#i love operation blackout | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

milf-murdock · 5 months

Note

Hi!! I love love love your writing! Especially your 141!Reader series <3 I don't know if you take requests, but your last post about Simon and baby Joseph made me so angsty and I would love to read more angst from you. Could you please write about Simon thinking 141!Reader was KIA on a mission? Thank you!!!

Anon....who....who hurt you???? I’m kidding 😆 mostly 👀 But for real, this one HURT. Like. OUCH. This man has been through so fucking much…but let’s put him through a bit more 😈😈😈 also, I did very much hurt my own feelings with this one. So I’m thinking we might need a part two reunion because I don’t know if I can leave our Ghosty boy in shambles like this

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The rain patters against the window in a steady rhythm.

Simon watches the fat raindrops roll down the small window pane, one foot anxiously tapping against the concrete floor. He didn’t know why he was called to Price’s office, but there was an ominous charge to the air. Call it a premonition, or maybe an instinct, but he knew in his bones that something was wrong.

The click of the door handle pulls Simon from his thoughts as Price enters the office, a heavy silence filling the air.

“What’s happened?” Simon's voice has a hard edge to it, cutting straight through the bullshit. Watchful eyes appraise every detail of Price’s body language, and Simon notes the deep sunken look of his captain’s eyes accentuated by a somber expression.

Price avoids Simon's gaze, staring down at the oak desktop before him as he takes a seat. The captain wasn’t one to mince words or beat around the bush, but even he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the situation despite his many years in the service.

Simon's heart hammers in his chest, every second in the unknown feeling like an eternity. This isn’t right, he thinks to himself.

Price steels himself with a deep inhale, pulling his gaze from the desk to face Simon head on, looking past the mask, speaking to the man he knew laid beneath.

“I wanted you to hear this from me, son. You…deserve to hear this from me.”

Simon stops breathing.

With practiced determination, Price continues his speech, having rehearsed the words in his head the entire walk down to his office.

“Reconnaissance mission, Operation Blackout, suffered multiple casualties after a long-range detonation by enemy action. There’s been no contact with the team, and rescue attempts were unsuccessful due to the extensive damage caused by the explosion. All team members are presumed KIA. The official course of action…”

The rest of Price’s speech is drowned out by the dull roar in Simon’s ears; his blood runs cold, his rigid body barely breathing.

This can’t be happening. Not again. Never again.

Simon's thoughts grip him by the heart, squeezing painfully.

I can’t do this again.

He had already lost everyone once. Had built impenetrable walls, designed to protect him from this type of pain.

But you. You and your goddamn charm, and your soft smiles, and your relentless fucking attitude. You broke down those walls brick by brick, made Ghost–no, made Simon– feel more like a man than he had in years. You slipped past his ironclad defenses and took his heart without him even realizing it.

And just when he had finally opened up, just when he had finally convinced himself that maybe he could be happy–that you could be happy together. It all came crashing down.

In the distance, Ghost could hear shouting. A chorus of denials piercing the air, heavy ragged breaths filling the silence between.

A heavy hand fell on Ghost's shoulder and he found himself back in his body, looking up at Price, voice raw.

With a stark realization, Ghost realizes it was him. He was the one shouting, the one gasping for breath.

The world tilted out from under him.

____________

Ghost left Price’s office a different man–a mere shell of the man who entered. With every step he took, he felt himself slipping further and further into the familiar safety of Ghost, an unpierceable facade moving through the world.

Everything felt wrong. Every step. Every breath. He felt like he was moving underwater, every action taking twice the effort it should.

The next few hours pass in a blur. The official order that he was being sent on leave. The ensuing argument with Price over the orders. He eventually just gave up. Leave, no leave, it didn’t fucking matter.

None of it fucking matters.

Johnny tries to see him before he leaves, meeting Simon on the tarmac. He tries to be there for his lieutenant, his friend.

The red rim around Johnny’s eyes reminds Simon that he wasn’t the only one who had lost you. They had all lost you. But even that which should have been a comfort, a sort of kinship in the grief, meant nothing. Simon didn’t give a singular fuck. He turned away from Johnny mid-speech, leaving the Scotsman to sit in his grief alone as he watched Ghost disappear into the aircraft.

____________

It takes every ounce of strength Ghost has to make it through the flight. To make it through the drive back home. To make it through that door.

Keep it together, soldier. Don’t you dare fucking lose it, Simon Riley. Just a bit longer.

His belongings crash to the floor as the door slams shut behind him. He doesn’t even bother turning on the light, instead using the faint glow of the moonlight through the curtains to guide him to the cabinet.

Ghost pulls the bottle of bourbon from its resting spot, not even bothering with a glass as he pulls off the corked top and takes a hearty swig.

The burn of the liquid is invigorating, filling Ghost with a quiet simmering fire.

He takes another drink. And another.

He walks through the flat in a daze, the amber liquid dulling his senses, sending him even deeper into the haze of his grief.

Ghost finds himself in front of his dresser, staring at the wooden drawers.

Taking another drink, he steels himself as he yanks open the top drawer. Rummaging beneath the pile of socks and t-shirts, Ghost digs out the small velvet box. He grips it tight in his hand, the small object groaning in protest as waves of rage and pain overtake Ghost, threatening to pull him under. Hot tears slide down his face, but he doesn’t even notice.

With a roar he throws the velvet box across the room, the impact fracturing the drywall. Ghost’s knees go out from under him and he crashes to the floor, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. There would be no repairing this. No amount of time could heal this type of heartbreak.

You were dead.

And as far as Ghost was concerned, Simon Riley died with you.

#y'all I'm so sorry this one HURT #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #simon “ghost” riley x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost riley

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reachartwork · 6 months

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I'd love to know how you can advance AI art ethically. I'll be perfectly honest and say I'm of the opinion that there's no way to make AI art ethical but I genuinely would like to hear your thoughts on this since it's something you clearly have put a lot of thought in to. Not trying to hate just curious about your opinion.

i reject the premise that it is inherently unethical to perform any of the operations required to do image synthesis. almost every single assumption required to start from the baseline of "it's unethical" (it's plagiarism, it requires no creativity, it smashes two images together, etc.) are all just straight up incorrect.

unless you can explain to me how to fit two (or more) billion images into 2 gigabytes (i'll let you do the math) in a way that preserves their features for later "stealing" (you can't) then i am rejecting the premise. because even if it were some sort of database that smashed pieces of images together (it's not), if your argument is that it's unethical to do that then you have a whole lot of collage and blackout artists that you need to contend with too. (if you think collage is also unethical then you are internally consistent, good for you, and then we just have a garden variety disagreement). generally speaking there is no argument one can take that can meaningfully separate ai art from other forms of transformative artwork except via special pleading, which doesn't convince me.

so yeah, basically, you (the general case you, not You Specifically, Fish Of The Woods) have to do the work to convince me that it's unethical because i am not starting from the premise of "it's inherently evil, except my one exception", i am starting from "it is neutral and you have to convince me that it's bad". and so far nobody who is anti-ai has managed to do so, primarily because (this is not a dig at you) nobody who is anti-ai actually bothers to understand how it works, and thus all their criticisms don't sync up with actual reality. while i'm sympathetic to labor arguments i.e ai art will put people out of jobs (definitely much more salient than the other ones), that is regular old capitalism abusing automation, and not an inherent flaw in the technology itself that renders it Ontologically Evil From Birth.

i get like five of these asks a day so i politely request you send future inquiries to the AWAY Discord, which is full of people who have significantly more patience than i do.

#the discourse

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forteafy · 1 year

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1 with Carlos or 5 with Fernando. Or maybe both if you can find inspiration 🤭

CS55 x 'You say you want to get over me?” “Yes.” “So why haven’t you?” “Because it’s you. Because whatever you do, I’m gonna come back to you, no matter what. And I’m trying so hard not to do that but… It’s you. It’s just you. You’re the reason why I can’t get over you.'

I'm in love with the smooth operator, your honour.

You knew the fifth shot was a bad idea. By the ninth? Your mind could barely correlate the link between your feet and the floor.

You hadn’t been to Monaco in so, so long. The last time you came was on vacation with your ex boyfriend; it had been a weekend of walks, champagne, slow dancing and secret sex on his teammates boat. Charles would never forgive you for that one, his precious yacht had been christened in more ways than one.

Charlotte had caught you by storm; a few phone calls and a promise of a night out so incredible, it would render every other evening numb, you’d been on a plane instantly, falling into your close friends arms, surrounded by a gaggle of girls, cooing about how you were glowing after…recent events.

The night in question had been what Charlotte promised; loud music, screams and cheers whilst dancing in a group, even chatting to the occasional stranger about the busy streets. However, one cocktail had turned into two, two into three…it was always a slippery slope where expensive drinks and shots were involved.

The brunch you had all booked for the next day seemed well out of question.

Three of the girls had already vanished; presumably heading home with different men, possibly with one another. Charlotte was gossiping with two girls sat on a table. She’d beckoned you over, but instead you’d wandered away; drunken mind mesmerised by lights.

You would have probably wandered right out into the cool streets of Monaco, if a body hadn’t collided with yours. A light whine emitted from your lips, looking up, ready for a drunken apology to stumble out of your lips. Instead, your mouth hung open, breath caught from seeing those brown eyes. Those you were oh-so-familiar with.

“Carlos.” You whisper, a slight sway still in your step. You had to be drunk, blackout drunk, to be seeing the figure of your ex-boyfriend stood in front of you. Frozen in your spot, the trance was broken when a figure appeared from behind him, eyes brightened to see you.

“Hey! Charlotte mentioned you were with her!” Charles calls out, grin resting on his face. “I came to get her- Carlos is visiting us for a few days.”

Your mind couldn’t put the pieces together in that moment. Charlotte, your supposed best friend, had made sure you came to visit whilst Carlos was in Monaco. If you didn’t know her better, you’d say she was playing matchmaker, even after your intense speech of how adamant you were to get over the spaniard.

“Yeah- she’s-“ You can’t get your words out, too drunk to comprehend any form of communication. Charles nods to his friend, silently hoping despite it all, he’ll stay with you whilst he goes to find his own intoxicated girlfriend.

Carlos is nothing, if not a gentleman. Gently, he rests a hand on your lower back. The warmth radiates through the sheer silk of your dress. He thinks you look beautiful like this. Hair messy, makeup smudged, the lines on your face from how much you had been laughing alongside your friends.

“Let’s get you outside.” He speaks above the thump of the music deeper inside the club. “You need some air.”

The cold air dances across your skin the moment the two of you step out from behind the heavy doors. Carlos is already tinted a light shade of red from being inside the room for less than five minutes. His eyes scan over you, arm held out as you tentatively cling to it, stumbling like a baby’s first step.

Carefully, the man leads you away from the direct entrance, giving you some space between the crowds of people. The cold air and movement gives into a sudden wave of nausea. Your body can’t control it, leaning over to the side of the road, trying your hardest not to make a mess.

A gentle sigh is heard from behind you, soft hands holding your hair back, a warm hand on your shoulder. The comfort, you don’t deserve it.

You eventually pull yourself back up, turning to thank the man in question. However, before you can say anything, one arm is resting around your waist, keeping you from stumbling, the other is resting on your cheek, his thumb gently stroking over you.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” He murmurs, eyes soft, seeing the girl he cares so deeply for in this position. “Why?”

“Trying.” You mumble in response. “Trying to stop thinking about you.”

Carlos isn’t aware of Charlotte’s plan. When she had mentioned going out with you that evening, he had thought you were in Monaco as a happy accident. He had intended to come and see you, maybe ask if you’d like to go out for a drink. Maybe when he did, he’d change the idea to coffee. Alcohol didn’t seem to be the best idea anymore.

“You say you want to get over me?” He mumbles, face closer to you, trying to find some emotion in your eye.

“Yes.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“Because it’s you. Because whatever you do, I’m gonna come back to you, no matter what. And I’m trying so hard not to do that but… It’s you. It’s just you. You’re the reason why I can’t get over you.”

The sudden explosion of words from your hazarded mind causes a trigger inside you. Tears begin to litter your lower lash line. Carlos has always hated seeing girls cry, especially those he cares about. Without thinking, he pulls you into his chest, quiet hushes, one hand brushing across the back of your head.

“Don’t get over me.” He pleads, his own voice cracking. “Don’t. Because I could never get over you.”

#CS55 #Carlos Sainz #Carlos Sainz x Reader #Carlos Sainz Imagine #Carlos Sainz One Shot #Carlos Sainz x Y/N #Carlos Sainz x You #Carlos #Carlando #Sainz #F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Ferrari #Scuderia Ferrari #Forza Ferrari #TIFOSI

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jerktournament · 9 months

Text

FINAL ROUND - GLaDOS (Portal) VS Herbert P Bear (Club Penguin)

!!! PROPAGANDA BELOW !!!

GLaDOS: "So mot only is she running your character through a series of puzzles with the intention of killing her at the end, but in the second game she spends the Entire. Time. Verbally and emotionally abusing you, including body shaming and bullying you for being an orphan. If it's any consolation, she does have to exist as a potato for the second and third acts of Portal 2."

"Known for being mean (hot). Mercilessly targets the player character's every possible insecurity. Petty and mean. I understand if you don't want to include her since she tends to dominate polls, lol."

HERBERT: "This mf spends his whole life trying to heat up a frozen island and terrorizing the innocent penguins that live on it all bc he was bad at sailing one time and is too much of a wimp to try again. Classic Misery loves Company type asshole."

"operation blackout would have been NOTHING without him (mostly because he caused it). he has a SOLAR LASER. this polar bear is an ass who literally harnessed the power of the sun and froze the top members of the elite penguin force (a group of penguin special agents) and his best friend is an equally villainous crab"

"Herbert may be a fandom darling in our fandom of like, 20 people. BUT DON'T LET THAT FOOL YOU! He is a conniving, EVIL bear, and a professional jerk and some highlights of his jerkishness include...

- Spending ten years of his life (by the time the game closed) trying to destroy the Penguin Secret Agency and Elite Penguin Force (both were agencies that protected the island from disasters and villains like Herbert) with varying success...

- SUCCESSFULLY destroyed the Penguin Secret Agency with a popcorn bomb, which destroyed their HQ. It should also be noted that while doing so, he locked in the player, Rookie, and Gary the Gadget Guy, presumably so the bombs explosion would have killed them all.

-Teamed up with the EPF to stop the Ultimate Protobot 10,000 and the Test Bots, a small group of four dangerous robots after he personally brought them back. When Protobot went "too far" for Herbert's standards by threatening the environment and trying to completely destroy the EPF (despite the aforementioned Popcorn Bomb incident literally destroying the PSA, and also a certain Operation: Blackout), causing him to temporarily switch sides. This might sound like a character growth moment...except for the fact that he immediately betrays them once Protobot is dealt with and attacks and damages the EPF's HQ using a robot hydra made for the Medieval Party that he stole.

- A canonical ex-dictator. Don't believe me? Look up Operation: Blackout on the Club Penguin Wiki! He froze several agents during his reign of terror, was open to freezing innocent civilians, and also wanted to do away with puffles- the pets of penguins. He also banned several hobbies and professions during his reign (being a Ninja, a DJ, a Pirate, etc) for no reason other than disliking them. He also destroyed the EPF'S HQ and exposed two agents' private information to the public. This means Herbert is the first and only character to canonically dox people he doesn't like on Club Penguin.

-Was planning to bomb the EPF literally two months later with a hot sauce bomb (makes sense in context of the game and yes, it is more destructive than it sounds).

-Brainwashed puffles into digging coins for him purely because his henchman, Klutzy the crab brought a coin slot to use for his DIY heater, instead of just removing the coin slot and retooling it to work without one like a normal person."

#poll #glados #portal #herbert p bear #club penguin #finals #tumblr polls

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bergandysam · 2 years

Text

BTS Fic Recs / To Read

purely because i am trying to keep track of what i have read and want to read in the future lol.

‼️18+ minors DNI, if you choose to anyways, PLEASE be careful. try to heed our warnings, we have them for a reason‼️

key/guide at the bottom of the post :)

ive come to the realisation it is ALL smut.. my bad

i will also be making a part 2 as i can only tag 50 ppl per post

set me free chap 7 YG to read

on with the show RM to read

haunted house JHOPE to read

mine JK to read

our beloved summer JK to read

borathae kinktober to read

neon sign YG to read

until i found you JK to read

9 months to fall in love SJ to read

believe it JM to read

sticks and stones YG to read

diving chapter 15 JK to read

epitaph KT to read

you who never arrived YG to read

turn back time SJ to read

undone business JK to read

not even a mouse YG to read

sonic rain JHOPE to read

business proposal RM to read

fake love JK to read

AAOLAASOF chap 14 JK to read

on tilt RM to read

nonsense JM to read

room for rent to read

work hard play harder YG to read

under the blankets JK to read

sweet dreams JK to read

not my fault JK to read

all i want JK to read

recommend:

[not in any particular order] [if any users would like me to remove their post from this list please let me know and i will do so immediately!]

turbulence YG @/fallencairns (AO3)

soulmate!au, fluff, angst, series, 212.1k

blackout JK @jjungxkook

roommate!jungkook smut, angst, 3 part series 49.9k

as we were JK/YG @archivedkookie

ex husband!jungkook, smut, angst, series (ongoing), 105.6k

three tangerines YG @kithtaehyung

brothers bestfriend!au, SMUT, fluufff :), anggsst :(, series (ongoing) 151.5k

just practice JHOPE @/lamourche (AO3)

college!au, fluff, smut, one shot, 12.5k words

lilium YG @hijoonie

f2l, smut, angst, fluff(??), one shot, 11.9k

maybe i do KT @chateautae

arranged marriage!au, smut, angst, fluff, series, 409k

only yesterday YG @borathae

s2l, angst, fluff, smut, small town, series, 78.6k

lowkey JK @xpeachesncream

fake dating college! au, smut, fluff, angst

fmttp RM @trbld-writer

phone sex operator! au, smut, crack, one shot,3.3k

one time thing JM @personasintro

best friends boyfriend! au, smut, angst, series (ongoing)

making him jealous JM @parkmuse

roommate! au, F2L, smut, angst, one shot 9.2k

campus affairs JK @kooktrash

college!au, F2L, angst, smut, fluff, one shot, 11.9k

trip no further YG @matchstick6812

soulmate!au, smut, fluff, angst, series, 178k

castaways RM @rmnamjoons

smut, angst, fluff(?), one shot, 25.5k

one year my love JK @hayjeon

royal!au, S2L, fluff, lil smut, lil angst, 31k

dickless KT @monimonimoon

E2L, angst (infidelity), SMUT! one shot, 11.1k

happy birthday loser JK @jungk0oksthighs

Idiots2L, smut, one shot, 8k

party on you JHOPE @here2bbtstrash

idol!au, f2l, SMUT, lil fluff, one shot, 9.8k

man-eater hunting JK @httpjungkookcom

F2L(?), smut, angst, fluff (?), one shot, 46k

helping hands YG @euphoricfilter

coworkers2L, fluff!!!, smut, 13.3k

dating advice YG @taleasnewastime

S2L, angst, fluff, smut, series, 54k

what if i love you too much JK @taleasnewastime

single mum!au, S2L, fluff, angst, smut, one shot, 20.6k

practice JK @chryblossomjjk

FWB, smut, fluff, angst, one shot, 29k

cybersex YG @gimmethatagustd

brothers best friend!au, smut, fluff, one shot, 14.6k

mixtape YG @haliiimede

F2L/BBF!au, smut, angst, fluff?, mini series

look down on me like that YG @here2bbtstrash

E2L, smut! angst, series (ongoing), 79.3k

white lies JK @noteguk

smut, fluff, very little angst, one shot, 13.3k

stuttering RM @moonlightchildz

fluff!! smut! lil bit of angst, one shot

cherry muffins and lavender tea RM @roses-ruby

college!au, fluff! smut! very very little angst, one shot

trip KT @daechwitatamic

F2L, fluff, angst, the tiniest smut, one shot, 22k

a human touch KT @snackhobi

robot!tae, fluff, smut, mini series, 37.7k

sweet addiction JM @jiminmellow

husband!au, fluff, angst, smut, one shot, 6k

rule #5 JK @taestefully-in-luv

FWB/F2L, fluff, smut, 2 part series

intersect RM @shina913

E2L/coworkers2L, fluff, angst, smut, series, 70.3k

hammer it home RM @gukslut

smut, fluff, lil angst, one shot, 22.7k

stretch you out RM/JK @chateautae

S2F2L, smut, fluff, one shot, 24k

the lucky one JK @babystrcandy

sports!au E2L, fluff(?), angst! smut, series (ongoing) 48.1k

unexpected lovers YG @jjkeverlast

fake dating/S2L, smut, fluff, angst, 2 part series, 19.8k

new tricks KT @geniuslab

F2L, fluff! smut, one shot, 10.1k

only here to sin KT @gimmethatagustd

E2L, smut, angst, 39.8k

(right) hook line and sinker JK @blog-name-idk

non-idol au!, s2l, angst(? reader gets scared lol), fluff, smut, one shot, 12.3k

keep me warm JHOPE @ppersonna

brothers best friend!au, fluff (the tiniest bit) smut! one shot, 3.9k

the shape of your body JM @here2bbtstrash

college au!, s2l, lil smut, fluff <3, one shot, 24k

tangsuyuk love JK @full-of-jams

college!au, lil smut, lil angst, fluff, one shot, 11.5k

the damsel & her knight JK @jimilter

CEO!au, e2l, smut, miniseries (ongoing)

deep blue JM @purplewhalewrites

college!au, f2l, smut, fluff!! mostly smut but be wary as MC is self conscious and puts herself down a lot, one shot, 20.5k

hot boy bummer JK @jungkxook

FWB!au, smut, fluffy angst, one shot, 14.6k

all in JHOPE @dreamescapeswriting

masseuse!au, s2f2l, angsty smut, lil fluff, one shot 15.6k

stood up YG @parkdatjimin

CEO!Yoongi, s2l, mostly angst, lil smut, fluff, one shot, 26.7k

fall back in love JK @bukguhope

college!au, bff2l, SO MUCH FLUFF, the tiniest of angst, one shot, 17.6k

darkroom JK @yoon-kooks

college!au, vampire!au, s2l, smut 😏, one shot, 10.2k

if you have any recs for me 🤭🤭🤭 pls send them through 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

just in case people weren’t sure

RM = Namjoon

YG = Yoongi/Suga

JK = Jungkook

SJ = Seokjin

KT = Taehyung/V

JM = Jimin

JHOPE = Hoseok

FWB = Friends with Benefits

e2l = Enemies to Lovers

f2l = Friends to Lovers

s2l = Strangers to Lovers

s2f2l = Strangers to Friends to Lovers

BBF = Brothers Best Friend

smau = Social Media au

au = Alternate Universe

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r0tt0 · 16 days

Note

hiii !! can u write head canons for hoodie/Brian?? if u want of course!! since I read the list I don't rlly remember if he was in it..

Hii anon!! Thank you for requesting something and of course I can!!! :D

Cw: Angst, hurt/comfort?, Mentions of depression, paranoia, anxiety, insomnia, OCD, PTSD, mentions of his weapons (Gun and a pipe)

Brian Thomas/Hoodie General Headcannons

Has a love hate relationship with the summertime. He likes it because of the warm weather but absolutely hates it too because of missions. Literally gets sweaty so fast due to his hoodie and ski mask combo. Immediately takes a shower when they get back to the base (whether it be the mansion or the cabin).

Has normal hygiene

His scent is like ocean/aquatic fresh, musky, spicy, and woody. (He’s worn “Nautica - Voyage” since his college days. He still wears it but has a backup so he won’t use up the whole bottle, the back up is “Ocean” by bath and body works. He stole it from a house while on a mission)

Speaking of backups, he has a backup hoodie on the very rare occasions his is dirty. It’s just a plain black pull over.

A bit insecure about himself but doesn’t realize it until he overthinks. On that note, he doesn’t like his tooth gap all too much. He’s gotten plenty of compliments on it but it just doesn’t stick with him personally. He just ignores it, he’ll say a quick “thanks”, think about it for a bit and then shrug the feeling off.

^^ Doesn’t give himself much time to self loathe or at least tries not to, it’s hard due to his depression.

NEEDS to have his pipe or his gun on or near him at all times. Paranoid and anxious.

Him and Tim always had a “bromance”.

“You don’t kiss your homies goodnight?”- Brian

He has so much walls built around him. He still finds it hard to trust Tim or anyone for that matter.

They’ve had an argument about it before and Brian flipped out on him and kinda let everything he’s been holding in since the “Marble Hornets” days. He still blames him for everything. The feeling of betrayal and everything else just hit him right in the chest all over again.

It ended so terribly and on missions they could not work as a team, caused them to do separate missions due to the lack of teamwork. Toby felt like a “child of divorce” -in his own words.

They didn’t talk to each other for almost 2 months. Neither of them apologized. They “let it go” and never spoke about it again, “moved” on from it like it was never said. They kinda just stood outside of the mansion in silence.

Tim had went outside to smoke a cigarette and he saw Brian sitting in a chair on the patio in silence. He just walked over near him to light up his cigarette and smoke, he ended up breaking the silence after 3 minutes of smoking and standing in silence. They went back to talking and joking like normal.

Brian still gets triggered by it all. “He is a liar” has been on repeat in his head and nightmares for years.

Nevertheless he cares so much about Tim.

Has insomnia, OCD, depression and PTSD. (And slender sickness)

Upon hearing him being called “The Hooded Man” he truly thought it was so badass.

“Has a nice ring to it”

The name stuck with him until Toby called him “Hoodie” after he also gave Tim the nickname “Masky” which in return made everyone follow suit with their new “Aliases/Nicknames”.

He still thinks The Hooded Man still sounds cooler but eh

Hoodie is a disguise, not an alter ego. Hoodie is Brian. He is 100% conscious unlike Masky/Tim who has blackouts and doesn’t remember his time as Masky. Brian however does remember. Obviously he’s not doing all of this willingly, but because he’s affected by the operator.

This is random but I think his favorite food would be burgers. Also a Dr Pepper lover and defender.

Toby calls him a passenger princess because on missions Brian always calls shot gun. (LMAO) (The seating chart is basically Tim being the driver, Brian in the passenger and Kate and Toby in the back seat)

I’d say around the mansion he’s cool with a few others besides Tim, Toby and Kate. He’d be cool with Jane, Liu, Nina and Eyeless Jack in my opinion.

The quiet one out of the Proxies.

Gets migraines sometimes now and the slender sickness makes him feel worse during it.

His phone’s wallpaper and Lock Screen are just pictures he takes while out in the forest (they’re really nice pictures too)

Doesn’t enjoy spicy food

Doesn’t shave his facial hair because it “takes too long” or it’s “too much effort”. In reality he just likes his facial hair and how it looks on him.

He’s very smart and calculated on missions, but he’s also just smart in general.

Pan romantic

Writes in black ink or pencil only, even black spray paint. Him and Toby are the ones who draw the slenderman pages and proxy symbols. Tim and kate hang up the pages.

Well that’s all I have for now! lol these are just my personal hc’s so I hope I cooked a bit ;-;

Check out my pinned post on my page if you wanna request me something to write!

Side note I forgot to add in i can write “Character x Reader” on the pinned post so I just edited right now!

Bye for now!! :))

#brian thomas #brian thomas marble hornets #marble hornets #creepypasta #hoodie #hoodie marble hornets #ticci toby #tim wright #masky marble hornets #kate the chaser #headcannons #slender mansion

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9w1ft · 8 months

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I always interpreted evermore as a song about depression, I never linked it to Kaylor, can you tell me your view on this song?

dang i had a conversation about this with someone several months ago but i can’t find it. ill give you the abridged version. firstly, i think it can be about both! because the situation got depressing there for a hot minute!!

taylor said in an interview with zane lowe for apple music that she had written the song when the election was upon us and she didn't know what was going to happen. evermore the album was released in december 2020, which suggests that she wrote it pretty close to the release date, but also had time to reflect on what she knew to be true before releasing it— that trump wouldn’t win reelection. there’s a billboard article where she talks about the moment she learned biden won and i think it meshes really well with how evermore concludes thematically and emotionally.

when we think about the impact that trump being elected had on kaylor back in 2016–throwing a birthday party for lorde only days before the 2016 general election and wearing the vsfs angel wing ring in public for the first time, and that picture of them both kissing lorde on the cheek, going from that to at once enacting a love blackout and never being seen regularly in public again (the next time being rep tour 2018)— and on top of that, them going out of their way to separate themselves in the media via the creation of a “feud” during 2017 (swish swish, sushigate, etcetera) which pitted karlie with katy perry and kanye and cast her as someone for swifties to hate, guilty by association, we can imagine the weight and sadness of this chapter in their story. this is the start of the pain. this choice (i consider it a choice), to take the battle underground, sunk kaylor little by little into the world of the improbable for any casual observer. and it also put somewhat of a hex on karlie indefinitely, and for as brave of a soldier as she is, its an awful long while to be put in jail for something you didn’t do.

with these details as the background, i consider evermore to be a song chiefly about 2019 onward, though you might also position some of the date markers in the song within a sort of 2016/2017 focused timeframe. personally though i tend to think that 2019 events work just as well and operate under similar themes. for example, “hey november i’ve been down since july” could be in reference to the period of time where it became slowly more clear that the 2016 election results might not be a non-starter. or, it could reference the day after the masters sale (which was end of june 2019) and the theorized “failed coming out” that many expected her to do at the new york city pride parade that week. this followed by november, the conclusion of editing Miss Americana which would be released the following month (“motion capture put me in a bad light”) or alternatively november 2020, the point at which she is writing this song. there’s also an lsk theory that taylor and karlie were broken up from july to november 2019 but im not so versed in that so i’ll just keep it to a mention.

in any case, “hey december” can circle back to miss americana being released, not as a coming out documentary but as a “political coming out” documentary. hence the “can’t remember what i used to fight for.”

or it could be both, in a way. for example rewinding the tape but all it does is pause on the very moment all was lost could be both the rewinding of the miss americana documentary released in 2019, and/or perhaps conceptually the idea of the 2016 election night footage being rewound by everyone in the disbelief that occured the night that “all was lost”

because all was lost that night, in a way, no?

i tend to see justin vernon’s part as being a depiction of karlie after kaylor was exiled to a new level post the masters sale. i don’t mean this to say they were broken up. it’s just that they had to do a factory reset on a lot of the progress that had been made up until that point, and they would not be seen together (in order to accomplish some vigilante shit, is what i think anyway). back to justin vernon’s lines. it just reminded me deeply of all the hate karlie got that summer. and indeed, all the hate she had accrued until then. whether summer or winter, this feuding arc had put karlie in a position that i would argue was growing unbearable and incessant. “out on waves im being tossed, is there a line that i could just go cross?” referring to the latest wave of said hate. in this scenario, “can’t not think of all the cost and the things that would be lost oh can’t we just get a pause to be certain we’ll be tall again?” seems like karlie calling out to taylor, amidst the haze and confusion of the masters sale, think about everything that we would be giving up if you don’t come out right now. (think of me.). and then upon that line leading nowhere saying hey let’s pause before we hurt each other, to be certain we will make it through. here “tall again” reminds me of paper rings “standing here so tall”

so what of the ending? well, as a time marker i would once again refer to when the song was released, post-2020 election, where taylor saw that trump had lost and they would have a path forward. …covid-19 was yet to happen of course, and with that i think there were life priority shifts, but i just see evermore as a song that covers taylor and karlie seeing a light at the end of the tunnel that had been their love lockdown to love blackout to exile story. its a song that encompasses so much hope and i just really really really love it as a kaylor song because of the specificity with which you can tie it to their story, specifically a more contemporary chapter, the likes of which we hadn’t had too many songs depicting up until that point (basically just peace/hoax/the lakes).

so yeah that’s why it’s a kaylor song to me 🫶

#it paints a singular picture

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smytherines · 6 months

Text

Fuck it, here's an Owen Carvour dissertation

We don't have canon ages for Curt & Owen, but personally I headcanon Owen as being born in 1928, making him 29 when the banana incident happens. This leads to a lot of thoughts that are fascinating to me, because growing up in London during WWII could inform so much of his character.

Personally, I believe DMA's accent is much closer to Owen's natural accent. I think the Owen Carvour accent is something he puts on to make himself sound neutrally British while working abroad, because he grew up working class. RP is how most people (at least in the US) assume British people speak. This also works with the Texan agent mega headcanon, like they both have to put on an act to be spies, just like they have to put on an act with their relationship.

And class is really really important to how you conceptualize this character, because your experience of the war could be radically different depending on how much money you had. Food rationing began in 1940, which in this case would make Owen 12. Rationing isn't fully lifted until 1954.

At Elizabeth II's wedding in 1947, the palace made a big deal about how she was saving ration coupons for the material for her wedding- a full two years after WWII ended.

Here's WWII London:

This is the city Owen would've grown up in. This is a war zone. A city where food is tightly rationed, where sirens were constantly going off and you had to draw down the blackout curtains and go sleep in the tube station with bombs dropping constantly overhead:

If Owen were upper middle class, he might have had a shelter at home, some people did. But I imagine him sleeping in dark, cramped, noisy stations. And he learns to keep his cool. He starts to enjoy the danger because he has to to survive it.

Maybe he has lost loved ones to the bombings. Maybe one morning he comes home from the tube station and half of his house is in rubble on the ground. Maybe he's used to hand me down clothes and simple homemade toys and not having enough to eat. He's used to having nothing, having nobody. That's a headcanon a lot of folks have, and I think it makes a lot of sense for his character.

Even if Owen were one of the kids evacuated to the countryside, maybe that happens when he's 15 or so, it wasn't a Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe situation. For a lot of those kids they were leaving their parents behind in a war zone, sleeping in barns or basements, and most importantly working almost non-stop on British farms because all the regular farmhands were fighting.

I think, if this happened, Owen would be itching to go off and fight in the war. My personal headcanon is that he's an intelligent guy, and he figures out how to forge some basic paperwork to claim he is older than he actually is, so he can go fight in WWII.

But by some fluke he couldn't account for, he gets discovered. And because of his skill and his ability to keep his cool under interrogation, he gets recruited to MI6. A lot of MI6 operatives are upper class men, recruited young from the top schools. He mimicks them.

I think many years later, when he and Curt are escaping a Russian weapons facility, Owen loves Curt and trusts in his capabilities (maybe a bit too much- especially when he's been drinking), but he also feels frustrated that Curt is impulsive and cocky and thinks he is untouchable.

Because Curt didn't grow up the way Owen did. He didn't grow up waiting for the bottom to fall out over and over again. He's certainly got his own shit from adolescence, but he doesn't have that survival impulse hardwired into him the way Owen does. So Owen is careful and cautious for the both of them, trying to keep them both safe and alive.

I think about Owen being trapped in the rubble a lot. He would almost certainly be critically injured. Maybe he has PTSD from the WWII bombings, and he's just trapped in an exploded building, trapped with his own memories of childhood until he's almost feral from it.

This also, btw, is why the AU of Owen as Eurydice from Hadestown is so so poignant to me. Someone who grew up cold and hungry and turned their collar to the world, and then suddenly they fall in love and everything is sunlight all around them. All I've Ever Known is such an important owen!Eurydice song to me

I could keep going from here, but I'll stop for now. This isn't as neat and concise as I wanted to present these thoughts, but I can't stop thinking them

#spies are forever #tin can bros #agent curt mega #owen carvour #curtwen #spytown #spytown renaissance #saf headcanon #saf #SAFtistic

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esggs · 22 days

Text

Capital - Noritoshi Kamo

[wc: 4k+ | noritoshi kamo x reader | college au | fluff-angst-smut | tw: alcohol, weed, smoking, economics, kissing Nobara, swear words, Boys over Flowers, cunnilingus, handjob, blowjob, unprotected piv | three-part series, part 2 and 3 to be released next week]

Synopsis: You’re the sweet shy nerd who swears Marxist revenge on the heir of the Kamo Conglomerate, Noritoshi Kamo: You’re going to give him the worst heartbreak of his life.

lh7-rt.googleusercontent.com

Part 1: Operation Kamo

Where do you hide away your most rotten petals, sweet lotus? Do you arrange them on your outermost ring, so that they may fall out and away before disdaining eyes? Or do you lock them closest to your heart? Where do you hide your rot, my love?

1 year and 2 week ago

Over the cheap cigarettes and vodka-cranberry juice spilled out of plastic cups, Nobara’s voice carries weakly. “Prof Geto called yn a ‘sweet girl’ today”, she drawled. Nobara is the sort who refuses to admit they’re far drunker than they claim to be. “Everyone calls you ‘sweet girl’, imagine if they saw you like this.”

Nobara’s barely sitting upright, both from the pegs she’s consumed and your hips straddling her lap. Hey Nobara, wanna make-out, but like friends? Nobara Kugisaki, the woman that she is, doesn't back down, so here you two are, lips wet with each other’s liquor. Your other friends, all sitting on the floor in a circle like you two, had just shrugged at your antics. Fushiguro keeps an eye out on the two of you. Maki’s in a chugging contest with Itadori (she’s clearly winning even though Itadori refuses to back down), Inumaki and Panda are switching between watching them and you. Yuuta’s out for more cigarettes.

“She is a ‘sweet girl’, though. People have layers, Nobara.” Itadori, having lost another round to a still very sober Maki, defends you. Your friends, of all people, know that. You have a ritual that once every three months all of you come together to have a casual get-together where you get blackout drunk. And you, the shy, nerdy, underconfident, mild-mannered goody-two-shoes sweet girl, drink the hardest of them all. It could get you kicked off campus and even arrested, but isn’t that the fun of it?

“Yeah, Nobara”, Panda joins the conversation. “yn can top Microeconomic Theory at 2 pm and top you at 2 am. In fact, she can do both at the same time, I bet.”

“I didn’t top Micro, man.” You choke down a moan as Nobara nips your neck, but you have to set the record straight, as much as it hurts you to admit it. “That assface did.”

“Kamo?” Maki asks.

“Yeah, that fucker.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you two still had that little rivalry going.” Maki teases. “What is this, a little fanfic where you turn academic rivals-to-lovers?”

You turn away from Nobara to pout at Maki. “It’s not like that, I genuinely dislike that guy because of the principle of it. There’s layers to my hatred.” You’re slurring a bit, both words and thoughts getting mixed up in your head. “If he wasn’t such a looker I'd have punched his face by now. Like, even the thought of him–” You’re starting to get mad at someone who isn’t even here (is it the cross-fading? It was only a few cigarettes, menthol ones too) “– he’s so smug, so fucking pretentious! Always looking down on me! He’s a part of the bourgeoisie, he’s conservative, he talks over me in class, he literally counters every single point I make in class, what a teacher-ass-kisser, and his hair is so ugly! But he’s so not ugly, he’s almost pretty! I wish I could hurt him, I wish– I wish I could show him the greatest love and then break his heart in the most painful way possible!”

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Itadori laughs. But he understands where you’re coming from. For someone like you, who was born poor and struggled so much to get a good education and finally get into your fancy old-money college, Noritoshi Kamo, the chaebol heir, represented everything unequal with the world. When you’ve been up all-night working at the convenience store just to pay for tuition while he just dashes up swanky-suited to classes in his Rolce Royce with organic coffee, and then has the fucking audacity to top Microeconomics Theory … you want to kill him.

“He deserves it, to be honest. He’s got such an attitude problem.” Maki says. “But he’s a hard shell to crack. If you can actually do what you’ve said, yn, I’ll pay for a barbeque dinner.”

“It’s a bet then.” You’re gonna do it. Drunk and sober, you’re actually gonna do it.

Inumaki bets against you. Panda bets for you. Itadori doesn’t like the whole thing (he bets against you). Fushiguro doesn’t care (he bets for you). The topic’s passed by the time Yuuta returns.

1 year ago

Noritoshi Kamo isn’t having a good day. He lost his notes for Micro Theory, and then his favourite coffee (almond-milk cappuccino with organic Yemeni beans, dusted with dark chocolate!) was made too bitter, and then this traffic jam made him late to class, and now his favourite classmate is absent again. What a shame. You two have such fun discussions in class.

Little does he know that you’re sitting in the corner of the last bench in a dark hoodie looking like you’re a secret agent on a mission. You are. This is all going according to your plan.

A week ago you watched Kamo lend his notes to Todo. Two days later, you asked Todo for “your” notes back (you never lent him any but it’s not like he remembers who he takes his notes from). You then missed two days of classes (when they covered Consumer Behaviour) to set the final act: now.

The bell rings. People are getting up to leave. Kamo is packing his things up. Here goes Operation Kamo: Make-him-fall-in-love-with-you-and-break-his-heart.

“Professor!” You walk to the front of the hall.

“Ah, yes, yn!” Prof Utahime, as always, is happy to see you. “Did you have any doubts about the class?”

“Yes, Prof, I’m struggling with Consumer Behaviour. But I have so many questions, I don’t think even Office Hours could help me.”

Utahime is genuinely perplexed. Consumer Behaviour is one of the most basic concepts, how could a top student like you be confused about that? “Oh, then would you want some extra tutoring? I could connect you with some peer tutors.”

Score. You casually hold your hands behind your back, and in your hands you visibly carry Kamo’s apparently lost notes (the bait).

“That would be perfect, prof.”

“But I don’t mind taking extra Office Hours for you–”

“– No!” You clear your throat. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“In that case, for a peer tutor I’d recommend– Oh! Kamo!” Your fish, who had taken the bait and was coming to retrieve his notes from you, looks alarmed. “So lucky you’re right here! yn was just looking for a peer tutor. You help her in Consumer Behaviour, alright?”

“Me, Professor?” “Thanks, Prof!”

But Utahime’s already waved you two off. Kamo is left looking at you (he didn’t even know you were in class) and you need help with Consumer Behaviour of all topics?

“Oh, Mr. Kamo” You fake some shyness. From what you’ve observed of him, you guess that he likes his girls demure and soft, so that’s who you shall be from now. “When should I attend your tutoring sessions?”

“Please don’t call me that.” He says, “And it’s from 8.30 to 10 pm every Thursday.”

“Thank you so much!”

See, people only know u as the shy little bookish nerd. They don’t realise that you’re doing everyone a favour by putting your brains into academics instead of mischief like this, because you’re damned if you’re not winning this bet.

11 months ago

Every Thursday night from the past month, you’ve been diligently studying with Kamo. Even though it started as a peer tutor session, it was too painful for both of you to keep pretending like you do not understand Pareto Efficiency. “It just means that the resource you’re distributing amongst people has been completely distributed, with nothing left over. So you can’t give more to one person without giving less to another.” Kamo would say with a straight face. “You don’t even know that?”

Right now, you’re working on your assignments together in a classroom i.e. you two do your own assignments side-by-side without a word or question. You refuse to discuss your answers with Kamo citing academic plagiarism. Kamo will answer any doubt you face but not without condescension. While he’s not falling in love with you, your homework sure is getting done faster. And you two have now adapted to a mutually silent tolerance instead of barely-hidden hostility.

“I’m tired.” You yawn at the clock: it’s 3.16am . “Let’s finish this tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow we’ll have to get started on the Macroeconomics paper, we need to finish this today, yn.” Kamo’s stern. “Don’t tell me you’re falling behind again.”

“Hardly, asshole. But unlike you, I can’t afford to constantly drink fancy British coffee to keep awake, so please, forgive my poverty.” You’re too fucking tired too keep up this soft baby girl shit. Besides, I can seduce Kamo with just my looks, I don’t need to put in that much effort. He’s a man, after all.

That’s a new side of her. Kamo’s a bit taken aback. Not bad.

“I didn’t mean any offence.” He says carefully.

“As if you could offend me.” You’re not mad, just snappy and really need a break. “I’m gonna take a walk.”

“By yourself?”

“Shocked I don’t have a chauffeur?”

“Stop that.” He says. “You know I can’t let you walk around this late all by yourself.”

He’s really pissing you off now. “So you’re my father now? Don’t think you can order me around like your servants, okay?”

“I wasn’t doing that!” He gets up from his seat. “Fine, you do as you like, but I’ll accompany you.”

In Kamo’s mind, he’s acting like any gentleman should, especially to a delicate girl like you. In yours, he’s being far too overprotective over a stranger. But you swallow down your irritation when you realise the situation: you two, walking under the moonlight.

The mission is back on and you’re locking in.

—

“It’s not British, it’s Yememi.” The path you walk on is cold and quiet. Surprisingly, college students do sleep sometimes. You note that Kamo, hands in the pockets of his stiff slacks, has quite a deep voice. “My coffee. The British do tea.” A bit rough, a little haughty. His voice reminds you of oak trees in harsh winter.

The night air has significantly cooled your temper. “I just said whatever came to my mind. I’m sorry if I was too brash back there.”

Kamo hums. A pause. “It’s better when you are straightforward like that. I spent a semester trying to figure out if you like me or not.” Huh? Isn’t it obvious I dislike him? “I enjoy listening to your points in class.”

“Please,” you retort. “You counter all my points, and only my points.”

“Yes, because it’s a discussion?” Kamo seems genuinely confused. “After all, you make the best points in class.”

The flash of understanding strikes both your heads at the same time.

Kamo – Ah. She’s insecure of her status in the college and saw it as me talking down her opinions.

You – Ah. No one’s ever told this rich prick to shut the fuck up.

And that, folks, was the first olive branch they spread to each other. A common understanding of each other’s rotten sides, even though this was just, at best, overripe. The first shared acknowledgement of each other’s flawed humanity.

You two finish your assignments on time. Kamo has started to nod at you everytime you cross paths on campus. Sometimes he even stops for a little chat.

10 months and 18 days ago

“You’re ethically challenged.” Fushiguro says. You both share the same Statistics class, despite the fact that he’s majoring in Computer Science.

“Shouldn’t we eat the rich? I’m doing a version of that.”

“If you want to manipulate Kamo into sleeping with you just say that.” He disregards your outraged expression. “What is this weird Boys Over Flowers thing you have going on?”

That the resident rich-boy on campus, Noritoshi Kamo, has started to hang out everywhere with poor little nerdy you is the gossip of the college. Only your friends knew your real intentions behind this, that is, all except Yuuta, who would innocently joke about you two falling in love. The kind of jokes that make the whole friend group fall silent.

As you take your seats in the classroom, Fushiguro leans towards you. Kamo’s also in the class, sitting far in front of you two. “What will you do when you start liking him back?”

“Do you think that I’m 12 years old?” You reply back. “It’s not like either of us thinks we’re in a Disney fairytale. It’ll be a weird situationship at best.”

“You’re just saying that because you feel guilty about everything. Why even bother going to these lengths to play nonsense games?”

Damn. That was… upsettingly correct. What can you even reply to that?

Fushiguro just sighs. “Just keep out of trouble. I don’t want to clean your puke from sad-bingeing too much ice-cream again.”

He’s talking about the time when you had a thing with Yuuta. It ended pretty badly, and even though you still remain friends, Fushiguro remembers that heart wrenching pain that you went through post the break-up. He was there for you, even though he brushes it off as not a big deal, and you are forever grateful for that. Fushiguro has always been there for you.

—--

“Yn, Fushiguro.” Kamo shook his hand. “Let’s go with Mai for the fourth team member. I can introduce you to her over lunch.”

“The group presentation is after two whole months, though.” You protest.

“We’ll start early then.” No one made him the captain of this ship, but apparently Kamo just assumes that role.

Was Mai Zenin Megumi Fushiguro’s cousin? Yes. Technically. Had Fushiguro’s deadbeat dad done his utmost to keep him from his side of the family and hence Mai lived in a totally different world to Fushiguro? Also yes.

Because even with his full-ride scholarship and bursary grant, Fushiguro would still never be able to relate to the talk that’s been going on at Kamo’s friends lunch table. “Vacationing at the Pyramids?” “Travelling the world with his mentor Tsukumo?” “Interning at his dad’s multispeciality hospital?” He’s never even heard of Loro Pianna. Neither have you. Even when Kamo's friends aren’t actually trying to be mean, you still feel like outcasts.

You suppose this is the world of the rich. Where you don’t belong. Where they let the majority of the world population starve to death because they fucked up the food supply chains to get more profits. Where they take the private jet from Tokyo to Kyoto and let Bangladesh suffer from global warming. Where all their luxury alligator skin handbags are made by slave children in sweatshops. And they don’t care. They don’t care at all.

I despise them. You grit your teeth. I despise Kamo to the core.

He deserves this. He deserves what I’m doing.

10 months ago

There has been a grave development. Over trying Yemeni coffee (“I can pay for myself.” “Not this, you really can’t.”), giving you a lift to Political Philosophy class on the other side of the campus in his Rolls Royce (“There’s a TV???” “Do you want to watch something?” “Oh my god– There’s a TV in your car??”), to tipping you heavily at the diner you waitress at, you’ve realised you’ve been partaking in Kamo’s wealth.

Especially now that you catch yourself taking notes on Marxism with a Caran D’Ache pen (¥ 65,000) stamped with the crimson lotus of the Kamo Conglomerate. This is just plain wrong on so many levels.

It’s okay to take his money, you reason. He’s got his asshole filled with it. But the money signifies a certain amount of closeness that you two have created. You don’t even accept expensive gifts from Yuuta, the most well-off out of all of you poors, and you two were close. Very close. As for Kamo, he now texts about his archery practice (he has a tournament coming up), he sends you photos of his notes if you miss a class without even being asked, he recommends you Coursera courses that complement your degree. Noritoshi Kamo didn’t even know your first name two months ago.

This is going too far. The mission was to make him trust me, depend on me, not vice versa. I have to speed this up. Now.

“Hey, Kamo.” Your whispered tone is so casual, Kamo almost missed the tacit question behind your words. “Want to revise Macroeconomics in my dorm after class? Fushiguro’s staying over with Itadori, so it’ll be quieter than the library.”

But he doesn’t miss it. He’s also a college student after all, he knows what you’re asking. Or at least what he presumes that you’re asking. This could be an innocent request... No, the way your eyes flicker down to his lips for a second as a little blush heats your ears red, he knows it’s not.

He’s gonna refuse. He doesn’t even look like he’s interested. You don’t know that his heart is thumping in his temples and his palms are sweaty.

He turns to look at you full in the face. In his steady eyes, you see that he trusts you. He trusts that whatever happens, however this ends, it’ll be okay, because he trusts you. Cold leaden terror fills your veins.

“Okay.” Kamo’s smile is soft. You’ve never seen him smile before. “I’ll be there.”

—---

If Kamo is uncomfortable with the state of your untidy dorms, he doesn’t say anything. He takes the glass of cranberry juice you offer him in your best cup, and chats freely about this and that, sitting cross-legged on your bed (you don’t have a couch). Much more freely than he ever did. It’s as if he’s lifted an invisible barrier, letting you step into an inner part of him that he keeps shielded from everyone. Except for you, now.

You’re scared. Whatever fringe of delusion you keep up to convince yourself that you’re still a good person is rapidly vanishing. The full weight of your guilt is settling in heavy. Your hand, wrapped around your juice, starts to shake.

Kamo notices. Of course he does. Ever since you asked him to come to your dorms, and even before that, he’s noticed everything about you. He was very happy to be your friend (he was very happy to have a friend at all, and if it’s someone as smart, beautiful, funny, sweet and amazing as you, that’s all the better), but to hear you say that you wanted something deeper with him, how could he refuse? He’s still pretty new to you, especially in this context, he doesn’t know everything that you like or dislike. So when he notices your hand shaking, he takes the drink off of you and covers your hand with his and presses it softly against his lips. He hopes that this is something you like. You do.

“Are you so nervous?” He asks. “We can do Macroeconomics if you’d rather. I want you to be comfortable.”

This is your chance. Break it off, don’t cross this line, let things go back to how they were. This is just going to hurt the two of you. The two of you.

You set out to hurt him in the most painful way possible. If you let this go any further, you will. Do the right thing, yn. Do the right thing.

“I’m good. Noritoshi–,” you reply. “– I want you.”

You close your eyes. It’s enough. I don’t want to think about anything anymore.

His calloused hand cradling your cheek, his hair falling over your neck. you feel a warm kiss on your forehead. “You don’t have to say anything. I love you. Have for a while. I don’t do this usually, you have to know.” His lips scrape the shell of your ear. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You keep your eyes stubbornly closed to everything. “I don’t, Toshi–” He smiles at the pet name you’ve picked. “–love you too. Have for a while, too.”

His chapped lips melt hungrily into yours. He doesn’t hesitate to throw himself fully onto you, pushing your back onto the bed as he climbs over you, his hand behind your head. Hot, heavy, wet– he smells of oak and cedar. With hints of dark chocolate. You can taste the desperation on his tongue.

He moans out loud as you run a tongue down his neck, prepping to leave him littered with your bites. Does he notice when you unbutton his pressed shirt? When his heavy leather belt snaps unbuckled? Or is he only focused on you pulling your shirt off, eyes glued to your beautiful breasts and the softness of your belly?

He pulls the cups of your bra down with a finger to lick over your cleavage, nipping at your tits, boldly grabbing the fat of your ass. He’s far too gone to use his head, and you’re making a conscious decision not to.

“Like this?” Kamo draws a trail of kisses down to your sex.

“Yeah.”

“Show me how you like it done. I want to please you.” You nearly choke at his words.

Nodding, you pull his hands into your panties when you’re suddenly struck with …shyness? He just laughs and lands a kiss straight onto the wet patch through your underwear. Damn. Where did this Casanova come from?

“I do it like this.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he studies you, despite a painfully hard cock, as you dip a finger into your slick hole and rub circles on your clit with it. You softly pinch a nipple with the other hand. Your cries are sinful as you add another finger into your cunt.

“My turn.” Kamo looks straight at you as he licks your juices off your finger (you almost faint). “Tap if it's too much.”

It is too fucking much. You don’t know where he learnt to push the clitoral hood back as he breathes cold onto it, to lubricate it with spit as he licked circles onto it, to push two curled fingers into your cunt at once, to use his whole wrist to thrust around as he felt for your g-spot, to bite your thighs that hot. But you’re not left in a state to complain as he tells you to “Cum.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you giggle. “I’ve never done it like this.”

“It’s my mission then.”

You throw your head back and close your eyes.

You do, surprisingly, cum on his tongue. “You’re so gorgeous.” From his angle, all he can see are your boobs bouncing as you grind up onto his tongue, trying to chase the aftershocks of the orgasm. Your face is flushed, with a tear building on your lashes that Kamo wipes off. His tongue is warm when he pushes it into your mouth.

“Are you a virgin?” He asks. “Do you want me to..?”

“I’m not, Toshi, it’s okay. Are you?”

He grins. “No, I had a girlfriend.” You laugh at that– “Me too.”

“I’m really hard, love.” He pulls your hand to touch him through his boxers. Oh my god. He really has everything in life, doesn’t he? He’s packed like he’s going to war. “Do you want to? If you want to wait, I’ll understand.”

“No, no, I don’t want to wait a second more. Toshi, I want you so bad.” He almost came in his boxers hearing you beg like that.

Kamo knew that he was on the larger end, as far as dicks go. Girls, especially sweet ones like you, baulked at it, and he fully expected you to do that too.

He didn’t know that you would spit into your hands and wrap them around him in what felt criminal. The way you twist your wrists. The kitten-licks to the tip. The warmth of your tongue on his balls. “Stop, yn, love.” Red-faced, bite-marked, messy-haired: he looks delicious. “I can’t– I really can’t!”

Kamo’s made a decision in his head: he manhandles you onto your back and pins you down with the weight of his whole body. Face-to-face. Finally.

He kisses you through the initial burn of penetration, letting you bite your pain onto his lips. So full. So stretched. So fucking heavenly. A little thought floats into your head that he’s not using any protection and neither are you, but when he looks like that, brows curled in bliss as he bottoms out inside you, nothing matters anymore. Only he does. Only Noritoshi Kamo.

You thrust against him, as if to wake him up. “Move, baby.”

He’s gentle, at first, at least. With you in his arms, he’s losing any sense he has rapidly. He ruts against you through his strained breaths and choked groans, leaving hickies on your neck, the curve of his thick cock grinding against that particular spot of yours. Oak, cedar and dark chocolate.

Neither of you last very long. Your second orgasm tips him into his: your face writhing in throes of pleasure (that he gave you) and the way your cunt clenched hard onto him… he can't resist spilling his hot cum inside you.

Exhausted, he just collapses onto you. His cum leaks around his cock, which is still inside you, and is dripping down the curve of your ass. It takes a moment for him to steady his voice: “I love you, yn. Other people, I can’t trust them because I’m a Kamo, and I don’t know how to make friends easily either. But it feels so easy with you, yn. You feel so true.”

bonus: Kamo helps you tidy up your room. Both Itadori and Fushiguro are shocked to see your floor without any clothes lying around.

college majors of jjk characters are here

a/n: reposted cuz i deleted my og post by accident (╥﹏╥)

tagging: @maskedpacific

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 3 months

Text

Pairing: John Price x fem!oc (3rd person pov)

Word count: 4.4 K

Warnings/tags: smut, p in v sex, established relationship, pet names, suggestive dialogue, swearing, drinking, caught in the rain, stuck in a blackout, couple plays truth or dare, super long winded set up for porn, and a slightly rushed ending

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@la-grosse-patate @direwombat @solstheimart @statichvm @cassietrn

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@strangefable @simplegenius042 @writeforfandoms @quantum-lover @heroofshield

Rain pelts down on the concrete streets of London, the scent of cool drops hitting hot pavement one of the rare scents that could only be attributed to summer in the middle of the city – not quite petrichor, but that bleach clean scent of ozone remained apparent as the storm builds to its height. Thunder booms, shrouding once sunny skies in clouds the colour of deep bruises, shades of purple and green, while lightning cracks in bright luminescent streaks worthy of ancient beliefs in Thor or Zeus’ wrath.

Amongst the masses splashing through the quickly pooling puddles, John rushes Rory inside their townhouse, his jacket held over their heads as a deterrent from the rain, though it does little good as the precipitation pours with the steady flow of a broken faucet on full blast, an absolute deluge coming down at once. They're soaked. Drowned rats with matted hair and sopping wet layers of clothing glued to their forms.

Once inside the four walls meant to shelter them, they are no safer from the clutches of the storm. Rory flicks at the switch by the front door – click-click, click-click – doing nothing at all. The interior of the townhouse left tenebrous, shadows creeping in from the darkened corners. “Bollocks,” she mutters under her breath, heading to the coat closet and grabbing the candles and battery-operated lamps in her power outage kit – even in an unplanned crisis the woman is never unprepared.

Water sloshes off of her as she moves about, dripping down the contours of her face from her drenched hair as John grumbles, peeling off waterlogged shoes and socks by the front door, his jacket in no better shape. “Worse spots we could be in, love. At least we’re at ‘ome, liquor cabinet stocked, gas is still on so we can cook the perishables.” “Yes. Yes, I know. Ever the pragmatist, John,” she snarks before heading to the kitchen for the lighter. “Comes with being a Captain.”

His reply is muffled as he moves down the hall, the sound of wet bare feet slapping on hardwood floors following after him, and she rolls her eyes. “Well make sure ‘the captain’ mops up after himself, yeah? Don’t need puddles on my floor,” she calls back. Rory begins lighting candles and placing them around the kitchen, filling the space with the warm amber glow of firelight flickering as a draught from the open window flows throughout. Entering moments later, John rubs a towel through his hair and tosses it at her after she places the last candle on the table in the corner nook.

“Cheers.” She runs the terry cloth through damp strands, rustling it back and forth, leaving her hair a wild, haphazard mess of waves. “So, what do we do to pass the time for the next however many hours?”

A smirk is the only reply she receives from the bulky man in her periphery. Piercing eyes, normally steely and hard while focused on war and staying alive, sparkle with playful intent. A life to them that Rory only finds in their moments alone. The man who, when they’re miles away from base, gets to fold up and pack away things like duty and honor the way he does his clean laundry neatly into drawers.

“Fuck off, you do not have the refractory period of a 15 year old boy, pillock.” Tossing the soggy towel back at him with a grin, it slaps against his barrel chest like a dead octopus. A hearty chuckle fills the room, blue eyes sparkling from behind crinkled lines in his face. “Mind out o’the gutter, my girl. Was just gonna say we could take a nap.” Bouncing on his heels, proud as a peacock with the way he grins at her.

She hums skeptically, “Is that so?” Her fingers curl around her hips as she stands before him, challenging him like always. “And Soap doesn’t have a bloody rolodex going of numbers he gets from the bar.” “That may be so,” John purrs, drawing closer, dropping off the soggy towel onto the top of the kitchen island. Strong arms wrap around her waist as he stands behind her, drawing her closer to him, grinding his hips against her backside. His mouth near her ear, the bristles of his beard tickle her cheek. “But I think we can both agree after going a round or two together, a rest is often necessary,” he breathes seductively, voice rough and low with desire. “Isn’t that right, love?” “So much for my mind being the one in the gutter.”

He tips his head to the side, angling it to better kiss the side of her neck, plush lips softly pressing to sensitive skin. “Could do something else instead with our time,” Rory offers.

“Like what?” He mumbles against her, lost in his own advances while nuzzling against her slick flesh. Collecting drops of rainwater that roll down the smooth column of her neck on his whiskers.

“Truth or dare? Share a bottle of whiskey while we do it?”

His laugh is a deep rumble in his chest, vibrating against her slender body and through her back as his hands knead at moist clothing cleaving to her frame. “You want to play a bloody kid’s party game?”

Rory shrugs, nonchalant. “Why not?” “Sure know how to drive a hard bargain, Sinclair,” he snickers.

“Oi, on your bike.” Her elbow moves to gently nudge him in the stomach, her nose wrinkling as she plays up her mock annoyance.

“Fine. Are we playin’ ‘7 minutes in Heaven’ while we’re at it then?” A lopsided smile pulling at his mouth as his brow cocks.

“That’s for afterwards.” With a frisky wink she grabs a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the counter. “Now, come on.” Placing them on the floor, she sits with her back resting against a cabinet and pours them each a double. The amber liquid streaming in carefully controlled twists of her wrist, she’s a woman well-practiced in the art of a properly measured dram. John sighs and slowly lowers to the floor, careful with his knees and lower back as he settles, his long legs stretched out between his place against the oven door and the kitchen island in front of him. She slides one of the drinks across the tiles towards him and they clink their glasses together in a toast. “To the most ridiculous way two grown military officers could possibly spend their time together.” A bright, lilting giggle fills the space between them as dimples carve into her cheeks.

“Haven’t done this since before I was at Sandhurst,” he muses quietly, lifting the glass and bringing it to his lips, taking a hefty sip. “Without the drink, ‘course.”

“Oh, of course.”

Sitting in the dark of their kitchen, candles aglow, it was more intimate than it likely should have been considering their choice of entertainment for the foreseeable future while the power was out. Sipping at their drinks, enjoying the smooth, warm burn of the top shelf liquor Rory always had in her collection, they sat together as if it were any other Saturday evening. “Right, sweetheart. Truth or Dare?” John asks, breaking the silence first.

“Truth.”

“Really?” Placing the glass down on the floor beside him with a gentle crystal chime against the dark marble. “Right off the bat, not even going to go for a little danger? What happened to my brave Lieutenant, eh?” His crooked grin appears all the more sinister in the dampened light.

“Yeah, and if I hadn’t said ‘truth’ you would have given me shit about ‘not trusting you’. So piss off, you bloody prat.” He laughs once more, nodding. “Probably right, I just might’ve.” Blue eyes roam around the ebony wood cabinets of the kitchen as he thinks of a fitting question for Rory’s first choice of truth. “Our very first time together – would we have still ended up in the stall if I had the mutton chops?”

Rory, choking on the sip of whiskey she was currently drinking, coughs up the alcohol as she pats her hand against her chest, laughing. Her voice a throaty croak as she speaks, “Fucking hell, not pulling any punches, are we?” “Well?” He remains stoic, waiting for her answer, the brusque response of the Captain and not John. A barely visible curl pulls at the corner of his lips.

“Probably.” She angles her head to the side and examines him in detail, roaming over him, imagining the baby-faced Lieutenant she met all those years ago with her future husband’s choice of facial hair. “Not exactly a look most girls are used to seeing, however. Few men can pull off the style of someone who would blend in rather nicely in an old west saloon.” A smirk pulling at her full lips as she jokes with him.

“Probably?” John’s heavy brow furrows as his penetrating gaze lands on her, burning into her like a laser sight.

“Don’t know how the 23-year-old me would’ve felt about them.” Her one shoulder lifts in a shrug. She’s never been anything but honest with him, John having always appreciated her bluntness.

“Ah, so it takes a more mature and refined woman to respect ‘em, yeah? Not worthy of a bathroom stall, but a romp in a tent suits ‘em just fine?”

Laughing, her head tosses back, amplifying it. “Fine, you got me there.” Stretching out from her cross legged position, prodding his shin with her toes, she taunts him, continuing the schoolyard antics that started with the choice of game.

However, she’s met by the swift response of John leaning towards her and taking her hand in his. Her dainty one overwhelmed by his grip as he brings her knuckles to his lips, kissing them softly, the stubble of his beard brushing against her soft flesh. “Glad I waited to grow ‘em out then.”

“Wouldn’t have you any other way now.” Hazel eyes sparkle as she gazes at him, reflecting the candlelight in the amber flecks of her emerald depths.

“Suits me, my girl.”

A cozy moment of silence settles between them, smiling at one another, rapt in one another’s shared attention. Six years together. It wasn’t all bliss, but it certainly suited them, with enough memories to fill several albums. Love, the most earnest either of them had ever felt, and it was only for each other. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” John answered, not hesitating for a moment as he released her hand.

“Find the most embarrassing item of clothing you have in the closet, and tell me why.”

“Cheatin’.” He points his finger at her, suddenly a stickler for the rules. “Tha’s a truth and a dare.”

“Maybe so, but fuck it, if we’re gonna play a teenager’s game we might as well have teenager’s rules.”

Steely eyes narrow, his mouth purses making his mustache twitch in response. “Is this just a chance f’you to make fun of that Christmas sweater mum got me last year?”

Shaking her head, she works to hold in a chuckle that tries it’s hardest to sneak past tight lips. “I didn’t say dorky, I said embarrassing. Something with a little more meaning behind it than a big reindeer head with a light up nose – as adorable as that was on you,” she teases.

Jaw clenching, his nose wrinkles as he grimaces. “Fuckin’ ‘ell.” Rising with a grumble, he uses his mobile flashlight to find his way through the darkened home. In the silence, free from the usual electrical hum of appliances, Rory relaxes against the cupboard and sips her drink. Quiet and her weren’t usually on good terms. Unlike John, her peace was found through noise, chaos. Silence simply let the ghosts that haunted her seep in, her usual means of coping keeping them at bay. But, for once, she seems to enjoy the relative calm. A certain sensory deprivation about the stillness and the dark, the peaceful hypnotic dance of candle flames flickering around her, keeping her from drifting too far into the shadows in her head.

Arriving back in the kitchen several minutes later, John unfurls an old Motorhead tee shirt, the once black material now worn out and grayed with age.

“Motorhead?” Her brow lifts. “How is that embarrassing? I already know your music taste, love.” A cheeky smirk pulls at her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest.

He sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “You wanted the story behind it, yeah?” His brow lifts to meet hers, staring at her from under the ridge, frustration apparent on his face. “So, let me tell it.”

“Go on then.” Holding out her hand in an invitation to him to sit and tell the tale. As he sits, her hands return to the space between her lap, cupping the glass that sits nestled between her thighs, body heat warming the last sips of liquor inside.

“Right. So, before we met – the first time, I mean – there was a bird. Had just gone and seen the band live in concert on my leave, been sweating and fighting my arse off in Iraq before that, meant to give this to her before I left again,” he says, gripping the shirt tight in his fist like he’s choking the life from it, the tendons in his arms standing out in stark relief. “Didn’t work out, for several reasons.” By the tone of his voice, she can already tell it was less than amicable. No wonder he had been looking for a quick hook up the same way she had all those years ago. “But I liked the shirt,” he shrugs, “Had it sitting at the back of the closet for years now.” Tossing the shirt away from him, it skids across the floor in a crumpled mess. Rory’s eyes follow it’s trajectory, attuned to the movement like it's a target in the sight of her scope. Her gut churns, annoyed with herself for making him dredge up the past. She glances back at him, chewing on her lip, her brows knitting together as that natural predilection to be a smartass to cover for the tension boils up inside her. But she can’t. Not like this.

“You’re a better person than I. Would have burned the damn thing, good riddance too. The bitch,” she snarls.

A smirk plays at the corner of John’s mouth at her reaction. Glancing up, he grunts, the little growl from the back of his throat a response to the possessive hint in Rory’s tone as he lifts his glass to take another drink.

Sparks flare in her eyes, an idea coming to mind, the little fireball John’s madly in love with coming out to play. She could never sit idly by when she had the chance to solve a problem. “Tell you what, you and me, we’re going to make a good memory with it.”

Wiping his mouth with the side of his hand after swigging back his last sip, his voice is hoarse with the burn. “What the ‘ell are you on about?”

“Well, we’ve made very good memories together quite often, haven’t we?” She purrs, implying the obvious as she snatches the shirt from its puddle of material it landed in on the floor. “There is no way I am letting some slag ruin this for you, my darling.” “What d’you suggest then, sweetheart?” he asks with a cocky lift of his brow. “Clothes are wet anyhow.”

Peeling off her damp shirt like a second skin, Rory then unhooks her bra. Tossing both articles of clothing to the side as she smiles at him, her intense doe-eyed stare seemingly bottomless in the shadowy kitchen. “Bloody good start, love.” His heated gaze roams over her exposed chest, a sight he’s seen a thousand times before, and still that predatory stare residing just below the surface comes creeping back up to the forefront. Skin the complexion of peaches and cream glows, illuminated by dancing flames licking at wicks, shadows and highlights forming over the scars that blemish her skin from combat. Standing, she unbuttons her trousers, letting the wide legged black pants fall to the ground and drape around her feet. John’s hand deftly sneaking in before they pool around her ankles to grab her glass on the floor, finishing off the last dregs of it himself. Slipping her panties down next, stepping out of the pile of wet clothes, she kicks them away and grabs the oversized band tee. The threadbare cotton hugging her lithe form as she stands over him, hands on her hips.

“Even better, you ask me.” His stare sparkles mischievously up at her from his spot on the floor, unmoved. Square jaw going slack as he swallows thickly, pushing the glasses away from him, his steadily stiffening erection growing more evident by the moment as it strains against the material of his gray sweatpants.

A quiet, breathy giggle leaves her as she lowers to sit in his lap, legs straddled on either side of his thick, muscular thighs. Her forehead resting against his as she gazes into his eyes and whispers, “When you see this shirt in future, I just want you to think of that time you shagged your wife-to-be thoroughly on the kitchen floor during a blackout.”

“Can do, my girl,” John rumbles as his hands lift to rest on the curve of her waist, gripping her tight.

Cocking her head to the side, angling it to better mark his mouth with her lips, she kisses him ardently. The rough pads of his fingers curl under her chin as he pulls her closer to him, their lips meet in a searing embrace.

With little coaxing, the waistband of his sweatbands rolls down his hips. His cock hard, ready to be made of use, thick and heavy. Eyes smoldering with desire, he watches her every move as she settles down on his length, her tight sex enveloping him in its velvet grip. Wet heat. Pure bliss. Groaning – a low, guttural sound – he buries his face in the crook of her neck. Hot breath fanning against her, the skin below becoming moist, his beard burning against sensitive flesh. She starts to move, and his hips rise to meet her, thrusting to drive deeper with each roll of her hips and lift of her toned thighs. Breaths are punched from her lungs as he buries himself inside her, muscles visibly flexing with each shift of her body. A dance, one they've perfected over the years, a rhythm that brings them both to that sweet edge.

As if on cue, John begins to lavish her in praise. Give and take. The ebb and flow of the ever shifting landscape of who leads and which one follows, a comfortable equality within their dichotomy that never fails to work for both parties, knowing exactly what works for each of them to reach that inevitable peak.

"Fuck, Rory," he growls, grabbing at her for leverage. "So fuckin’ perfect f’me.”

Large, rough paws grip at her waist possessively, pulling her close as if he needs the anchor. He bucks his hips, desperate to delve deeper, but her pace remains deliberate, maddening. A sense of control that causes a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth as he watches her ride him, the sight of her body undulating over his, a work of art.

Flesh meets at several points of contact, penetrated folds and warm hands sliding up the curves of her body send sparks through her nerves. Goosebumps rise, left behind along his ascent towards the firm peaks of her breasts, gentle swells hidden by the excess material of his oversized shirt. As deft fingers tease at her pebbled nipples below the shirt, pinching and pulling, Rory increases the pace in his lap, rocking with a meter that matches the pounding of her heart.

"Yes, just like that, my girl. Doin’ so good, sweetheart,” he groans, hoarse and panting.

Encased in her body, control slipping, needs demanding to be met, the rhythm builds, sounds of lovemaking growing louder.

"God, I love you," John mumbles as he nuzzles against her once more. The words, heavy with emotion, fall from his lips, a testament to the bond they share. In this moment, there is no war, no death, no fear - only the two of them, entwined in passion. Rory moans, breathless, her desire carrying her forward. Her arms wrap around his broad shoulders, and her fingers card through cropped hair at his nape. “Love you too, my darling,” she whispers against the shell of his ear. Her soft breaths against him fanning the flames between them.

It’s not a sentiment that is often shared aloud, one saved for moments of life or death or intense vulnerability. But, as he looks up at her, there is a depth of adoration in his eyes that cannot be denied, a devotion and desire that is as fierce as it is tender. This is a man who has killed for her and will likely do so again – when he says love, she knows he means it. Their mouths collide, tongues sliding against each other, lips wrapped in a tight seal that lets not a single breath escape. Sounds of pleasure pass between them as they share everything else in their lives. Home. In his arms she finds solace from bullets flying overhead or silent nights marred by guilt-ridden dreams; this sanctuary exists nowhere else on Earth but right here between them.

John carefully lowers her to the floor, his hand cradling the back of her head, protecting her like some fragile prize as she comes to rest against the tile floor, supine. His mouth refusing to leave hers – firm, adamant kisses claim her lips. A low groan coming from him as he kneels on the hard floor between her thighs. His touch trails up her body, tracing curves he’s felt a hundred times before and still never gets enough of.

She watches him the whole way down to the floor, her eyes locked on his in a heated exchange. He’s the one, she thinks, and her heart confirms it as it races, her chest rising and falling with short, heavy breaths. She’s never been more sure of anything in her life, of anyone – just him.

His strong hands slide up her arms, lifting them to bring them up over her head, held there as their hands clasp together. His scarred knuckle brushing against the gold, diamond-set band on her ring finger, a stark reminder of the life they have planned together, entangled forever. The needy head of his cock nudges against her entrance, pushing against her slick folds, as it begs for re-entry. Aching for him, the momentary emptiness felt deep within her. Whimpering together at the gentle pressure before her heat welcomes him in once more, inch by inch, he slides in until their hips meet, taking her slow and deep on the floor of their kitchen. Her back arches, lifting to unite with him. Mewling desperately, not caring if the neighbors hear. Every touch of his mouth and tongue along her jawline and down her throat towards her collarbone drives her wild as she sinks further into her choreographed submission, a practiced performance, knowing the steps forwards and backwards and never showing signs of needing another partner.

“John,” she breathes his name as his hips continue to move against hers, their chests pressed together with only a shirt that had once left a bad taste in his mouth between them, now slick with their combined sweat.

“Yeah, love?” He looks down at her, his brow furrowed with concentration, jaw flexing below his scruff as his adam’s apple bobs with each heavy breath and thick swallow.

Her body begins to show the tell-tale signs of her impending climax, her muscles tightening in her legs, toes curling, the flush that grows from her chest to her cheeks warming her from the inside out and melding with the heat of his body pinned to hers on the cold kitchen tiles. Her stomach muscles flutter, her cunt clenching down on the thick of him. “I’m so close,” she whines. “I know, darlin’,” he husks as the tip of his nose nudges at the side of her neck where her pulse thunders. His lips sucking on her salty flesh stained with sweat, rasping against her, “Come for me, Rory.”

She clings to his hands held to hers, nails digging into the tendons and scars on the back of them. Long, toned legs wrapping around his waist as her body begs to be even closer to him, linked as one. Her breath hitches just before she cries out and her vision blurs, her eyes rolling back as each pulse from her core floods her body, weaving its way up her spine.

Lost for a moment, unable to find her way in the dark, forgetting where she is, she succumbs to the ravages of John’s single-minded focus on her body. Letting their dance sweep her away as he continues to thrust, chasing his own release. Her body heavy, weighted with the pleasure of release, sinks into the sturdy floor below and she enjoys the jolts of sensation that build up inside her once again with his attention.

The slick of them moving together, the rise and fall of their bodies in unison, the tight contractions around him, drives the two ever nearer to the end of their waltz. His grip on her hands tightens in return, holding her in place as each pump of his cock becomes more erratic. More urgent.

“Fuck, Ror,” he grunts, “Nearly fuckin’ there.”

The wet noises of their coupling echo through the kitchen, meeting with the incessant patter of rain outside the window. A convergence in tempo with his last surging thrust as he can no longer hold back, cumming deep inside her.

He releases his hold on her, their palms both sweaty and red from the grip they had on each other. Pulling her into his arms, their sweat mingles as he cradles her close. "Tha's my girl," John murmurs, his fingers running through her hair as his hand snakes up the back of her neck. “Gonna need you to wear that shirt more often now, I s’pose.”

It’s a simple comfort, the afterglow of passion, basking in it while the storm continues to rage outside, but they were right where they were supposed to be. They belong to each other, plain and simple, and neither would have it any other way.

#cod fanfic #cod smut #john price #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #ship: you are the sword to my shield #skelly writes

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