your body."

"You are lying. You could sleep with any guy you want. The guys in my class won't even look at me."

"You are lying to yourself. Who wouldn't want to be intimate with a girl like you?"

Eunbi cups Minjeong's cheek with affection.

"Everyone it seems like. No one likes how I look."

"That's rubbish."

Eunbi unconsciously lets her hand wander over Minjeong's body.

"If you think no one is paying attention, you have to dress a little more provocatively. Your own body is not the problem."

"You mean dress more sexy?"

"Exactly."

Eunbi takes another look at her daughter's outfit.

"This lingerie looks so good on you. Anyone would want you."

"But I can't walk around in lingerie at school, can I?"

"That's true, honey. Why don't I show you tomorrow how I dressed, when I went to school? It was good enough for your father, you know?"

Eunbi winks at her daughter playfully, her hand resting on her midriff.

"Fine. But can you please leave now? I-I want-need to..."

Minjeong trails off. Still embarrassed to voice her need for pleasure.

"Of course, baby. But don't watch stuff like this. It can make you addicted and it's just not how sex works."

"Then how am I supposed to..."

Minjeong's cheeks redden once more.

"Just think about a guy you like. Or something you want to experience."

"What do you think about, when... when you, you know?"

Eunbi ponders for a moment. She would've said that she takes herself back to the best moments of her own sex life. But that would hit a nerve right now. She is finally on the same wavelength with her daughter. She doesn't want to give that up now.

"I think about actors, or singers, you know? Maybe a guy I've met in the mall. Something like this."

"And what do you imagine doing with them?"

"Well..."

Eunbi thinks for a moment, if this isn't a little too much. But she finally decides to be honest.

"I usually just imagine them having sex with me. I usually start by kissing. And then, they ea-eat me out, you know?"

Eunbi can't help but be a little shy as well. This is the first time she talking about how she pleasures herself. With her daughter no less.

"I wish I knew how that felt."

Minjeong's confession makes Eunbi's heart ache.

"And how do you, you know?"

Minjeong rests her hand on her own panties. Eunbi can't help but notice the proportions of her hips and waist. How is her daughter not getting laid 24/7?

"Well, I sometimes use toys. But I usually do it with my hand, like anyone else."

"I see."

Minjeong looks away, but Eunbi feels like there is more she would like to know.

"I sometimes have trouble fin-finishing. Especially without the videos. C-Can you maybe show me?"

Her daughter's desperate eyes make it impossible for Eunbi to say no.

"Of course, baby. Give me some room."

Minjeong scoots to the right side of the bed as Eunbi starts to rid herself off her jeans. The younger one can't help but stare in envy at her mother's body. Every part of her seems to be made for perfection. Minjeong can't find a single flaw on her mother's body.

When she slowly pulls down her black panties, Minjeong takes in the sight of her mothers vagina. A weird feeling overcomes her. Is that where I came from?

It weird to think about it, so she brushes the thought away, when Eunbi finally sits next to her. Both of them rest their heads against the wall behind her bed.

"You have to warm up yourself first. So don't go in immediately. Start by teasing yourself."

Minjeong watches her mother as she starts to play with herself. Her fingers circling around her snatch and around her clit as well. She let's her own hand wander down her body, until it disappears inside her panties. She tries to mimick her mother's movements.

"Try to find something that feels good for you. I usually do this."

Eunbi forms a V with her pointer finger and middle finger, using it to slide up and down along her clit. Minjeong follows her movements once more. A deep sigh escapes her mouth at the new found feeling.

"That's the part where you start to think about someone. Think about a guy you like. How the two of you would kiss."

The both of them start to enter their own worlds, lying side by side. Minjeong catches herself altering the shape of her mouth as she imagines herself kissing the hottest guy at school. Karina's boyfriend.

"Once you are ready for the next step, start to push your fingers inside of you. You should be wet enough by now."

Eunbi follows her own words, letting two of her fingers enter her snatch. A deep moan escapes her mouth as she thinks about the last time she had sex. Meanwhile, Minjeong winces as she tries to put two fingers inside of her as well.

"M-Mom. It's not really working."

"Are you not doing it right? Let me try."

Without thinking, Eunbi lets her own fingers slip out of her, before she reaches inside Minjeong's panties. Minjeong moves her hand away, feeling her mother's fingers resting on her lower lips.

"If you've never done this before, try one finger at first."

Eunbi sinks a finger into her daughter's pussy.

"Mommy."

Minjeong moans as she feels her mother's finger move inside of her. Her walls tighten as she feels it glide along them.

"You're really tight, baby. Guys like that."

"R-Really?"

The younger one can't help but smile.

"I'm gonna try two fingers now, okay?"

Minjeong nods, watching her mother's hand inside her panties. Another moan escapes her, when a second finger joins the first.

"Oh god."

Another breathless moan escapes Minjeong's mouth. Eunbi told her to imagine herself with a guy she likes, but she is unable to do so. Her whole body and mind are focused on the two fingers inside of her. Minjeong catches herself slowly grinding against her mom's hand, letting out small whimpers.

"That's a good girl."

Eunbi said that a thousand times before. But this time, she feels dirty saying it. She realizes what she is actually doing. She is fingering her own daughter. She watches how Minjeong's eyelids flutter with every stroke of her fingers. How her back slightly arches off the wall. Her thighs rubbing against each other.

"Mommy."

That word sounds so dirty to Eunbi's ears, when Minjeong releases it in another needy moan.

The sight of her daughter shaking and moaning around her fingers proves too much for Eunbi. Her left hand finds its way towards her own pussy. And eventually, she starts to finger herself and her daughter at the same time.

"M-Mommy. This is the-the best."

Minjeong can't help but mewl. Her eyes are still closed, her empty hands trying to hold onto something for stability. Her mind gets overwhelmed by the pleasure that radiates from her mother's fingers inside of her.

Eunbi starts to finger herself faster as she feels her daughter's walls hug her fingers more and more. She has never done something like this with anyone before. The warmth that starts to rush through her body is something different than usual. It awakens something more primal in Eunbi. Her vision becomes a little fuzzy on the edges as she keeps fingering her own daughter.

When she looks at her, she can see Minjeong squirm on her sheets, begging her mother for more. Eunbi licks her lips, feeling the younger girls juices on her fingers. She eventually submits to her urges.

Eunbi removes her fingers from Minjeong's cunt, earning a disappointed and needy moan. She edges herself even more, moving her fingers to her mouth. She tastes her daughter's pussy juices on her finger.

Minjeong's eyes widen, when she sees her mother licking her fingers clean, before she starts to reposition herself. She ends up between Minjeong's legs, pulling down her panties.

"Mommy..."

Even Minjeong herself doesn't know what's going on with her own body. She can't help but buck her hips towards her mother's slightly parted lips, eager to feel another person's mouth on her pussy.

"Please..."

Her needy plea makes Eunbi finally throw all caution out the window. Flattening her tongue, she uses a big swipe along the length of Minjeong's pussy, to lap up her juices. The slightly salty taste hits her taste buds.

Minjeong's hands find themselves in her hair as she holds on for dear life, feeling her mother's tongue exploring her most intimate part.

"Mommy."

She can't help but say that word over and over again.

Eunbi starts to eat out her daughter, succumbing to the pleasure of her fingers, which still move inside her own pussy. The thoughts that tell her how wrong this is are being pushed to the back of her head. Her lust takes over. She wants to show her daughter how this feels like.

Mother and daughter moan in tandem as one eats the other out. While Minjeong's moans echo through the her room, Eunbi's stimulate the younger ones pussy even more. Her humms make her squirm on her sheets.

"So good, mommy."

Minjeong loses herself in a world of unknown pleasure. She has never felt this before. She feels how the warmth, starting out from her pussy, starts to spread through her body. A tingling sensation with it. Almost like waves. They rush through her, elevating her from one plateau to the next. Each gives her another spike of ecstasy. Another idea of what heaven must feel like.

"M-Mommy, I-I..."

Minjeong loses the ability to speak as she also loses control over her body and mind.

Eunbi watches in awe as her daughter orgasms in front of her. Wave after wave rushes through her body from head to toe. Each one stronger than the the previous one. Minjeong's hips lift off the mattress in a failed attempt to contain the pleasure within her.

Minjeong becomes undone in front of her mother's eyes. Eunbi, unable to look away from her daughter's climaxing body, eventually reaches her own high. She buries her face in the mattress. Shame and embarrassment are mixed with raw pleasure and love. She never even thought about doing this with her own daughter.

"Mommy...."

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

Hi guys!

I tried to write something a little different than usual today. I got the idea for this from someone I text with on Wattpad. There will be more chapters for this, I hope you will look forward to them.

Stay healthy!

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #male reader #kpop gg #aespa #winter #aespa girls #aespa winter #aespa smut #winter smut #kim minjeong #kim minjeong smut #eunbi smut #eunbi #kwon eunbi

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harunayuuka2060 · 5 months

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Ace: Do you remember when MC-senpai decided that all failing students would be part of Ramshackle dorm?

Epel: Yes. Why?

Ace: *points at the Ramshackle students*

*The students looking pristine*

Ace and Epel: ...

Ramshackle students: *being polite to each other*

Ace: What kind of brainwashing shit they did to them?

MC: Do you want to know, Ace~?

Ace and Epel: GAH! S-Senpai?!

MC: *smiles at them*

Ace: H-How long have you been standing there, senpai?

MC: Hmm~ A few minutes, maybe~.

Grim: We heard everything you said. How dare you talk behind my housewarden's back?!

MC: Calm down, Grim~. Ace is just curious~. Isn't that right~?

Ace: I-I mean, yeah! Who wouldn't be?

MC: Grim~ As my favorite student~ Wouldn't you be so kind to explain to him~?

Grim: *smug look* I'm not busy today, so sure. But I don't think he'll be smart enough to understand.

Ace: Hey!

MC: Is that so~? Then~ Shouldn't Ace be part of my dorm as well?

Ace: N-No! I'm satisfied being in Heartslabyul!

MC: Eh~ That's a shame~. *then walks away to approach the Ramshackle students*

Ace: Whew. That was close.

Epel: You should really be careful when you're saying something, Ace.

Ace: Hmph.

Riddle: ...

Trey and Cater: ...

Cater: Is there something wrong, Riddle?

Trey: Our students who were transferred to Ramshackle dorm all got high scores on their exams.

Cater: Wow! Does that mean they will be returning to us?

Riddle: No.

Cater: Huh?

Trey: Some of them came here to inform Riddle that they would like to stay permanently in Ramshackle dorm until they graduate.

Cater: I see. Then why are you frowning, Riddle?

Trey: The rankings... We are below Ramshackle dorm...

Cater: They... They are in third place?!

Riddle: *immediately gets angry*

Cater: O-Oh... I'm sorry, Riddle...

MC: Hm~? This is a surprise~. What are you doing here, Riddle~?

Riddle: I'm here to tell you about my thoughts, senpai! I would never accept that you have more efficient management skills than the Queen of Hearts!

MC: Ooh~ *giggles* Thanks for the compliment~.

Riddle: I'm not complimenting you!

MC: Eh~. But it sounds that way to me~. Say, Riddle~ You are interested to know how I changed my students, aren't you~?

Riddle: N-No...

MC: *smiles mischievously* You're hungry for wisdom.

Riddle: !!!

Riddle: Wh-What are these, senpai?!

MC: Mummy's bandages~. They're the tutors today and you're going to like them very much~.

Riddle: *being dragged in* S-Stop!

MC: Relax, Riddle~ You'll be safe~.

MC: I think.

Riddle: !!!

Riddle: SENPAI!!!

Riddle: *crying* *and his former students were trying to comfort him*

The former Heartslabyul students: It's okay, Sir Riddle. That's just how our housewarden prank people.

Riddle: Those stupid mummies... WHY IS THERE EVEN A SARCOPHAGUS IN HERE?!!

MC: Silly~ That's where the mummies came from~.

Riddle: *bawls his eyes out*

#twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst riddle #twst ace #twst epel #twst trey #twst cater #twst grim #blithesome!mc

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mayaree-darling · 6 months

Text

mastermind

from aree: The Harbinger Trailer has consumed me yall are getting a brainrot. (I made this when the trailer first came out and have never posted it so here it is).

tw for yandere content

Yandere!Harbingers with a "darling" who is the right hand of the Tsaritsa herself. Not a Harbinger, but nonetheless important because they're the main strategist of the Fatui. I can just imagine the pain for the Harbingers because although darling is within arms reach, they're not allowed to make a move lest they anger their ruler.

Childe who first sees you akin to a younger sibling amongst the Fatui - you're no underling, on par with a Harbinger in importance if not more, protected almost as much as the Archon Herself - it would be hard not to be protective of you. And yet as you fix his wounds after another fight he started, telling him off in place of Her Majesty, giving him tips on how he could've fought better in whispers in between, his growing need for your attention consumes him. When he kisses your cheek (as thanks, he says) in front of the other Harbingers he's already looking forward to you treating the injuries they're sure to beat into him.

Scaramouche who grins when the Harbingers bristle as you walk side by side in the halls of Zapolyarny Palace - he says you should consider it an honor to walk with him, and it inflates his ego when you reply with a small nod and a smaller smile. Behind the others' backs, he follows you like a lost child, always walking behind you, gripping on to the back of your clothes like you might slip away if he's not careful. He's obsessed with the way you look at him and ask him questions about his creation. He fails to see that the adoration you hold for him is as hollow as he is.

Signora wonders if you know when she is at her lowest, that would certainly explain things, wouldn't it? She thinks she has lost her mind when she sees glimpses of her lost love when turning corners too quickly, haunting her when she lets her guard down but then you're in front of her, greeting her with a soft smile that feels all too familiar and she realizes she has gone mad in other ways (she welcomes that newfound madness like the lover that it is, finally coming home).

Pantalone who believes that one of life's greatest pleasures is to own what others cannot - to collect the rare, the exquisite and the hard to obtain - and to have you, a person of great mind and ranking, be dangled right infront of him on a piece of gold thread held by the Tsaritsa, who was he to resist the urge to make you his? (after all, he deserves only the best) The longer he does not have you, the more your worth rises in his eyes.

Dottore who initially wants to pick apart your brain (quite literally) but his interest shifts and doubles when he reaches an epiphany that what he truly lacked from the Akademiya was someone who shared his intellect, a genius to match his own. Maybe you don't share his affinity for biology, but he loves the way your conversations keeps him on his toes (if you weren't a being close to perfection for him before, then you certainly are now.)

Arlecchino who watches as you care for the children in the orphanage, checking in on them even long after they've joined the ranks of the Fatui and compares it to the frigid ways of the other Harbingers. For the first time since being a part of this cold nation, she is envious of the warmth you give (why must you have so much love to share?) She thinks that should the day come she turns her back on this frigid country, she would surely take your hearth with her.

Marionette who finds herself being drawn to the way you move around a room and hold yourself up in front of people, marveling at the intricacies of each part of your body and the way they make up the being that is you (you could trip and fall and she'd still sigh in awe). Her fascination turns you from muse to future subject. Surely such a specimen must be preserved, right? Not to mention, there would be no greater honor than to turn the Tsaritsa's best into a perfect unchanging doll.

Damselette who usually goes quiet when you're in the same room as her, always eager to hear you talk, almost hissing when a Harbinger tries to speak over you. She finds your voice is the one in her head who speaks reason to her when she gets a bit out of control (Does she listen? No, but your voice is always ever so lovely). Wouldn't it be so nice if you're the lone voice she hears always, the same way you're already always in her thoughts?

Capitano who is thankful his mask covers the fond look he gets when you turn to him - not with fear like the lower ranking Fatui or haughty like the Harbingers - but as an equal, leveling him with a gaze that leaves him fooling himself that it means something more. He's less thankful for his mask when someone calls your attention away from him and he can't control the glare he sends their way (maybe if they saw the way he looked at them, they'd finally be put in their place).

Pulcinella is quick to put you in a pedestal - you are someone to be respected and someone to be kept at a distance. And yet as he watches the Harbingers fall deeper and deeper into obsession, he takes it upon himself to protect the Tsaritsa's favorite and the Fatui's brain from whatever his co workers are plotting. As he spends more time with you (making sure the others do not occupy all of your time), the pedestal he keeps you on crumbles until all he sees is another child to keep under his wing. He fails to see he has only fallen into a different hole as the rest.

Strategist!Darling who may pretend to be oblivious to the Harbingers' feelings but is actually letting it all happen to make sure they all stay under the Tsaritsa's rule one way to another.

Does Pierro know what you're doing? Maybe. It's not like he is blind to how the Harbingers act around you, subtle as they try to be. If you spend enough time with him, you might be able to tell that he enjoys watching you play the part of a fool, dancing around the others and making them dance for you, too. He might even step in once he thinks the other Harbingers are stepping out of line, but it all depends on what he gets out of sticking into your business.

I also like the dynamic where although the Harbingers cannot make a move to claim what is "their's", darling is just as trapped. Although they always sometimes want to leave, they know as much as anyone that the Tsaritsa is the only thing standing between them and the others. The moment they try to leave the Tsaritsa's side or they lose her favor, it's all fair game for the Harbingers.

Everyone is stuck in a stalemate until someone makes a misstep.

✨ Masterlist ✨

Taglist: 💛@anime-allover 💛@faeriessky 💛 @prksolon 💛 @dai-tsukki-desu 💛 @wonpielle

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

Text

To Be Alive In Summer

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.

WORDCOUNT: 8.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, betrayal, intense gore, violence, death, allusions to intimacy, weapons, vulgar language, recovery, torture, happy ending, etc.

A/N: The final request is finished, hope you enjoy it @l-inkage! Onto the AUs next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You didn’t want to do it, but in this job, comfort was always an option and never a guarantee. It needed to be done. And that meant sacrifices had to be made to the dark altar of your contract with One-Four-One.

But this one just might break you in the process.

“Are you sure that,” you pause and think over the instructions that Price had just given you—straight from the top of the line. “Are you sure that this is the best way, Sir?”

The man’s lips are flat, eyes narrowed, he doesn’t like this either—especially if you don’t. John’s a Captain, he tallies out orders and expects people to listen without hesitation; doesn’t express his worry about their safety because that isn’t what this is about at the end of the day. It’s about keeping the good people outside of bases like these alive and breathing.

And right now that hinged on you being dead.

“Berto needs mercenaries,” Price grunts, “and any record of you needs to be wiped before we send you in.”

Vito Berto—head of a crime family that had been picking up traction in recent years, so much so that One-Four-One had to be put on it for covert reconnaissance before any more people ended up dead.

You would be sent in under the cover of an experienced mercenary; one among the ranks that Berto would need for a hostile takeover planned in three months on the Palace of Westminster in London. The House of Parliament.

Vito was one cocky son of a bitch if he expected no one to get word of this.

Your job was to uncover the exact date, time, and the mission plan before getting out as quickly as possible. In order to do that, the soldier holding your name needed to be dead so nothing could be traced back to you, your task force, or your loved ones.

And people needed to believe it.

“Can’t the records just be forged, Sir?” You ask, the meeting room dark and pulsing with the cold air from the vents. “What about Gaz and Soap?” Your throat closes for a moment and you speak slightly lower. “Simon?”

Price sighs and crosses his arms, fixing the stance of his feet.

“They’ll deal with it.” Inside of your pockets, your hands twitch.

He won't. Not inwardly.

“I…” your jaw clenched.

Your relationship with Ghost was…strange. You’d both had your fun, of course, and you had a casual air about that sort of thing—it had happened, but nothing more could ever come of it. There was a modicum of soft care with you two; an acknowledgment of partnership in the field and out of it.

You didn’t have to explain to people that Ghost was closer to you than others. You’d seen his face; that says enough.

“It needs to look real,” Price explains, tilting his head down to you. “Not only for Laswell's state of mind but yours. I won’t be putting you in without giving you the best chance.”

“You can’t tell them?”

“Negative. Security measure.” You frown, biting at your lip.

John closes his eyes and shakes his head. A second later a hand is set on your shoulder and the man leans in slightly to reassure you like a relative. You look up into your Captain’s gruff face, seeing the small amount of care he levels into his cerulean irises for you.

He squeezes your flesh, watching hard.

“We need you for this, Trick.” The nickname was exactly why you were the only one who could do this.

You were the first choice. No one was better at undercover work.

“How long would I be gone, Price?” Shifting out of the hold, you cross your arms and level him with a dead stare. “How long do they have to live with this lie?”

John grunts. “Less than three months, yeah? But all of it’s up to how long it takes to gather intel. Full black.”

“Exfil point?”

“Town five miles from Berto’s estate. Cafe with a red door near the bookstore. Woman inside’ll be your handler.” You turn away to glare at the far wall, hesitant even when you know you shouldn't be. This was your job.

Brown eyes keep flashing behind your eyes—a skeletal mask that stares with stained glistening blood, blood you yourself feel reflected on your own visage. A shared damning of two people who would never see those great halls of the afterlife. Neither of you are good.

Simon had to understand.

The Captain sees the shift in your expression.

“You in?” He asks you with a blank look.

You take a deep breath, chest heavy and heart hurting. “I don’t like it,” your voice is low, monotone. “But, yeah, Sir, I’m in.”

“Good,” the man nods, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “It’ll happen in three days. Be ready.”

You watch him walk out of the room, patting you on the shoulder one last time before the door shuts behind him with a click of finality that pierces your lungs. You clear your throat and swallow down saliva, turning your face away as if ashamed.

It’s the quiet that gets to you in that moment—the encompassing nothingness. So often you would have moments like these with Simon. Just sitting; not taking. But this silence was so different.

This was betrayal.

After you steady the slight tremor in your hands, you scoff and shake your head backing up a step before leaving the room; turning off the lights.

You walk down the long hallway, feet heavy as your mind runs, and overhead the lights buzz like flies. Eyes stuck to the floor, your shoulders are hunched in with thought and your lids half-closed in a display of obvious inner turmoil.

The shadow that waits for you, leaning against the wall, you walk past entirely—missing it and not hearing the confused call of your name behind you because of it.

“Trick!” Your hand comes up to itch at your chin, fingers pushing into your flesh. The aggressive Manchester accent slides off of you until large fingers curl into the back collar of your vest rig.

You breathe in sharply, blinking in surprise as your feet get pulled back a step or two, pace halting as Ghost curls around your body, staring down at you. His brows are narrowed, that mask still on and the bottom fabric twisted in the obvious downward press of his lips.

“Bloody hell is wrong with you, then?”

Sighing, you scowl and shake him off of you, moving back to allow yourself some air. Did he really have to show up now? Why was he even here, you had to ask yourself. Was he…waiting for you?

“Nothing,” you don’t look at him, speaking low. “Distracted, is all.”

Ghost crosses his arms slowly, his brows flinching briefly as he makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Meeting go well?”

“Fine.” He can tell something’s wrong; you know he can—he’s the best at interrogations for a reason. Ghost knows when someone is lying to him.

You glance at his chest before you begin to open your mouth.

What could telling him hurt? Just a hint. He’d get it—I know he would. Berto had the nickname ‘The Tanner,’ given to him by his men. When he found out anyone had double-crossed him, he’d take a large breaking knife and separate the thin layers of skin from his victims. Intel suggests he keeps them awake for all of it, stopping when they pass out only to start again when they wake back up.

If there was any leak in this base…any at all…you wouldn’t be coming back.

You wouldn’t be coming back to him.

Simon’s thighs shift.

“Talk to me.” He always speaks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but you’d be a fool this far into your… relationship? To believe that he didn’t. You’d seen Simon panic over your injured body before—it told you enough.

The easy moments and the side-eyed looks when he thought you didn’t notice or weren’t doing the same to him.

Your fingers twitch, forcing a smirk that didn’t convince even you. Your heart was telling you to explain it to him, but your brain was firmly set behind iron doors; tongue held back by iron tongs.

“Personal matters, Simon. Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” He doesn’t look away from your eyes. Brows set in a line and that mask jeering at you; almost mocking.

The Lieutenant doesn’t answer and your heart is visible from under your gear.

“J-just,” you stutter, face getting hot as you look away. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s…”

Trailing off, you rub at the back of your head in a self-soothing motion.

Simon blinks slowly and you hear a large chest-rattling sigh. He shrugs in that way only he can—a fast jerk of shoulders that looks more like he’s trying to push off a bug than simply trying to move past what you’re saying to him.

“Doesn’t make a difference,” it does. “Garrick and MacTavish are waitin’ down at the firing range. Best get down there ‘fore one comes looking like a kicked dog.” You can still feel him digging into you. Knives and the suspicion in his tone.

You don’t want to do this to him. Not after all that you’ve gone through together.

“Right.” Your feet are moving before he is, planted into the floor and pushing off through the small pinches of electricity in the nerves. Pushing out a hard laugh, you try to send him a light smile. “Did you tell them to be ready to get their arses beat?”

Simon looks down at you as he walks beside your form in large steps; arms swinging. “Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Waiting for you.”

If it were possible to shrivel up from guilt, you’d be nothing but bones.

“O-oh,” you huff, but it sounds like all of the air has been expelled from your lungs. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”

Simon grunts, accent grating as he stares ahead. “Wanted to.”

“Good. That’s nice.” You feel like screaming. “Thank you.”

It’s nearly instantaneous how fast his eyes go dark with concern. “You sure that head of yours is on straight, Trick?”

You push open the doors outside and wonder if you even have the ability to answer him; out of everyone, you can’t lie to Simon.

“No,” your lips admit quietly, self-degrading in its own right.

A hand grabs you by the wrist and before you can slip out, you’re being pulled back into the building and pushed into a side room.

“Hey!” You shout, eyes flashing as the door is shut behind you. You’re released and the light is immediately turned on. “Simon, what the hell are you doing?”

“Enough,” he levels, and your arms are clasped so you’re facing his chest, looking up into his serious and hard gaze. “Fuckin’ speak to me.”

You’re surprised at how insistent he is about this.

“I’m not telling you anything,” you speak through stutters and he growls in his throat. His hands are like motel lava even under his gloves and above your skin—burning like a brand.

“What happened in that meeting room, Trick?”

“It’s classified,” you say, harder than intended, spitting the words with a hint of desperation. If not for your own safety, then for his, but you know that if he keeps asking then you’ll tell him the truth.

They were going to stage your death, and they won’t be making it pretty.

“Fuck classified,” he leans in closer, curling over you. “You’re acting like someone’s bloody taking you hostage.”

“Simon! It’s not—”

“Cut the bullshit!” You growl and try to shove away from him, struggling with glaring eyes that go sharp with the onset of tears. “Somethings got you worried and I wanna know what it is.”

Simon wasn’t the greatest at articulation, but neither were you.

You knew he was trying to tell you he was concerned. The man was holding you tight, but not hurting you; his face close and his shoulders wide. Along your face his eyes were darting, as if he could peel back your skin and make you explain what Price had told you.

The Captain had given the Lieutenant a look as he’d seen him waiting for you but had said nothing. That alone had tipped Ghost off to something being wrong.

But you weren’t having it.

Yanking out of Simon’s hands, you shake your head and put on your worst glare—meeting muddy brown and huffing.

“Mind your own business, Riley. It’s for your own good.” The man blinks in mute shock, fingers in the air twitching before they fall to his sides.

You speed-walk out of the room before he can speak, lips slightly parted at your strange behavior.

For his own good? What in the hell did that mean?

Simon’s jaw clenches, a grunt in his chest as he aggressively rolls his wrist. He turns to follow after. The both of you don’t talk for the rest of the day.

—

Your body shakes along with the helo as it takes off, carrying you away from the scene of gunfire down below. In your earpiece, you hear the loud calls and yelling from your friends. Gaz is calling out to Price to give him permission to move up; the Captain too busy grappling Soap to the ground.

Ghost is taking cover behind a wall, but he’s not quiet.

“Trick’s in the damn building!”

No, I’m not, you want to flick on the line and tell him. Over the three days before this operation you'd barely spoken—in fact, you’d been avoiding all of them fervently by the mass amount of guilt in your stomach.

In the nights, you hadn’t even slept, and now you’re sure it’ll take even longer too.

Their forms become tinier, and you grasp the roof’s handle as the helo rises farther and farther.

“Price!” Simon barks. “We have to get her—”

“There’s no time!” John responds, grunting and forcing Johnny down as he spits curses and tries to call your name over the comms. You flinch violently, looking away for a moment. “We’re surrounded!”

“I can get through!” Bullets wiz through the comms, and you can nearly imagine you are down there—trapped in the house down the way after being shot and injured by hosties. But you’d never been in that house. Never been alone down the way for recon.

You’d been at the second exfil point. Price knew it. Laswell knew it.

But Simon had not.

“Negative, Ghost! Keep where you are, we can get to her later. We need to—” The building you were supposed to be in explodes in a fiery wreck; a great bloom cloud going into the air as the helo shakes from the after-blast.

You have to turn your face away, shielding your eyes. The pilot calls to see if you’re alright, but you don’t answer. All you can hear is the screams.

“Trick!”

“Simon, get back into bloody cover!”

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!” It gets too much—the bareness of his panic for you. The panting breath; the running stomp of feet.

You rip the connection from the radio on your vest and place a hand over your mouth, breathing as if you had really been in an inferno like a piece of fodder.

Simon had already been through so much in his life, and doing this to him as well as the task force was the definition of betrayal of the loyalty you’d cultivated.

Of the love.

Because you did love him—even if you’d never say it to each other. If he found out about what you did, which he would eventually, in one way or another, he’d hate you for the rest of his life. So perhaps you were mourning, as you stare below as the helicopter takes you higher and higher up. Farther away from him. You were mourning what you had, because you knew it would never be the same.

Simon Riley would never trust you again, and all you had to blame was yourself.

The tiny tears dribble out of you and fall all the way down to the ground, where the man still screams for you to answer him; John barks orders with a sheen of panic in his eyes from the bare-bones ferality of the Lieutenant. Brown eyes blazed and cities burned in his pupils.

John had underestimated the bond that the two of you shared.

And he just might pay the price for it.

—

Getting through selection was far easier than getting through SAS training, Vito Berto seemed to only want mercenaries that had the faintest hint of the ability to hold a smuggled weapon. It made sense because if the people he was planning to send in were well-trained, it would be easier to trace to him—ability equaled a higher level of intelligence. Planning. Resources.

To fit in, you made sure to miss a few of your shots, even if it made your instinctual perfectionism rise. John would have torn you a new one if you’d missed this many during your selection all those years back. Probably would have asked how a Muppet like you had gotten this far with shite aim like that.

But Berto ate it up like Sunday dinner. Gave you the nickname Cross, actually. Like the crosshair of a scope.

It was safe to say you despised him.

But the days grew longer and the nights short with all of your running around. You’d found out that your Captain’s timeline was incorrect—the attack wasn’t in three months, it was in two. And while Berto was cocky, he wasn’t reckless.

He somehow knew there was a breach in the ranks; you could see it by how he looked over the squads in the underground bunker, all of you hidden under rock and stone like prisoners. The man would sneer, eyes filtering back and forth from the perch.

Sometimes you had to stop yourself from simply taking the shot presented in front of you and deal with the consequences afterward.

Price had been clear: all of the people gathered here needed to be taken care of quickly and quietly—if you snapped, the rest would disappear like roaches. Alive and biding time.

During those two months, the thoughts of Simon wouldn’t leave you.

Moments that seeped in behind closed eyelids after you’d slunk back into bed, the USBs full of vital intel stashed into the lining of your uniform in a small hidden pocket. His twitching smile and those deep scars along his face; the ones that would never go away.

In those moments you wondered what it would be like if you had told him how much you cared for his quiet company or his dark humor. The way he would level a hand on the small of your back off duty at the bars as a way to silently shield you from the stares from patrons.

You’d never be able to tell him now.

Vito “The Tanner” Berto knew of a leak, and when you came back to the bunker after sending out the multiple USB sticks, the physical files, and the first-hand accounts of what was going on—eager for just a little more to make this betrayal worth it…he was waiting.

You could only fight off so many others, no matter how subpar the training on their part, before sheer mass overtook ability. Like a house of cards with a bowling ball, you were shoved to the ground surrounded by multiple dead bodies of those you’d taken down with you—writhing and hissing as if a feral animal.

Restraints were leveled with your wrists; your head pulled back so your nose faced the ceiling. You only stopped struggling when the chilled barrel of a pistol was set under your chin.

Breath stilling, it was hard to understand how, even then, all that was in the front of your mind was Simon. Simon and his brown eyes. Simon and his screams when that building went up in fire and smoke.

“Trick!”

You could still hear the exact pitch and rhythm like it was yesterday.

“Cross,” Berto mutters, gun heavy as it digs into your flesh. Men pant and grapple to keep you back as you sneer and jerk your arms. “I should have known it would be you.”

“Well,” you growl, teeth bared, “obviously you didn’t.”

A slow smirk runs on his lips.

“No, but I’ll have to rectify this. I can’t have you getting in the way.” You can only hope that the intel gets out before the end of the second month—if not, then all of this was for nothing.

Why couldn’t you have left when you had the chance?

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!”

He was why.

Simon—the source of all of your problems and the only person who could fix them besides yourself. It’s a sick joke really.

Vito grabs your chin and you huff out a swift breath, heart skipping beats as he burrows his digits tightly into your skin; hard enough to leave marks. He sighs and clicks his tongue and you have to keep back a whimper as his nails create crescents along your jaw.

“You won’t tell me anything, will you, then?”

“Negative,” you spit, heated.

He scoffs. “Of course.”

Berto throws your head back as you try to snap out and bite at his hand, rabid, but the man’s already gone and the mercenaries behind you yank you back like a dog on a leash. Your knees slide along the floor and you rage trying to turn around before the others are forced to shove your face into the ground. There is a distinctive snapping in your nose bridge as the concrete comes up to meet you; the tears come instinctually after—unable to be stopped as you yell in pain.

Blood floods your nostrils and mouth, making you cough as Vito’s voice echoes in your ringing ears.

“Let me get my knives.”

—

They had you chained in some damp back room, the corners riddled with mold spores and the air heavy with condensation. You were tied to the ceiling—feet dangling uselessly below you and the tips of your boots dragging across the floor with a quiet scrape and a creak of metal.

Above you, on the hook, the chains were tied so ruthlessly that you’d lost circulation to your arms entirely, nothing but an electric buzzing far inside of your bones. Akin to the static of a TV screen in between connections. Your clothes had been shredded by blades—long sections of your flesh underneath, cut away.

Blood stains most, if not all, of the floor. It drips from your nose; it falls like rain to pool at your feet in rippling crimson.

Simon had been your partner during required interrogation training and he was far better at it than you. The man could go for hours through the mental strain that was leveled out by other soldiers on him; stoic and silent. It was the way his eyes would blank that told you he could live through far worse—that he already had. You’d had your fair share as well, but never before had you felt as hopeless as this.

There was a slim chance that anyone would come for you here. Laswell and Price would carry the guilt of it, but you didn’t want them to.

The blood slips over your lips, and the taste of copper makes you gag; spitting out saliva from your lips.

It was half your choice, after all.

You try to slip into a happy memory as the lights fade in and out, the footsteps and mutterings outside the door of little interest anymore.

ironic, that the man with the mask of a dead person brought you comfort when so little could.

You never got to tell him how much you loved him. A thin smile comes across your lips.

“Shouldn’t be out here this late,” the man utters as you lay out in the field, arms and legs splayed and twitching when the long grass brushes against them. “Past curfew.”

“Like you aren't out here with me?” You raise an eyebrow, looking up at the stars now that the large base lights have been dimmed. The air is cold, and the breeze makes you shudder through a chill. But you don’t wipe that smile from your lips. “Bit hypocritical, Simon.”

You hear a low grunt.

“Out ‘ere because you weren’t answering your damn door.” A shadow slips to your side, and the man settles down with a huff on his lips. Simon retired his combat mask for a simple balaclava instead, and he sighed long as he settled his arm on the bent form of his right leg.

You blink over at him, raising a brow.

“Looking for me, Ghosty?”

“Bloody hell, Trick.” You chuckle, shifting your arms to rest on your chest as you look back at the stars far above.

“Oh, it’s alright, Big Guy.” The man shakes his head. “I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft for me.”

“I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“Trick, I’m tellin’ you to—”

“Shh!” You wave a hand in his direction, silencing him and making him blink at you in deep annoyance and confusion. Ghost’s eyes were narrowed, the black of his face paint gone and smelling like standard issue body wash.

He must have gotten out of the shower and come to see if you were still awake before making his way outside when you never answered the door. Funny how he knew where you would be.

“Fucking what, then?” He growls, shoulders wide.

You place a finger to your ear, shifting so you’re sitting up on one elbow and facing Simon. On your face, a wide smile lingers, but on his, the dark brows narrow with knowledge of a deceitful event incoming. “Listen.”

A silence falls, Simon’s ears twitching for something in the long grass or across the field. Nothing. Nothing but the breeze and the way your face glowed as you watched him, eyes glinting with amusement.

After a long minute or two, he looks at you with utter bewilderment. You lean in closer, poking a finger into his bicep.

“Can you hear it, Simon?” You’re one of the few he lets call him that, though never in public.

He glares. “No.”

You flutter your digits in the air, giggles trapped in your mouth. A whisper hits the Lieutenant’s ears. “Silence.”

“Bugger off,” he hisses as you reel back and belt out laughter, holding your sides and lightly curling into yourself. “You’re worse than Johnny. Jesus.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You let your laughter die down to chuckles, sanctity of night broken, but not so between the two individuals who look at each other with brimming affection none will name.

“You’re the one that came to find me, remember?” Your tease makes Ghost roll his eyes, looking away across the open area with its wave-like grasses.

“You’re right, then, I did,” Simon grunts, his hand coming up to rub his neck. “Mistake on my part.”

“Jerk,” a soft slap is leveled to his arm and he chuckles deeply. “But you can’t fool me, Ghosty. I know you’ll always come lookin’ for me—I’m too important to you to lose.”

“Keep kiddin’ yourself, Trickster.” He doesn’t say how he would agree with the statement, it was true after all. “I won’t be dragged into your bloody messes.”

He wouldn’t leave you behind to drown in them, even if it was as simple as you sneaking out of your bunk to watch the stars.

You’d both known each other too long for that.

You smile over at him as he sighs before slipping off his mask, itching at his stubble with hard fingers. The air settles. No comment about it entering in on the see-through waves—there didn’t need to be one.

“Mhm,” you hum, beaming. “You keep thinking that, Big Guy.”

“Trick!” Your memory shifts, and you sit up immediately. You’d thought you’d just heard…

Eyes dart out over the field, jumping back and forth rapidly. You look to the side, but Simon is gone entirely.

“Simon?” Heart beating, you stand fully up and turn in a fast circle, confusion and fear infecting your mind.

“Trick!” Pain sparks in your body, and you hiss and grab at your clothes. You blink so fast that you half-believe the world is ending.

“S-Simon?!” What was happening? What was hurting so bad? Where did Simon go?

“Trick, fucking wake up!”

Your eyes snap open and you instantaneously feel the burning pain inside of your ribs.

The ground is underneath you, hard and wet from your own blood as you yowl and cough, air entering your lungs in quick bursts.

Hands encase your cheeks, shaking your head—keeping you present.

A skeletal mask littered with droplets of human fluid stares down at you, and behind it, panicked brown eyes slash through your psyche in the small moment between agony and confusion.

Simon?

“Holy hell.” It’s that same Manchester accent. The same scrape of vocal cords. “Alright, Sweetheart. Keep those eyes open—keep ‘em on me, yeah?”

What was going on? You try to open your mouth to say something but all of it is lead. Were your ribs broken? How? And why was Simon’s bottom covering pushed up to his nose; his lips stained with blood?

The man frantically goes to press into his radio.

“This is Bravo 0-7,” he breathes, and you whimper as your throat gets clogged with congealed saliva and blood. You cough violently, gagging, and Ghost quickly turns you on your side to help you expel it. His hand is hard on your shoulder.

“I say again, this is Bravo 0-7!” Those browns never leave you, shocked and serious. “Price, I’ve got ‘er. It’s not good; had to revive but I don’t know how long she’s got.”

Revive? You’re spacing in and out, limp, and trying to breathe.

Simon tears open his medical pouch and begins wrapping tourniquets—packing the wounds with gauze until you can get proper medical treatment on the helo back to base.

“Bloody…” he trails, Price barking an order over the connection to bring you out; the firefight was moving to the East to give him an opening to sneak back out. “C’mon, Trick.”

Everything swims; you want to go back to that field—those stars.

Simon was here? Truly? The thought was hard to understand in your state.

“S-Sim—” Your voice gurgles, and you can’t feel your legs. You had to tell him. Tell him the good and the bad; all of it.

“Don’t talk,” he growls, moving you as your body seizes in a state of static shock. “I’m getting you out of ‘ere.” You’re lifted up in one grand movement, Simon grunting as he shifts you carefully into a bridal hold. “Then you’re going to explain this to me when you’re squared. Won’t take no for an answer.”

You could feel the anger sizzling off of him even half-conscious. The mixing emotions that convulsed into a mess of adrenaline and desperation. Forcing your eyes to stay open, you blink up at him as he glances down at you at the same time, just before he exits the door he had broken down.

The visible skin of his lips and chin tighten; going down with the twitch of with a serious frown. Something flutters behind his eyes as he stares before glancing away and clearing his throat.

“Eyes on me, Trickster. Don’t you dare close ‘em.” You grimace as he begins jogging, heavy boots echoing along the empty corridor as the sounds of gunfire and pandemonium sound off from the other side of the bunker.

It was hard to push back the black at the sides of your vision; already it was seeping back in. Ghost holds you tight, unwilling to even let you slip an inch from his grip as the lights above swirl, brightening and dimming.

“Oi!” You’re jostled, and you snap back to it, tensing as your wounds flex and pull. Simon glares. “What’d I just say?”

Your weakly poisoned grimace makes his lips twitch up.

“Good.”

There’s the sudden flick of a safety being clicked off, and the Lieutenant halts in a jerking of feet and a ruffle of canvas.

“I’ve heard about a Ghost making his rounds, hm?” Berto stands at the end of the hall, pistol held in front of him. “I saw an apparition disappearing to find one of its own. No worries. She’ll be a ghost, too, soon enough. Perhaps I’ll have to put you both to rest together.”

The voice makes you go panicked, remembering the tear of flesh and the sharp blades slicing your skin away, chunks that peeled, and the long stripes of flexible tendons. Your lungs fight for breath, your head weakly slapping into Simon’s neck after an attempt to move your body. Limbs shake and battle nerves; the fabric of your brain.

Your blood stains the man’s gear all the way down the front. It’s dripping to the floor, down his arms and off his elbows. You’re bathing him in it—a full-body baptism of betrayal.

“Berto,” Ghost says, accent casual despite the gun leveled at him. The name is drawn out. “Apologies, but I’m taking back what’s mine.” He tilts his head. “Scratch that, I’m not apologizing for getting back on a Bastard like you, eh? Pity I can’t hang you up like a hog, I’m proper good with a blade too, but as you can see, I’m on a crunch.”

Vito’s face goes confused, skin scrunching. “What—”

The bang of a bullet being discharged echoes down the way. The clatter of a great expulsion of air from lungs. Stumbling. Gargles.

The slam of a body to the ground.

Smoke spreads up from under the clutch of your knees, where Ghost holds the abyssal body of an M19 forward, his finger lightly on the trigger before he shifts it back in well-practiced discipline.

“Slag,” he spits.

Simon hikes you farther into him, lending over his available body heat as you shiver. He presses his face into the top of your head, sighing in relief before starting his pace again. The man’s lips brush your flesh as your lids flutter.

“Still with me?” You whine into his neck, fingers twitching. “I know it hurts, Love. I know. Easy with it.”

It didn’t just hurt, it burned. Buried like the nine layers of Hell.

He keeps whispering to you, slinking around corners and stepping into shadows. By the time he makes it outside with you, the chill of the air on the bottom of his face he didn’t even bother to re-cover, you’re tapering on the edge of oblivion again.

Teetering like a porcelain doll on the end of the high shelf.

“Bravo 0-6, leaving the bunker now, I need that MedEvac prepped and ready to go,” Simon speaks quickly, not wasting a single instant.

John’s voice wafts through. “Copy, 0-7. Helo is comin’ in, be ready it’s going to get hot!”

“Affirm. Keep it frosty down ‘ere.” There’s a low chuckle and the swift wizz of bullets.

“Get our Trickster back in one piece, Ghost.” Simon hears the buzzing of helicopter blades in the night, a slick form descending from the dark clouds not moments later. He turns away from the flurry of air, walking hurriedly backward so the air doesn’t aggravate you.

“Trick,” Ghost calls to you above the noise, hearing the hurried feet of medics coming out to take you from him. Your face is scrunched and you burrow into him. “I’m handing you over!”

You try to open your eyes enough to convey your unease at that. You have to tell him. You have to explain why you had to do it. The guilt is eating you; gnawing with red teeth and gripping with devil’s claws. You have to explain that you love him even if he hates you now.

Medics grapple you away, and you are in pain, lips peeling back to gasp sharply, thrashing.

No!

“Fuck,” Ghost growls, pulling you away from the men as they ask him what in the bloody hell he’s doing. He doesn’t even know—all he knows is that he’s pissed at you for what you did, but never in a million years did that mean he wanted to see you in pain.

Simon can’t lie, when he was told you were alive, the universe had held its breath. A miracle. A ruse. But alive. Alive and trapped.

“Stop it!” He yells, caging you into him. “I’m here! I’m right here, Trickster!”

You’re already too gone for it, not recognizing the metal of the helo as you’re settled on your back, the loud slam of the door. Fingers pull and prob as you hiss and snap, suffocating.

Ghost holds down your shoulders, his eyes right above yours—but you’re not looking. The helo takes off

“Bloody hell,” Simon yells. “Look at me!”

You don’t know what compels you to do so, but your eyes open just the slightest bit wider. Brown melts into your pupils, taking you in and reminding you of chilled summer nights. Simon. You pant but stop struggling.

The medics jump into action, ripping away the remains of your shirt and pants so they can get to the wounds; assess the damage done.

“That’s it,” Simon sighs long, swallowing. “That’s a girl. There we go, Sunshine.”

You blink, face peeled as everything swirls far more aggressively this time.

“Listen to me, Trick. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, you understand. You said I’d always find you, yeah?” Hands grab your cheeks. “Well, I fucking did, eh? I found you. We’re gonna fix you up, Sweetheart. It’ll all be gone by morning.” You stutter down a breath, ragged throat stretching.

“Let ‘em fix you up—”

“I love you.”

It all fades to black, but all you remember is the sweep of horror that spreads behind the man’s eyes.

—

“You went back,” Price’s arms are crossed, and he stares at you as your fingers play with the sheets of the hospital bed. “Why?”

You sigh and rub at your face.

“Trick.”

“I felt like I needed to,” you give away, twitching your fingers out in an expression of nonchalantness. “I felt…” Your voice trailed off into a growl. “Bad.”

“Feelings aren’t a part of this, Trickster, you bloody know that,” John hisses, leaning his head closer as you glare silently. “If you’d left when you could, none of this would have fucking happened.”

“I feel bad, Price!” You break, snapping. “I fucking know! But I-I thought if I just got a bit more intel, then this would have been worth it.” Taking a deep breath you shake your head and rub at your face, all of the bandages and stitches pulling tight. “It’s eating at me. I can’t…I can’t just act like what I lied about can be forgotten.”

You shrug as the man listens silently, monitors beeping and the small buzz of the overhead lights.

“Soap barely looks at me—Gaz gave me that fucking pity smile and it makes me want to scream.”

“They’ll get over it.” The Captain repeats what he said months prior firmly. “They know the Op was top priority, they’ll grow up and be back to fucking around in days.”

You scoff, muttering in a dejected tone. “He won’t.”

John is still, fixing his feet from under him as he rolls his nose and looks away slowly.

Simon hadn’t come to visit once in the time you’d been here in the ward—four days. That fact alone makes you restless. You don’t remember what you said to him, if you said anything. But you knew that he wasn’t going to be going out of his way to be near you anymore.

You’d taken a grenade to the relationship you’d built. Toy building blocks are scattered.

“Simon’s…Simon,” Price ends on. You groan and itch at the IV in your hand. “He cares about you more than anyone, yeah? He just needs time. Wasn’t himself after the set-up.”

“I’ve been told,” Gaz had informed you about the Lieutenant's self-isolation after your ‘death’. The snappy orders—deathly glares. He’d gone back to the ruthless man he was in the field and instead of being directed at his enemies, it was directed at them.

Kyle explained how he’d argued with Price about how he could have gotten to you, before abruptly falling silent and stalking away as if a flip had been switched. Snake eyes and clenched fists.

They’d heard him in the gym late at night, reaming on the punching bags. They didn’t think he slept more than three hours per day if the red lines in his eyes were anything to go by.

And then they were told that you were alive but captured, and he’d gotten worse.

You’d nearly started sobbing when the Sergeant had told you all of that.

“I betrayed his trust, Price,” you level. “I…I never wanted to do that to him. Ever. Not Simon.”

A shadow passes by the door just as the Captain grunts. “That’s the job.”

“That’s not the job I signed up for when I got into this. We don’t lie to our own.”

“‘We get dirty, the world—’” You cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘stays clean’.” Your eyes level with his. “I can do the dirty work, John, you know that. Infiltration and undercover work is what I’m good at.” The man nods slightly. “But if you ask me to betray One-Four-One’s trust again, I’m out.”

Blue eyes blink in shock, but you don’t let him speak.

“Find someone else to get fake blown up in a building. I can’t get his fucking screams out of my head.” John watches you silently, eyes narrowed.

You meet that gaze head-on, not backing down from this.

The Captain shakes his head a minute later. “Bloody made for each other,” he mutters under his breath, grunting. Another shadow slips past going the opposite direction, probably a nurse.

Without another word John turns and exits the room, tossing a hand behind his head casually in a way to say goodbye.

You huff and roll your eyes, heat on your cheeks.

The day wains, and you let the nurses come in to do their checkups and replace the IV. As the curtains are pulled back into place, supper sits heavy in your stomach.

You wanted to see Simon.

You knew it wouldn’t go well, and wouldn’t be the goody-goody outcome you prayed for…but you felt wrong without apologizing in person. It went against your morals, and already those were incredibly skewed. Maybe he’d yell, or even ignore you as if you weren’t there.

Simon wasn’t above not speaking to people he didn’t like.

You had to try.

When all was dark, you shuffled out of the hospital bed and fought the weakness of your legs. Shaking like a leaf, you walked around with only your tied gown, unapologetic of the slit down the back showing flashes of your bra and underwear.

It wouldn’t be anything the Lieutenant hadn’t seen before.

Walking through the silence, you sigh and stand outside of his door; dread in your heart and seeping from the pulled stitches of your wounds. Your bare feet on the tile make you shiver.

Lifting up a fist, you hesitate.

Your hand hovers over the wood, sliding forward before you pull it back to you. Closing your eyes tight, you clench your jaw once and take a deep breath.

Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock.

The sequence was your call sign. If you knocked like that, he would know it was you—whereas Simon's own was just a single slam of the side of his fist.

The only real problem now was that he wasn’t answering.

You stare dumbly at the barrier, blinking like a fool. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to understand the realization that he wasn’t ignoring you—he just wasn’t in his room.

Taking a step back, you rub the back of your neck in exasperation and hurry to the nearest exit.

“Of course,” you breathe. You know exactly where he is at a time like this.

The field holds a standing shadow, a ghost of issued fatigues with a thick jacket against the chill that leaves you shivering. Simon stares out over the training grounds with his hands in his pockets, balaclava pulled all the way down to hide him from you.

You come to a slow halt behind him and stare.

It’s not long before the man gunts, turning his head back from over his shoulder to look at you blankly. He knew you were there.

The eye contact stays for a long, long while—until you’re hypnotized in the shades of brown and amber and the large build that seems to broaden because of your appearance.

“I’m here to apologize.” You say it breathlessly. “I’m not asking you to hear me out, but I have to let you know I regret doing it. Price said that it was time-sensitive and I—”

Stopping yourself, you look away. It sounded too much like an excuse, you hissed to yourself. At the end of the day, it was still your acceptance that pushed the pawn forward.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you breathe. “I betrayed your trust.”

His eyes are piercing you, but you still can’t look at him. The man slightly turns your way. His voice was monotone and grunting out like a dog.

“You think I couldn’t handle it?” Your heart starts, and you’re shaking your head instantly.

“No.” You explain quickly—honestly. “It’s that…I didn’t want you to.”

You hear his lips take in a quiet breath. Simon rolls his shoulders before looking away from you. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“You said you loved me.” Your body freezes, jaw going slack as your face drops. You don’t speak, mute as if the air in your lungs has been stolen.

You had done…what?

All of your tricks couldn’t get you out of this one.

“I,” you force a fake laugh, hands beginning to shake. “I, what? No, I’m sure that’s not what I said. A-are you sure it wasn’t, like, an ‘I appreciate you’ or maybe a…a,” your voice catches. “A whole ‘I’m fond of you’ sort of thing…? Hm?”

Simon takes a step forward and you take one back. This was worse than torture, you decided. The pain in your pulling stitches and re-set nose was welcome here.

“Trick,” Ghost utters, and you stare hard at his neck, humming. “Stop talking.”

“Copy,” you whisper quickly, shoulders falling.

He’s so close you can feel his body heat melting into you, and you want nothing more than to touch him. Simon’s hand comes up to your chin, and he angles it up as you stop breathing, lips parted.

“I heard you in the med ward talkin’ to Price. Was outside the door the ‘ole time.” The shadow.

He tilts your head to the side to stare at the medical tape over the slashes in your skin. The scars won’t bother you—you had plenty of others to show as well. But Simon was…studying you. Assessing.

His eyes blink slowly with those long pale lashes, and they slide up to you as he leans in close to your ear. Still, you stand comatose.

“You put me through a fucking heap ‘o hurt, Love.” You stare over his shoulder, not speaking, not moving.

Simon leans back and lets go of your chin, brushing a finger over your nose and the puffy skin there.

“Never do that again.” It’s final, how he says it. But the layers of depth are plain to hear. Simon speaks low and even—gaze trapping yours like a curse.

You know he won’t talk about the things you’ve heard. The aggression or the late-night gym trips. You’ve known him for years, and know his brain like the back of your hand.

Shivering, you nod once, content with not answering verbally to break the sanctity of the moment. Seeing Simon like this made you ease your fears. You clear your throat to push back the stuffiness.

“Thought you held grudges, Big Guy?” Nearly not heard, you mutter and pick at where the IV needle is supposed to be.

A hand catches yours and stops you from making it bleed.

“Do,” Ghost grumbles, turning your hand over and moving his face closer until you feel his breath. “Just not with my Bird.”

His balaclava is suddenly up to his nose, and those lips that had been covered in your blood previously situated themselves perfectly to yours.

You gasp, arm outstretched beside you in shock.

You’d kissed him before, but this felt different. More intimate. Simon’s arms slip around your waist, and you retaliate by locking your shaking arms behind his back, feeling the gentle passes of his lips.

Mouth to mouth, you breathe each other in as if grasping for the other’s soul in desperation. A desperation that tells you how much the beast of a man around you was terrified of your death and the body he had to carry into the helo—of the lengths he would go to stave death from touching your tender flesh.

No, only he was allowed to do that, and he was a reaper in his own right.

A small death that infected you at every breath puffing into your mouth, every whine and whimper he could draw like water to swallow down as ambrosia. Nectar of the Gods, and it was right there in his arms. Back. Alive.

To be alive in the summer field of this old military base was to accept that death, and into it, hope that the few moments you had together truly made a difference.

Simon would hold you there—and when that was done, wrap you in his jacket and carry your battered body back inside; watching your swollen lips and the wide eyes as they gaze back at him.

Because he could hate you all he wanted for this, for the lies, for the way you made him care…but the both of you would still be alive to do so.

He guessed that was all that mattered.

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