#anon tag

[kiwinatorwaffles]

maya fey goes to steel samurai con and finds miles edgeworth there in the world's least convincing disguise

couldve at least taken that cravat off

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

WAIT I HAVE A THOUGHT! ok i have two i think it could turn into more but price using his military rank to either a) get someone to back off of sunshine!reader and marissa OR b) sunshine calls him captain during sex OR c) HE USES IT IN BOTH OF THOSE SITUATIONS IN THE SAME FIC 👀👀 …are those weird? idk but if you feel up to it this is a request for you to work your magic on this please and thank you

A/N: uhm, don't look at me nonnie, I got too carried away🫣

Rank me

Summary; As a Captain, Price has an air of authority not everyone does. One day when he returns from base, he finally makes you admit why you find that trait of his particular attractive 

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot 

Word count; 9.3k

Warnings; smut (18+, no minors please), captain!kink, vaginal fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, slight edging, d/s themes,

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing​

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

You sit opposite John, elbow resting against the armrest, head propped up by your fingers. He's seated in one of the two armchairs on the other side of your coffee table while you're sitting on your couch. A folder rests partly on the armrest of his seat and the unoccupied armchair beside him. A few more maps, although closed, were placed on the table. 

You're not nosy with John's work, so the seemingly inconspicuous folders aren't what's gotten your attention. The man reading through them does.

John's elbow relaxes on the armrest while his lower back is curved, sunken into his seat, legs spread with feet planted firmly on the ground. 

You'd tried to remind him of his posture, knowing he probably would complain about his back if he sat like that for too long. When you had, those blue eyes had flickered to yours with an appreciative look as he repositioned himself straight. However, he didn't last like that for long before slowly melting downwards again, retaking his 'I have a bad back but won't do anything about it pose'.

Although, as you now watch him working, it isn't a chide resting on your tongue.

John has returned to active duty, the past week being his first one back since he extended his issued downtime by a week after his most recent deployment, the one during late summer. You learned there's a big difference between active duty and deployed, never even coming close to either despite that martial course you took a few years back. The former meant you often were stationed on your home base, able to go back and forth home if you desired, much like ordinary work. The latter entailed 'a little field trip' as John worded it.

Today, John came to your place as soon as he got off from base, much like he'd done a few times during the week. 

You didn't fuss about spending less time with him than when he was on leave. Not only was it John's job, but there were no regulations for contacting him, so he called the days you didn't meet. Often, the description of his day was brief, only defined somewhat if anything varied from his typical routine. John was usually more interested in how you were and whether you'd done something interesting. If your day had been equally bland, he enjoyed just listening to whatever was on your mind. Today, however, no phone call replaced his absence.

You and John planned to spend the weekend together at your place, and much like he'd promised, he called you once on his way. But, rather than a simple heads-up, he also informed you he would bring some paperwork, his superiors pushing a last-minute request upon him as he was about to leave. You suspected he was permitted to leave base with the documents through his involvement in the 141, not solely because his response ideally -another word for required- would be reported back tonight. 

You've learned a great deal about how John likes to work, even if you've been fortunate to develop your relationship with him in a particularly deployment-free time window of his. 

He prefers keeping work and home separate, not wanting the two words to bleed together in favour of your relationship. John explained why when you didn't understand his frustration about bringing some work with him back home during your earlier call.

Deployments cut into your shared time as it fits, the two of you having to work around it rather than the other way around. Therefore, he intends to limit work to base to savour your time while on active duty or ahead of a leave. If that meant staying a day or so longer after returning from a mission where logistics needed to be taken care of, as he'd done during the summer and your first extended period apart, he said he would make that choice. And if there's an increased load of executive planning and paperwork due to an upcoming operation, his approach is the same.

He explained that, in the past, he'd very much blurred the lines, seeing how being alone and doing nothing for long periods left him restless. But with you in the picture, John tried to balance it. And just like that, you understood his dilemma tonight. He didn't want to make it a habit: filling the time he spent with you working.

You'd tried to compromise, not that you technically could, as he needed to finish his report no matter what. But, you tried to ease John's mind, telling him that sometimes it happened, just like it probably would for you. That was why you also proposed spending time in each other's company by working on your separate stuff, so he didn't feel like he took time away from you. 

For you, that was just fine. It had already been an informal workday for you, meaning no meetings and no contact with clients, simply organising stuff and getting ahead on projects for the upcoming week. Continuing with that for a bit longer was no problem.

Your sluggish day of labour was apparent, as you hadn't even changed out of your sleeping shirt. Neither had you scampered to get a pair of pants when John knocked on your door, favouring to simply greeting him as you were.

He'd been surprised at seeing your state of undressed, rather bare-legged with only underwear beneath his black t-shirt, one of those he left behind earlier during the week. 

Though not surprised like him, you were as delighted as all the other days he'd stopped by, spoiled rotten with seeing him dressed like this.

Like most days this week, that implied some getup per military standard. Today, John wore fitted cargo pants and an army sweater that got the quarter-zip open, offering a view of the tight-fitted shirt beneath it.

He'd greeted you in his same old fashion, a 'hello, love' as he stepped forward and over the threshold to meet you with a kiss. What followed, however, was a hummed 'can get used to bein' greeted like this' against your lips as he parted from you. 

He'd ushered you backwards to let him enter and hide you from any potential neighbours passing by your entrance to see your scantily clad figure.

You didn't object as he closed the door behind him and put down his bag before kneeling to unlace his heavy boots. Instead, your eyes had flittered over his haunched form as he rucked loose his laces before standing straight again, hooking the back of his shoes beneath his toes and stepping out of them. 

He'd followed you into your living room then, deciding to sit opposite you to avoid disturbing the corner you'd set up on the couch, where your computer and blue-light glasses waited. 

Currently, your laptop rests on a pillow in your lap. The glasses you'd invested in, purely because of the copious amount of time you spent before a screen through work, resting on the bridge of your nose. Yet, you're currently using neither as you should. 

The same black standby screen stares at you now as when you'd gone to greet John when he arrived two hours ago. And, your glasses don't serve their purpose of shielding your vision from electronic lights, concerning your attention is directed towards the burly figure of a man sitting so leisurely opposite you.

You hadn't seen John in his work clothes many times. Technically, you'd never seen him geared up and probably never would. So, the closest thing you would get was the standard dressing code he needed to adhere to on base. Up until this week, you'd barely even seen that.

Whereas now and for a few months ahead, the military would cling to him whenever he came around straight from work and spent the night, leaving in a similar-styled fashion in the morning concerning active duty often meant early mornings on base for John, either for a workout regime, meetings or supervising cadets. Between those instances, while unwinding with you, he changed into something more comfortable.

That was why your time of admiring John in these clothes was brief. And yet today, you got to indulge in one of the considerably fewer instances when he didn't immediately change after greeting you and borrowing your shower. In fact, this night was a total break in the routine.

Your eyes drop to the bag beside the armchair John occupies. 

He'd said he would take his usual post-work-freshening-up shower after finishing the most pressing report. But, he'd gotten stuck in the typical workflow that was difficult to break, reaching for another map of documents rather than the bag resting by his feet. Maybe you should've reminded him, but you didn't. 

The honourable reason? You didn't want to disturb John when noting the pile of documents to read had staggered to a measly two compared to the stack he'd brought. The selfish reason making your attention stray considerably more than his laser-focused one? You wanted to savour his appearance a bit longer. 

You knew the visible neckline of the shirt beneath his sweater teased about what was underneath, namely a compression shirt fitted to accentuate John's muscled torso rather than hide it, a sight drool-worthy by itself. But the jumper wasn't a villain for hiding it. In your opinion, it added to it, making the blue-eyed man appear even broader than he already was, as if he could envelop you simply with his frame, tucking you within the expanse of his shoulders. 

Despite how John managed to look so good in clothes produced for durability rather than fashion, it wasn't necessarily the clothes making you unable to rip your eyes off of him.

As always, your eyes drag over John's body until your gaze latches onto the embroiders littered over the sweater. 

On the upper part of his chest, in an easily read, nothing fancy, standard military font, the precise writing of Price is visible. The lettering, placed square in sight on his right pectoral, stands out in a lighter blue text rather than the dark navy composing the sweater. On the opposite side, in the same-letter style, SAS. Sewn onto the right arm of his jumper is a badge-like British flag, so his unit's emblem. Symbols stating his rank also adorn his clothing, marks that your civilian eye probably wouldn't be able to interpret if you didn't already know he was a Captain.

That is why you like seeing John in his work attire. 

The air around him changes. His typical calm stoicism tenfolds, acting as a reminder that his presence demands respect. 

It wasn't a shift that screamed for attention, not hollered as a command to notice. You believe it's because it simply blends with John's personality at home so well. Either his work-life had engrained it into his DNA, so it always was a part of him no matter where he went. Or those traits had always been his fortes, even before serving in the military. You didn't know for sure which was correct. 

Nonetheless, John's calm, secure and disciplined persona reached new heights. He looked like a man in charge. 

It was almost mortifying how affected you got when he dressed like this. And yet, it was just something about John in dark blue or army green attires, with his rank so underwhelmingly stated but so evidently sensed, that made a part of you quiver in excitement.

Yeah, that Captain John Price was a weakness of yours was clear as fucking day.

"You doing good over there, Captain?" Blue eyes shift from the papers he held over his lap to meet your gaze. 

You always revel in how swiftly his attention shifts to you when you use his rank. You didn't do it often. After all, at home, he wasn't Captain. But sometimes, even you used the alias. 

"Mm, all good, love". John's answer was slow, eyes flickering over you before nodding, his eyes falling to the paper before him again.

"The Captain fancying a cup of tea?" 

This time, John didn't move his head. He only glanced up, almost watching you through his eyebrows. "Wouldn't mind". The reply was short, his voice rough. Not grumpy, annoyed or anything like that. Simply profound.

You flash him a smile, pushing your computer aside and setting your glasses on the keyboard. As you stand from the couch, you stretch your legs. 

You catch John's eyes lowering and you bet he didn't abstain from trailing them down your bare legs as you jostle the tingles out of them. Smiling to yourself, you head into the kitchen.

Fine, sometimes you may use his rank solely for his reaction. 

You argue he shouldn't react like that. It's understandable he barely reacts to it when the boys of 141 use it just as much as his government name when addressing him. He must be used to it. So sure, surprise could be the reason in your instance. At the same time, it shouldn't, regarding it holds no value, no substance, when you use his rank.

Still, you've noticed it seemingly carries some weight.

The most common reaction you'd gathered was how swiftly you earned his attention. Nearly every time, you suppressed a grin at how it worked like clockwork. A sharp flicker of his eyes, gaze intense. You've also noticed how his head cock, eyes seemingly searching yours before they often slipped down your figure as he returned to whatever had his attention previously. And then it was how John eventually answered you. Sometimes, he cleared his throat before speaking, others not. Both choices provide a reply of comparable nature. Without exceptions, his voice was deep. 

John's smokey, baritone voice was always pleasant to listen to. There were no edges, even though he wasn't afraid to remain silent between his sentences. And when he filled those with the occasional hum, a purr threatened to spill from your lips to how the low cord melted like liquid gold into your ears. And yet, his voice usually became gruffer when he spoke as a Captain in a professional setting. 

You'd registered it when he once had taken a phone-call to book a time for a meeting with someone named Laswell or when he reprimanded one of the guys in a borderline-serious manner when you met them at a pub during one of their parallel leaves. The firmness in those deeply spoken sentences wasn't present when you dropped a 'Captain' while talking to him. 

But there was something else. Something under your skin just begging you to consider it's awfully close to a particular lustful drawl of John's. The one you regard as utterly and painfully arousing. If not for the truth, then for your lustful desires.

You lean against the counter as you wait for the water to boil, arms crossed over your chest. 

Facing the living room, you watch the only fascinating thing there. 

John just about placed the stack of papers he'd been reading back into its corresponding map, leaning forward to position it on top of the rest. Leaning back again, you notice how he sighs from the quick movement of his chest while opening the last lacklustre folder beside him. Leaving it open, John takes out the reports by gripping its stapled corner, swiftly picking up the reading again. As he does, he notches his thumb beneath his jaw, index finger swiping back and forth over his lower lip, brows pulling together. 

If not for the kettle signalling it's ready, you would've gotten stuck there, rooted in place as you take in the sight of the incredibly handsome man, your handsome man, so engrossed in his work. 

Preparing your respective beverages is easy. The task is something you've done countless times by now. So, within minutes, you're heading towards the seating arrangement with your respective mugs.

John notices your presence before his attention shifts to you, noticeable from how he pulls his stretched-out leg back towards him so you can step between his seat and the coffee table. Yet those blues flicker to you with an appreciative look right before you turn to settle his cup of tea on the tabletop. 

You set the mug down momentarily, reaching for a protective coaster. Placing the circular piece of wood close to the cup, you rearrange it to rest atop it instead. 

That could've been it. You could've just wandered back to your seat, either in an attempt to work or admire the view again. But no.

"There you go, Captain". You shift to face John with an innocent smile, gesturing to the cup from where steam curls upwards, filling the closest proximity of air with a spicy but soft scent of herbs. His hand has fallen from his jaw. Now, it rests on top of the folder at the armrest as he gazes at you, blues-eyes truly observing you. 

You don't know why the seemingly innocent eye contact makes you squirm. But from how John watches you, a feverish sensation rushes through your body, heating you from the inside under the scrutiny of his gaze.

The concoction of having John dressed like he is, watching you as he does and your lecherous imagination does wonders to lighten your belly on fire. You bite your lip, about to return to your seat, when John sits up, abruptly halting your attempt.

The swift thought of 'he's reaching for his mug' is wiped away immediately as he instead reaches for you. 

He circles the back of your neck with his big hand and tugs you down enough to meet him in a kiss. A soft, surprised noise vibrates against his lips, your eyes widening in reaction to his unexpected action, as opposed to his, which slips close.

"Such a darlin' to me, you know that?" John hums the word against your lips. And even if you like doing these small things for him because you see how much he enjoys them, your breath hitches, making John's eyes flutter open. 

When meeting your still wide-eyed expression, his lips bow upwards beneath his beard before his hand falls from your neck. This time, he reaches for the mug. 

As you straighten, your cup clutched against your stomach, John slouches backwards again.

"It's nothing", you reply to the man who looks too fucking indecent for still being fully dressed from the way his thighs fall outwards.

"It's everythin'", John insists. Your heart makes a dangerous leap as his baritone voice travels straight down. 

The way he's watching you doesn't help at fucking all as you feel a surging need to squeeze your legs together, something that would be embarrassingly noticeable from John's position. 

Rather than answering, mouth incredibly dry all of a sudden, you only return his appreciation with a small smile.

That his eyes follow you when you head back to your seat is apparent, your heart continuing its elevated rhythm with each step you take and his attention on your back. But when you sit down, facing him again, he's back to reading, the mug resting against his thigh.

Much like John, you should go back to work. But you don't need to look at your computer to know your last sliver of motivation has disappeared. Your attention undividedly on something else entirely.

You shuffle in your seat, one leg bent and resting on the cushioned seat beneath you, the other pulled close to your body with your foot planted on the couch. It makes you lean slightly to the side and the pillows you'd stacked for a makeshift edge towards the couch's middle.

Unable not to, your eyes flitter over John's form as you nurse your drink. 

His legs spread wide, trapping your gaze to glide over his crotch more than once, especially as he readjusts his position, hips doing that slight upwards jut as he makes himself more comfortable. You also follow his action of occasionally raising the mug to his mouth, his eyes never leaving the paper as he does. 

You watch as he sets down the documents on his leg to switch to the next side with the same hand, not desiring to go through the action of leaning forward, putting down the cup of tea, only to retrieve it to situate himself again.

Eyes remaining on the cup, you remark how John's big hand wraps around it, having no trouble encasing more than half of it. You compare it to how you hold your cup. One hand grabs the ear while your other hand curves along the opposing side.

When he raises the mug to his mouth, you follow the move, gaze lingering on his face even though he lowers it not soon after. 

You map the line of his beard, the purse of his lips, and how his eyes move from the left to the right as he follows the sentences on the paper.

And then, John's eyes flicker upwards, catching your blatant staring. Amusement flickers to life in those blues when you don't even try to play it off before he adverts his gaze down to the paper. 

"You're starin', love". John remarks. The cup of tea is brought to his lips as his attention remains on the document.

"Just enjoying the view", you shrug. Not untrue. 

John's brows arch. Not much later, as if wanting to finish a sentence, his head tilts upwards to look at you. "That so?"

"Mhm", you flash him a brief smile before you raise your mug to your lips, sipping its contents. His eyes narrow briefly. 

Even though you can't think of anything odd in your reaction, John apparently does. 

"Is there somethin' more?"

Your heart jumps. "No, you're free to continue working", you try deflecting John's attempt at making you explain what's on your mind. Apparently, you only succeeded in catching his attention more.

"I'm done". John states, making your brows jump and eyes flicker downwards, not having noticed he was on the last page of a considerably thinner stack of papers, unlike the previous ones. 

"Weren't you instructed to report back?" Your gaze shifts back to his face.

"Taken some notes. I'll send a mail later before goin' to bed". John replies promptly, meanwhile restoring the papers in their proper order. As he places the stack back in its map and drops it on top of the other finished ones on the table, he speaks. "Now I want to hear about what you're tip-toein' around 'cause it doesn't seem like nothin'". 

"No, really, it's nothing important". 

John cocks his head, brows raising in a silent inquiry.

You refuse to believe it's the 'men in uniform' curse amongst civilians. You know that's not the case, seeing how you don't find all soldiers good-looking just because, only John. Even so, you detest the thought of seeming disrespectful, fearing you reduced his career path to a mere point of attraction. It was one thing allowing it to fuel your imagination. But to admit it aloud? To John? Yeah, no.

You reach for the case of your glasses, popping it open with ease and inserting the specs. Placing them on top of your now closed laptop, you scoop them up and stand, about to discard the items in your bedroom.

The action was not impulsive. You always put your device on charge once John arrives. Today, it understandably changed to when he finished the reports he'd brought. Yet you didn't get that far, stopped unexpectedly by his voice.

"Sit". Your body stalls, brows raising. When you don't do as John says, his head cocks, fingers rapping against the armrest as he motions to the seat you just stood from with a nod. This time, you follow his request. "Talk to me, love. What's on your mind?"

Your fingers clutch your computer briefly before you reluctantly set it down on your coffee table. You sip your tea, searching for your words.

Upon your silence, stalling, an urging 'hm?' stems from John.

"I just, you know, think you look good today".

"Do I look any different today than otherwise?" He inquires. You don't think he means to interrogate you, but it feels just like that from how he watches you closely from his seat. It makes you squirm, raising your mug to your lips again before you answer.

"Well, you got those on".

John hums softly, a sound of acknowledgement. And, ever as keen, he figures out what your haphazard motions to his attire imply. "You like the clothes". It's more of a statement than a question, but you give him a nod anyway.

"They look good on you".

"That's what got you so worked up?"

"I'm not-"

"You are", he muses, cutting off your sentence as he leans forward, forearms resting on his knees as he places his mug on the coaster. "Those glasses you're religiously stubborn about using have been more off your face than not despite that laptop of yours being right in front of your face", he points out. 

Your brows pull together, lips parting as a protest isn't far away. But John beats you to it.

"No need denyin', I've noticed you starin' at me more than that screen of yours. Then we can't forge 'bout your teasin'".

This time, your brows genuinely furrow. "I haven't teased you?".

His head tilts to the side. "No? Could think I never left base with how much you've used my rank tonight, love". 

Oh, oh. John thinks your use of his rank is teasing. So it must mean something different when you use it. Not just in your imagination, then. Regardless of discovering this, you don't know how to react to John's admittance. You still feel like a mouse being toyed with by a cat.

He watches you expectantly as if waiting for you to speak up. Instead, your fingers only rap against your mug before raising it again.

You tip your cup, yet no liquid reaches your lips. Your eyes flicker downwards as you lower it, noticing its emptiness. 

The nervous sips you'd taken off your tea have apparently drained it quicker than you anticipated. 

Much like a mouse making a break for it each time the cat releases it, you don't hesitate to stand and head into the kitchen to discard your mug, seizing the chance to escape John's heavy gaze and probing for enough time you don't fumble for an answer.

What you don't expect is the footsteps following you into the kitchen. But you should've. The cat never lets its prey get too far away.

Naturally, you look over your shoulder.

John moves so assuredly. There's a slight sway to his hips, strides not hurried despite covering the same distance as you in a much more rapid fashion. Confidence, he oozes it from the very way he carries himself.

There's no denying that such a mass moving with such practised ease is on the verge of terrifying. But the thrill harbours an indisputable excitement, especially as your eyes briefly meet John's blue ones, calm but bright with intrigue.

You turn forward as you reach the kitchen counter, putting your mug in the sink, attempting to hide how he affects you. But believing you could hide from an elite soldier in plain sight is foolish. 

The hairs on your neck stand when John steps up behind you.

He sets his mug beside yours before his hands settle on the counter. With one hand at either side of you, his shoulders haunch to eclipse yours, making your heart thump in your chest.

"Indulge me. What about the clothes you like so much it got you behavin' like this?" 

"Uhm-". Your thoughts screech to a halt as you flail for something to say. Admitting just how much John in these clothes affects you brushes on mortifying. "The way it fits you, I guess", you settle on in the end.

"You guess?". John repeats close to your ear.

Pride and a certain level of amusement roll off of him in waves, seeping right through your back, worming itself to your front only to nestle in your chest. Rather than installing the same emotions in you, they fuel your desire and jittery nerves.

"Love?" He gently encourages you to detail your answer, causing you to bite your inner cheek, rolling the meat between your molars. You may be tentative to admit your inner thoughts. But, it's still John with his incredibly calm and soothing self that puts you at ease and finally makes you relent.

"They just make you feel stronger, more authoritative-"

"Authoritative?" If you would've faced John, his inquisitive look would've met you. And yet, you don't even need to, feeling it burn into the side of your head as his ducked head angles towards you. You see it out of your peripheral, how he gazes at you, but you persistently stare directly forward as you give him a slight nod.

You swallow, worrying that you overstepped as you tried explaining the indecent thoughts wrecking your brain without spewing their true nature as blatantly as they arise. 

Assuming that's the reason for John's momentary silence, he surprises you when he finally speaks.

"You know, love", he hums, airy and amused. Your eyes drop, following his hands as they trail up the stone counter until they settle on top of yours. His fingers worms in between your slender ones. "I have noticed how remarkably much you've been staring, how handsy you've been when I come home like this". 

Body lightening on fire, a warm rush sweeps through you, the sound of blood suddenly pounding noticeably in your ears as you duck your head. Had you? You hadn't even thought so.

"Nothing to fluster about".

"Well, I do", you bite back, but there's no venom to your words, only embarrassment that you hadn't hidden your desire well enough, even if it was to an elite soldier you'd lost to. The mouse would forever lose to the cat.

"Why?"

"Because it's wrong, John. Just because you fit too bloody good dressed like a Captain, it shouldn't turn me on this fucking much". Thank god you're not looking at him. You would've sunken through the floor.

"I remember you mentioned somethin' like that the night we met". 

"I said that you suit being a Captain, not that it turns me on". John's exhale borders on a groan and your brows knit together when you catch it.

"Remember you called me that as well". John brushes past the admittance in your sentence as if it's nothing. "Caught me off-guard the first time". He nudges your head from the side, hands tightening over yours. 

"Why?" You breathe, realising his voice has dropped into a husky depth. It only did that when his arousal stirred, which sparked your curiosity enough to repress your humiliation.

"Sounded so wrong from you, a civvie callin' me by rank. But I couldn't deny I liked it". John's face falls into your neck, placing a kiss beneath your ear as he drops a fraction of his weight against your back. Still, it's enough to cage you to the counter and feel his hardening cock against your rear. Your eyes widen. "And then you said it while I was stuffin' that cunt of yours. Bloody hell, I almost lost my head when you called me Captain all stunningly dishevelled beneath me". A surprised gasp rips from your throat at John's words curl along the shell of your ear while he shoves his growing erection against you.

"What are you saying?" Your chest heaves at the end of your sentence as John rubs himself against the plush swell of your ass from behind. 

"I'm tellin' you, despite how wrong it is, that I like when you call me Captain". He husks into your ear, using your wording from earlier. 

John steadily grinds against you, pressing you further into the counter's edge. Instinctually, you arch against him, but one of his hands swiftly grabs your hip, forcing you down. 

"Love, I wanna try somethin' out", he hums. "Tell me if it gets too much. Understood?" There's no hesitancy in John's voice, only an alluring reassurance and passion that pikes your interest.

"Yeah, alright". 

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, John, I understand". You whine, curiosity eating you from the inside, yet he only tsks at you.

"You know what to call me". You inhale sharply. Fuck, could he be talking about? He is. You swallow, mind reeling as you realise John's alluding to something you've only entertained as fantasy. And yet, his rank solely remains a heavy, dirty thought. "Come on, love, know you want to". 

You swallow, eyes wide and staring forward. John must sense your hesitancy as his hand rucks the shirt you're wearing upwards, baring your ass. Attempting to coax you, he shoves his bulge straight into your scantily covered pussy.

"I want you to say it, m'not goin' any further until you do. Both of us must want this". That does the trick. You wouldn't pass up on this chance.

"C-Captain".

"Whole sentence, love".

"I understand, Captain".

"Good girl". He praises you. "Now, you'll take what I give".

"Oh", you breathe out as a violent shiver runs down your spine and the muscles attaching to the back of your head quiver. 

John's not only igniting something so perfectly inside your body. He also flips a switch in your head with his commanding voice, precisely the one that made his authoritative nature as a Captain so attractive. 

"From your reaction, it seems you don't mind bein' ordered around". John breathes into your ear. "Is that correct?"

"Don't mind". 

The man behind you releases a hum as he tests your reply by nudging his foot against your right ankle. You can feel him smirk at how you react, widening your stance one foot at a time without any resistance. Even when John presses himself against your back and continues forward by bending over you until you're flat against the kitchen counter, you don't resist him.  

"So pliant, aren't you?" One of his hands releases yours, yet you continue pressing it against the stone. His fingers trail up your now bent arm, over your shoulder and along the curve of your body until his fingers curl around your waist.

You nod swiftly, only catching the faintest reflection of the movement even though your cheek rests against the polished stone surface. He chuckles at your hasty reply, the sound cracking up the length of your spine.

"Mhm, stay like that now". John instructs, standing straight with a squeeze to your hand that, up until now, remained intertwined with his.  

His fingers run along your clothed spine until it reaches your bared lower vertebral, then your ass until it dips between your legs from behind, pressing into the seam of your underwear.

"Fuckin' hell, you've gotten this wet already? So desperate for your Captain, eh?" You whimper as he pushes against the damp fabric, the material pressing into your folds. 

"Yes, John-Captain!" You correct yourself as he slaps your pussy upon the slip-up. The tap of his palm doesn't hurt but acts as a reminder. Nevertheless, it sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine, making you squirm.

"Two rules, love", he remarks. "One, for now, it's Captain. Two, if you don't keep still, I'll stop touchin' you, leavin' you all pent up, just like this, right here", he makes clear. As if daring you to obey, a gentle test calculating how much you really want this, his thumb shallowly probes against your core. Your eyes snap shut, teeth digging into your bottom lip, a forced exhale escaping your lungs as you concentrate on not rocking backwards while fabricating a reply.

"Y-yes, Captain".

As if content with your words and actions, John steps away. Despite the loss of contact, you remain in your position. 

Your pulse thrums as you listen to John, picking up on the shift of clothes and the sound of a zipper. Your anticipation skyrockets as he doesn't hurry his movements, taking his sweet time before he touches you again. When he does, he pulls down your panties until the elastic band digs into the middle of your thighs.

A shuddering breath escapes your lungs when nothing separates John's fingers from your exposed wetness. He runs two fingers up and down almost leisurely until one digit firmly pushes against your clit in a circular sweep. The sudden attention to your throbbing bundle of nerves sends neurons flying.

You don't even know on what scientific level it's possible to stop an involuntary reaction, but just as you feel your lower back muscles tightening, you slam the flatness of your palm against the counter with a 'shit' as you try.

You wouldn't count it as moving, but you did twitch upon the surprising pressure against your clit. And as John pulls away, placing his hand on the small of your back, you whine in defeat, knowing he caught it too.

"What was that?". 

"Nothing, nothing, please, Captain, I'll be good". You don't even realise what you say yourself as you plead with John. He couldn't leave you there. You would possibly explode.

He only tuts, hand pressing firmer against your spine. Your heart drops for a second until he speaks. "I'll let you of this once".

"Thank you". John groans behind you, curse breathed beneath his breath as his character breaks for a moment, caught off guard by your rushed response. It's not long, but it's a reminder that it's still John behind you.

A swift pressure change against your spine indicates he's gathered himself again before he picks up where he left off.

His finger starts trailing up and down your folds again, but you remain in your position in spite of how your legs quiver in want, a desire for more. 

Your wet, sopping, John's digit coated swiftly in your slick as he teases you.

He toys back and forth before his finger slips down. This time you've already braced yourself when he circles your clit. You force yourself to hold still as you whine at the contact, wanting nothing more than to rock backwards.

Noticing your struggle and stubbornness, John's free hand grabs your hip, kneading the flash with gentle squeezes. "Mhm, just like that, love, doin' so good for me".

His baritone rolls over your back, making you shudder, skin knotting with goosebumps. He never once stops the slow movement of his finger, causing you to clench around nothing continuously, especially as he starts flicking the tip of his finger.

You press your forehead against the counter upon the small, sharp jolts of electricity firing pleasure through your nervous system. But it's so fleeting it doesn't have an opportunity to build into anything damning as John pulls away from your clit, falling back to running his digit along your folds.

John stays clear from your throbbing bundle of nerves, rotating his hand as he teasingly concentrates more and more attention on your entrance. You release an anticipated breath as he brushes over it repeatedly until you bite your lip. You want to tilt your hips to make him slip inside. But you withhold the urge, thankfully reaping the rewards before you get desperate enough that your body acts on instinct.

John puts the slightest pressure behind the dragging motion. At first, only the tip of his finger enters you before he pulls it back, doing the same thing a few times until he pushes its entirety inside. 

You moan even though it's not nearly enough to stretch you so deliciously you feel full. But it just feels good having something sliding in and out of you. Though one soon turns to two when John pulls out, a second finger prodding your pussy before both slip inside.

Squelching noises fill the air as he fingers you, his other digits pressing against your ass. You pant, unable to keep your noises at bay as he finally relents somewhat in his fleeting touches and indulges you with some relief. But it's not nearly enough. 

The pace remains slow, his fingers imitating a stroking motion even inside you rather than plunging deep and fast or wriggling forcefully to spur an orgasm. Now, you only feel your high building oh so slowly that it's frustrating how flat the exponential curve is.

And yet, as if projected from your body, you can see the scene you're a part of and find it unbelievably arousing. 

John, with his cock freed from his pants and occasionally brushing against your rear, otherwise fully clothed, almost lazily pumping his fingers in and out of your hole as you bend over the counter, panties around your legs, doing your damnedest to keep fucking still.

You moan at the image, hands pressing flat against the counter before curling into fists. It's so fucking erotic that you feel John's fingers suddenly sliding more easily in and out despite the way you clench around them.

"You're practically drippin', love", he teases you, fingers leaving your entrance for a few seconds, not hovering far from your pussy, until they return with a press against your clit, a new chillier slickness coating them. The acknowledgement that you're wet enough it nearly dribbles from you wears your patience to the breaking point.

"Captain, I can't take it, fuck me already". John doesn't reprimand you for your demand, only chuckles as he steps close, cock pressing against your asscheek. 

His fingers have dropped from your clit, but his touch is soon replaced with the head of his cock as he guides it to your folds, running it up and down to coat himself in your slick. 

You let out a shuddering moan as John pushes slightly against your entrance, tip breaching your hole, only to slip out and repeat the movement. Regardless that he's in charge, your frustrated cry is all it takes for him to push into you properly with an amused huff that sharply pivots into a grunt.

"Yeah, just like that- arch for me… good girl…". John groans, and you take his urge to meet his thrust that you're finally free to move as you wish. 

You gape as he bottoms out in one slow press, hips pressed flush against your ass. You feel his legs tremble, his hands flexing on your hips, but he stays still for your sake of accustoming to his girth.

"So good for your Captain". You whimper at his words, making him chuckle breathily. "Oh, you like that, eh?" He feigns ignorance of what he'd learnt: that you absolutely do. He grabs a fistful of your ass. "Dirty girl…". You gasp as he spanks your rear, the smacking sound making you clench around him.

"Need you to move". You whine as you wriggle your hips. But John bends over you, burly frame forcing your upper body flush to the cool tabletop.

"Come on, love". He scolds huskily against the shell of your ear, warm breath cascading past your cheek. Parts of his hands grip your ass while the rest cover your hips, the meat spilling between his fingers. But he remains still, deep inside you, not moving until the proper phrase falls from your lips. 

It's easier to give in this time, having been shoved over the edge previously, ignoring the immorality of using his rank in this setting and whatever pride left in your body. Mentally, at least. 

Physically, it takes you a few seconds, preoccupied with basking in what's happening. Bent over the counter with the biting kiss from the cold stone dulled from the shirt you borrowed from John. Yet the harshness from the unmoving material doesn't fail to make itself reminded against your soft body despite the shielding material. Effortlessly sandwiching you is the similarly firm body of John, considerably warmer but still effective in immobilising you.

"Captain, please". His rank is honey, saccharine and dripping effortlessly from your tongue once you find your voice through the arousal. "Please move".

"Mm, that's it", he croons, granting you the movement you want as he straightens, not before kissing your clothed shoulder. Exegrated to make up for the fabric separating you.

It starts with calculated thrusts that make you keen and almost roll back and forth on your feet from the steady and slow pace. Then John picks up the speed, rutting against you with powerful snaps of his hips. Your fingers scramble, finding purchase on the counter's edge, curling over the side to have some semblance of grounding force.

It doesn't take long before you moan unabashedly at each stroke, fluttering around his cock as he works his length in and out of you, driving his hips forward and back in a steady beat. Along the erotic sound of skin slapping and wet noises is the filth spewing from his lips.

"This what you wanted, eh?" He gruffs. "With all those looks?" He gets a moan in response as you turn your head so your cheeks rest against the counter, watching him through the corner of your eye. 

John's jaw hangs slack, hair falling along his forehead as he must be staring at where the two of you connect. He looks raptured, almost dazed. He said he wanted this as well and by the looks of it... yeah, he really did. You don't know how you haven't noticed. But, fortunately, John sets your knack of reading people to shame compared to his skill. 

You're snapped out of your thoughts as one of his hands leaves your hips and you see him raise it at an angle. You whine, arching towards it as much as possible with the unbudging surface beneath you. It drags his eyes upwards, noticing how you're watching him. 

His lips tug upwards, eyes never leaving you as his palm swats your ass. A reactionary moan spills from your lip as your legs press against the outer side of his thighs at the sensation, brows knitting together from the stinging pleasure.

It spurs John to rut harder, causing your body to fucking sing as your head gets steadily dizzier.

He releases a breathless chuckle at your inability to conjure anything apart from keening sounds and guttural moans as your body goes lax, eyes fluttering close, body jolting at the new pace he sets.

But he doesn't appear much more put together as he witnesses how you allow yourself to let go, giving the reins entirely to him. 

You catch how John's sentence breaks into fractions, groans and heady sounds spilling from his lips between sentences to rile you up even further. In the end he can't release much more than growling sounds as he folds, resting his chest against your back, using his weight to forcefully push his hips against yours, making his balls tap against your clit each time.

John barely pulls himself back enough to push forwards again, but it's enough to repeatedly batter the head of his cock against the spot making your legs tingly and toes flex before curling. 

Once again, your hands search for something to grasp upon the pleasure coursing through your body. One manages to bend backwards over your shoulder, catching the lapel of John's jumper, and the other slides feebly across the smooth countertop. 

Your orgasm is building, breaths turning stunted, muscles seizing.

You feel John's rhythm stutter as you clench more frequently and reactionary in response to his ruts as you near your release. His head ducks to rest between your shoulder-blades, warm puffs of air seeping through the oversized shirt you're wearing. His teeth bite down on the excess fabric, grunts vibrating against you. 

John's getting close, throbbing violently inside you, hands digging into your hips even further. When he angles his thrusts downwards, a dirty grind at the end of each penetration, he hits so many pleasurable spots that you release an unprompted cry.

You don't need much, so close to your edge that your head thrash that you wedge your hand beneath your forehead to not knock yourself out cold. So when John grits a heady sentence through his teeth and the fabric trapped between them, that's it. 

"Come on, love, be a good girl to your Captain. Wanna feel you squeeze 'round me".

Your eyes snap close as you jerk against him, ass pressing upwards before involuntarily trying to escape his persistent thrusts as the pleasure explodes. But your hipbones are already aching from the counter and you can't flee how John continues to cram his girthy cock into your twitching hole, so you just let him extend your orgasm until he reaches his with a growl. 

John curls around you, hips pressing snuggly against your rear as he spurts his release deep. You feel his warm spend inside you, releasing a shattered moan as your eyelids flutter but, in the end, remain closed.

The stone isn't as cold against your forehead anymore, the surface likely warming from your panting exhales.

John's chest rises and falls against your back. He massages your hips almost unconsciously, small flexes of his fingers. Your hand, previously fisting his jumper, falls to your left hip, squeezing his wrist before your fingers graze over his knuckles and card between digits, easing his grip. It seems to bring him out of his post-orgasmic rouse as he softens the action until he stills completely, now cradling the likely-to-be-discoloured area.

"Fuck", he exhales as he releases your shirt from his teeth. The wet spot where his saliva has sept into the fabric is significant as it falls back against your skin. 

You reply with a soft confirming sound, craning your neck to glance at John. 

His face has risen and is now close to yours. However, what catches you off-guard isn't the proximity but his gaze. It's dark and glittering, a spent smile noticeable through his facial hair.

He kisses you despite the awkward angle. The hair that's

fallen out of place and endearingly covers his forehead brushes yours. 

The interaction is brief before he rises, bringing you with him from the forwards-bent position that's not as comfortable for either of you when the lust-driven haze fades. In the movement, John slips out of you before stepping back. Not soon after, he pulls your underwear into place. 

The hem of his shirt drops around your thighs once you stand again and it doesn't catch on John's hand. You run a hand through your hair, letting it fall to the kitchen counters, noticing your balance is still wobbly. Your other hand assist your balance by resting on the kitchen counter as you take a moment to collect yourself. 

You take a moment to collect yourself before you turn to face John with a sigh. He's just popped the button on his cargos back in place but doesn't care about tucking his t-shirt into the waistband of his pants again.

As John runs a hand through his hair, the other naturally falls to your hip to steady you as his gaze locks with yours.

"All good?" His voice is gritty, pleasure still intertwined with the soft check-in.

"Mm, yeah", you smile sluggishly, your voice breathy. "You?" 

"All good. I wasn't too much?" There's a glimmer of concern in his eyes, one you shoo away immediately.

"No, god, you were not too much, John, you were... really good". You reach out to touch John, hands slipping between the layers of fabric on his torso. He melts under your touch, relaxing the arm that had raised so he could tame his hair, letting it curve around your neck. With the back of your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his arm, he tugs you closer to him.

"Didn't know you had such a thing for men in uniform, love". He chuckles, lightening the mood as he looks down at you. 

"You in uniform". 

"Compliments your take on a gallantry medal?" 

"Mhm", you hum against his lips. "My Captain deserves them". You cheekily use the nickname you'd moaned shamelessly only minutes prior, making him huff an amused laugh that puffs against your mouth.

"Not gonna hear the end of that, eh?"

"At ease, soldier, I'm only gonna use it when I wanna get a rile out of you". You press a kiss against John's lips and he reciprocates it. In the end, a smile splits yours open, one you greet him with as you lean away, creating a bit of space between you. "But what would they think of that? Esteemed Captain Price with a captain kink". He pinches your rear, and you squeal, a sound that fades into a giggle as the hand previously on the counter settles on your hip. 

"Watch it". The edges of John's eyes are still creased in the corners as he says it, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Just curious", you defend yourself with a shrug. "But I can't say I'm surprised you like the power-trip". You give the blue-eyed man a playful purse of your lips. 

He cock his head, brows arching. "Why?"

"Being a good Captain must come from somewhere. You like ordering people around", you muse.

"Delighted to be your entertainment". John exhales through his nose.

You try to lean up to kiss his furrowed expression away, but by tightening his arm around your head and leaning backwards, he avoids your attempt.

"Don't be pouty. You seemed to enjoy it just as much as I did. Admitted you do". You chide John lightly and he drops the faux offence, delight and piked interest present in his eyes.

"Mm, 'bout that. Didn't know you liked bein' ordered around that much". You smile shyly, head notching forwards, not far from resting against his chest from your closeness.

"We all have our moments of something, don't we?" You look up at John through your lashes. 

His arms slide down until his hand envelops your neck. A hum fills the air before he leans down, pressing his lips against yours briefly, soothing any possible apprehension in your answer framed as a question rather than a statement.

"Would you like me to do it more?" You crack into a smile at his question, eyes fluttering open to meet his blue eyes.

"Yeah, I would like to. I-I adore when you're sweet on me, John, but I also like when you're rough. Just, you know, take what you want sometimes, do as you please". You shrug, catching how John releases the air from his lungs in something akin to wonder and desire.

"You trust me enough?"

"If your men trust you on the field, I think I can trust you in this situation". 

John lets out a long groan, head tipping backwards as his eyes shut tightly. "Don't bring the lads into this, don't want that association".

You chuckle in earnest. "What? You're their Captain first and foremost".

"Not this type", he huffs, head falling forward. Looking at you again, the hand on the side of your neck slides to your hip, both hands now anchored there.

"Alright, alright. Only want you to myself anyways". You lean up, planting a series of kisses against John's lips until he reciprocates, the frown disappearing from his brows.

"Already got me, love". His voice softens, making you smile in return. 

Just as you're about to reply, the sensation of fluids flowing out of you makes you reactively twitch and clamp your legs together, hands flexing on his stomach. John notices, suppressing a smirk as he fishes your hands from beneath his jumper.

"Let's get you cleaned up." John enlaces his hand with one of yours, tugging you along as he heads towards your bathroom. "Still need to have that shower".

"You like seeing me wet, don't you?"

"Never said we would shower". John sends you a humoured look over his shoulder, making you roll your eyes. "Watch that attitude of yours. Things like that get you a lesson in discipline in the army". 

"Because that would be my biggest problem and not sleeping with a Captain, who I much rather get disciplined by." You quip with an amused look.

"Careful with what you wish for, love". John returns, the reply accompanied by a wink. As you chuckle with a shake of your head, John pulls you forward and into his side, planting a kiss on the side of your head, effectively ending the conversation as you step into the bathroom.

[coeur-de-fruk]

GIVE US CARDVERSE YOU COWARDS

the public doesn't know about their relationship

[milflewis]

why is Esteban in Paris??

isn’t the man literally french

[akito-shinonome-daily]

Can we put him in a blender?

➥ i don’t think they approve.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Psst. Hi

Opinions on homophobic Dreamtale? The concept of dream and nm growing up in a gendered, homophobic society. Dream gets internalised homophobia and Nightmare has little opinion about it bc he's already as disgraced as a gay person would be.. the icing on top is Dream being gay, just for the discovery trips sake

That could be interesting if it’s written or done well, given how dream was more “involved” and welcomed into the village (being used and manipulated of course.)

Dream could’ve adopted the villagers beliefs to avoid being rejected or abandoned, especially if any of the villagers showed disdain or disapproval whenever Dream did or said anything “wrong” or “bad”—and approval if he did or said anything the villagers agreed with.

he could very well go on a journey of self discovery and unpacking that internalized homophobia as he grows—when he eventually ventures out into the rest of the Multiverse.

Especially since I’ve heard around that it’s a common view that one of the first people Dream meets is ink, aroace he/they ink lmao. which would definitely help dream, considering dream is canonically demiromantic asexual himself and unless it was changed somewhere, it makes me sad how that is ignored by the fandom.

Dream could go through a journey of unpacking internalized ace and arophobia too.

[negativepeanuthoarder]

https://x.com/abblespice/status/1827249836158050438?t=-XxARBf_Sz0npghbMv8tCA&s=19

🥳🥳

[literateleah]

Is it cool for non black people to consume black music to support black artists or is it stepping over a line? I just want to make sure

where’s the text post that’s like “i’m a sickly victorian child and this is the last thing i will ever read. goodbye”

[kiwikipedia]

Doesn’t QSH have a non lostbelt version?

Yep! Toh Azuma’s original design was very different and they were told to draw the one we know now when the original one was submitted. This was then chosen to be PHH’s version of QSH. QSH was also mentioned in FSF but was not given a design.

He is very sexy imo

[kiwinatorwaffles]

Evil Ex supports Trans WRONGS (/J)

no no keep cooking

[zombified-hoglin]

as a gridoc and xtho enjoyer I have a suggestion:

Both couples have been together for a pretty long time. Neither are very open about it though, just by preference. At first it was kind of unintentional but at some point someone started keeping track of how many times Xisuma and Etho had accidentally dropped a hint that they’re together and then grian and doc got added and it’s spiraled since then.

so imagine some hypothetical hermit just chilling in the shopping district. and they end up starting a conversation with Xisuma and Etho. And say ethos like ‘yeah and when I was cooking Xisuma dinner last night’ and from like 6 feet away iskall, who had previously been sitting on a bench unnoticed, whips out a chalkboard from an unknown location. And then several seconds of panic gesturing go on (well, etho and Xisuma are , iskall seems pretty calm to be honest) before Iskall gives a sad expression and the chalkboard disappears (where is he putting an entire chalkboard??)

grian and doc have been crushing it since s10 started. Xisuma and Etho were decimating them for the entirety of the buttercups thing in s9 tho

(additional thing: another couple ends up on the blackboard without their knowledge as a sorta putting a random guy in the Olympics to show how good the Olympic athletes are thing)

Holy shit anon your brain is so big and wrinkly /pos

Now I want to write a fic from the perspective of Iskall who's somehow the only perceptive enough person on the server to realize that Xtho is a thing since like s7 but it was confirmed in s8 (hard not to notice when your roommate is gone most nights and coming back like he doesn't smell like someone else's cologne and is wearing a jacket that is very clearly not his)

I'd imagine that gridoc has been flirting for years since Grian joined but only got together more recently and who are they not to brag about the other being a great partner

I'm having a hard time thinking of what couple on the server would be normal enough about the other to be used as the control group, but maybe a Mumbo pairing or False/Gem?

It ends with either another hermit finding the whiteboard and asking Iskall what the fuck or Etho finding it and deciding that he needs to step up his game

[basicallyjaywalker]

Wanna ramble about a moment/character in ninjago you think people need to talk about more?

I don't know who you are anon, but I'm glad you asked!

I am desperate for people to character-analyze Wu. I'm desperate for a lot of character analysis including Nya but since I got a lot of my Nya feelings out with some lovely folks the other night (edit: the other night was a month ago dw about it. this took a minute) I'm going with Wu this time

Master Wu to me is such an interesting case of a character who it is so easy to ignore the bits of the show that hint at his wider issues and traumas. He is a man defined heavily by his family and by his past. A lot of criticism he gets, I think, is due in part to that.

I've mentioned before that I've been rewatching S1 with a friend of mine and intermittently pausing to infodump on them about interesting character things I notice from that season. A lot of that has been Wu-focused because despite having seen RotS dozens of times throughout my life (watching it on CN, watching it on Netflix when only it and Legacy were around, rewatching it with friends) I have only just started noticing the seeds of character written in.

I might also just be reading too much into things, but hear me out

In S1 (and by extension, the pilots), Wu is characterized as your typical old wise teacher. In the first few minutes of EP1: Rise of the Snakes, he is chewing out the Ninja for playing video games instead of training. The line he uses? "Never put off until tomorrow what can be done today."

It's a line that gets repeated throughout the series. In fact, it gets repeated that very episode when the ninja go (pun not intended) to fight the Hypnobrai and a literal pre-teen. At first, it seems to just be a piece of wisdom. Some old proverb Wu's picked up over the years, possibly one he even coined himself. However, in EP7: Tick Tock, Wu tells the story of who, possibly, first told him this.

(Source: Tick Tock/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom, highlight added.)

It was Garmadon. Now, I'm not gonna dwell too long on Garmadon, if you spend five minutes talking to me you'll learn he was the first character whose story I obsessed over and I want this essay to be about Wu, but I think he plays a role in Wu's overall story, as does Wu's family as a whole.

Prior to this, Wu and Garmadon's relationship has been more of a sibling rivalry taken to a good vs. evil extreme. We didn't know why Garmadon was evil and we didn't know about Wu and his relationship as kids. However, this scene establishes the backstory. They were, as Wu puts it, "the best of friends." That is, until Garmadon gets bit by the Devourer going to get the katana Wu lost.

Now, I know the Devourer bite was destined to happen because of the Overlord or some shit, but Wu doesn't. As far as he's concerned, Garmadon getting bit was a direct consequence of both his mistake and his cowardice. He lost the katana. He was too scared to get it. Garmadon went over instead. Garmadon got bit.

The scene goes on to show the FSM tending to Garmadon in the aftermath. Wu is watching from behind the door, likely told to stay back, but concerned. And in his POV, we get this intense moment, where Garmadon turns, looks directly at him (his eyes turning bright red for the first time), and says "It's all Wu's fault!"

(This clip should begin at the start of Wu eavesdropping. If it doesn't, skip to 0:58. I highly recommend also paying attention to Wu's body language during this scene.)

The camerawork does a great job of showing how this probably felt for Wu. It zooms in, Garmadon's voice echoes, and the background blurs. We see in the flashback that this is a moment Wu has etched into his memory. Not to mention, he was likely a very young child when this happened. LEGO characters' ages are weird, but Wu in this scene has the Big Eyes, which always seem to be used for characters under 12. We don't know exactly how much older Garmadon is to my knowledge, but he doesn't have the Big Eyes, so he's probably closer to 12 and a few years older than Wu for sure.

Imagine that. Being in elementary school and your older siblings gets hurt. They're acting strange. They're lashing out at your father. Then, they blame it all on you. They're hurt because of you. Wouldn't you internalize that?

I could go on about Wu's relationship with Garmadon, but again, I think I've spent enough time on it and I don't want to only focus on that. It's an important part, but there are others.

Let's talk about Wu's relationship with his dad.

Now, I have not yet read the Spinjitzu Brothers series. I cannot speak to any development of Wu and the FSM's relationship in there. I have, however, read The Book of Spinjitzu and blogged some of my thoughts on it here, including some of what it says about Wu.

For those who haven't read it, first, there is a Google Drive folder floating around with all of the canon spinoff books/graphic novels in it. Here's the link if you wanna read them!

The FSM is an... intriguing figure. I mean, in the series he's basically god? He made the entire world. That's already a very high bar to live up to. Then, in Book of Spinjitzu, there's a few specific parts that, when I read them, signaled that Wu internalized a specific message when he was young.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 3).

Wu does not want to disappoint his father. It is up to him (and Garmadon until he turns evil) to "uphold the legacy of Spinjitzu" and, by extension, his family. He says he was "very young" when this was explained to him. Considering he seems to already be training at an elementary age, "very young" means VERY young.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 16).

Here, we again see Wu being very aware that he has some large burden to carry. Something else interesting here is that the thought of the Green Ninja Prophecy is already weighing on him too. His considering if he might be the Green Ninja is of extra interest because of how the Green Ninja Prophecy and the--I wouldn't call it obsession, possibly fixation?--with who it is factors into his later actions, but we'll get to that later.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 19).

This one in particular gets me because it comes after Wu mentions Garmadon becoming more evil. It is a statement of power. Wu knows that the legacy of Spinjitzu now rests in his hands alone. He cannot let himself fall the way Garmadon did. He cannot disappoint his father. Whether or not the FSM intended it, Wu always knew the fate of the world rested, at least in part, upon his shoulder. He knew this from the time he was a young boy and it remains in his mind to this day.

Now, these quotes are indirect, but they all point to one clear idea: As a child, Wu internalized the idea that he alone is responsible for keeping Ninjago safe. He will play a pivotal role in its history.

There's not evidence in this book that the FSM's was a bad father, per se. However, just because one doesn't set out to harm their children, doesn't mean they won't. I often say Wu has an "Atlas complex," which I have no idea if it is an actual concept but use it to refer to this idea. Wu feels as though he is responsible for holding up the world, much like Atlas. He must keep the balance, he must solve the Green Ninja prophecy, he must make his father proud.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, page 61).

I'm going to get further into what this means for Wu as a teacher to the current Ninja Team, but for now let's look at Wu's first foray into teaching.

Morro. Wu's Biggest Mistake.

That might seem like an overstatement, but it's not.

(Source: Ghost Story/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom)

Okay he says regret, not mistake, but I was paraphrasing.

Let's turn back to his quote about his destiny. Wu writes, "Is my life's mission to be the Green Ninja? Or maybe it will be to find the Green Ninja and protect him (or her)??"

From a very young age, Wu was not only aware of the Green Ninja but prophecy but also thinking about his place in it. We see this again when he takes Morro in and trains him.

(Source: Ghost Story/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom, highlight added)

A big thing Wu is criticized for here is making Morro believe he is meant to be more. That he is the Chosen One. And Morro, being a young homeless orphan just now given some semblance of power and protection, latches onto that. And I can see it, but when you take into account the above that he was trained from (likely) a younger age than Morro and given a similar level of responsibility, it becomes more understandable. Wu is just doing what he was taught. He doesn't believe that he is harming Morro until it is too late.

This is the entire story, but I'm specifically going to be discussing 1:36 onwards here. I also wanted to add that rewatching this scene made me lay down on the floor! What the fuck! But I digress.

There's a lot going on in this scene. For one, Wu washing his hands of Morro in some ways, but not others. He turns his back on Morro when he tells him that destiny has decided, but looks at him again when Morro storms out. He goes to save Morro from the Grundal, but decides that he cannot "teach those who would not listen." Most importantly, when Morro leaves to go find the Tomb of the FSM, Wu leaves the door open. He waits for Morro to return, but never goes after him. And Morro never comes back.

Wu gives Morro's fate a dismissive response at the end of his ghost story ("I am saddened he was banished to the Cursed Realm") but it's clear he still cares deeply about him in the finale of the season.

Wu's VA in this is phenomenal btw. That "Please Morro!" and "MORRO!" make my heart ache.

Morro believed Wu stopped caring, but he didn't. Even after all he's done, even after trying to destroy all of Ninjago--destroying what Wu had spent his life trying to protect--Wu tries to save him. He begs for Morro to come with him. Morro refuses, Wu watches him perish.

Someone else Wu is close to is gone. Wu again considers himself responsible. Everything is his fault.

And finally, we reach Wu today. A cautious, secretive man. He loves his students, this much is clear. Even as early as the pilots, he drops his wise teacher persona to joke around with them.

As with Morro, he trains them like his father did him. He even uses the same methods his father used when he trains them.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, page 32)

While he is hard on the Ninja, wanting them to succeed and training them to help defend the Realm, he lets his guard down more than it seems he did with Morro. He also learned a valuable message from his experience with Morro when he hides the Green Ninja Prophecy from the Ninja, getting angry when they start to push themselves in the same way Morro did upon learning about it. It's clear he doesn't want a repeat.

Now, I can't speak for later seasons (I will eventually) but this fear of repeats, his students going down a dark path because they're tempted by power or greatness, losing someone else, likely drives Wu not telling them other important information. That is just a passing thought though.

Final notes:

I'm currently in the process of rewatching S7: Hands of Time. I actually got this ask right after finishing EP68: Scavengers, which opens with Wu having a nightmare. In it, he and Misako are walking outside of Yang's temple. While walking, Misako delivers this line in response to Wu reminiscing about the time they've spent together:

(Source: Scavengers/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom)

This line, to me, is Wu's subconscious trying to tell him something he needs to hear. It's hinting at what might be his greatest flaw. Wu is haunted by his past, by his mistakes. He finds it difficult to tell others because of both his guilt and his desire to not put that worry upon them. In this very season, he makes the mistake of trying to face his past on his own, and he nearly dies for it.

In the same episode, you see Wu trying to make sure Lloyd doesn't make the same mistakes.

(Source: Prev)

Wu stresses the important of the team. It's as if he sees Lloyd blaming himself for what happened to Wu, sees him doing the same thing Wu has, and is trying to prevent him from doing the same thing. This is further emphasized when, after Wu falls asleep (well, fakes falling asleep), Lloyd says "Wu's mistake was going in alone. So was mine."

Master Wu is, like many characters in this show, someone who is more complex than meets the eye. He is not just a wise, old teacher. He is a man who, throughout his life, has made mistakes and carries the weight of each of them on his shoulders. He is a man who tasks himself with making up for those every day. He is a man who wants better for his students, his family.

Until the day he dies, he will guide and protect his students. And possibly? Even after death too.

[milflewis]

Soulmate AU

1.

When Sebastian first meets Nico Rosberg — and his hair more specifically — again after the crash, he nearly pisses his pants laughing.

“I see you have a type, eh?” He asks Lewis. He runs a hand through his own blond hair.

“Tell me,” he starts, leaning forward over Lewis’s left shoulder. Bono is saying something in the seat beside Lewis. Lewis’s face is relaxed and calm.

“Did you jerk off to Michael too? Blond, German, very fast. He’d fit in your collection.”

Lewis’s face doesn’t even flicker. When he asks a question about whatever Bono is saying, his voice is steady and quiet. They could be back in their regular driver briefings. Something in Sebastian’s chest swells up, pushing at his heart and lungs, mean and sour.

“Don’t worry,” he tells Lewis. “We all did. Can’t have you thinking you are special, hmm?”

2.

There are stories — old ones — that one hears over the years.

Stories of those who don’t meet their soulmates properly in life, and so join them in death.

Sebastian used to love stories.

When he opens his eyes after going into the wall too fast and too hard, he is standing beside Lewis Hamilton.

Lewis is talking to Ted, the camera on. His eyes are shadowed and his shoulders are curved slightly inwards.

When he sees Sebastian next to him, he startles, mouth falling open. “I — You.”

“Lewis?” Ted is frowning, concerned. “Are you alright?” He has a hand up as if to tell the cameraman to get ready to stop rolling. Or to zoom in on Lewis’s face. Sebastian isn’t sure.

“Um.” Lewis blinks, swallowing. He glances at Ted and then back at Sebastian.

Never let it be said that Sebastian isn’t ever helpful.

“He can’t see me, I think,” Sebastian says, and then mimes a blowjob with his hand and mouth, tongue in cheek, in front of Ted, who doesn’t stop staring at Lewis.

“Right, yeah,” Lewis says, as shakey as Sebastian has ever heard him. “Um.”

“Funny story,” Sebastian says, furious. He wants his dad. He stays looking into Lewis’s tired shocked face. He thinks if he sees his mom, he will never be able to stop crying “Turns out we are soulmates.”

“Lewis, you okay? Do you need a minute?”

Lewis inhales. Sebastian can see him visibly remember there is a camera on him. When he smiles, it is a thin slight of a thing.

“Sorry, man, what was your question again?”

3.

Lewis gets more curled in on himself as the year goes on, face thin. Quieter too. Him and Nico snap and snap at each other’s heels. Toto nearly has a stroke keeping them from biting.

Sebastian is self aware enough to know that he is not helping. That his commentary — one sided that it is as no one other than Lewis can hear him and Lewis rarely responds, not through words nor expressions — is only making things worse for him.

He can’t bring himself to care.

It drives the cold away a little. That short spark of satisfaction and victory when he pokes and pokes and pokes and Lewis keeps a straight face through it all.

Sometimes, if Lewis breaks, either in a flinch or an aborted eye roll, or god forbid, a laugh, then Sebastian can even make himself pretend that he is still alive.

“I have a question,” Sebastian declares. He is standing over by the window, looking out at the paddock.

Lewis ignores him.

Nico is saying something in response to James Allison. He looks tense. The entire room looks tense. Sebastian rolls his shoulders.

“Did you stop fucking Nico before I died, or do you only not like exhibitionism? I could leave if you want privacy.”

This makes Lewis look at him. It is a quick glance, cutting and sarcastic, eyebrows slightly raised. He somehow manages to look pissed and amused and embarrassed, all at the same time.

Sebastian smiles sunnily at him. It is often exhausting to be around Lewis, especially when he is like this. Lewis might be quiet, packed in tightly, but he spills over most of the time. No one can ever accuse him of being small.

“You are right, I guess,” Sebastian muses thoughtfully. “I would not leave you alone. I would be too bored.”

Nico wins. Nico retires. Lewis disappears home for the break. Sebastian follows his brother around for a few months, chattering at him, even though Fabian doesn’t ever respond. It’s not that different from before if he is being honest.

There is a Lewis light in his chest, always pulling. It’s not that bad of a sore, Sebastian reasons. Only a little achey.

4.

Formula One has started back up again when Sebastian follows the tug back to Lewis.

Lewis doesn’t say anything at Sebastian’s sudden appearance in the garage. His shoulders relax slightly though when Sebastian makes a quick quip about Valtteri’s blond — Seriously, Lewis, Sebastian thinks, half fond — hair.

He looks less like a scrunched up tissue someone used to blow their nose with. Sebastian tells him this. He catches Lewis’s badly smothered eye roll in the sleek reflective black of Mercedes’ desks.

He even makes Lewis laugh, startled, when he asks him if he managed to get laid while Sebastian was gone.

“So,” Niki says, sitting down beside Lewis in his motorhome. Lewis hums, pulling out his earbuds. Sebastian is slumped on the floor, back against the opposite wall. They’re waiting to be called for the post practise debrief.

“So.”

The half grin, all teeth and eyes squishing up, that Lewis sends Niki reminds Sebastian of Formula Three. His fingers itch for a steering wheel.

“Are you going to introduce me to your soulmate anytime before I die?”

Lewis goes very still. Stupidly, damningly, his eyes dart to Sebastian before he looks back at Niki.

Niki raises his eyebrows. He, eerily, manages to look Sebastian directly in the eyes. Sebastian waves. Just in case.

Niki’s expression doesn’t change.

Sebastian’s exhale could be a laugh.

“Well?” Niki nudges. “I am not getting older, you know?”

“Jesus, Nik,” Lewis says, automatically, like it’s rote. “I’ve told you. Stop making those jokes.”

“You’re the one who calls me ‘old man’.”

“It’s a term of endearment!”

Niki stares at him down. For the first time in Sebastian’s life — and death — he watches as Lewis Hamilton gives in.

“I don’t need to introduce you. You already know him.”

“Knew him,” Sebastian corrects. Lewis ignores him.

Niki watches Lewis for a moment longer. Lewis, resolutely, refuses to look away.

“This is ridiculous,” Sebastian informs him.

“Hello, Sebastian,” Niki says, and for the second time in not even five minutes, Sebastian wonders if Niki can see him. He doesn’t bother waving this time but it is a little freaky.

“I hate you,” Lewis tells him, sulkily.

“Yes,” Niki says, patting him on the shoulder. “I know.”

“How did you know?”

Sebastian isn’t sure if Lewis is asking how Niki knew that Lewis had a dead soulmate or how he knew that dead soulmate was Sebastian.

“Hmm, last year, you were weird. Weirder after Sebastian. Not how Nigel was, with Elio, or Michael, with Aryton.” Niki doesn’t take his eyes off of Lewis. His voice and face is softer than Sebastian has ever heard or seen. “Just. Weird. And still too, after Nico left.”

Lewis swallows thickly. “Right.”

“Some of me hoped.” Niki stops. He looks over at where Lewis looked earlier, when he is steadily refusing to look now. “When James died, I looked out for him.”

He shrugs. There is something hanging heavy in his face. “We knew each other too well in life, maybe. Or that was all the time we were given. More than most.”

“Yeah.”

Lewis meets Sebastian’s eyes. Sebastian looks back at him.

“And,” Niki says. He reaches a hand behind them and raps on the wall. “These are a bit thin too. I heard you talking to someone, once or twice.”

“Fuck off,” Lewis laughs. He scrubs an open palm down his face.

Niki reaches over to pat his cheek firmly. “You are sleeping better, this is good. Keep it up.”

“Aye, cap’n,” Lewis says dryly.

5.

Jenson: you cheatying slag

Jenson: i knoiw 4 a FACT that you dont know all the wdcs off by heart

Jenson: usinh seb as your own fuckinh wiki is wrong

Jenson: always knew you were a cheater aty your core. fernando warned me about you LOL

Jenson: also. tell seb hes a nerd

[akito-shinonome-daily]

Can you put Akito in the Marianna Trench?

➥ chibi akito is going into the mariana trench?!

➥ getting deeper…

➥ oh, looks like there’s some others down here!

➥ wait, akito, how’d you get down there with no equipment anyways..? and in your school clothes no less…

[howlsofbloodhounds]

TW: SENSITIVE TOPICS??

Because Color canonically almost died. (if it weren't for Gaster having to pick up the broken pieces that were left of him when trying to escape the void) do you think Color would be this desperate and suicidal for freedom? Has he gained his kindness to save Killer from knowing how it feels to be caged in pits of despair and darkness?

-COUGHZ.. one of your mutuals:3 (GUESS WHICH ONE!!)

i cannot guess because i cannot handle being publicly wrong and also embarrassed ever. /hj

but i am also not good at remembering moot names except for a few, and also i have a moot with a typing quirk where the ‘s’ in words are replaced with Z’s. Like thiz. so that stands out.

but i can only think of 3 moots rn who talk about color as much as i do (theres probably more but these r all i can remember). those are Ozzie, toffee, and ano. but i ultimately have no way of knowing 😔. I don’t appreciate being put on the spot like this, anon. /lh

and i dont think he gained kindness from this exactly, but rather his experience gave him first hand understanding of the feelings—he can tell when someone is only doing or saying they want something because it’ll appease others, convincing themselves they want it too, and so that makes everything okay.

i think he is always pretty kind, even without understanding something or someone, but his understanding and his perseverance and patience in trying to understand is what stands out to killer particularly. his kindness also stands out a lot too, but so does the sense of intense injustice color feels on his behalf.

so i think its a mix of personal understanding, perseverance in trying to understand when he fails to initially, kindness, and his sense of justice (such as his belief that another’s autonomy should always be respected and protected) that spurs him into trying to find a right way to approach killer. his bravery to keep trying and integrity are spurred on by the more he starts to understand, and relate.

so i think that even if color couldn’t personally relate, he’d still try to save killer—because he can see how it feels, all over his face. he can see how his words do not match his actions do not match his facial expressions. but it’s because he knows how it feels, has experience with it, that he gets anywhere with killer at all. because that understanding signaled safety for stage 1.

which was another big hang up killer had with swap—that swap didn’t, couldn’t, know what he feels, despite how swap claimed to know how killer “doesn’t want this” and “wants to saved.”

because how in the world could swap know these things about killer, when he himself doesn’t even know what he wants. color understands this, and how it feels—and he doesn’t approach killer from a “i know what’s good for you” angle.

he’s able to see that killer doesn’t truly want what he says he does in Stage 2 (that he’s not happy with what he currently has and what he currently does, despite all his claims about the fun he’s having and the player wants it so he wants it, and how nightmare “asked” him to, and he wants this he wants this and every single rational he can come up with that’ll make it all okay and something he chose to do rather than something he couldn’t even say no to) and he attempts to get him to admit that and be honest with himself for once, but he doesn’t ever say killer has to do this, or do that, or think this. just that he should stop hurting himself for others—something color knows all too well.

it is killer that asks to be saved, because he wants to be. and he tells color this because he can tell that color understands—which is also probably the reason why killer kept trying to push him away.

why he keeps pushing him away in stage 2–because killer definitely wouldn’t like someone trying to understand him when he’s like that. his whole thing is trying to remain unpredictable, and not give anyone any power or control over him—especially not over his mind.

he just needs awhile to realize and trust that color has no intentions to cause him harm, and isn’t trying to hurt him by “taking away” what he knows and rather it is what he knows that is hurting him.

Alexa, play Hey Ya! by OutKast.

off topic, but i love that color never rushed killer to make any type of choice—just was there to help, support, and challenge him. make him aware how the situation he’s in now isn’t helping him at all and it doesn’t have to be that way, that theres always something new out there and he’s willing to show him—however long it takes, whenever he’s ready, if killer ever wants it. that this life isn’t the only option left available to him.

[negativepeanuthoarder]