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petermorwood · 5 months ago

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I have a sword question, if I may. Or more of a sword confusion Im seeking clarification on.

In my mind a fantasy european standard sword (that obviously doesnt really exist, but like, when a knight or someone in a story has an unspecified sword), I always imaged a straight blade with a triangular tip, both edges sharp cutting edges.

Then at some point I learned about eg scimitars that have a cutting edge and a ...blunt edge?

I was looking at your recent addition to the post about the Turkish sword, where you distinguish between an inner cutting edge on a sword v an outer cutting edge.

And then Im thinking of those enormous zweihander types that are all about momentum and do those even need a particularly sharp edge? They seem in dnd parlance to be a bludgeoning weapon not for slashing.

And while Im asking, like. Rapiers are very stabby weapons, do they have sharp edges at all or judt a sharp point?

I guess my overall question culminates something like "what parts of swords are designed for what damage and why? Is there anything all swords have other than blade and handle like can they all be used for stabbing or do some have very blunt points etc? Is it a big deal for a sword to be double-edged, does that necessitate specific training? Whats up with different sword blades?"

I realise thats a pretty enormous question that might be unreasonable to ask. Im happy with whstever response you are or arent willing to give. Hope you have a good day :)

Sharp edge / blunt edge is the setup on any kitchen or table knife you've ever encountered, and being able to put a hand on the blunt "edge" - usually called the back of the blade - not only helps when mincing herbs or garlic, but also features in some techniques of swordplay.

Other techniques employed non-blade parts of the weapon, using the pommel like a mace and the crossguard like a pick-axe.

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Whether swords should be straight or curved, single- or double-edged, was an argument which continued as recently as the early 1900s.

The last swords issued to cavalry for combat use (modern parade swords don't count) were both remarkably similar designs, straight-bladed for thrusting, adopted by the UK in 1908...

...and the US in 1913.

There was, of course, strong opposition from those who insisted cavalry swords should be sabres curve-bladed for cutting instead.

Equally of course, both sides failed to notice - or ignored, since a certain kind of cavalry officer was only bright as regards boots, buckles and buttons - the uncomfortable fact that machine-guns and repeating rifles had made the whole ta-ran-ta-rah "cut them down with your swords, men!" cavalry charge an exercise in futility.

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D&D, unless they've considerably upped their accuracy game, isn't much of a reference for weapon realism.

"Enormous Zweihanders" and other big swords such as the Montante were a lot lighter and more nimble than they'd seem from reading an encumbrance chart.

They had their own techniques to take best advantage of length, leverage and momentum and were indeed sharp. Given a choice between a sharp combat weapon and a blunt one, sharp makes far more sense.

In addition, a sharp blade is lighter than a blunt one simply through having less metal. It may only be a few grams of difference, but it IS a difference.

That's also the reason behind a fuller, the groove(s) along a blade.

They're not "blood gutters", tough and cool though that may sound, but a way to reduce a sword's weight while preventing its blade from getting excessively flexible.

Finally...

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The re-enactor is wearing half-armour, but these big swords were also meant for use against unarmoured opponents. Bodyguards often carried them (they looked impressive) and those sweeping strokes could block an entire street while The Boss got away.

That's when an ability to cut rather than merely bludgeon makes all the difference. Determined assassins might try to rush a blunt sword, but a sharp one would give anyone second thoughts...

*****

Double-edged swords versus single-edged ones seem to vary depending on cultural preference - also on period of history and intended function.

Bronze Age European swords had straight or leaf-shaped blades with double edges...

...while Ancient Egypt had the curved, single-edged khopesh, a shape which also turned up in Ancient Assyria (this one's in the Metropolitan Museum, New York USA).

It's listed as a "sickle sword", an incorrect term which I wish would go away because sickles are sharp on the inside of the curve while swords like this - their grip-shape shows how they're meant to be held and swung - are sharp on the outside.

And just when "the Ancient Middle East used curved single-edge swords" looks like a handy generalisation, along come straight swords, one from Ancient Egypt...

...another from Luristan, now part of modern Iran.

This next one comes from Ancient Iberia (Spain), right at the other side of the Mediterranean. Evidence of trading links? Your guess is as good as mine.

Iberia went on to use the falcata, a short single-edged forward-curved sword.

Those extra bits round the blade are scabbard metalwork; the wood and leather scabbard is long gone. This repro shows how they would have looked when in place.

Iberia also used a straight double-edged sword which so impressed the Romans that they adopted it, refined it and used it for several centuries. Here's one of the several Roman versions of that gladius Hispaniensis (Spanish sword), double-edged, mostly meant for stabbing but capable of very effective cuts as well.

Here's my repro of a similar sword, the elegant "Mainz" pattern with its long point and waisted blade. Very pretty, and pretty wicked.

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"Curved single-edged swords are Eastern, straight double-edged swords are Western", is another generalisation that won't work.

Here are Eastern straight swords...

...and Western curved ones.

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Viking swords were all double-edged...

...except when they weren't.

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Many rapiers could cut. Smallswords, which came later, couldn't.

Earlier rapiers with broader blades cut better than later ones with narrow blades, but IIRC even the later Italian and Spanish rapier styles include cuts directed at the opponent's face and sword-arm.

I have a notion that the modern thing about cutting with rapiers is based (like back-carry) on seeing it done in movies. IMO - more about it here - that's actually more a modern stage-combat safety thing than a period real-combat move. A fumbled cut is bruising and unpleasant even with a "safe" prop sword, but a fumbled thrust into the eye-socket or throat with that same "safe" sword can be fatal.

Even those early rapiers wouldn't sever a head or limb - a finger maybe, hence the elaborate hand-protection of swept and cup hilts - but blood from a forehead wound running into the eyes was, and in boxing still is, an efficient way to finish a fight by ensuring the opponent can't continue. One of the duels in "The Duellists" ends this way.

This example is a bit optimistic, IMO...

...but a longsword (double-edged)...

...or a messer (single-edged)...

...was quite capable of disarming an opponent in a very literal way.

*****

Some swords had minimal points, being intended mostly for cutting. One example of this is the Indian khanda broadsword. The second example is also very clearly single-edged.

Another cut-only sword without a point (but with double edges) is the Richtschwert (justice sword)...

...though this was a single-function (and hopefully single-cut) tool rather than weapon, neither balanced for nor intended for combat.

Hope this has helped answer the questions!

#arms and armour #swords #sword types #double-edged vs single-edged #straight vs curved

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queenpiranhadon · 3 months ago

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╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ✶.ᐟ: Your daughter and son, ever the matchmakers, wonder why your husband, their father, isn't the most romantic. One night, when you come home from work, you witness your kids trying to wrangle Sukuna into a suit, excitedly telling you he's taking you to a fancy restaurant.

✶ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: f!reader, you and Sukuna are married, you have a 7 year old daughter and a 5 year old son, Sukuna isn't very big on PDA but he loves you so so so much, your kids love their mama <3, icky food, no curses AU, mentions of postpartum insecurities, ooc Sukuna - for a reason dw

✶ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: ✶

You're in a good mood today - work went smoothly and you were able to finish up early so you could come home to wind down with your family for the evening.

As you grab your keys to unlock the front door of your home, you mentally go through a list of ingredients for what you plan on making for dinner tonight.

However, a loud crash breaks you out of your thoughts, startling you as you hurriedly open the door, wondering what in the world you husband and kids have gotten up to now.

Stepping inside, you're not exactly sure what to make of the scene that graces your eyes.

Your husband has a grumpy look on his face, red eyes squinting at the little girl in front of him with an equally annoyed expression on her face.

Your son is nowhere to be seen, but you hear another crash from the kitchen, flinching as you have a nagging suspicion what's going on.

What's even more jarring however, is the fact that your husband is wearing a suit.

It's been a while since you've seen Sukuna in formal wear, especially in a suit that deliciously clings to his frame in a way that showcases his defined arms and sculpted torso.

"Stop complaining Daddy! You need to look good for- oh Hi Mommy!" your daughter's voice cuts you out of your daydreaming, her small angry face brightening up in excitement once her eyes fall on you.

Running up to you, she grabs your hand and tugs you closer to your husband, whose face looks slightly embarrassed - which should've immediately signaled some alarms in your mind because Sukuna and embarrassed did not fit in the same sentence.

"Daddy's gonna take you on a date to a fancy restaurant!" your daughter chirps, and you blink at her slowly.

"He- what?"

"Go get ready Mommy! Look extra pretty too!"

You protest helplessly, unable to do much as your daughter pushes you into your room, leaving you to contemplate what the hell just happened.

You chuckle at your daughter's antics, sighing as you set your bag down and take your shoes off.

It wouldn't hurt to play along for a bit.

Rifling through your closet, your eyes widen as they land on the dress Sukuna had bought you for your birthday a while ago.

Changing into it, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You know it's been a hot minute since you've ever dressed up so nicely, but the way the dress clings to your figure seems different than how it used to. Then again, the last time you wore this dress was before your daughter was born, and thus it was bound to fit a little differently due to the changes your body had undergone due to postpartum. Your husband has assured you that he genuinely did not care, and that he loved you the way you are, and yet... you couldn't help but feel a little insecure as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

Before you could change your mind though, your daughter barges into the room, giving you a quick once-over before grabbing your arm again and dashing to the backyard with you in tow.

Like father, like daughter, you snort mentally, knowing full well your little girl got her impatience from her dad.

Bringing you to the patio, you blink in surprise as your drink in the view in front of you. It's a fairly nice setup, fairy lights twinkling from the veranda ceiling and a table with a vase of flowers that you recognize to be the one you set on the kitchen counter just a few days ago.

"Aw honey, did you do all of this?" you say, and your daughter grins nodding.

"I hope you're hungry!" she says and you raise an eyebrow.

Before you can ask any further though, you hear someone clear their throat behind you. Turning you see your husband, clearly out of his element as he eyes your figure in a way that makes you feel almost vulnerable to his gaze.

"H-Hey." You say, awkwardly. Though being married for so long, it's been a while since you and Sukuna have been on a date - not to anyone's fault, but between balancing both your work life and managing your kids' schedules, there just hasn't been any time.

He smirks, approaching you and wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him. "Hey, gorgeous. Ya ready?"

You flush - was Sukuna ever this flirty? You feel like a schoolgirl again - which is strange, considering you've been married for nine years. Maybe the lack of dates has really caught up to you.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts. If your husband could act a little out of his element, so could you.

You bring a hand up to his face, tracing his jawline before your thumb grazes the outline of his lips. Your look at him lovingly, but there's a tinge on shyness in your gaze too.

"You look really good, Ryo." you say, and it's like you're 17 again.

Sukuna hums, kissing the top of your forehead. "Yeah? You don't look so bad yourself, love."

Guiding you to the table, he pulls out your seat for you, making sure you're situated before sitting down in his own seat.

You're not sure how your daughter managed to get Sukuna to act like this, but you mentally thank her because this was so worth it. You make a note to treat her later.

Just then, you son loudly enters the area, wearing what you notice to be your husband's chunky black boots and your white jacket and sunhat in what you gather to be a poor attempt at a chef's outfit. You wince mentally noticing a stain that definitely wasn't there before but your son looked so hilariously adorable in the clearly oversized clothing that you couldn't bring yourself to be mad.

You see him adorably trying to look at mature as possible, with a mustache drawn on with what you hope isn’t permanent marker.

“Here are your menus.” your son says, with a terrible French accent, and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle your laugh.

“Thank you very much… um what’s in the-” you squint, trying to decipher what you know to be your son’s handwriting “special?”

Your son frowns, thinking for a minute. “The special? The special has uh…” you wait for him patiently, extremely amused.

He just shrugs. “I dunno.”

You laugh a little and sigh, eyeing the menu that consisted of the unknown special and baked beans for some apparent reason.

“I’ll just take the baked beans then.” you say, smiling down at your son, who takes your menu, turning to look at your husband, whose red eyes were already staring at you.

You flush and clear your throat, looking away, but you can still feel his assessing gaze, as if he's trying to drink up every square inch of you, memorizing your beautiful face in the moment.

Your son looks up at his father impatiently and Sukuna blinks in confusion before realizing that he needed to order too. “I’ll just take the baked beans or whatever I guess.” He grumbles and you raise an amused eyebrow.

The moment your son stomps away in his (read: Sukuna’s) boots, your husband mutters under his breath. "God I hate baked beans."

You snort. "Weren't you the one who wanted to eat healthier in this house?"

Sukuna grumbles"When I said eat more proteins, I meant meat, not stupid beans." You almost want to take a picture of his expression- looks like your daughter was rubbing off on your husband as just much as he was rubbing off on her.

“WE HAVE A PROBLEM!” you hear your son call out, and you flinch as another crash can be heard from inside.

You start to get up, but you’re stopped by the feeling of Sukuna’s large hand on your thigh.

“I’ll take care of it.” you hear his gruff voice say, and your heart warms at the sentiment, watching him and his daughter leave the room.

Sukuna groans, watching the catastrophe in front of him.

Taking on that stupid bet with a 7 year old, what was he thinking?!

He can picture her smug face in his mind, drawing a random picture on the countertop before asking the most out of pocket question in the world.

“Why does Mommy love you?”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow. Because we’re married…?”

She rolls her eyes. “I know that, I mean why does Mama love you- it’s not like you give her kisses and hugs all the time.”

Sukuna blinks. She wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t mean he didn’t show his affection to you. Any PDA was done behind closed doors, away from prying eyes, which included your own children. And you knew that- and reassured him that his alternate ways of showing affection didn’t bother you at all. However…

“Daddy’s not romansic!” Your son chimes, his pronounciating a little off, but the message was clear.

Your daughter nods. “Yeah Daddy! You can’t be romantic at all!”

Which is how Sukuna found himself staring at the spilled can of baked beans, food splattered across the tiled kitchen floor. He eyes another stain on his (your) jacket as well- and groans internally, knowing that he owes you another one.

"What the f- heck, happened here?"" Sukuna gapes, catching himself before he said something he would surely get sent to the couch for.

"....I spilled it." Your son looks back at him meekly. Unlike his daughter, your son looked and acted almost exactly like you- which was a problem for Sukuna because it made it almost impossible to get mad at him.

Your husband groans, knowing wondering how he's going to clean the mess, when your daughter's small hands star pushing him out of the kitchen again.

"Go be romantic Daddy- I'll clean up the mess and we'll make something." she says, and in that split second, he gets immediate whiplash from the resemblance your daughter has to you.

Maybe not in looks, Sukuna had that covered, but in the way her mouth curved up in a determined little smile? All you.

Sukuna knew you were as used to this whole date thing as he was - the last date you had been on was about 7 years ago, and so he was a little nervous.

But when you saw you, god you looked so heavenly it was almost sinful to even be able to lay his eyes upon you. The way your dress hugged your curves, the sparkle in your eyes he loved so much, and that gorgeous smile - he wanted to give you the world. He wants to give you the world.

He sees you sitting patiently by the table, tracing invisible patterns on the tablecloth, before a shadow looming over the table catches your attention.

Sukuna's behind you, draping his arms around you to loosely rest against your collarbone, burying his nose into the crook of your neck.

"Huh- oh, hi Ryo!" you say, smiling softly and giggling as his hair tickles your neck.

Fuck... I love you so much baby...so, so, so, damn much." he mumbles and you coo, threading your fingers through his hair and pressing a kiss to the pink tufts.

You laugh slightly. "What's gotten into you, hm?"

Sukuna still doesn't lift his face from your neck, his words muffled. "Shut up woman, and let me love my wife."

You smile warmly, gently removing your hands from his hair to tilt his face towards you, leaning in to kiss him tenderly.

Sukuna almost melts from your touch, and you're a little surprised, wondering who ever managed to get him so...soft.

Sukuna didn't have to wonder though. He knew. It was you. It always has been. Sukuna's not one to look at the past, or get sentimental, but this? Spending some time with you, being able to be surrounded by you and your love, being able to watch his family grow with you by his side - he can't help but feel the need to love you even more than he has.

What you both don't notice are the two sets of eyes that peer out the back window, your daughter and son fist bumping as a mission accomplished.

A/N: I think I rewrote this a good three times :,)

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @tootiecakes234 @gina239 @its-liberty-frazblair @lilyadora @callmeanythingyouwant00

@milkm4nz @lightsgore @skaiblu-e @that-one-lightskin @hahajsphaha

@beaniesayshi @abinformyobsessions @sharycatx3 @meddykip @riririr11

@ladygojooo @abyzissupersleepy @lilaccmilk @anime2006

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 7 months ago

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You know what would make the Lucky Charm more balanced? Make it so that there are times where other characters figure it out, not just Ladybug. That way, it doesn't make Ladybug hypercompent and makes it possible for other people to save the day.

I don't mind Ladybug being the one best suited to Lucky Charm. I don't think it makes her hyper competent because you don't need a Lucky Charm to save the day. It's just the way that she saves the day. The other characters should have their own unique talents that let them win fights. Generally speaking, that's how strong teams work.

For a random example, let's talk about the teenage mutant ninja turtles simply because I think most people know something about that franchise. The character Donatello (aka Donnie) is the team's tech guy. He makes all kinds of inventions that help them save the day. The show would not be improved if all four of the turtles were able to take on this inventor role. I'd argue that it would actually be lessened because the characters would become interchangeable. This is something that the franchise seems to agree with as each version of the show gives each turtle unique skills and personality traits that makes each of them indispensable in their own way, which is what I think Miraculous should have done with the temp heroes.

That being said, I do think that there's a way to make your idea work. I'd just go a slightly different, more lore balancing route since Lucky Charm is technically bad lore and you all know how I feel about bad lore. So let's talk about giving it a minor tweak and how I think that would actually improve things.

Tikki is supposed to be Creation, not Luck, so the Lucky Charm shouldn't have anything to do with Luck. It should just be pure Creation where the holder comes up with a thing they want and that thing then pops up. It could also have a give and take element where the holder gets what they asked for if they want something specific, but they could also just call the power as a hail Mary and Tikki would come up with something on the fly, leading to the occasional puzzle.

This leads me to my proposed changed.

I personally think it would be hilarious and honestly more fun for Marinette's character if she could summon anything she wanted, but the Lucky Charms stay exactly the same because that's just how her mind works. Even when Tikki is helping, it's still all wacky items because Tikki knows how Marinette is and just goes with it.

For example, in Copy Cat, Ladybug turns a spoon into a hook for a cobbled together fishing pole. Wouldn't it be even funnier if Marinette summoned a spoon on purpose because she was thinking of the makeshift thing she cobbled together in order to fish up something she dropped from her balcony? Then, post fight, Chat Noir praises her like always, only to then ask, "So why a spoon and not a fishing hook?" And Ladybug just stares at him because oh, right, those are things they make. She could have done that. Ooops.

And in Malediktator where she summons a sniper rifle to get a laser pointer? Well, she was thinking about this silly comic about a cat assassin! She totally spaced on the fact that you could just get a laser pointer by itself.

Eventually, her team learns to just go with it and not ask questions. Meanwhile, the general public thinks that the Lucky Charm is some random item that Ladybug has to figure out and no one bothers to correct this misunderstanding. You can even have a running gag of new team members learning the truth and going through the acceptance process of, "Hey, you try thinking up how to set a trap while a 5 meter tall lollipop is trying to crush you! Your mind goes to what it knows, not to the ideal solution, okay???"

If we go with this setup, then other people can wield the Ladybug and use Lucky Charm effectively, they'll just use it in a very different way from the way Marinette uses it. There will also be people who are just not suited to the Ladybug since that was initially how the powers were supposed to work and it made perfect sense. Kwamis should have ideal holders along with okay backups and terrible backups. I personally think Alya would be an okay backup since she's creative, but not creative in the same way Marinette is, leading her to be a lesser Ladybug. Adrien, on the other hand, should generally suck at the Ladybug as he simply doesn't have that style of creative thinking. Which is fine. Better than fine, even! You don't want your characters to be interchangeable! They should all have strengths and weaknesses!

This is one of the show's big flaws. Since everything is on Marinette's shoulders, the other characters rarely get a chance to shine and so they feel interchangeable. For example, if gift always shows the target what THEY want, then why does Rose need to be the one to wield it? Juleka could wield it just as easily. And if Ladybug is generally the one telling Marc and Nathaniel what to summon with their powers, then their creativity is not needed. Anyone could wield the rooster and the goat! The show has completely failed to understand what makes teams memorable and so we have a bloated, boring team whose presence I'm dreading because they had five seasons to set these guys up and yet here we are.

#anon ask #ml writing critical #ml writing salt

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snowrubies · 25 days ago

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Language Barrier

Fem!reader x Twice (mainly Sana)

Genre: Extremely fluffy and comedic

Warnings: none

Synopsis: You speak Korean perfectly, but Twice doesn't know that.

"Again? You need better staff," you say into the phone, exasperated. Your friend works in sound design for various concerts and often calls you when yet another member of the culinary or courtesy staff flakes out or quits without warning. It’s not a particularly difficult job, and the pay is decent. Plus, waiting on celebrities can be amusing—you get to see sides of them most people don’t.

"Well, you live so close, and we both know you’re not exactly swimming in plans, loser," she shoots back playfully.

"Fine, fine. Time, place, and dress code?" you reply, already rifling through your closet for the outfit she convinced you to buy "just in case."

"Same concert hall as last time. Be there at 10 AM for setup. White shirt, black pants. Bring them to change into, so you don’t ruin your good ones. Hair and makeup are your choice, but trust me—you’ll want to look good." There’s a sly undertone in her voice that sets off alarm bells. She’s hiding something.

"As if I ever try to look bad in front of celebrities," you grumble, glancing at your bedside clock. It’s 8:30—barely enough time to get ready, grab a quick lunch, and make it downtown. "Well, at least this time I have an hour. That’s better than last time’s 'get here now' panic."

"I’m learning," she says with faux innocence. Then, softer, "Thanks for doing this. See you soon."

You hang up and spring into action. First, leggings and a basic T-shirt for the commute. You pack your good clothes—crisp white shirt, black pants, and the shoes she always insists are "fancy enough." Hair comes next: rollers for quick curls while you keep your makeup simple. Neutral eyeshadow, a touch of blush, a dab of highlight—just enough to feel put together without going full glam. You're not the one under the spotlight, after all.

Time slips away faster than you expect. By the time your hair is pinned loosely at the crown of your head—not a bun, too stiff—you’ve got only ten minutes left. No time for anything fancy, so you toss hot dogs and mac and cheese in the microwave. The true lunch of champions. It’s not exactly a Michelin-star meal, but you figure you’ll sneak some of the event catering later.

You scarf down what you can grab your phone, keys, and bag, and head out the door.

You saw the signs as you were pulling into the back parking lot of the space. Your friend had conveniently forgotten to tell you just who you'd be waiting on, or even exactly what you'd be doing. She couldn't exactly hide the giant LED billboard with nine beautiful women you definitely more than recognized on it advertising tonight's concert. Even if she could, once inside the backdoor of the venue there was a staggering amount of Korean people and Hangul posted on doors and in hallways that'd give you a clue. You sent her a quick text saying where you were so she could give you today's assignment, and so you could jump down her throat for not telling you you'd be waiting on Twice. Just your favorite girl group ever.

She found you backstage by one of the many different locked rooms. "Hey best frieeend," she drew out in a singsongy way going in for a hug.

You weaved out of her hold, " Oh no. You've lost hug privileges. When exactly were you going to tell me it was Twice?"

"I said you'd want to look nice," she giggled. All part of her master plan.

"You are the worst," you muttered, trying to sound angry despite the giddy energy coursing through you. "What am I even doing? Don’t tell me I’m stuck running drinks or something."

"Relax," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "I may have mentioned you know Korean, so you’ll mostly be on standby in case they need anything. Food, water, minor stuff like that. You’re not serving tables or anything formal. Just be polite, stay professional, and don’t freak out."

"Freak out? Me?" you said with a nervous laugh. "Never. Definitely not having a full-blown internal meltdown right now."

"Good," she smirked, handing you a badge and a quick rundown of the evening. "You’ll do great. Oh, and try not to stare. They’re even prettier in person." With that, she spun on her heel and disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone to process the fact that you were about to be in the same room as TWICE.

Taking a deep breath, you clipped the badge onto your shirt and adjusted your outfit one last time. Time to get it together. No fangirling. Just act cool, calm, and totally collected. Easy, right?

You refused to just sit and wait twiddling your thumbs until they arrived. You exchanged some pleasantries with the catering people and helped them set up snack trays and water bottles in the green room for Twice. They would be here soon for a sound check. Actual sound check, not the fake two to three-song warm-up open to the VIP fans. After that, they had some time to eat and in general hang around while getting their hair, makeup, and costumes done.

The green room looked cozy but professional, with plush chairs, a makeup station, and a neatly arranged buffet table laden with fruit, finger sandwiches, and those perfectly packaged snacks you always imagined celebrities lived on. The catering staff smiled appreciatively as you adjusted the placement of a tray.

You went to go change into your nicer clothes and tiny black kitten heels. You had just enough time to stash your bag somewhere out of sight before everyone started moving franticly.

The door to the green room creaked open, and in walked TWICE.

Nayeon led the group, her smile lighting up the room as she exchanged a few words with a staff member. Behind her, the rest of the group filed in, chatting amongst themselves in soft Korean. You froze for a moment, clutching a water bottle in your hand, trying to look casual as your heart raced.

“Wow, they really went all out for this,” Dahyun said in Korean, gesturing toward the snack table. “I don’t think we’ve ever had this much fruit before.”

Chaeyoung smirked. “Dahyun, you’d say that even if it was just an apple and a banana.”

Tzuyu leaned toward Mina, her voice soft and melodic looking at the monitor in the corner. “The stage lighting looks amazing, doesn’t it? It feels so warm.”

Mina nodded, her tone thoughtful. “It’s perfect. I think the fans will love it.”

They began to spread out, scanning the room and chatting in their small groups. You tried to stay focused, pretending to adjust the water bottles while listening intently.

“Excuse me,” a gentle voice interrupted your thoughts. You looked up to see Sana standing a few feet away, a curious smile on her face. “Uh… water?” she asked in English, her accent charmingly thick as she gestured toward the bottles.

You quickly picked one up and handed it to her, forcing a polite smile. “Yes, here you go,” you said, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Thank you,” she said brightly, taking the bottle. “Nice...” She motioned toward the snack table and gave you a small thumbs-up before returning to the group.

Meanwhile, Jeongyeon had wandered toward a catering staff member, her English more deliberate but clear. “This… for us?” she asked, pointing at the trays.

“Yes,” the staff member replied. “It’s all for you. Please help yourselves.”

Jeongyeon nodded, looking impressed. “Very nice. Thank you.”

Nayeon, ever the social butterfly, spotted you lingering by the table. “Hello!” she greeted cheerfully in English, making you jump slightly. “You… work here?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes. I’m just helping with the setup today.”

“Ah, good job!” she said with a grin, her Korean accent giving the words a playful lilt. “This… all looks very good.”

“Thank you,” you managed, heat rushing to your cheeks.

As they settled in, their conversations switched fluidly between Korean and broken English, depending on who they were speaking to. Jihyo exchanged a few words with the event coordinator about the schedule, effortlessly mixing both languages.

“Soundcheck… now?” she asked, her English with large pauses but clear.

“Soon,” the coordinator replied. “You have a little time to eat first.”

“Good,” Jihyo said, nodding firmly before turning back to the group to relay the information in Korean.

The room buzzed with warmth and activity, their laughter mixing with the casual chatter of staff members. You couldn’t help but feel awestruck by how approachable they were, even as global superstars. Every interaction, whether in Korean or English, only made them feel more human—and somehow, even more dazzling.

As the group began to relax, you continued tidying up the snack table, doing your best to stay invisible. But you couldn’t help overhearing their conversations—especially the ones you weren’t supposed to understand.

“Did you see her?” Sana murmured to Nayeon in Korean, her voice low but full of curiosity.

“Who?” Nayeon replied, leaning slightly toward her.

“That staff member by the table,” Sana said, nodding subtly in your direction. “They’re really pretty, don’t you think?”

Nayeon glanced at you for a brief moment, her eyes sparkling with amusement before she turned back to Sana. “Oh, I noticed,” she said with a sly smile. “They’re very elegant. It’s rare to see someone like that working backstage.”

Dahyun, catching wind of the conversation, leaned in with a mischievous grin. “What are you two whispering about?”

Nayeon waved her off playfully. “Nothing. Just admiring the staff here. Very organized, very… visually pleasing.”

Chaeyoung raised an eyebrow, overhearing as well. “Wait, are you all talking about them?” she asked, her tone teasing as she subtly gestured toward you. “Yeah, they’re cute. I noticed earlier.”

You kept your head down, pretending to focus on rearranging the water bottles, but your cheeks were burning. Hearing them talk about you like that, assuming you didn’t understand a word, made your heart race.

Mina joined the conversation with a small, approving nod. “I agree. There’s something… calm about them. It’s nice.”

Jihyo laughed softly. “You all sound like you’re picking a favorite contestant on a reality show. Be professional.” But even she glanced your way with a subtle smile, clearly not immune to the group’s observations.

Tzuyu, ever the quiet observer, finally chimed in. “They do seem kind,” she said simply, her voice soft but sincere.

Sana giggled, leaning closer to Dahyun. “Should we talk to them more? Maybe invite them to hang out later?”

“Stop it,” Nayeon said, feigning exasperation. “They’re working! Don’t make it awkward.”

You busied yourself even more, carefully pretending you had no idea what was being said, but every word made your chest tighten with a mix of embarrassment and giddy disbelief. They thought you were pretty. TWICE thought you were pretty.

“Do you think they know Korean?” Chaeyoung asked suddenly, tilting her head.

“Doubt it,” Dahyun replied. “They haven’t reacted to anything we’ve said.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. It took everything in you to keep your expression neutral, even as their words replayed in your head.

"Should we test it?" Chaeyoung asked. "Say something outrageous and see if she reacts?"

Jihyo came over and playfully slapped Chaeyoungs arm. "Don't be mean. She's probably just nervous. Leave her be."

She couldn't let it go. Chaeyoung wandered over to you. Your hands meticulously move bottles fractions of inches repeatedly. "You...very busy hun?" She managed in broken English.

You glanced at her, smiled politely, and nodded speaking slower than normal so she could catch more of it. "Yes, keeping things organized for you."

“Good,” she replied, her tone teasing as she switched back to Korean. “So professional. I think we’re making her nervous.”

“You’re making ME nervous,” Nayeon quipped, rolling her eyes. “Stop messing around. You’re going to scare her away.”

Sana, however, seemed utterly unfazed. “But seriously,” she said, her tone lowering as she addressed the group in Korean, “look at her hair and outfit. So well put together. Not to mention her face. It’s impressive.”

Dahyun smirked. “You’re really taken with her, huh?”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Sana shot back. “It’s not every day you meet someone who looks like they walked out of a drama while setting up a snack table.”

This time, you couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at your lips. You turned your back to them, pretending to check on the fruit tray, hoping they didn’t catch the slight quirk of your expression.

“Did she just smile?” Momo whispered, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I think she might understand us.”

“No way,” Dahyun said, shaking her head. “She’s been quiet this whole time. Probably just coincidence.”

Still, the idea seemed to spark a new level of intrigue among the group. Jeongyeon, who had been sitting quietly, glanced at you and said in English, “You… like music?”

Caught off guard, you hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Me? Yes, I do. Your music is quite good.”

“Thanks,” she said simply, her smile warm but brief. Then she turned back to the group and said in Korean, “See? She’s nice and a fan. Let’s not overwhelm her.”

Tzuyu, who had been observing everything silently, finally spoke up. “Maybe we should invite her to the show later. Watch in the wings,” she said in Korean.

“Really?” Jihyo asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not?” Tzuyu shrugged. “It’d be a nice gesture.”

You pretended not to hear, focusing on folding some napkins, but your heart felt like it was doing cartwheels. If they followed through with that idea, how were you supposed to stay composed?

Sana waved you over pulled up her translator app and typed out, 'Would you like to watch the show from backstage?' but when the electronic voice read it out in English it came out as 'Do you want to see the show behind the scenes?'

You understood it regardless. You stared at her phone then back at her then back down again and just nodded thanking her. "Really? Yes, yes, please. Thank you."

Momo smirked. "Ok, that was adorable."

Sana grabbed your hands and smiled wide genuinely happy that you seemed so interested. When she let go you scurried back to behind the table blushing like a mad woman with your fingers twirling around each other.

"I stand corrected. That's the cutest thing I've ever seen," Momo said. "Look Sana, you made her all flustered."

You refused to look up now having a convenient reason to be blushy and shy. As you busied yourself with unnecessary adjustments to the napkin display, you could feel the weight of their gazes. The warmth in your cheeks was practically radiating at this point, and no amount of deep breathing seemed to help.

“I think we broke her,” Chaeyoung teased in Korean, earning a chuckle from the group.

“Stop teasing,” Jihyo said, though her tone was more amused than scolding. “She agreed, didn’t she? That’s enough for now.”

Sana beamed, her excitement palpable. “I’ll make sure she gets a good spot,” she declared in Korean, clearly thrilled at the prospect of including you in their world, even if only for a little while.

From your side of the room, you peeked up just in time to see Sana still grinning in your direction. It wasn’t the kind of smile you’d expect from a superstar—it was warm, sincere, and oddly grounding. You managed a small wave, which only seemed to delight her further.

As the group settled into their pre-show routine, the flurry of activity grew. Makeup artists and hairstylists began their work, and the atmosphere shifted into one of focused preparation. You tried to keep out of the way, but the occasional glance or kind word from the members reminded you just how surreal this moment was.

Eventually, Nayeon wandered over, her casual confidence as radiant as ever. “You okay?” she asked in English, tilting her head slightly.

“Yes,” you replied quickly, your voice a touch higher than you intended. “Thank you for asking.”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. “Good. Don’t let Sana scare you. She… very friendly.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. “I noticed.”

As the minutes ticked by, the group prepared to head to the stage for their private sound check. Just before they left, Sana turned back to you with a quick wave and an encouraging smile. “See you later!” she said in English, her words simple but filled with warmth.

You nodded, managing a quiet, “See you,” in return. As they filed out of the room, you finally allowed yourself to exhale fully. You leaned against the edge of the snack table, your heart still pounding.

As the green room emptied, the flurry of energy faded, leaving you in a blissful yet surreal calm. Twice had just been standing there, talking to you—not at you, not above you, but like you were part of the team. It felt too good to be true, but the slight ache in your cheeks from smiling confirmed that it was very real.

Still, the thought of being invited backstage for the actual concert was almost too much to process. You replayed Sana’s gesture in your mind—the way she grabbed your hands, her bright smile, the genuine excitement in her voice. It was the kind of thing you’d only dreamed about.

After the soundcheck, your friend finally reappeared, looking as smug as ever. “So? How’s my favorite ‘just helping out for the day’ staff member?” she teased, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“You set me up,” you accused, though there wasn’t much heat behind it.

“I did you a favor,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “Come on, you’re freaking out, aren’t you? You met Twice. They love you.”

You hesitated, debating whether to admit how much you’d overheard. “They were… really nice,” you said carefully. “And, uh, they invited me to watch the show from backstage.”

Her eyes widened, and then she burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’ve been here, like, two hours, and you’re already besties with Twice? That’s iconic.”

“Stop,” you groaned, but her laughter was infectious. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep it together. I mean, Sana literally held my hands, and Nayeon asked if I was okay, and—” You cut yourself off, realizing you were rambling. “I’m doomed.”

“You’re not doomed,” she said, grinning. “You’re lucky. Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position right now?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I know, I know. It’s just… overwhelming.”

“Well, get used to it,” she said, clapping you on the back. “Because you’re about to have the best night of your life.”

The hours passed in a blur. You helped with final preparations, making sure everything in the green room stayed tidy and well-stocked. The buzz of the venue grew louder as fans began arriving, their excitement palpable even from backstage. The Twice members returned briefly to grab drinks and snacks, their energy shifting into show mode.

Each of them had a way of preparing—Jeongyeon hummed quietly to herself, Jihyo went over notes with a staff member, and Sana, as bubbly as ever, flitted around the room, checking on everyone, including you. Every interaction, no matter how small, leaves you feeling more grounded in the moment as if this surreal experience was meant to happen.

Finally, it was time for the concert. True to her word, Sana guided you to a spot near the wings where you could see the stage without getting in anyone’s way.

“You okay?” she asked again, her tone light but genuinely concerned.

“Yes,” you replied, giving her a small smile. “Thank you.”

Her face lit up, and she gave you a quick thumbs-up before joining the others. Moments later, the lights dimmed, and the roar of the crowd filled the air. You watched in awe as the members took the stage, their presence electrifying. It was one thing to see them perform on a screen, but witnessing their energy, precision, and charisma up close was something else entirely.

From your spot, you could see not only the performance but also the little interactions between the members—the quick glances, the shared smiles, the subtle nods of encouragement. It was a side of them the audience rarely got to see, and it made the experience all the more special.

As the show went on, you found yourself completely immersed, cheering quietly from the sidelines and feeling a sense of pride for a group you’d admired for so long. When Sana caught your eye mid-performance and winked, you nearly melted on the spot.

By the time the concert ended, you were on cloud nine. As the members came backstage, still buzzing with adrenaline, Sana made a beeline for you.

“So? How was it?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Incredible,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for letting me watch.”

She grinned, leaning in slightly. “You’re welcome. It was fun.”

Before you could respond, the rest of the group began filing in, offering you nods, smiles, and even a few casual “thank yous” in passing. Nayeon gave you a quick pat on the shoulder as she walked by, and Jihyo offered a warm, “Good job today.”

As the chaos settled and the members started winding down, your friend appeared again, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

“See?” she said, nudging you. “I told you this would be the best night of your life.”

The post-concert buzz was palpable, with staff bustling around to pack things up while the members of Twice cooled down, chatting amongst themselves. You stayed in your corner, observing quietly, savoring the memories of the night.

You were carefully arranging water bottles on a nearby table when chaos erupted. A loud crash sounded from the other side of the room, followed by the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps. One of the backstage doors had been flung open, and a man—clearly not a staff member—was charging toward the group of idols.

Everything happened so fast, but instinct kicked in. You spotted him barreling toward Sana, whose back was turned. Without thinking, you shouted in Korean, "Be careful! Behind you!"

Sana turned just in time to see the man, her eyes wide with alarm. Fortunately, security was already on him, tackling him to the ground before he could get any closer. The room erupted in frantic murmurs, staff rushing in to ensure everyone was okay.

Breathing heavily, you looked around to see Twice staring—more specifically, at you. Jihyo was the first to speak, her eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. "Wait… you can speak Korean?"

You froze, realizing what had just happened. There was no hiding it now. With a sheepish smile, you nodded. "Yes… a little."

Nayeon let out a loud laugh, slapping her thigh. "A little? You just spoke perfectly!"

Dahyun looked equal parts impressed and amused. "So, you understood everything we said earlier?"

Your cheeks flushed, and you ducked your head slightly. "Yes, I heard it," you admitted, bracing for their reactions.

Momo clapped her hands together, looking delighted. "Why didn’t you say anything? Do you know how awkward we were being?"

Sana stepped closer, her expression a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. "Then… did you hear when I said you were pretty earlier?"

You nodded, your face growing hotter by the second. “Yes, I heard that too.”

The group exploded into laughter, their teasing and playful remarks blending together. Jihyo shook her head, a fond smile on her face. "You’re amazing. You stayed so quiet this whole time."

Chaeyoung grinned mischievously. "So you did understand when I said something weird, huh?"

Trying to lighten the mood, you shrugged. "I was just trying to focus on my work."

Tzuyu smiled softly, her voice calm amidst the laughter. "And you protected us. Thank you."

Her sincere words seemed to settle the room, and Sana reached out to gently squeeze your arm. "Really, thank you. Because of you, nothing bad happened."

Though the teasing didn’t stop entirely, it took on a more affectionate tone. They were clearly impressed—and grateful. As the night wound down, you couldn’t help but feel like the bond you’d formed with the group had deepened unexpectedly and unforgettably.

The room gradually settled as the adrenaline from the incident ebbed away, leaving only the warm hum of conversation and soft laughter. You busied yourself by tidying up the snack table, partly to distract yourself from the knowing glances and teasing smiles still coming your way. Your face was burning, and you couldn’t meet their eyes for too long without feeling like you might combust.

Sana was the first to approach you again, her usual playful smile tinted with genuine shyness this time. She tilted her head slightly, clasping her hands behind her back as she hesitated before speaking. "Um," she started in Korean before switching to English. “You… very brave. Thank you.”

You waved your hands in front of you, flustered. "It—it was nothing, really. I’m just glad everyone’s okay."

Sana giggled softly. "No, you were really cool." She glanced back at the group, who were all watching the interaction with varying degrees of amusement and encouragement. “Uh… do you… have phone?” she asked hesitantly, her accent adorably thick.

You blinked, caught off guard. “My phone?”

Nayeon, who couldn’t resist jumping into the moment, called out in Korean. "You might as well ask for her number!"

Sana whirled around, her cheeks pink. “Unnie!” she scolded before turning back to you, her bashfulness now painfully evident. “I mean… number? For… talking later?” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, her confidence faltering.

Your heart was pounding as you fumbled for words. “Oh, um, yeah, sure. I can—yeah.” You pulled out your phone, your hands trembling slightly as you unlocked it and handed it to her. Hopefully, fast enough she didn't realize your wallpaper was her.

Sana quickly typed her number in, then smiled shyly as she handed it back to you. “Text me… sometime?”

Before you could respond, Dahyun chimed in with a sly grin. "Should we invite her to our group chat?"

Momo snickered. "Don’t overwhelm her."

“Maybe,” Sana said, glancing at you with a playful smile before joining the group again, leaving you standing there with her number saved in your phone and a heart racing faster than it probably ever had.

As the evening wound down and the group prepared to leave, several of them waved and offered warm goodbyes. Sana lingered just a moment longer, catching your eye as she gave you a small, almost nervous wave. "Good night," she said softly before disappearing with the others.

You stared at your phone again, the contact glowing on the screen like a dream made real. This was a night you’d never forget—and perhaps, the beginning of something even more extraordinary.

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vexwerewolf · 6 months ago

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hi, i recently ran a session with my friends after a few months hiatus, but one of my players has a lich and trivialized the combat encounter. it really wasn't that fun for me so i was wondering if you had any tips or advice on how to handle that? i dont want to make the game unfun or unfair for my players since we're here to have a fun time, and i dont want it to feel like I'm specifically trying to fuck over one of my players, but the lich's abilities hurt my brain. any npcs or strategies you know that could be useful?

Ways to fuck with a Lich:

Shoot the Lich more than once a round

No, I'm serious. This is how you defeat a Lich.

Lich has base 4 HP, only average Evasion, no Armor and Heat Cap 3. It is comically reliant on its ability to just say "no" to a single source of damage every round. It needs to put its Soul Vessel down somewhere WELL out of the way, or it'll still be in the firing line.

Also, remember that the Lich actually has very limited control over where it puts down its Soul Vessel. It puts it down where it is at the start of its turn. This can often lead to it being forced to put its Soul Vessel down in the same place multiple turns in a row, making its exit point predictable.

Things you can do to exploit this:

Deploy a Rainmaker and keep it in the backline. Have it wait until after the Lich goes to take its turn (or give it Elite).

Have a melee NPC circle around and camp near where the Lich puts down its Soul Vessel.

Repeatedly target the Lich with small bursts of damage. Does it risk blowing its reaction on this one? Or this one? Or this one? Or this one? This next one might structure it...

Operator: PLAYERS HATE HIM! MAKE THEM MISERABLE WITH THIS ONE WEIRD TRICK! (The weird trick is teleporting behind enemy lines and hitting them with a Range 20 Plasma Rifle)

Have a Hive put a Razor Swarm on top of the Soul Vessel. Go ahead, idiot! Teleport back to it. It'll be hilarious.

Another Rainmaker tactic that takes a lot of setup, but is VERY funny: give the Rainmaker Atlas Missiles. After the Lich has both acted and retreated to its Soul Vessel, deploy the Atlas Missiles on top of the Soul Vessel. The next round, the Lich will place the Soul Vessel at its feet... in the Atlas Missile zone. Go ahead, idiot! Avoid this burst of damage and teleport back to that burst of damage.

#lancer rpg #lancer #lancerrpg #lancer-rpg #horus lich #vex asks

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ialreadymadeyouapromise · 1 day ago

Text

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃, 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

PAIRING: abby anderson x fem!reader WARNINGS: trauma, no use of y/n GENRE: angst, fluff SONG INSPIRATION: do i wanna know? - arctic monkey (hozier cover) WORD COUNT: 3.8k

navigation | inbox | abby anderson masterlist

the crackle of dry leaves beneath your boots was the only sound that accompanied you as you stumbled through the forest, every step heavier than the last. hunger clawed at your stomach, and your limbs ached with exhaustion.

the air was thick with tension, the kind that pressed against your chest and made it hard to breathe. you knew you were walking straight into danger, but you didn’t care anymore. anything was better than the nothing you’d been left with.

an outpost tower came into view, and you stopped, heart pounding. armed figures patrolled the perimeter. tall, broad, alert. even from this distance, you could tell they were disciplined, a group that didn’t tolerate weakness. your throat tightened.

you clutched the strap of your backpack, a pitiful collection of scraps you’d managed to scavenge.

you had no plan, no real hope, but you had a voice.

with trembling hands, you stepped out of the tree line.

“wait!”

a warning shout rang out before you could take another step. the guards raised their weapons, aiming at you. panic surged in your chest, but you forced yourself to keep your hands up, your voice steady.

“don’t shoot! i’m not armed!” you dropped to your knees, your legs too weak to hold you up anymore. “i’m–please, i need help. i can’t do this anymore. i can’t–” your voice cracked, breaking into a sob.

a figure emerged from the group, her silhouette cutting through the harsh light of the setting sun. tall, muscular, she held a rifle with a practiced ease. her face was shadowed, but you caught the glint of sharp eyes watching you, assessing every move you made.

“who’s with you?” she asked, her voice calm but firm.

“just–it’s just me,” you managed, barely above a whisper. “i don’t have anyone left. i swear. no weapons, no traps. i just–i can’t keep doing this alone. please.”

her gaze lingered on you, cautious. another guard, a man with a gruff voice, spoke up. “could be a setup. we’ve seen this before.”

“it’s not,” you croaked, shaking your head. “i’m not lying. i don’t care what you do to me–lock me up, whatever. just please don’t send me back out there.”

the woman stepped closer, her boots crunching against the gravel. you flinched when she crouched in front of you, her rifle resting across her knees.

finally, the fading sunlight illuminated her features. blonde hair tied back in a braid, sharp jawline, a scar running just below her cheekbone. her expression was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes that wasn’t outright hostility.

“what’s your name?” she asked.

you blinked, taken aback by the softness of the question. you gave her it.

she repeated it. then, after a beat, she sighed and straightened up, motioning to the others. “bring her in. she looks like she’s about to keel over.”

“what?” one of the guards protested. “abby, this could–”

“she’s not a threat,” abby said firmly, cutting him off. “if she is, we’ll deal with it. but look at her.” she gestured to your gaunt frame, the hollow look in your eyes. “she’s not making it another night out there.”

strong arms hauled you to your feet, and you didn’t resist, too drained to even register fear. abby stayed close, her eyes on you, and you couldn’t tell if it was caution or something else.

“thank you,” you whispered, but she didn’t respond.

“let’s go,” she said, her tone brisk.

as they guided you toward their camp, your legs trembling with each step, you couldn’t shake the feeling of her eyes lingering on you. stern yet measured, like she was already trying to figure you out.

the first week at the base felt like you were living on borrowed time. the walls, though sturdy and fortified, didn’t feel like protection. they felt like a trap. you were constantly on edge, your heart racing at every loud noise, every glance from the group.

you kept expecting them to change their minds, to decide you weren’t worth the food you ate or the cot that you slept on. so, you planned ahead in the only way you knew how.

at every meal, you shoved wrapped up scraps of food into your pockets when you thought no one was looking, a slice of bread here, a handful of dried fruit there. it was never much, just enough to keep you going if they threw you out. you couldn’t stop yourself, the instinct to prepare for the worst deeply ingrained after months of going hungry.

the first time you were caught, you froze, heart pounding in your chest. it was abby who noticed. she’d walked into the mess hall and found you slipping a biscuit into your jacket.

“what are you doing?” she asked, her voice calm but stern enough to cut through your panic.

you stammered out a weak excuse, your words fumbling over themselves. “i–i just… i didn’t know how much there was to go around. i didn’t want to take too much.”

she tilted her head, studying you. for a moment, you were sure she’d yell, that this was the mistake that would get you sent packing. but she didn’t.

“you don’t have to do that here,” she said finally, her tone softer. “we have enough. you don’t have to take more than you need.”

you nodded, but you didn’t stop, not completely. the fear of scarcity, of rejection, was too deeply rooted. you thought she didn’t notice, but she did. she always did.

despite your skittishness, the group treated you kindly. stern, cautious, but kind. they didn’t push you to talk about what you’d been through, didn’t press when you flinched at sudden movements or avoided certain people. they gave you space to adjust, to heal, in a way you hadn’t expected.

abby, though, was different. she didn’t hover, didn’t fuss. but you caught her watching sometimes, a quiet presence in the background.

at first, you thought she might be the one most likely to push you out, but as the weeks turned into months, you realised how wrong you were.

it started with little things. how she’d speak up when others questioned your value to the group. “she’s been pulling her weight,” she’d say, her tone leaving no room for argument.

when one of the guys made a crude comment, abby shut him down with a glare.

the first time you saw her step between you and someone else, your chest tightened with something unfamiliar, safety.

you started to gravitate toward her without meaning to.

at first, you’d linger nearby when she was working, just close enough to hear her voice but not close enough to draw attention. there was something about her that pulled you in. the way she carried herself, strong and sure, like nothing could knock her.

you didn’t know if it was admiration, curiosity, or something more, but you couldn’t stay away.

it took weeks for her to notice. abby was busy. always moving, always working. but one day, as she stacked crates near the supply shed, she paused and looked up.

“you following me, or is this a coincidence?” she asked, her voice light.

you froze, your face heating up as you fumbled for a response. “i–uh, no. i mean, i’m just… around.”

she raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “uh-huh. just around, huh?”

you shrugged, trying to play it off, but your breathing gave it away.

“well,” she said, turning back to the crates, “you’re welcome to stick around. just don’t let anyone rope you into lifting these. they’re heavier than they look.”

her words were casual, but they sent a warmth through you that you couldn’t quite explain.

from that moment on, you let yourself drift closer. and abby, whether she realised it or not, let you.

the first few months at the base were a slow unraveling of your fears, but some nights, the nightmares still dragged you under. they’d pull you awake, your chest heaving, your shirt damp with cold sweat.

those were the hours you felt most alone, even surrounded by people. the hours when the silence pressed too heavily on you to go back to sleep.

that was how you first found the gym.

you’d stumbled across it during one of those restless nights, your boots padding softly on the worn floors as you wandered. it wasn’t a big space, but it was well equipped. treadmills, exercise bikes, free weights, and racks of neatly organized dumbbells.

it was always bustling during the day, filled with grunts, and the rhythmic clang of weights being racked. but in the early hours, it was silent. empty. peaceful.

so, you started going.

at first, you stuck to the treadmill or the exercise bikes, not really sure what else to do. you liked the way your body felt when you moved, how the motion shook off the residual fear from your dreams. but your eyes always wandered to the weights.

to the heavy iron plates and bars, to the pull-up rigs and kettlebells. you weren’t brave enough to touch them yet, but something about them called to you.

you wanted to be strong. strong enough to stop flinching at shadows, to stop hiding food in your pockets. strong enough to believe that you could survive, not just scrape by, but live.

what you didn’t know was that the gym was also abby’s refuge, too. she didn’t need much sleep, not after years of soldiering through grueling training and missions. when the weight of the world felt like too much, she turned to the weights, pushing herself until her muscles screamed, until she couldn’t think about anything but the next rep.

she’d taken to going in the early mornings, long before anyone else woke up. it was her time, her sanctuary, and she liked having it to herself. so the first time she stepped into the gym and saw you there, it startled her.

you were on the treadmill, your pace steady, your focus intense. abby paused in the doorway, her brow furrowing. she hadn’t expected anyone else to be awake, let alone here. for a moment, she debated leaving. this was your space now, she figured. but something made her stay, leaning against the wall as she watched you for a second.

“you’re up early,” she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet.

you jumped, nearly stumbling on the treadmill. your head whipped around, eyes wide, but when you saw it was her, the tension in your shoulders eased. “so are you,” you said, a little breathless.

abby stepped closer, her lips quirking in a faint smirk. “yeah, well, old habits die hard. could say the same about you.”

you looked away, wiping the sweat from your brow. “couldn’t sleep,” you admitted.

she nodded, understanding flickering in her gaze. “yeah. i get that.”

there was a beat of silence before she asked, “you been coming here long?”

“couple weeks,” you said. “figured… might as well try something new. clear my head, you know?”

abby smiled at that, small but genuine. “good idea. you’re doing good. just don’t overdo it.” she gestured toward the weights. “you thinking about trying those out?”

you hesitated, glancing toward the dumbbells like they were some forbidden fruit. “maybe. don’t really know what i’m doing, though.”

she chuckled softly, stepping toward the rack. “no one does when they start. but if you want some pointers… i could show you.”

your chest fluttered at the offer. you nodded before you could talk yourself out of it. “yeah. that’d be good.”

and that was how it started.

the weeks that followed brought you and abby even closer. it wasn’t something you could pinpoint to a specific moment, but you felt it growing. an almost tangible pull between the two of you. it was in the way she lingered just a little longer after your workouts, offering to walk you back to your room even though you knew she didn’t need to.

it was in the way she always placed herself between you and any danger, big or small.

and it was in you, too. you couldn’t deny the way your chest eased when you saw her, especially before supply runs. those always left you anxious. the idea of venturing out into the world again, even with backup, made your stomach twist. but whenever abby’s name was on the list alongside yours, you felt a sense of calm settle over you. her presence made you feel safer than you ever thought possible.

there were smaller moments too. moments you held close. like when she handed you her canteen on a long hike back to camp, even though you knew she must have been thirsty too. or the way her voice softened when she asked if you’d eaten, making sure you took care of yourself in ways you’d long forgotten how to.

and then there was the way she smiled. abby didn’t smile often, not fully, but when she did,.it had a way of catching you off guard, as if the room shifted slightly, pulling you into her orbit. you didn’t even realise you’d been watching for those rare smiles until you caught yourself staring one day.

but as much as abby’s presence brought you comfort, it also brought fear. fear of losing her. that fear came to life one night in the form of a nightmare.

it wasn’t like the dreams you used to have, the ones of the people you’d lost and the horrors you’d seen. this one was different. it was worse.

you dreamed of abby lying in your arms, her body broken and bloody, her breaths shallow and wet. you were screaming her name, begging her to hold on, but her eyes were glazing over, her strength slipping away with every passing second.

her lips moved, but you couldn’t hear her over the pounding in your ears, the desperate, ragged sobs ripping from your throat. you held her tighter, trying to keep her there, trying to will her to stay alive, but she slipped away from you.

the sound of her final breath shattered something inside you, and you woke up gasping, tears streaming down your face as your chest heaved with panic.

you ripped the covers off, your hands trembling as you sat up. it wasn’t real. it wasn’t real–but the weight of it clung to you, suffocating. the thought of losing her, of not being able to protect her, broke something in you.

you needed to see her. you needed to know she was okay.

you barely slid on your shoes as you stumbled out of your room, your breaths coming fast and uneven. the camp was quiet at this hour, the only sound was the faint rustle of the wind outside. you tried to keep your footsteps soft, not wanting to wake anyone, but your urgency made it hard to slow down.

when you reached abby’s door, you hesitated for a moment, your knuckles hovering above the wood. what if she was asleep? what if she thought you were being ridiculous? but the memory of her lifeless body in your arms sent a fresh wave of panic crashing over you, and you couldn’t stop yourself.

you knocked, soft but insistent, your other hand gripping the door frame as you fought to steady your breathing.

it took a moment, but then you heard movement inside, the sound of her footsteps on the floor. the door creaked open, and there she was, blinking at you with groggy confusion. her hair was loose and mussed from sleep, her expression soft but tinged with concern.

she whispered your name, her voice low and raspy from sleep. “what’s wrong? are you okay?”

the sight of her standing there, alive and whole, was enough to send fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. you let out a shaky breath, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you tried to compose yourself.

her eyes widened, and she stepped closer, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. “hey, hey,” she said, her voice softening. “what happened? talk to me.”

“i–i just…” you shook your head, struggling to find the words as your chest heaved. “i had a dream. about you. and it–god, it felt so real, abby.”

her brow furrowed, and she guided you into her room, closing the door behind you. “what kind of dream?” she asked, her voice calm but laced with concern.

you sat down on the edge of her bed, your hands trembling in your lap as you tried to steady yourself. “you were hurt. dying. and i couldn’t… i couldn’t save you.” your voice broke, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the memory away.

abby knelt in front of you, her hands resting on your knees. “hey,” she said softly, her eyes locking onto yours. “i’m right here. i’m okay. i promise.”

her reassurance was steady, grounding, and you let out a shuddering breath, nodding as you met her gaze. “i know,” you whispered. “i know it wasn’t real, but it felt so… god, i’ve never been that scared in my life.”

abby’s expression softened even more, and she gave your knees a gentle squeeze. “i’m not going anywhere,” she said firmly, her voice steady as a rock. “i’ve made it through worse than whatever’s out there. you don’t have to worry about me.”

you nodded again, the weight in your chest easing just a little at her words. “i just… i couldn’t stay in my room. i had to see you.”

her lips twitched into a faint, tired smile. “i’m glad you did.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet settling around you. then, without thinking, you reached out and wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

abby stiffened for a second, clearly surprised, but then she melted into your embrace, her arms wrapping around you just as tightly. she was warm.

“thank you,” you whispered against her shoulder, your voice muffled.

“for what?”

“for being here,” you said simply.

abby pulled back just enough to meet your focus. “always,” she whispered back.

and in that moment, you knew you meant it when you said you’d do anything to keep her safe.

anything.

abby noticed the tension in your shoulders, the way you flinched slightly. the way your breath still caught every so often, as if you were afraid to let go of the nightmare that had gripped you only moments ago. it didn’t sit right with her to let you leave like this, not when you were clearly shaken.

“stay,” she said gently, her voice steady, her concern evident as she gave your arm a gentle squeeze. “stay here tonight. i don’t want you to go back to your room like this.”

you hesitated, still feeling a little too vulnerable, but the warmth of her presence, the genuine concern in her voice, made it hard to resist. your heart was still racing, but she was right. you didn’t want to be alone. you needed her comfort, even if it was just in silence.

“okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you glanced at her.

without a word, abby moved toward the bed, getting in, pulling the covers back and patting the space next to her. “come on,” she said softly, the invitation clear in her eyes.

you climbed into the bed, your body still trembling slightly, but it was different now. the tension had started to ease the moment you were near her again. abby settled beside you, the weight of her body next to yours offering a sense of calm. the covers were pulled up to your chests.

for a few moments, neither of you spoke, just the sound of your breathing filling the quiet of the room. you tried to close your eyes, but the unease still lingered. the memory of the nightmare was too fresh, it’s image too vivid. it had shaken you in a way that made sleep seem dangerous.

abby must have noticed the slight frown on your face, the way your lips were almost pouting in a way that made her heart ache. she watched you for a moment, deciding.

she reached out with a careful hand, her fingers brushing against your temple in a slow, gentle touch. you didn’t pull away. you let her fingers trace down the side of your face, over your cheek, and down to your jawline. the softness of the gesture was something you hadn’t expected, and yet, it was exactly what you needed.

the warmth of her touch seemed to melt the knot in your chest. it felt like she was grounding you, like she was telling you without words that you were safe. as she continued the motion, you felt your lips slowly pull into a small, relaxed smile.

her touch had always been gentle, but now it carried a quiet kind of affection that made a warmth spread through your chest, not out of fear, but something else.

when your eyes flickered open, you saw her face just inches from yours. her lips were parted slightly in a smile.

“better?” she asked.

you nodded, the tension in your body melting further as your eyes drooped with exhaustion. “yeah. much better.”

abby smiled back, a hint of relief as she adjusted the covers around you both, pulling them up higher as she nestled in closer. her arm was now around your waist, pulling you into her a little more, the heat from her body comforting you.

you felt her sigh softly against your neck, the rhythm of her breathing slow and even. it was easy to let go then, to let the warmth of her presence lull you into a sense of safety.

“sleep,” she murmured, her voice reassuring. “i’ve got you.”

you smiled again, your body relaxing into hers as you allowed your eyes to finally close. abby’s hand stayed on your face for a moment longer, as if she needed to make sure you were truly okay, before it moved to rest it back on your hip.

in the comfort of her embrace, the darkness no longer felt so overwhelming. the tension in your chest loosened, your mind slowly drifting as the exhaustion took over. and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself drift into sleep, the nightmare of her slipping away now replaced by a new feeling, one of peace.

abby stayed awake a little longer, watching you with quiet care. she could feel your body settle into the rhythm of sleep, the way your breath evened out. there was something deeper, something that had been growing between the two of you for a while now.

but for now, she didn’t think about it too much. she simply let you sleep, keeping you close,

keeping you safe.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ᯓ★

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ghostheartfelt · 1 year ago

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Hiiii! First of all I hope you're doing well <333 and second omg!! I loved your ghost smut 😭😭 I'm here to request smt if you don't mind, I've requested this before but nobody wanted to write it but feel free to not wrote it too if you don't like the plot but here we go:

Ghost breaks up with reader NOT because he hates her but because his next mission is really hard and dangerous and there was a really slim chance that he'd survive it. So he tries to push reader away to not hurt her feelings but things escalated and they break up but when he comes back from the mission they have make-up sex? 🤭 Thank you for reading all of this and if you can't write it then I understand, thank you for your time and effort 💗

*:･｡☆ a/n: hi anon~ thank you so much for being my first req!!!! And thank u so much for the support. I’m so sorry i took forever to get to this! but you bet ur sweet ass i’ll write this for you?! I hope you enjoy this regardless of how long it took me to get to it. mwah! -ur bbg cure

〔☆〕 desc: ghost is deployed on a mission in bangladesh that price explains as risky and complicated--ghost immediately thinks of you as the possibilities of survival are described as slim. him, gaz, and soap set out back to manchester, and no amount of talk is able to change his mind. he ends things off between the two of you, which arises a depressive state in you before he arrives and makes it up to you completely. (possibly takes place before ten minutes past?…. 👀)

*:･｡☆ tags: p in v, unprotected intercourse, whiny ghost if you squint, hand job if you squint, oral (f receiving), fingering, reader orgasms twice, cock warming, he sleeps with the tip inside<3, this hurt my breeding kink heart, pet names, possessive ghost, breast worship if you squint, break up and make up sex, porn with feelings. SMUTTY SMUT SMUT!!! not too bad, sadly.

—✩ N[EX]T REGRETS ✩—

word count — 4.3k

☆ (peep the song that inspires this writing...) ☆

Your hands are setting two plates on the dinner table; one for you, one for your boyfriend.

He was coming home from deployment—it’d been months since you’d last seen him, you’d lost track.

Silverware wrapped in cloth napkins are set beside the plates before you flick the cog of a lighter and ignite the candles in the middle of the table.

You turn yourself around to grab the cookie sheet of ribeye off of the counter after pushing on mittens, holding it in your palm as you place two steaks down onto one of the plates, then one onto another.

Then you take the tray back to the counter and set it back on top of the table cloth so it didn’t damage the marble.

Regardless of the fancy dinner setup, you were still in a black satin night dress and fuzzy socks. You knew Simon would just dress down himself the moment he got home.

You scooped steamed vegetables onto both plates, then potatoes and gravy with a sprinkle of chives.

When you place down the spineless wine glasses, you hear a heavy door slam causing a smile to crease your face.

Simon was home, he was going to come inside and he was going to hold you again for the first time in months. Run his hands through your hair for the first time in months. Kiss you for the first time in months.

You seat yourself gently on the dinner table, ankle crossed over the other with your elbows bent and palms pressed neatly on the wood as you wait for him to come inside.

You hear the door open, then shut, heavy padded footsteps approaching the threshold of the dining room.

Ghost is the one who comes through the archway—fully geared with the skull mask and helmet, the only thing he lacks is a rifle.

“Simon…?” You push yourself off your palms, confusion whisked on your face.

It was one of your rules, the mask stays off inside your home.

His eyes land on the neatly set table before they reach yours.

You approach him slowly and he tenses, your eyebrows stitching together in concern.

His stomach twists inside of him.

Gorgeous minx.

Absolutely breathtaking.

Beautiful perfection.

He couldn’t say anything he wanted to—and god he had so much to say.

Your eyes flicker to the windows alongside the front door seeing two other bodies.

Armed bodies.

He wasn’t staying.

“Can you all stay for dinner atleast? I made enough for everyone…” you smile softly while fumbling with the straps of his vest.

Stop touching me, you’re making this harder on me. Ghost swallows the knot in his throat.

There’s a pause before Ghost backs up.

“There’s someone else.”

It’s a lie, it’s a lie. It’s such a lie. Ghost

Something inside your chest tightens and you swear that it’s your heart.

“What?…” You scoff lightly, your eyebrows pinching together in disbelief.

Don’t make me say it again. Ghost inhales sharply.

“Simon…” you tilt your head slightly, extending your hand to touch him.

“Please, let me try to be better for you, give me a chance…” your lips quiver.

You don’t need to try and be better for me. Ghost thinks.

He knew you’d been reading articles on how to be in a relationship with someone in the special forces—he’d found out and closed the lid, sat you in his lap and kissed you so softly, telling you that you were perfect for him and you didn’t need an article to tell you how to love him.

But you know it’s real when Ghost jerks his shoulder away.

You know it’s real when you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood as tears start welling in your eyes.

You know it’s real when Ghost’s eyes evade yours.

You know it’s real when Simon turns around and he doesn’t spare you a goodbye.

You especially know it’s real when the door slams shut and rattles the walls around you.

It’s surreal, but you expected this.

He must’ve found someone on base, you thought.

You feel your knees give in beneath you, and you’re met with the floor.

A hysterical sobbed scream leaves your throat as your trembling hand lifts to drag down at your lips.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

Ghost stands for a moment on the doormat outside of your home.

Gaz’s hand finds a place on his back, the other holding his vest as he guides the larger male towards the truck they’d arrived in.

“Didn’t have to do that, Ghost.” He says, followed by a sigh.

“Did.” Ghost replies back as he seats himself in the back. “Wasn’t lettin’ her get my dog tags—she’s been through enough bein’ with me.”

Soap turns his head over his shoulder after sitting in the front passenger seat.

“Ay, L.T, we all know y’ll make it back t’ya pretty lass.” He says. “Y’r one of we bes’ fighters, ain’t that righ’, Kyle?” Soap’s elbow bumped into Gaz’s ribs.

Gaz utters a strained noise before nodding, hands wrapping around the wheel.

“‘M not takin’ that risk, now shu’up ‘n drive. Cap’s gon’ ‘b pissy enough.”

His head turns to look out the window as he feels the wheels of the truck roll down the driveway.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

It’s been seven months. Two-hundred-thirteen days.

All you do is work, eat, and sleep.

Eating, not as much as you should.

You couldn’t cook, couldn’t get yourself up from your bed the second you got home from work to start the stove.

You either sleep all day or not at all, there wasn’t a balance.

God, your living room was disgusting. Snot tissues were littered across the entire coffee table, empty champagne glasses, crusted food plates and crushed soda cans.

You’d resorted to hiring a maid just to clean your living room—which was the only room you stayed in for five months straight while your depression started getting progressively worse.

You lay on your side with a weighted blanket draped over you, holding you down comfortably.

Simon stayed in your head, even after half of a year. He invaded your head. It drove you insane.

At the same time, you were scared of the day that he wouldn’t be your first and last thought each and every day anymore.

You bunch the blanket closer to your chin, your wet eyes have drenched the little area to hell.

Things just have never been the same since Simon left the house–-you still happened to feel his presence next to you, hovering over you.

“There’s someone else.” His words settled an uneasy weight on your shoulders that you still were unable to shake off.

A splutter of sobs escapes you once again, tears blurring your vision as they fall and your nose starts to clog.

You try to breathe in, but you feel as though there’s not enough air around you. You breaking into a coughing fit is enough for you to push the weighted blanket off of your body and heave yourself up.

Spit and drool creates several small strings between your lips–you’re practically foaming at the mouth from how hard you’re crying.

Tears flutter off your eyelashes and further blur your vision, so you try and rub at your eyes with the heels of your palms desperately.

You stand up wobbly and start towards the bathroom, you didn’t have the energy to walk the extra couple of steps into your bedroom to use your own bathroom, so the guest bathroom would have to do for now.

You turn the shower knob and pull it out towards you after undressing, then step into the warmth and sink onto the shower floor, hugging your knees to your bare chest and letting the water run over your face.

Sobs cause your body to twitch and jerk, the heat in your eyes making your eyes burn as your breathing grows unsteady over the stream of water above you.

You just wanted him home.

But, he wasn’t yours to want home anymore.

He wasn’t yours to crave anymore or to love.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

A door slams so hard air causes the fabric of his shirt to flail in the wind.

Ghost had spent months struggling with the actions of his decision, where he had hoped that the choice would break you free of your shackles of worries when it came to the blonde when he was away.

He spent every night and every rising morning worrying someone would take his place. It would’ve been his fault, he knew that, and it made him want to scream at the top of his lungs until they felt raw in his chest.

He presses the lock button on his keys, hearing the locks inside the jeep click, then he jumbles with his keychain looking for the house key.

Ghost’s hands are shaking as he pinches the specific key and jabs it into the door lock, turning it.

When he hears the all-familiar click, he immediately pulls off his balaclava and pushes himself through the front door.

There’s silence–pure silence throughout the house except for the sound of running water.

She’s showering.

A short amount of relief washes over him as he bends to untie the laces of his boots, placing them aside.

When he stands, his eyes scan over to the living room and he feels his heart sink in him at the sight of the absolute mess made of the living room.

An overflowing laundry basket and take-out boxes that made the room stink of old fried rice.

He throws his bag behind him against the wall before he walks himself towards the pile of laundry and begins pulling out shirts and pairs of pants to fold against his knee.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

You took a two hour shower, most of it being of you shredding any form of emotion from your body that you could.

Now you were sitting on the fur-covered toilet seat, running your lotion-coated hands along your freshly shaven legs.

You told yourself you would try going to a club to replenish your sex deprivation.

Steam finally clears from the mirror allowing you to look at yourself in the mirror. Your hands pull the towel off your head, wet hairs sticking to your shoulders.

The bathroom smelt of your coconut milk shampoo and body wash–it smelt divine.

You thumb up your white laced bra and panties, plug in the blow dryer and scrunch your mop in your hands as you wave the blow dryer over your hair.

It seems like hours, being only nearly ten minutes until your hair is somewhat dry, but your arms are tired, so you unplug the dryer and wrap the cord around it.

You leave the bathroom and walk back into the living room, pausing in motion at the sight of it being clean–your laundry being neatly folded on the coffee table.

“Kris? Is that you?” You call, not too loudly.

She had a key to your home, but she had stated she wouldn’t be available this week due to some personal reasons she wasn’t required to go over with you.

You walk over towards the couch and drag your hand along the cotton material.

There was no reply to your call, which concerned you. You hadn't contacted any of your family members to come visit.

You slowly turn yourself around and the breath is practically stolen from your lungs.

Simon’s standing across the room from you, clad in a black t-shirt and jeans, a belt secured in the front.

You watch his eyes drag up and down your exposed body, watching as he inhales sharply while his eyes narrow.

“Love,” He mumbles.

Your eyebrows furrow and you lift your neck up. “Why–why are you here?” “Will y’let me explain?” He sighs.

“Does she know?” You reply quickly with a shaky voice.

“Does wh–”

“Does she know you are here, Simon.”

There's silence, then he licks his dry lips.

“There is no she.” He says flatly.

“No,” you scoff, running a hand down your face, eyes darting to the side as you listen to him walk closer toward you. “No…no. No–I remember specifically…” your angry, now.

Simon catches your lips in a firm kiss, but you push him away, and the look in his eyes makes your chest ache.

“Please,” Simon’s eyebrows pinch together.

“Stop, just stop.” You seethe, pressing your finger into the midsection of his chest making him back up some. “You said there was someone else, you said–”

“I was lyin’, there wasn’t.” He pauses, frowning.

“Bullshit,” you shake your head. “Fucking bullshit, Simon Riley!”

“Let m’talk.” Simon says gruffly, his tone stern.

You swallow thickly and lower your head in defeat after nodding, finger lifting so you can chew on your cuticle bed.

“I…I let a debriefing get t’me. Said there wasn’t much’a chance of survival–can’t say much, y’know that…but I didn’t want y’to have to go through that.” He explains.

His hand reaches down to lift your chin, thumbing at any stray tears making their way down your cheeks. “Forgive me, lovie.” Simon leans down to close the gap between you both again, this time you submit and his hand cradles the back of your head.

The kiss is slow and passionate–gentle with its hints of dominance.

“Missed you…” He mumbles over your lips, hands finding your ass to knead the supple skin.

You gasp slightly, but cave in to his touch instantly. “And I missed you…”

“Please…never do that again.”

His forehead rests on yours a moment, fingers toying in your hair by rolling pieces between his fingers.

“‘M sorry.” He murmurs.

He wasn’t the type to apologize, you knew that. His apologies were sincere and meaningful.

Your hands grip his shirt.

“Over half a year, Simon…” Your voice is so low, you couldn’t even call it a whisper. “This whole time…”

“I know…I know…” He mutters into your hair, taking in your scent.

“Will y’let me make it up to ya, love?” Hot breath rakes over the side column of your neck.

You simply nod, and that’s all enough for him to pick you up by your thighs and for you to wrap your legs around his waist and rut against him.

He guides you both into your bedroom, seating you on the edge of the bed.

“So fuckin’ sexy when y’r half-naked ‘n angry…” Simon chuckles dryly as he drags a finger up your clothed cunt.

“Simon…please…” you mumble into his shoulder.

“I’ve got’ya, gorgeous.” He says cooly while laying you flat on the bed.

Simon slips his fingers past your panties, his cock twitching in his pants at the feeling of your wetness spreading along his fingers.

“Ffff..uck, babe, you're so wet for me ‘lready…” he whispers.

You gasp as his finger slips up and down between your folds, making you twitch as he passes your throbbing clit.

“So fuckin’ divine…” he purrs above you, eyes full of love and lust. His other hand finds a place on your thigh, squeezing the flesh as he works at your warmth.

You whine, watching as his teeth bite at the lace lining of your panties, pulling them down as his eyes don’t stray from yours.

“Oh…fuck…” you bite your lip gently, the action making you fanny flutter to the point of aching.

“Jesus…” he breathes against your thigh, pressing his lips along the skin and sucking it until he’s satisfied with the markings.

Simon scoops up both of your legs by the crooks of your knees, spreading them apart as he shifts down to rest his knees on the ottoman spread across the end of the bed.

A shuddered moan releases from you as his tongue prods at the hole in your cunt, then drags up to swirl around your sensitive bud.

Your hand grabs a tight hold in his hair, making him groan against your core and increase the pressure and sensation in your stomach.

A whimper leaves your throat as he sucks and laps at your pussy, making you buck into his jaw.

“Jus’ like that, baby,” he growls onto you, pressing a wet kiss onto your clit. “Y’gon cum all over m’face like a good girl?”

You mewl and cry out as Simon slips a finger inside, your back arching and thighs jerking.

“Simon!” You gasp loudly as your fingers dig into his back over his shirt.

His tongue drags flatly up your cunt, collecting all your juices—he’s practically drinking you.

Another finger pushes inside gently, curling inside that same spot he’s able to find so effortlessly each time that makes you go wild.

“Gon’ c…cum…” you stutter meekly.

“C’mon then,” he urges. “Cum f’r me.”

Simon quickened his pace and the pressure, pumping his fingers in and out, in and out.

Like he was starved, his face presses closer into you, tongue toying at your clit making you twitch against him.

There’s an unbearable heat between your legs as you feel a knot tie in your abdomen when Simon levered his fingers deeper into you.

“Good…” he groans, pressing his tongue inside with his fingers as your walls clamp around him desperately, a strained moan leaving you as your orgasm snaps.

You cum, hard, and grip his shoulders with both hands as his fingers fuck your orgasm back into you before he finally pulls his fingers out to coat your thighs in your climax.

Simon sucks out his work, then spits it back out onto your heat, slapping your pussy and releasing a deep groan.

He licks his fingers clean, his tongue sliding between each finger.

You lift yourself up by gripping his belt, slightly wobbling before his hand finds a spot to rest on your back.

“Fuckin’ hell…cum drunk ‘lready, sweets?” Simon bends down to take your mouth onto his, taking the chance to slip his tongue between your lips when you moan into his.

Gently, you palm his hard cock over his pants, eyes squeezing shut then opening to find your place on his belt and fumble with the buckle.

“Mm—y’find what you were lookin’ f’r?” He pants heavily before his lips trail down your jawline to lick and suck at your neck.

“Oh..fuck…” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin.

“Want you so bad, Si…” you moan, lifting your head to grant him better access. “Want to feel you inside of me.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere across the room while he kicks off his pants that you helped pull down Simon’s hips, lips then coming back down to tease at your collarbones and neck.

“Ooh..ho…you will, don’t y’worry, sweet girl.” His cock sprung free out of the restraints of his boxers, making him groan hoarsely.

Simon’s fingers tap on the outerside of your thigh. “Turn over,” he demands.

You babble out nonsense that is incoherent as you flip on your stomach and one of his hands gather both of your wrists.

He’s on the bed now, between your legs with one hand holding you up by your stomach.

The head of his cock teases at your entrance, lips trailing up your spine.

“Y’want it?” He growls. “Huh?”

He inhales sharply, nudging the tip into your greedy hole. “God…you do…”

“J’s suckin’ me in like th’needy little pet y’are.”

You moan out a chant of pleases, cheek pressing into the comforter of the bed as he arches and positions you to his liking.

“Y’want this thick cock in y’r empty pussy.”

“Yes…” you mumble, backing into him

softly until you take in his entire tip which causes the larger man to apply more pressure into your stomach. “Fuck me, please…please…”

“Oh…Mmm…Such a good girl beggin’ f’r my cock.” Simon praises, letting you bounce on his tip for a few moments.

“Tha’s right baby…jus’ like that…I own this pretty little cunt, don’t I?” He snarls. “Nobody else’s to fuck.”

“Only yours, just yours,” you nod helplessly, earning a positive noise from the man behind you.

He takes in a sharp breath before slowly he inches himself into you farther, stretching you.

Filling you.

You moan loudly, your walls closing around his length making him push out the same noise.

When he bottoms out in you, his tip kissing your cervix, he retracts and ruts back into you, the sound of skin slapping filling the room as he hisses and breathes harsher at every thrust.

“Oh…” he sighs in ecstasy, releasing your wrists so he can grab the fat on your waist.

“Yes…” he moans, every contact with your hips causing the breath in his mouth to jump and fall.

“Tight little pussy just swallowing me,” Simon hisses through clenched teeth as he painfully yet deliciously stretches you open to his size. “So—fuckin’ sexy.”

“Want y’to cum in me, please…” You gasp, clawing at the comforter as he bucks himself deep into you, filling you up and emptying you, repeating that motion over and over.

“Want me to fill y’with my seed?” He chuckles, a moan interrupting him. “Tha’s what my slutty pet wants?”

“Fucking yes! My god, yes…” you pant, muttering and whining unintelligibly as he slams back into you and makes your ass slap against his thighs.

“Too bad,” he croons.

“Simon…pl..ease..” you moan.

“No…no, I can’t…cum in ya, love. We—we ain’t thinkin’ straight…” Simon’s cock twitches inside of you as he continues ramming his hips into yours, a guttural groan tearing out of him.

“I can feel y’tightenin’ around me, j’s beggin’ to cum around my fat cock…”

“There y’go…Bounce that gorgeous ass on me, j’s how I like it, babe.” Simon strains, hand roughly smacking the skin on your hind.

You squirm against him, making the blonde growl and grab your hips with a bruising grip. “Y’feel me stretchin’ y’r tiny pussy?”

“Mhm? Y’do?” He grunts, heaving above you as he thrusts himself into you. “Fuckin’ take it, filthy fuckin’ minx.”

“Look at you, such a pretty pet, bent to my content…Pussy out on display.”

“Gonna cum, gorgeous, all over your perfect belly.” He mumbles and flips you onto your back.

You moan shamelessly and loudly, whining as he pulls out of you and starts stroking himself while playing with your pussy.

“Fu…u…ck…” his head leans back as you massage his balls and replace his hand. “J’s likeee…that, perfect girl…”

He rubs his middle and pointer finger over your clit at an inhuman pace, making your body jolt and try to push away if it weren’t for his hand holding you roughly in place.

You roll your wrist up and down, pumping his cock in your hand until he takes control again and smacks his tip against your lower abdomen, spilling out his cum onto your stomach with a choke of your name.

Simon’s body twitches, pants and swears rolling off his tongue in a pleading voice as he covers you in his warmth.

“C...C’mon lovie, cum all over my fingers again, let me sss…see y’come undone f’r me again…N…Need to see it…” He stumbles over his words as he comes off his high, an undertone of a whimper in his voice.

It makes you pool, your ego skyrocketing at the fact that you can do that to someone. To him.

Simon’s fingers hit every perfect nerve inside your pulsating cunt, curling and plummeting into the same spot of overwhelming pressure that brought you over the edge.

A tightness coils in your stomach again, and he absolutely fucking loves the strained noises that spill out from you at every rut of his fingers inside of you.

He loves the way he can get you wrung out at every pet name and gentle touch, the way you clamp your thighs together at the smallest motions.

Simon knew your body better than you did, and he fucking loved it. He knew every spot that drove you absolutely mad and every crevice that had the ability to make you beg just how he wanted.

Your eyes shoot open from their half-lidded proportion as Simon finds a certain spot that sends electricity throughout your entire body, making you cry out and dig your nails into his scar-ridden flesh.

“Righ’ there, huh, princess? Righ’ there?” He hisses which drawls out to a throaty growl, hammering that same spot with more pressure. “Couldn’t stand bein’ away fr’m this pussy f’r so long…”

You chant ‘yes’ over and over again until your gasping and panting his name, your breath catching in your throat as you let out a loud cry through your climax, thighs trembling as they slowly close around his forearms in reflex.

He lifts your thighs up again and sits you on his lap as he pulls the covers over the both of you.

“Did s’good for me, lovie. Mmm…S’proud of you, baby.” Simon whispers, catching your lips in a ravenous kiss as he presses his cock inside of your warmth, pushing your climax back into you in a tranquil motion.

“‘M gonna be right back, okay?” You coo against his lips as you swing your legs over the bed, he gives you a small ‘mhm’.

You quickly give yourself time to use the bathroom, then wash your hands before you walk yourself back into the room, crawling back into his lap before he turns the both of you to the side.

Simon unclips your brassiere and drops it onto the floor, cups both of your breasts in his palms and moans as you slide yourself back down onto his cock.

“Mmh…So warm…” he whispers huskily while kissing the nape of your neck down to your collarbones.

He spoons you, lulling you into a state of drowsiness as he gently massages your tits. Simon’s breath is a gentle pattern over your neck, gentle snores leaving the barriers of his lips after his hands go still.

You don’t take long to catch sleep right behind him, turning your head a moment to peck his wet lips before you’re able to finally shut your eyes.

#ghostheartfelt #ghostheartfelt writing #simon ghost x reader #mw2 smut #ghost riley smut #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #mw2 x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost modern warfare #ghost cod #ghost imagine #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley imagine #ghostheartfelt ;; 👻#ghostheartfelt writing ;; 👻

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luckyreds · 1 month ago

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Cigarettes! smoke them if you got them.

The Improved version. ;)

Aaaaaah, cigarettes, a true staple of soldiering life, practically as common as a helmet or a rifle. Back in the 40s, nearly everyone smoked. Among the working class, about 80% puffed away on a good old cig on the daily, and in the U.S. Army, nearly half of the men were regular smokers. Cigarettes weren’t just a habit; they were a cultural phenomenon and a lifeline, especially on the battlefield.

The Importance of Cigarettes in the Army

Imagine you're a soldier during those days, slogging through mud, dodging enemy fire, dealing with exhaustion, hunger, your nerves getting fried the longer you stay on the front lines, being stretched to the breaking point. What’s the best way to take the edge off? Exactly! A good old cigarette.

Back then smoking wasn’t just a way to relax; it was a coping mechanism. Cigarettes calmed jittery hands, offered a moment of peace, and staved off hunger pangs. (In fact back in the 30s Lucky Strike even marketed itself as a way to "stay in shape,” more on that later.)

A smoke break also became a key social ritual. Sharing a cigarette with a comrade was more than camaraderie, it was currency, connection, and comfort all rolled into one.

How Soldiers Got Their Smokes

Now! Being a soldier in the army meant you weren’t likely to run out of cigarettes. In fact, Uncle Sam made sure of that, As they were seen as an easy and affordable luxury. There were a couple of ways you could get your fix:

1. Rations. Cigarettes were a key part of standard-issue K- and C-rations. Each pack came with a neat little "three-by-three" setup: nine cigarettes, often a mix of one of four brands; Lucky Strike, Camel, Chesterfield, and Old Gold. If you were lucky, your whole pack would be your favourite brand; if not, trading with your buddies became an art form and a favourite pastime of many GIs.

2. PX Stores and USO Canteens. Now, say you smoked your pack or lost it in a bet, you could always head to a PX store or USO canteen (assuming you weren’t on the front lines). They stocked packs of 20 from brands like Pall Mall, Philip Morris, Parliaments, Wings, and Fatima and (in the USO canteens) the USO girls would carry them around on silver platters for the soldiers to buy them.

3. The Red Cross. For the truly desperate (or die-hard fans of Old Gold), the Red Cross was a lifesaver. They handed out free cigarettes to their personnel and they were often willing to sneak a pack or two to any GI looking for a pack.

4. Care Packages from Home. Families back home were eager to send their boys a pack or two, it was in fact promoted to do so! but mail wasn’t exactly speedy. A letter from your mom or wife might arrive weeks late, so unless you had saintly patience, trading or hitting up the USO was your best bet.

5. Barter and Trade. Like I said before, Bartering and trading became one of the favourite pastimes of soldiers. Didn’t get Lucky Strikes in your ration pack? No problem. You would find someone who did, and trade away your Camels or Old Golds. Cigarettes were practically a secondary currency, traded for chocolate, favours, or even a few extra hours off duty. Say you were a non-smoker, trading away those cigarettes could get you a lot of other useful stuff.

Why Lucky Strike Was the King of Smokes

While soldiers had their preferences, Lucky Strike dominated the frontlines. Why? Well, back in the good old roaring twenties, they were sold as a way to loose weight! Yes really! This marketing campaign was so successful, the use of Lucky Strikes exploded across America. then during the 30s, this good old Cigarette became the go-to of many celebrities, (think of Joan Crawford, Gary Cooper, Clark Gable) and by WWII, it had established itself as The King of Cigarettes brands.

Lucky strike green has gone to war!

In 1942, Lucky Strike changed it packaging from its iconic green to white. This clever switch made it the most patriotic cigarette in town. Sure, the green dye wasn’t actually repurposed for the war effort (the company just wanted the packaging to appeal to women), but who cared? People loved the idea, and Lucky Strikes flew off the shelves. Their signature toasted tobacco also had a smoother flavour, and promised a less sore throat after smoking. It quickly became a favourite amongst the soldiers.

Now! If Lucky Strike wasn’t your thing, there were plenty of other options:

Camel: Known for its smooth taste and memorable slogan, “I’d walk a mile for a Camel.” Quickly becoming a new favourite during the war.

Chesterfield: A milder, smooth option, favoured by those who wanted something “classy.” It was also seen as an english cigarette.

Old Gold: Perfect for anyone who liked their cigarettes without a cough (allegedly).

Pall Mall: advertised are longer and more elegant, a “premium” choice for officers or stylish soldiers.

Philip Morris: Another solid pick, with a reputation for luxury. “Call for Philip Morris” their busboy mascot to find out why its the finest cigarette in town!

Marlboro: For the women out there, “mild as May” Marlboro was the go to! Marketed as a ladies’ cigarette with their signature red coloured filter to hide lipstick stains, Camel and Chesterfields were other favourites, as they were considered more “refined” options due to their smoother taste.

(If none of these brands were available: in France you had the famous Gauloises. Which were associated with the resistance and had a very distinct taste and smell and nobody wanted the English-made cigarettes, as they were so bad according the americans they apoligised when giving them out.)

On cigars:

Cigars were often seen as a luxury item, not something you'd find in your standard rations. They carried an air of importance and were typically associated with officers, high-ranking officials, or soldiers celebrating a victory. If you think of cigars and ww2, you’d think of Winston Churchill, General Douglas MacArthur and later General George S. Patton, puffing away on their cigar celebrating victory.

How Soldiers Got Their Cigars

Care Packages from Home. Families might send cigars to their loved ones overseas as a treat. Though it was often those from the more privileged families, or the officers that could get a box of cigars

2. Special PX Purchases. Post Exchanges and USO canteens sometimes stocked cigars, though they were far less common than cigarettes. They were considered more of a specialty item, so soldiers had to go out of their way to snag one.

3. Barter and Trade. If someone in your unit was lucky enough to score a cigar, you might be able to trade for it—though the price would be steep. Cigars were seen as a rare luxury, so they didn’t come cheap on the frontlines

4. Liberation Spoils. Occasionally, soldiers might come across cigars while liberating towns or raiding enemy supplies. A nice Cuban cigar found in an officer’s stash could turn a miserable day into a pretty good one!

Now there were a couple of brands common in this time:

White Owl: One of the more popular and accessible brands for soldiers, known for its mild flavour.

El Producto: a mid-tier cigar, cheap hand-made nickel cigars but a favourite amongst the ‘Common’ men.

Dutch Masters: not as popular as they were about to become in 50s, but still well-known brand which would’ve been available at the USO.

Havana Cigars: For the Officers and Wealthy. As a common GI, if you get your hands on authentic Cuban cigars via looting, you’d better enjoy it! They were highly prized for their quality.

Now! If cigarettes were the democratic choice of the masses, cigars were the aristocrats of the tobacco world. They weren’t as practical to carry in the field, but they carried a sense of prestige that cigarettes didn’t. If a soldier lit a cigar, you knew something important had happened, or he had connections back home.

How to light it up!

In the army you had two options, the first was a lighter, if Lucky Strikes was King Cig, then the zippo was King Lighter. Made in Bradford, Pennsylvania, Zippos were beloved by soldiers for their durability and reliability. These lighters were windproof, meaning they could stay lit even in harsh conditions like rain or wind, and they were pretty practical! Zippos used refillable lighter fluid (usually naptha which you could taste) and flints. Soldiers could easily find materials to keep them going. Plus, they were customisable and pretty indestructable. they could take a beating and still be in working condition! now, if you lost your lighter, soldiers would improvise. Some created lighters from shell casings, fuel, and flint. These homemade lighters were often rough, but they worked.

the second option was of course matches. they were standard-issue that came in soldiers’ ration kits. These matches were often coated in wax or stored in waterproof containers to ensure they stayed dry. Soldiers relied on these matches not just for lighting cigarettes but for starting fires and other survival needs. other than the standard matches you had matchbooks, which were lightweight and easy to carry, often featuring advertisements or morale-boosting slogans. They were frequently handed out by the USO, Red Cross, or included in care packages from home.

righto! that was it. the new and improved Cigarette information post! hope you enjoyed!

#sal rambles #cigarettes #ww2 #this time with more information and with 10 times more structure #next up prophylatic kits

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summerlinarmory · 19 days ago

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When it comes to tactical use, the choice between an ARP (Assault Rifle Pistol) and an SBR (Short Barrel Rifle) can have a significant impact on your firearm setup. Both options offer unique advantages, depending on the specific needs of the shooter. An ARP is typically more compact, offering a great balance of portability and firepower. It’s perfect for tight spaces and fast maneuvering while still delivering the power of a rifle.

#Compact Rifle Advantages #Firearm Setup Guide #Responsible Shooting

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vomitdodger · 7 months ago

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So far:

At least two confirmed, by interview, prolonged attempts to alert police/security.

Drone footage of the shooter on the roof before firing. Have to assume rifle was visualized.

Video of snipers (not confirmed) visualizing shooter but not engaging until after multiple shots.

All this is known in a matter of hours. Imagine what we’ll know by this time tomorrow.

#setup.

#never trust the media again

#long live X

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dragonnarrative-writes · 4 months ago

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Kinktober Day 1 - Voyeurism

Kate Laswell x Bricks (CIA Asset OC)

CW: Dub-con/Non-con voyeurism (one person is not aware they are being watched), surveillance, sex work, dirty talk, degradation, impact play, daddy kink, too many mirrors, too much setup and an abrupt ending, big dogs

“Got me Watcher?” Bricks covers the movement of her mouth by touching up her lipstick in the mirrored wall of the elevator.

“Coming in clear,” Kate answers. “Go ahead and run a final calibration on the lenses.” She marks the edges of the camera range as Bricks sweeps her eyes in a practiced pattern to confirm the fit and function of the contacts. When she crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out, confusing the feed, Kate chuckles. “Save it for Mendoza.”

“Please,” Bricks snickers. “My best is wasted on him.”

The doors open. Two large men, Mendoza’s bodyguards, usher Bricks forward. Real professionals, Kate notes, neither of them letting their eyes linger on stunning legs or exposed cleavage. One waves a wand over her, hair to heels, and the other takes the clutch from Bricks’ hand. He rifles through it, then doesn’t give it back.

“My second best lipstick is in there,” Bricks protests, half-heartedly. “I’m gonna want that back, later.”

“You’ll get it back when you leave,” the man grunts. “Come with us please.”

“Give me doors,” Kate instructs as they proceed down the hall. The cameras flick almost aimlessly as her asset strides between her escorts, but Kate is ready. “Left again,” she murmurs, quickly tagging frames for review. “Good girl.”

Once Bricks is handed off to Mendoza, the real work starts. Dinner goes as expected. Mendoza brags and paws. Bricks is charming, flirty, and teasing. She plays every bit of her part while Kate half listens and reviews data on the guards. Contractors, she notes as Bricks titters about something. Mendoza is just oggling her tits, so Kate continues reading the dossier. Contractors, good ones. Ex-military, but unlikely to see Bricks for the threat she is. The only problem will be-

“Puppies,” Bricks coos, as two Rottweilers come trotting up to the table. “I love dogs. How old are they?”

“They’re trained as part of the security detail,” Kate states as Mendoza goes on about pedigree. “German commands.”

Bricks kisses one of the dogs on the snout. “Do they know any tricks?”

“They’re trained killers,” the mark brags. “Only listen to me and designated handlers.”

“The handler command is folge mir,” Kate provides. Luckily, Bricks isn’t able to comment on her abysmal accent. “Ruhig. Geh runter.”

It doesn’t take long for Mendoza to send the dogs away, tired of not being the center of attention. And Bricks plays him like a fiddle, drawing him all around the penthouse to give Kate sight lines, the layout, and an unobstructed view of the server room through the kitchen.

When he finally catches her, Kate cant help but snort. “Is he as bad a kisser as he sounds? Your not usually this all over the place."

Bricks doesn’t bother to hold back a soft laugh. Mendoza lifts his mouth from her neck with an almost affronted grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry,” she giggles, with a peck to his lips. “Ticklish, and I just feel good with you.”

“Can I make you feel better?”

“Here’s hoping,” Kate mutters as she counts server racks in Bricks’ periphery. The woman’s laugh rings off the marble counter tops.

Kate doesn’t bother watching the feed as Bricks kisses Mendoza down the hall, eyes closed to avoid any chance he might notice her contacts. When she opens her eyes again, Kate stifles a groan and pulls out her cigarettes. Mendoza’s bedroom has an entire wall of mirrors, and another on the wall above his headboard. Bricks kisses him some more, but in no time, she’s bent over the bed, looking at her own breasts nearly spilling from the top of her dress.

She’s there for… a lot longer than Kate expected. Whatever Mendoza is doing, she looks as bored as she ever does when she’s in character. Kate decides to step in when she moans, rote.

“Oh no,” Kate chuckles, grinning when Bricks’ eyes snap to her reflection. “I know you can do better than that. If I have to watch you have sex, you’re going to make it worth my while. Get that ass in the air, lets’s see if Mendoza can’t be good for something.”

Bricks’ next moan is much more resonant. Mendoza echoes her as he bends over her back, no doubt pressing his cock against her barely there panties.

“Ask for a spanking,” Kate commands, lighting a cigarette. “Ask nice, the way I like.”

“Please spank me, daddy,” Bricks moans, holding eye contact with the mirror, staring directly at Kate.

“Good girl, there you go,” Kate purrs, over Mendoza’s tiresome noises. “Too bad he’s going to be such a shit lay. You’re right, your best is wasted on him. Say thank you.”

Bricks hisses after Mendoza gives her three quick, sloppy strikes. “Thank you, daddy.”

“Fuck, you’re a slut, huh?” Mendoza flips her, and Kate laughs to see the mirrored tiles on the ceiling. “I can be your daddy, baby girl.”

“I’m tired of hearing his voice,” Kate scoffs. “Put his mouth to use.”

Bricks opts to grab a fistful of his hair and drag the man down her body. Kate gets to enjoy the view of her, chest heaving and disheveled as she winks up at her reflection. There’s no rolling eyes - there’s nothing of interest in the room, really, and Mendoza is apparently all noise and no skill.

“Touch yourself,” Kate commands. “Give yourself a show, beautiful.”

Bricks draws the fingers of her free hand down her neck, toying with her necklace before pushing the fabric of her dress down beneath full breasts. Kate makes an appreciative noise when she pinches a nipple. The woman in the mirror moans and arches her hips into the mouth between her thighs. Her eyes go half-lidded, when Mendoza pulls away to pant against her, one hand working its way up to prod at her. He groans something about “wet” and “tight,” like he had anything to do with the first and doesn’t understand the implications of the second.

“Please,” Bricks moans at her reflection.

“Oh,” Kate chuckles, “Is he really that good?”

“Roll over,” Mendoza growls as he stands. He’s dropped his pants and underwear.

“No,” Kate snorts. “I’m not watching your bored face as you compare him to Ghost. Ride him.”

All it takes is one skilled twist of Bricks’ hips before Mendoza is lying on his back, groaning under the woman Kate could command to kill him at any moment.

But Kate simply sits back in her chair. “Finish him off before I finish this cigarette, and I’ll let you come.”

Bricks narrows her eyes at the mirror. Kate can almost hear her calculating how long it’s been since she heard the click of the lighter. And then she balances on the balls of her feet and Kate grins as she watches the woman tear Mendoza’s orgasm from him with brutal efficiency.

“Good girl.”

#kinktober 2024 #kate laswell x oc #kate laswell #oc: bricks #smut and thirst #kink fics #hahahahaha this was not short #i'm really not built for very short stories #but i wont stop trying #in my head Mendoza's not even the main guy #hes a means to an end #and kate will utilize her asset to get to that end #okay i'll stop rambling

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