#he has a temper but by no means hot blooded and usually keeps it under control he just has a sense of justice

[no1ryomafan]

I do not bother to check if Getter and Big O ever interacted in SRW because I’m so use to the other mechas I like being in the same game as getter but being so different that they never have any story reasons to have interactions since Getter is only ever allowed to interact with mazinger, OG gundam and any other combiners + it’s all in untranslated hell so I won’t even know wtf was said if there WERE interactions but god damn it I keep rotating a scenario where Roger negotiates to get Ryoma out of jail even though I know for a fact that DIDNT happen despite how many times they used arma and how Z2 actually adapted it fucking correctly for once but it’s just so funny to imagine.

[ann1eee]

Shinazugawa Sanemi’s SFW+ NSFW Alphabet

Minors dni :)

A• Aftercare

Sanemi isn’t very vocal about his love for you, but that doesn’t mean he has no other way of showing it. He spends the time after sex to rub your back, run you a hot bath and shower you with kisses. He feeds you your favourite food after sex, and kisses your forehead. His favourite way to show his love is to run his fingers down your back and gently kiss your shoulders.

B• Bedroom attire

Sanemi loves when you wear his clothes to bed. Seeing you in one of his t shirts or even a formal shirt makes his blood rush down there. Bonus points if you aren’t wearing anything except his shirt, and smell just like him. He’ll be kissing you before you notice him. If you decide to wear lingerie to bed, he ends up ripping it in order to get it off you as quick as possible.

C• Capacity

Sanemi’s job requires him to reach the peak of his physical and mental abilities. That applies to the bedroom, as well. He has endless stamina, and enough strength to manhandle you however you wish, and try out any new position on your mind. He can go as long as you want, but usually decides to stop after round 5 or 6. That is if you can handle it.

D• D1ck!

Sanemi is a big boy, 6 inches soft and 7.5 fully hard. His base is medium brown, and a pink tip to match. His dick is mostly straight, a small curve downward. He cums a lot, and cums hard. He likes teasing you by wearing pants where his bulge is visible. Loves it when you sit on him.

E• Experience

You’re definitely his first. As a demon slayer, he doesn’t have time for frivolous relationships, sexual or not. But after developing those feelings for you, he can’t help but feel attached and rethink his lifestyle choices. If he’s your first, you both spend your nights softly giggling as you try new things together. If he’s not, you spend nights smirking as you teach him how to use his tongue, hands, face and dick;)

F• Favourite body part

Sanemi loves your ass and your hips. Doesn’t matter if you’re under him or on him, his hands will always be on your ass at least thrice. Nonetheless, seeing your cleavage in public makes his head feel light, and you spend the rest of your time asking him to wait till you get home.

G• Gifts

Sanemi often buys you gifts as a way of showing his appreciation and love for you, since he doesn’t do well with words. He tries his best to make you happy, whatever way he sees fit. He likes gifting you necklaces and clothes. His favourite colours on you are white and blue. If you ever gift him anything, he’d first be shocked at receiving it, but he’d treasure it more than anything he owns. He smiles softly as he thinks about it.

H• Hair Down There

Sanemi likes keeping himself groomed, not only for you but also himself. If you admit to liking his happy trail, he tries even harder to keep it the perfect length and shape. He doesn’t shave himself bald, neither does he let it grow too much.

I• Irritating!

Sanemi has a short temper. He’s almost always irritated by something or the other. Yet, he tries to control his anger around you, considering the type of household he grew up in (the last thing he wants is to do something around you that reminds him of his father around his mother) But, there are times he just can’t control himself, like if you were hurt when he wasn’t around to protect you. He’d definitely be the type to yell at you after he makes sure you’re alive and in one piece.

J• Jealousy

Sanemi is THE MOST jealous person you know, and he has no shame to hide it either. He’s not into pda too much, unless he sees a man even remotely shooting his shot with you. Cue Sanemi flinging his arm around your waist and staring daggers at the poor man, who awkwardly shuffles away. He makes sure to let you know that you are his, and he’s yours. If you’re the one getting jealous, he’s gonna be spending the whole time staring at you and smirking. He kisses you hard in front of everyone you think wants him.

K• Kiss Kiss!

Sanemi’s kisses are the most intense, and they leave you breathless for a good minute. He likes to wrap one arm around your waist, and the other holding your chin. His tongue roughly snakes into your mouth as he pulls you closer. Sometimes he pins you to a wall and wraps your legs around his waist to kiss you deeper.

L• Lewd

Sanemi is hesitant at first, but after a while of being with you, he shows off his lewd side both in bed and otherwise. He’s open to trying new things, and teases you about them the next morning. His favourite thing to do at home is have sex in different spots- kitchen counter, bathroom, sofa, or the training grounds in his mansion when no one else is around to catch you. He sneakily touches your ass or your chest out in public, or drags you to a secluded corner to make out. 10/10 freak

M• Masturbation

Before meeting you, Sanemi masturbated once or twice a week, just to keep healthy and let out the pent up frustrations. He’d much rather train than waste his energy and time on pleasuring himself. After meeting you, he masturbates maybe once a month, if he’s away from you on a mission. He thinks about the way you look while he fucked you, and the sweet sounds you make.

N• No!

Sanemi’s biggest turn off in the bedroom is pain. No matter how freaky you two get, he’ll never agree to do something to deliberately cause you pain, whether you like it or not. He goes rough, yes, but only what you can handle. He’ll never willingly hit you or make sex painful for you.

O• Oral?

Sanemi loves going down on you more than you going down on him. He likes to watch your face as your expression turns into one of pleasure, and he doesn’t stop until you’re in total and utter bliss. He goes down on you until you whine and blabber, and only once he thinks you’ve reached your breaking point will he fuck you.

P• Positions

Sanemi’s favourite position is doggy. He loves your ass, and he loves grabbing your hair as he hits it from behind. He’ll spank you and leave light red handprints on your ass every time you’re in doggy. His second favourite is when you ride him. He’s extra soft with you when you’re on top of him, and offers you neck kisses and hickeys as he guides your hips up and down.

Q• Questionable

Sanemi’s weirdest turn on is you being cockier than him and standing up to him. He is used to people being scared of him and running away from him, so he doesn’t expect any different from you. But when you actually stand up to him and show him you’re not scared of him, he finds it amusing. This carries on to your relationship, where you being cocky even as a joke gets him hot and bothered.

R• Rare

Something you don’t see often when it comes to Sanemi is him talking to you about his past and his family. He rarely ever opens up when it comes to his experiences, and deals with it mostly on his own. One time he beautifully braided your hair and when you asked him where he learnt to braid, he grew silent. After a few minutes of you looking at him expectantly, he told you about how he used to braid his little sisters’ hair back when they were younger. Your expression softened but he didn’t answer when you asked him more questions about his childhood. Slowly but surely, he starts to open up more about his past and you’re always there supporting and encouraging him to share his life with you.

S• Sex

Sex with Sanemi is passionate, rough, and leaves you sore and unable to walk for a few days. He’s always there for you after sex, and makes sure to give you lots of affection and care. You usually have sex once every other day, unless he’s back from a long mission- which means you’ll be going multiple rounds every day. He always makes sure you’re comfortable or up for it, and never ever forces you to do it if you’re not in the mood.

T• Tolerance

Sanemi is a heavyweight, but he almost never drinks. Drinking has been a negative thing for Sanemi ever since he was a little kid. Alcohol made his dad beat his mother and siblings, and he feels too much like his dad when he drinks. If you like drinking and insist on taking him out for drinks, he’ll agree but keep a count on the number of drinks he’s had. He doesn’t get drunk easily, and takes care of you when you do. He never does intimate things with you after you drink, even if you insist on it.

U• Uncomfortable

Something that makes Sanemi extremely uncomfortable is talking about his feelings and expressing himself through his words. He’s not very expressive that way, and if you’re expecting someone who showers you with words of love and affection, he’s not the one for you. He prefers showing his love through his actions and the way he treats you.

V• Vocal!

Sanemi absolutely loves it when you make sounds in bed. He loves knowing he has that much of an effect on you, and kisses your neck everytime you make a sound. He himself is not very vocal, he mostly groans and breathes loudly with his mouth. He doesn’t moan too loudly and doesn’t scream.

W• Wildcard

Sanemi loves leaving hickeys and marks all over your body. He likes the thought of making other people uncomfortable when they notice the marks on your neck and chest. He also loves it when you leave marks on him, making sure to widen his jacket even more and show them off to anyone who sees him. He smirks to himself and asks you to leave even more marks when he comes back home.

X/Y• Yuck!

Sanemi’s ick is someone who is completely casual about their life. He loathes people who have unserious attitudes about important things in their lives. He loves someone who is driven about their goals and plans. He finds hardwork extremely attractive.

Z• ZzZ

Sanemi sleeps extremely less. Being a demon slayer, he’s always busy on missions and has to stay vigilant at all times. He usually sleeps after a mission, for a few hours. He’s a light sleeper and is almost always exhausted due to lack of proper sleep. After you insisted on him getting more sleep, he complies but only sleeps well when you’re in his arms.

[roosterbox]

Heyyyyyyy Steddie thinky thought time again! And I’m putting it under a cut because, YET AGAIN, my hand slipped and I accidentally almost 2,000 words.

Tags: ANGST, miscommunication, HOH!Steve, Mean-and-Overly-Defensive!Eddie

So picture this, if you will…

High school AU. Probably no Upside-Down. Steve is deaf/HOH. He signs, but he knows that not everyone else does, and so few take the time to learn, especially not for him, so he usually carries around a notepad too. Just in case. Someone (probably Dustin, lbr) asks him to sit in on a Hellfire meeting. Heck, maybe even asks him to join. Steve is unsure, but he’s open to new experiences and Dustin always makes his favorite club sound really awesome (also the guy who runs the club is super cool and hot too, but shhhhhh). So sure - he’ll check it out.

The day comes and Steve gets there early. Like really early. In fact, he’s there before anyone else. Which is fine; he can use the extra free time to do a little homework, right? Thing is though, he’s so focused on his notebook that he doesn’t notice somebody else come in - Eddie. And there are four important things to note about Eddie.

He doesn’t know Steve is deaf.

He doesn’t know that Steve has been explicitly invited here by Dustin.

He knows Steve only by his reputation. So, not good.

He’s as protective of his club and the kids in it as a mama bear.

Needless to say, these four factors combine into a perfect storm, and Eddie is immediately on the offensive.

“Hey!” He says. “Hey, Harrington!” He continues when he gets no acknowledgement. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

No answer. Steve doesn’t even look at him. Just keeps writing in his notebook.

“Hey asshole! I’m talking to you!” Eddie’s volume is rising, as is his temper. Despite his uncle’s best efforts, Eddie’s never been the best at keeping cool. But, man, the disrespect. It tends to eat at him. And coming from King Steve of all people? Oooooooh doesn’t that just make his blood boil. Eddie stalks over to where Steve is sitting. If he thinks he’s gonna waltz in there and tease or humiliate any of Eddie’s little sheepies, he’s got another thing coming.

Steve, meanwhile, is just happily doing his homework. Maybe doodling a little in the margins. Wondering if Eddie looks as cool running the club as he does around school. Especially when he’s up on the lunch tables ranting about conformity. He’s so lost in thought that a sudden hand on his arm shocks him out of his chair, up to his feet. And just like that, he’s face to face with his secret crush, the one and only Eddie Munson. He smiles, but only for a moment as he sees Eddie’s furious expression. The other boy’s lips are moving. A little fast, but Steve does his best to read them.

“-hell are you doing here, Harrington? This isn’t one of your stupid jock sports teams. If you’re here to hurt these kids-“

Steve’s eyes widen. He tries to sign something. No, no.

Eddie sees Steve looking scared, waving his hands. It only serves to make him angrier. Steve sees he’s getting nowhere with sign, so he grabs his notepad and starts writing. He can still see Eddie saying something in his periphery, and he tries to write fast. To clear up any misunderstanding.

But then. Eddie goes too far. He manages to hit on one of Steve’s biggest insecurities mid-rant. And then he keeps digging at it. Steve stops writing and just… stares. Like a dog, Eddie cannot let go of the bone he’s found, so he keeps going. Insert any list of your favorite Steve insecurities here. His upbringing. His (bad) relationship with his parents. His reputation (which Steve hates so much). His intelligence. His fighting skills or lack thereof (poor Steve: getting beat up in every universe). And the worst part is how mean Eddie is about it. The kids tease Steve too, and yeah sometimes it hurts, but it’s never felt as outright cruel as it does when Eddie says it.

Steve’s eyes fill with tears, despite his best efforts, and while Eddie is mid sentence, Steve decides he’s had enough. He shoves his notepad at Eddie, into his chest, eliciting a surprised huffed exhale, before grabbing his bag and just running. He runs out the door, out of the building, to his car, and drives himself home. He doesn’t stop crying for hours.

Eddie, after the surprise of Steve shoving him and running out, just rolls his eyes. “Typical,” he mutters under his breath. “Fucking prick.”

He looks down at the notepad in his hands, still mad but also curious as to what Steve had thought was so important that he just had to start scribbling it down while Eddie yelled at him. And…

Not here to hurt, I swear. Dustin invited me. He’s like my little brother. I’m deaf - sorry couldn’t hear you talking. I’ve seen you around, and I think you’re pretty cool. I’ve never played DND before, but Dustin really loves it. Maybe I could-

That’s as far as it went. And man. Imagine the feeling of your heart sinking, dropping down past your stomach, through the ground itself before finally coming to a stop in the molten core of the earth. Imagine that, and you may experience a fraction of the almost instantaneous levels of guilt Eddie feels at that moment. All at once he thinks of how Steve had looked at him after he first got his attention. He had smiled. Fucking grinned. He was happy to see him. Happy to be there. Eager to see what Hellfire was all about. Eager to learn.

And Eddie had just taken that happiness, that earnest interest, and stomped on it. Crushed it utterly beneath his sneakers as if it were a cigarette butt.

The other guys start filing in. Including Dustin. But before he can say anything (maybe to ask where Steve is, and why the hell does Eddie have his notepad), Eddie shoves past them out the door.

“Eddie, what-“ Jeff starts.

“I’ll be right back,” Eddie calls over his shoulder as he quickly makes his way outside. Just in time to see Steve’s car speeding out of the parking lot. He curses, loud enough that a few students still milling about jump at the unexpected noise. Eddie doesn’t care. He messed up. He really fucking messed up, didn’t he?

He makes it up to Steve eventually. It takes time, of course; Steve’s trust is a hard thing to earn even on a good day, but after that first encounter? They’re not just starting at zero; they’re practically starting at -1000. He starts small. Little exchanges here and there. Usually with Dustin (or, occasionally, Steve’s best friend Robin, who looks at Eddie like she would flay him alive if Steve gave her the word) acting as a sort of buffer. It takes almost half a dozen of these group encounters before Steve says (writes) a single word to him, and even then it’s perfunctory. Cold. Simple. And it definitely hurts, just a little, especially since Eddie’s crush that he’s had on Steve since freshman year has been steadily growing with every exchange they have. As monosyllabic (if even syllabic at all) as they tend to be on Steve’s part. But every time he feels that hurt, Eddie thinks of how Steve had looked at him when he left the club that day. How sad and angry and frustrated. And he pushes his own (tiny, inconsequential by comparison) hurt aside. I can do more, he thinks.

One day, he manages to corner Steve on his own, without Dustin or Robin. Steve is annoyed - he still gets that sinking feeling of hurt whenever he’s with Eddie (which is enhanced (terribly so) by the stupid crush he has), and immediately pulls out his notepad. Starts writing on it. Something simple and to the point. Leave Me Alone. Or maybe Go Away. He gets as far as the first word before he realizes that Eddie isn’t talking. Not aloud, anyway. No, he’s signing. A bit clumsily, and a few of the words are wrong but close enough to understand. One sign is chief among them, though.

I’m sorry.

And in that moment, maybe, it hits home for Steve that Eddie really means it. Means it enough to try and learn an entirely new language to meet Steve where he is. He looks in Eddie’s eyes and he can see the guilt and shame swimming there. The hurt is still in him, that’s not going away with one apology (though this isn’t the first one Eddie has given him, of course), but still. Steve scratches out what he had been writing in favor of something else. After a second, he hands Eddie the paper.

I can’t forgive you. Not yet. You really hurt me. But thank you. When did you start learning to sign?

He sees Eddie’s eyes get a little watery as he reads, but then he’s handed back the notepad. He had thought that Eddie might take the easier route and just write it down, but no. Instead, with his hands free, Eddie continues signing.

A couple days ago. Stayed up all night. His cheeks were darkening. Blushing in shame at his rudimentary skills. Bad at it. Sorry.

And maybe it’s just because Eddie is one of only a handful of people Steve has met that have taken it upon themselves to learn sign, or maybe it’s that damn crush he can’t seem to lose, but Steve shakes his head. No, he signs, trying to keep it simple. Good.

Eddie looks away, signing Bad again. Steve touches his hand, the first point of actual physical contact they’ve had since that day at the Hellfire Club. Their eyes meet, and Steve signs, with as much emphasis as he can, GOOD. And then, Thank You.

Eddie looks down, suddenly feeling oddly shy. He’s still blushing but he also can’t help but smile. There’s the ghost of a dimple on his cheek, making Steve’s heart give a weak little flutter.

You’re welcome, Eddie signs.

After a long moment, Steve writes something down. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Eddie with signs yet. Not to mention that he doesn’t know how deep his (apparently only days-old) knowledge base goes. Best to go easy on him.

Maybe we could… start over?

He holds it up for Eddie to read, face a picture of inquisitive hope. The other boy nods, starts trying to sign, but gets frustrated rather quickly before holding out his hand for the notepad. Steve chuckles and hands it over, not missing the way Eddie’s blush deepens even further at the sound he probably made. Maybe his crush isn’t as one-sided as he’d been thinking.

Yes! Absolutely! If we are, then consider this your “first” official invitation to the Hellfire Club. Today, after school. (There’s a “I” here but it’s scribbled out) We would love to have you there.

I’ll be there, Steve writes. And, after Eddie reads it, he makes sure to get the other boy’s attention before he slowly signs the same thing. I’ll be there.

[carrymelikeimcute]

I'm in my feels again so lets talk about Izzy Hands and violence.

I read a novel ages ago, where an older guy takes a young orphan boy under his wing and teaches him a trade - it's medieval times and said boy becomes a young adult and wants a sword, but his pseudo-father/boss/friend tells him he can't have one, because if he has one, he'll draw it and if he draws it, he could be killed. The safest thing is, paradoxically, to carry no weapons. To learn control of one's temper and control over your surroundings.

The scenes of Izzy and Stede in ep.7 at Jackie's reminded me of that novel.

Obviously Izzy has weapons, tends to put his hand on his sword during arguments and we do see him fighting and killing people. HOWEVER, I think it's really interesting that, given how often we talk about Izzy being repressed (emotionally/sexually/gender-ly) and how controlled he attempts to be, we don't often talk about his controlled approach to violence.

A lot of fic characterises him as someone who is hot tempered and violent, but looking at s1 with fresh eyes, between him and Ed, he's definitely not just the cooler head when it comes to instigating violence, but the one who takes less interest in violence for its own sake as a performance - e.g. Ed's very creative instructions with the tiny fork, the toe thing etc vs Izzy just stabbing Stede. It's a means to an end.

Don't think I'm not saying he has a fucking temper and a half, because he obviously does, but that seems to mostly be vented non-violently through yelling - not yelling at strangers either, but at people he knows and can (usually) judge where the line is.

Until he puts a toe over that line and...oops.

On first meeting Stede, Izzy cuts up his shirt without actually hurting him. It's a threat, but he hasn't drawn blood, hasn't started anything violent...yet. It's almost a display intended to dissuade actual fighting, by showing your potential opponent that they're probably going to lose.

I think one of the reasons Izzy's so annoyed about their losses in the battle with the Spanish is that it's not their fight. They didn't get anything from it - it was pointless (to him, not to Ed obvs). He wants to avoid facing the Spanish again in the following episode, because they stand to lose more than they will gain.

Even when he's actively calling for Ed to kill Stede, he isn't fussy about how. (And he uses manipulation to keep his hands clean - something he does again when selling Ed out to the navy.) Stede needs to be gone, and this is the easiest way to do that. And when he does finally lose it he doesn't just attack Stede without warning - it's within the controlled setting of a duel, which, when Stede starts improvising, breaks down Izzy's control and leads to him becoming emotional, making a mistake and getting his sword broken.

In s2 the pointlessness of the raids is obviously getting to him, disrupting a wedding for no real gain. Losing Ivan for nothing. I don't think the violence is what bothers him, he's a very active participant, but the fact that it's not for anything - it's not enough of a reward in and of itself. (It's like not really caring one way or the other about being a barista, it's just what you do and it's fine, but then suddenly you're not being paid and also your boss keeps burning you with the steam wand on purpose and you just sort of wish you could just get on with your job and make rent like before.)

S1 Izzy seems to lack the whimsy and imagination that Ed/Stede bring to piracy and to violence, but that doesn't make him stupid. They're playing some kind of made-up game that only they know the rules for, and he's trying to play chess with everyone, even when the rules are only a burden to him.

When we see him training, he's being a dramatic candlelit bitch, but he's also measuring his movements, focusing intently and not just hacking away at everything. Even the candles are interesting to me in this context - we see him playing with candles several times in S1/2 and while yes, there is a certain amount of 'Izzy likes pain' in there to unpick, it's also kind of a metaphor for control - fire is one of the most dangerous things to have on a 'wooden vessel' but a candle is like a tiny pet fire that you control - so long as you're careful and respectful. It's all about risk management, respecting dangerous forces and being aware.

When Stede kills Ned, Izzy looks impressed, even seems to smile for a second, but then he looks more subdued and tells Ed that the first kill is a head-fuck. It's like he's proud of Stede being ABLE to kill, but regretful that Stede CHOSE to kill in a situation where it wasn't necessary at all.

I don't think for a moment that Izzy regrets killing most of the people he kills as part of pirate life, but I think he would regret killing someone he didn't have to. Most people wouldn't want to carry that around with them.

We see in ep7. that Izzy is well respected at Jackie's. He tells bigger guys than him to fuck off and just takes people's chairs. He gets called 'Mr. Hands' instead of by his first name. There's a lot of respect there and I think some of it comes from his reputation with Ed, but also, from people knowing that he's not insane - he can be treated respectfully and everything will be fine for all involved. He's not some menace that's going to stab you as likely as pat you on the back.

For all that people are afraid of Blackbeard (and maybe slightly in awe of Stede as of the Ned thing) for their unpredictable natures and occasional violent outbursts, people are still attacking them or pandering to them, actual respect is something else entirely.

Later, Izzy doesn't pull a weapon and tries to discourage Stede from doing so, even tries to get him to leave to prevent a fight from starting. In the fight, he smashes a stool over someone and doesn't just start killing people - it's an appropriate level of violence for the situation, not an escalation.

It feels like Izzy is very much in that place of controlling himself, being aware and knowing when and how to use force practically, proportionally and effectively. This might be age related, but it's also a big part of his personality. I think that's also why he looks impressed by what Zheng does to Steak Knife (rip) because it's so precise, bloodless and quick. She's basically the best captain for him - she's efficient and controlled.

It's easy to confuse 'is willing to kill' with 'is eager to kill'. I don't think Izzy necessarily loathes that part of his job, he seems ambivalent, but it is still a job to him. It's what pirates do, much as the crew of the Revenge do still kill people, it's just part of their life and not some kind of performance or fun activity. It's work, and it's hard and it's unpleasant and if something can be done an easier way - a smarter way - then that's probably the best way.

[nothinggold13]

On Peter and Violence

I think there’s two popular fanon camps regarding Peter Pevensie’s relationship with violence, and though there are certainly plenty of others who, like me, would disagree with both of them, it is those two versions of Peter that I keep seeing pop up again and again.

The first is that of the powerful, raging, warrior king: the version of Peter that speaks more to his mythologized persona within the books than the Peter we actually witness and interact with inside the narrative. His temper is hot, and his sword is fast, and his legacy is soaked in blood. It’s this Peter that lends itself so readily to the (equally fanon) idea that Edmund is the more diplomatic of the two.

The second is that of the pacifist. This idea of Peter is opposed to violence, and only fights under great duress, or because he has been given no other choice; it’s the version of his character that people have snatched from a deleted scene in the “Prince Caspian” film in which he claims he is “thinking about a career in medicine,” and in doing so, distances himself from the war back home. (Although, I would also blame the PC film for the angry, impulsive version of Peter who dominates too much of the fandom; that movie’s interpretation of him is a tragedy.)

Now, of the two, I would prefer the second. It’s at least marginally truer to the boy who “didn’t feel very brave” but did his duty in “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,” and I appreciate that. However, I also have a personal vendetta against the extreme version of this viewpoint which prioritizes Peter’s peaceful nature over his dutiful courage, and this is why I’m writing out what I believe are the nuances of his character that sometimes get overlooked in favour of idolizing either his strength or his softness.

There is a statement in my mind to describe him that I avoid using, because I know it requires more context than I usually want to give, but here and now, we’ll call it my thesis: Peter prefers problems he can hit.

I don’t think Peter is a violent character. Genuinely, I don’t. And so I imagine those two statements seem pretty contradictory, because how can he not be violent, if violence is also the ideal solution to his problems?

Well, here’s the thing: Peter’s growing up in a war. Heck, he’s growing up in two.

He’s thirteen in the first book, and World War II is breaking out above him, and, more than that, there is nothing he can do about it. What could he do? He’s a kid.

And then, suddenly, he’s in a new world. They tell him he’s meant to be there. They give him a sword, and he takes it silently. They tell him he will be king.

We see him in his fight with the wolf: “Peter did not feel very brave; indeed, he felt he was going to be sick. But that made no difference to what he had to do.” We are told there that violence is not something he takes to lightly; it is a matter of duty for him: to the country that stands behind him, and his sister who is in harm’s way.

He fights a battle. Years pass, and he fights more. He returns to the war he is powerless to fight against, and then finds himself King again, where he comes up with a plan to fight a duel which -- if everything had gone to plan -- would have put no one but himself at risk.

Yes, Peter is steeped in violence. C. S. Lewis tells us at the end of “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,” that he is a “great warrior,” and when he is mentioned in “The Horse and His Boy,” it is said he’s off battling giants. He is High King, and as such, he has to be a soldier. He chooses to be a soldier. He consistently fights, especially so that others may not have to. He fights to protect. To shield. To provide freedom.

And then he goes back home, and is trapped under war again.

Depending on his birthday, Peter turns eighteen around the time of the end of World War II, meaning I have no reason to believe he ever fought within it; however, National Service continued after the war. And this is where I thought that Peter, ever being driven by duty, would sign up without question. It’s what would be expected of him. And, even more, it’s what he’s been doing for years for a country that isn’t his anymore; how could he not do the same for England?

(I put that in a fic. I had a scene where Peter, freshly eighteen, confessed to Susan he would still have to serve, and Susan said, “But not in the war, and I’m glad of that.” And then -- because it was what Peter did within canon time and time again -- I had him tell her, “But I hope you understand that I’d fight for you. For all of you. If my fighting had any chance of helping to keep you all safe, I would go.” ......And somebody told me that was out of character.)

I don’t mind if somebody really likes the idea of Peter becoming a doctor rather than a soldier. Truly, I understand the appeal. But I do have a problem when somebody tells me I’m wrong for believing Peter would continue to do what he had always canonically done after coming back to England.

Because Peter does have a relationship with violence. He doesn’t have a love for it, but he has been tangled in the necessity of it too many times not to follow through when it needs to be done.

And what happens when you raise a boy in war? What happens when you let him fight it? What happens when he learns the chain reaction: fight the battle, win the war, set them free? And then what happens when you put him into situations that can’t be solved with his hands? Give him enemies he can’t fight? Give him wars he can’t be a part of?

And that’s what I mean by “Peter prefers problems he can hit.”

Not that Peter rushes to violence when it isn’t called for, or that he craves war when he finds himself in peace, or anything else of that angry, vicious nature that some people have come to believe--- Gosh, I think Peter would far rather lay the sword down than ever have to pick it up again.

(But it’s what he does. Time after time.)

Peter is a big brother, ever looking after the others. Peter is the High King, ever doing what Narnia requires. Peter is the loyal servant, ever following Aslan’s instruction. Even if it scares him, it’s what he does.

So I don’t think he likes feeling helpless. I think he likes knowing what to do, and I think intangible problems drive him a little crazy, and I think a sword is a very physical thing that has served him well too many times.

Despite my very obvious complaints against “Prince Caspian’s” movie characterization here, I have to say that this is something I love about “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” Peter’s older in the film than he is in the book. He’s closer to going to war himself. And what do we see him do? We see him distracted by passing soldiers-- not much older than himself. We see him reading on the train: “Biggles Goes To War.” We see him consumed by the war, even up to the point that he mimics WWII battle strategies against the Witch’s army.

This is the Peter I’m talking about: the one who feels sick at violence, and shakes and cries and hugs his sisters when its done, and yet...... does it. Every time.

I feel like there’s a dozen things I may be missing, but I think that’s the gist: Peter’s an unwilling soldier who doesn’t know how to put down his sword.

He’s a great warrior, but not an indiscriminate one. He’s a gentle spirit, but not a passive one. Violence made him, but he is so much more than his violent acts. He’s complex. He’s dutiful. He’s faithful. He’s capable. He fights because he has to, and as long as it’s asked of him, he will continue to do it.

So that’s where I stand. That’s why I may seem to show contradictory versions of Peter throughout my fics and edits and commentary; why I may say he’s not violent and then paint an image of him that ties him to violence anyway.

Whether you disagree is your prerogative. This is, by nature, a nuance-based take, and while I do think there’s wrong interpretations of Peter Pevensie out there, I also believe that there is a lot of room within that nuance for various interpretations to be equally right. This isn’t me making an end-all-and-be-all analysis that everyone else must follow to the letter.

This is just me explaining -- for myself or for anyone else who cares to listen -- what I believe, and how it affects the things I create. <3 So there’s my take on Peter’s complicated relationship with violence: the way it coats him, and yet, doesn’t define him: the way he’s so softhearted, and yet not himself without it.

“For never since we four were Kings and Queens in Narnia have we set our hands to any high matter, as battles, quests, feats of arms, acts of justice, and the like, and then given over; but always what we have taken in hand, the same we have achieved." ~Peter [The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: Chapter XVII: The Hunting of the White Stag]

Disclaimer: none of this is anti-Aslan “look how he traumatized this poor boy” propaganda, and if that is your viewpoint, kindly do not interact with this post. :)

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

GRAND! NOW I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT WEREWOLF!THORIN😤

RA Masterlist

Thorin is moody and bad-tempered, which doesn’t make him particularly popular with the villagers. Hence is why he’s the outsider.

Not that he minds. He keeps himself occupied with woodworking and carpeting, perfectly content to be left alone and only conduct business when necessary.

Tends to wear his hair in a messy though charming man bun.

Also, lots of flannel shirts.

You two get off on the wrong foot, meeting a few days after your arrival in the village.

''So, this is the city dweller.” Arms crossed, he appeared at your side when you went to check out the venue for your business. “Tell me, miss, what's a woman like you doing in Scotland?''

“I could ask the same of you,” you said, triggered by the condescending tone in his voice. “What’s a Mid-lander doing up north?”

“Answer the question.”

''I'm here to fix up this building.''

''Why?''

''My grandmother left it to me.''

''Doesn't mean you have to do anything with it. Might as well demolish it or sell it. Look at the place. It's in shambles.''

''But it's what my Nan left me.''

''Wow, what an inheritance.''

''Well, if you must know, I have some people willing to help fix this place. All of who told me they'd appreciate a bakery in town.''

''Any experience running a business?''

''N- No...'' you admitted, avoiding his icy blue eyes.

''Thought as much. You look more like an office worker than a baker.'' He snorted. ''Good luck. It's as dilapidated as the castle ruins.''

Nevertheless, he ended up helping with the renovation after seeing you struggle carrying furniture assembly kits, covered in paint.

Thorin didn’t know how to respond when you told him to take a break and have a cup of coffee.

Neither did he know why he followed your movements and felt awkward when your eyes met for a second. Feigning nonchalance, he averted his gaze to something in the distance, feeling rather hot under the collar.

He’s more wolf than man, so he’s not one for conversation and can be rather rough around the edges.

But he also leaves you flowers or berries he finds in the woods when he makes his usual rounds around his territory.

At first they showed up on your doorstep in a rattan basket without a trace of who sent them. However, when he walked by and saw the happiness on your face when you put the flowers in a vase, he added a note.

His handwriting isn’t the best, but that didn’t matter.

What did is that you finally knew his name.

Yes, only then did you learn it because he didn’t introduce himself while helping you set up the bakery and the villagers only refer to him as “sassenach” or worse.

Lycanthropy has already fully erased the memory of his cousins, who live nearby and keep an eye on him.

Appreciates how you make him breakfast ever since he first showed up on your doorstep after the full moon.

And how could you have turned him away when he's naked, panting, and looking awfully pale?

Thinks it’s adorable how you’re so concerned for him.

But you are because you believe he isn’t the monster the others make him out to be. Deep down, he’s a good man.

It takes some bloody work to help clear his atrocious reputation, though.

Let me clarify what makes it incredibly hard:

He frequently hunts in wolf form and returns all bloody dragging a carcass.

Fights tend to break out in the pub whenever he goes there for a bevvy.

He growls and snarls.

People have seen him skulking around the castle ruins naked early in the morning, sometimes covered in blood and grime.

Thorin gives you apologetic puppy eyes whenever you tell him to be a little nicer.

Recently, he went through a drastic change. It left you gobsmacked to the point you had to consciously make an effort to put down the hot tray with freshly baked bread and properly inspect the man standing at the counter.

“Who are you and what have you done to Thorin?”

“Very funny,” he grumbled, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Seriously, though. What’s the reason for this?”

“You told me to be a little more human, so I cut my hair.”

“I meant in demeanour, not appearance! Also, why listen to what I say? I thought you were too bloody stubborn for that.”

“Be a bit clearer next time. Just because I don’t respond doesn’t mean I’m not listening.” He averted his gaze to the ground. “All that effort for nothing.”

“You look good, though.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.” You crossed your arms and smiled at him to ease his discomfort. “It’s weird to see you with short hair, but I’m sure we’ll both get used to it. Anyway, what do you want for breakfast?”

“The usual.”

“The rough night one?”

“Mhm.”

“Got it. By the way, thank you for the flowers.” You turned back to him for a moment and bounced on your heels. “I really like them.”

“My pleasure.”

He briefly watched you set off to make your famous deluxe breakfast club sandwich as he sat down on one of the stools and leaned on the counter.

There’s a lot he still doesn’t understand when it comes to you.

However, what he knows for sure is that he doesn’t want to forget you. Moreover, the Wolf and him both are strangely fond of you.

And you’re prettier than any flower in the world.

[katiethedane12]

#2, 4, 5, 9, 13, 23, 31, and 42 for Rosemarie, Casey, and Lennon for the OC ask game!!

2. Tea, coffee, hot chocolate or other?

Rosemarie doesn't care much, but she does love peppermint tea

Casey is addicted to coffee. And I mean ADDICTED. please don't try to take it away from him, there will be blood

Lennon loves Boba tea! He picks up a cup every day before work and drinks it throughout the day

4. What do they consider to be an unforgivable action? Why?

Rosemarie would say she could not forgive you if you purposely hurt someone (like killed) for no reason at all. no personal gain, nothing. 

Casey can have a hard time forgiving people when they betray him or his friends. But something he could never forgive is if you betrayed the people closest to you for your own selfish reasons. If you only did it because you wanted power or glory

Lennon forgives easily. So it's kindof hard to imagine anything he couldn't forgive. I suppose it would be killing one of his friends or family and you felt no guilt for it. And also anyone like Morrison who causes pain to people for the fun of it

5. Do they have any nicknames or pet names or other aliases?

Rosemaries's answer is here

Casey doesn't really have an actual nickname that people use regularly.

Lennon gets called lemon. And uh, biker guy…

9. What is your character's trigger point? What makes them angry, sad or makes them go off? 

When people hurt Rosemaries friends/family. She can tolerate a lot, but that goes a step over the line. She can get sad by seeing someone she loves in a lot of pain. 

Casey has a bit of a temper, so he can get angry easily. But it depends on the thing. Sometimes, he gets mad at the slightest annoyance, and other times, people will act awful and he will not care one bit. As for getting sad, he rarely ever does. He almost never shows any type of sad emotions and is great under a lot of pressure. But I suppose thinking something is over, or there is no hope. But again, it depends on the situation 

Lennon doesn't get mad (lol probably). He doesn't show his sad emotions much either, because he is somewhat of a leader in book four and has to keep himself in check so the others don't give up hope. But sometimes he just can't take it anymore and goes into his bedroom and breaks down. Sometimes, it's just so hard, keeping everyone happy all the time, and you need a break.

13. Describe your character's typical wardrobe for the regular day.

Rosemarie's answer is here

Casey typically wears a plain white button up and a sweater/sweater vest over it.

Lennon usually wear jeans, a plain shirt, and his leather motorcycle jacket

23. What is your character's favourite food and who cooks it best?

Rosemarie likes her mom's homemade chicken pot pie

Casey doesn't have a favorite food. He just eats coffee

Lennon loves some kind of roast casserole. Made by his wife (I FORGOT TO MENTION HE'S MARRIED AHHH)

31. Your character has been invited to a masquerade ball. What mask do they wear?

Rosemarie: 

Casey:

Lennon:

42. Does your character celebrate their birthday? If not, why?

Rosemarie does, yes!

Casey does like to. But sometimes he doesn't get around to it because he is “busy”

Lennon celebrates his birthday with his family!

[darthmaulification]

Hey, I want to make a request

In your Maul’s nsfw alphabet you said that he is afraid of hurting reader during sex, right? So, could you please write smth were this happens? Thank you!!

A/N: ..... anon..... the absolute Way you have me experiencing a cataclysm with this... i am imploding... 

thank you very much for requesting this, it was also a very good and welcome challenge for me to write. 😊👍 

hope you enjoy!! 💗

content: a lil bit o’ smut!, some angst??, but also lots of comfort and fluff!!, kinda sorta implied afab!reader??, maul commits a big oopsie on accident, crying during sex, blood and injury, maul gets angry at himself, but also soft!maul 🥺, lots of kissing, happy ending of course 🥰

word count: 2,334

Maul’s vigorous thrusting is complimented deliciously by the sloppy, desperate kisses he leaves all over the skin his mouth can reach. His crimson hands grip your wrists in a vice above your head, keeping them trapped against the bed. You moan into the sheets, arching up against him, hips tilting, silently begging him to go faster, harder, please, Maul...

“Harder, sweet girl?” Maul growls teasingly from above you, answering the plea you hadn’t realized you vocalized. He obeys, and you cry out his name when his hips clash into yours, drilling his cock into you, almost causing your knees to give from the force. The obscene yet beautiful sound of skin smacking together floats into your ears, mingling with Maul’s grunts and your persistent moaning.

Maul presses against you, the fiery skin of his bare chest flush against the arch of your back. The snapping of his hips make you rock in rhythmic tandem, and with each one you feel your peak nearing. Maul groans into the dip of your shoulder blades, his breath hot on the nape of your neck, where he licks across your flushed, dewy skin and leaves wet trails.

“Say my name again, my love.” He leaves a flat-tongued lick up your neck, nibbling at your ear. One of his hands drop from your wrists and travels down your side, rough fingers igniting sparks inside you. Maul kneads your waist, your belly, before clutching your hip. The brace allows him to further pound himself into you, and you see stars.

“Maul, Maul!” You scream his name, all high-pitched and airy, the pleasure toe-curling and promising of a powerful, sweet release. Maul exhales a rather handsome laugh into your ear, golden eyes glazed over with lust and something else wild. Eyes fluttering shut, you feel him suck a love bite into the nook where your neck and shoulder meet, arching your head back and against his shoulder.

Like a prayer, his name tumbles from your lips over and over again, the lamentation pleading and desperate. Your core throbs and clenches around your lover, a telltale sign of orgasm on the horizon. Everything seems to slow down... 

But then Maul bites. Hard. Your eyes snap open.

The sinking of sharp teeth into the flesh of your shoulder is so poignant, it pierces through the thick, lustful haze and roughly pulls you back to reality. You shriek, one most certainly not out of pleasure, but actual pain. It causes Maul to abruptly pull out and back, releasing your wrists in the process. At the same time you feel the emptiness of him leaving, a white-hot fire erupts from where Maul had definitely broken the skin and you writhe.

“Ow.” The whimper escapes in one word, voice thick, as tears immediately glaze over your eyes. Blinking furiously to keep them at bay, you squirm lethargically into an upright position, sitting on your knees.

“I’m...” From behind you Maul starts to say something, but his voice cuts out when you look down over your shoulder and reach a trembling hand up to the bite. When you actually see the wound, that’s when the tears start rolling down your cheeks. It’s... bad. 

The bite is a perfect oval of teeth indents and grooves, most of them deep and bleeding, the skin around them a harsh red and raised. The skin around it is an ugly mix of crimson, dark purple bruising, and pink with irritation. The entire area is swollen and pulsing with ache. Bottom lip wobbling, you trace a hesitant finger along the edge of the bite and the touch stings. You pull your hand back with a shaky gasp.

“My love, I...” Maul starts speaking again but stops and swallows. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, and you’re not exactly sure why. The tears are falling profusely now, and you shudder back heavier sobs. The room goes dreadfully silent, save for your small, quiet cries. You can feel Maul’s stare on you, more specifically on the injury he caused.

“I hurt you. I hurt you.” He repeats to himself, the tone of his voice inscrutable. He suddenly clambers up and off of the bed, the mattress shaking gently, and you listen as his footsteps disappear out of the room. The room is left thick with pain and sorrow, and also a stewing shame that was left hovering after Maul spoke. You look back at the bite after another round of tears pours from your eyes. Oh, Maul...

Footfalls sound again, and Maul reenters the room as your examining the darkening wound, particularly the trails of blood that have by now reached your waist. His heart clenches with a terrible ache, and guilt and anger bubble to the surface, stiffening him. He hurt you, he did. Maul almost doesn’t want to approach, almost thinks he shouldn’t, but you need the bacta.

You don’t look at Maul’s face when he sits next to you, though not as close he usually would, because you’re unsure if you want to see the expression that must be on it. Instead, you focus on his hands, at the wet rag, bacta, and bandages he’s holding. You also notice how his hands are quivering.

“Can I clean it?” Maul asks in an uncharacteristically quiet tone, though he’s very obviously seething with barely capped rage. That somewhat familiar self-loathing Maul gets from time to time radiates off of him, as does guilt. You sniffle, and bob your head yes. The pain is less sharp now, but the wound still needs to be dressed.

Maul says nothing as he wipes away the almost dried blood trails, or as he very tenderly dabs at the puffy wound, or when he pauses at his teeth marks that are purpling now, or even when he smears the bacta over them. The whole time, he works mechanically and in deafening silence. By the time Maul has placed a bandage over the bite, the cooling of the bacta has numbed your shoulder to a soft, dull ache and the hurt is all but gone.

“Maul...” You start softly after you feel his hands leave you, gaze climbing up his arms to his face. The shame-ridden expression on his face makes your heart sink, how his downcast golden eyes are aflame with guilt and swirling with fury. He doesn’t look at you as you turn fully to face him, and recoils when you place a hand on his cheek. His body, ever warm, is stiff beneath your touch.

“It’s okay.” You murmur and Maul’s gaze snaps up to meet yours, the anger flaring. His square jaw tenses and he shakes off your hand.

“No, it’s not. I hurt you.” And while you see and hear that familiar wrath and that unfamiliar guilt in his expression and voice, it never occurred to you before that Maul was also afraid. It makes you misty-eyed. You shake your head, shuffling closer to him.

“No, no, no— Maul, it was an accident.” You plead, placing your hands on either side of his face, rubbing circles with your thumbs. Usually, that simple touch calms him down, but this time Maul grabs your wrists and pulls his face from your grasp.

“I hurt you.” He says again, voice a hiss as he stares at you with conflicted, pained eyes, “I fucking made you cry.”

Maul suddenly leaps up from the bed, pacing across the room to roughly grab his pants off the floor. He pulls them on swiftly, and your brows furrow when he crosses the room to grab his belt and lightsaber.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he ties his belt across his waist, clipping his saber to it. He doesn’t look at you, and turns to the door.

“I’m leaving.”

“No, you are not.” You clamber up off the bed and onto your feet, stumbling slightly as you hastily make your way over to Maul. You’re able to get in front of him, planting your hands firmly on his chest and halting him. He glares down at you, angrily, sadly, and you ground yourself at look up at him.

“Move.” He growls, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Your lips turn down in a stubborn pout. Maul’s bristling under your touch, and you know you’re walking on precarious ground. But you’ve dealt with Maul’s temper enough to not have it faze you, and you’re sure you can handle his guilt the same.

“No.” You retort and you pull yourself flush against him, arms snaking around his torso in a tight hug, your eyes closing. Pressing your cheek against his chest, you sigh at the familiar warmth you love, digging your face into his beautiful crimson and black skin. Maul doesn’t wrap his arms around you in turn. You give his sternum a gentle kiss.

“Get off.” Maul’s growled order comes out as brashly and as firmly as always, but his commandeering attitude hasn’t worked on you for years. A sudden, but small, spark of playfulness curls your lips upwards into a tiny smile. You rub your hands up and down the length of Maul’s back, feeling every tight, defined muscle and occasionally the rough edge of his scar when your hand gets low enough and your pinky fingers brush it.

“Never.” Your murmur vibrates his chest, and you hum contentedly when you finally catch the lovely beatings of Maul’s twin hearts. They thrum in alternating rhythm beneath your ear, both strong and deep.

“You’re not running from me.” You speak again, eyes still closed. Maul is quiet, though you feel him lift an arm and a tender, yet firm, hand comes to rest on the low of your back. You smile fully, lightly gliding your nails over Maul’s back in the way you know he loves. His thumb starts to rub circles on your skin.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“... I was scared.”

“I know.”

You look up at Maul, eyes beneath heavy lids, your smile still bright and kind on your face. The conflict in his eyes has cooled to a simmer, being replaced more and more by that boyish, starry-eyed look he gets sometimes, the one that reminds you of how much he loves you. Maul’s other hand reaches up and cups your cheek, caressing your face. You tilt your head into the touch.

“Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” He teases in a low murmur, honey gold eyes glimmering with rising mirth, and you quirk an eyebrow. Your hands stop to rest on his waist, just above the band of his pants. Maul’s face starts to inch in closer and closer to yours, stopping right when his lips are just above yours.

“Mm... you might have to do some convincing.” You whisper, eyes drooping further until your irises are nearly obscured by your eyelashes. Maul chuckles low in his throat, his hand shifting to place two fingers under your chin. He tilts your head up slightly, pulls you closer against him.

“How do you suppose I accomplish that?” He asks, breath puffing on your cheeks, gaze breaking from yours when he closes his eyes. You follow suit, and the tips of both your upper lips touch.

“... I can think of one way.” You say, and you tilt your head and your jaw slackens slightly, and Maul’s lips are on yours, balmy and soft. The kiss is slow, slower than he usually does, but it’s perfect and sultry and so Maul. You hum when he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to gyrate in your mouth. He explores everywhere, relearns every touch. It’s like you’re kissing for the first time all over again, lost in each other as if the years of memorizing each other’s body melted away into oblivion. Your hands clasp his waist, his one hand moves up to your mid back, and the heated, passionate kiss ends.

Maul pulls back a little more to look at you properly, tucking your hair behind your ear, and you open your eyes from the touch. He’s wearing that satisfied, lazy grin, the one that always makes him look mischievous. 

“Do you still need more convincing?” He asks with a tilt of his head, though he knows the answer you’re going to give by the cheeky smile that spreads across your face. You giggles, eyes sparkling, and you nod.

“Lots.” And with that, Maul’s lips are on yours, stifling your laughter in his mouth. He smothers you with kisses, peppering your lips, cheeks, and jaw, and you do the same for him, kissing over and over until you’re sure your lips will fall off. At some point, Maul heaves you into his arms, carries you to the bed, and drops your bodies atop it.

You squeal with laughter when he rolls on top of you, trapping you between his thighs, nuzzling and kissing the side of your face. Your hands fumble at his shoulders, before sliding to his face to turn his head to you. He’s grinning between your hands, looking absolutely charmed, and you kiss him on the nose, breathy from laughing.

When you pull away, Maul’s panting and still grinning like a madman, but his wild eyes have gone somewhat tame, controlled. His eyes dart all around your face, like he’s analyzing each one of your features. He breathes an exhale, licks his lips, and meets your gaze.

“I love you.” And his voice is slightly raspy, but he says it with such conviction, so raw and passionate, that the intensity floors you. Sure, he’s said those words to you before, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. Your eyes go slightly misty again, and you smile sweetly, fingers rubbing the bases of his horns on his temples.

“I love you.” You reply and again, Maul sinks into you with a deep kiss, and you all but melt into each other, bodies a welcoming sanctuary for the other.

[moonknightly]

now all you see is red : santiago garcia x reader

Word Count: 3.6k+

Excerpt: “There’s you, and God, Santi would let you completely ruin him.”

Warnings: Smut (18+), choking, spanking, light bondage, dom/sub dynamic, light degradation/humiliation, rough sex, angry sex, dirty talk

Santiago is familiar with anger.

He knows it well, he’s used to the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth, the smoke he can never fully push from his lungs, the way flames lick at his fingertips as his blood boils in his veins. He’s used to the sharp bite and unrelenting sting, he knows the exact sound his fist is going to make when it meets drywall, can hear each bone crack on impact and can feel the sensation of his knuckles splitting open, can visualize the black and blue bruises that will mark his skin for weeks to come.

They might as well be permanent, he never feels like himself without those damn bruises anymore. They’ve become an integral part of him, just like the scar on the back of his neck and the weight he carries on his shoulders day in and day out.

Just like his anger.

He needs it, he doesn’t remember how to get through without it. Anger isn’t a stranger to the ex soldier, but a lover.

It’s a dance so intimate, one he’s performed thousands and thousands of times before. It keeps him grounded, reminds him that he’s real, that he’s here. He’s alive and he’s breathing, he’s not lying at the bottom of a ditch in a foreign country with a bullet in his side, rotting. He made it out, he’s earned his temper.

He’s in control. He has the power, and nothing is going to hurt him again. He won’t let it.

Except, that’s not entirely true.

There’s you, and God, Santi would let you completely ruin him.

And you have, you so have. You’ve fucking wrecked him, but he refuses to let you see it, he doesn’t even fully understand it himself. In all of the years you’ve known each other, Santi’s been able to keep that little secret to himself, and he’s not about to give it up now, he doesn’t need that shit.

What he needs is the control back in the palm of his hand after losing it for the last week. He needs to feel some sense of power after spending seven days in unfamiliar territory, feeling utterly torn apart by grief and worry.

They’d lost contact with you on your last assignment, and an entire week had gone by without so much as a word until you suddenly showed up at base, seemingly fine. Santi hadn’t been able to find even a scratch on your perfect skin, and he’d checked several times just to be sure. You’re fine.

But Santi isn’t. Fuck, he is so fucking far from fine, he feels like he’s going to be sick. His initial relief is fading fast, threatening to turn into something that he has no desire to feel, something he doesn’t know how to handle. He doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it.

He needs his control, his power. He needs familiarity.

So he latches onto the subtlest spark of anger the moment it strikes. He takes it and he fucking runs.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

His voice is eerily calm, almost chilling and it doesn’t waiver for even a second. It’s collected while the rest of him isn’t, but it’s enough to get him through. It’ll do.

“What do you mean?”

You’re sitting at the end of the bed, unlacing your boots, desperate to get out of them and into something comfortable. Santi keeps his eyes glued to you, tracking your every movement with expert precision that he’s spent his entire life mastering.

“A week. You went a fucking week without report.”

You seem almost annoyed, and really, you are — you’d spent the last hour getting the same lecture from your boss, you don’t need it from your boyfriend too even though it’s inevitable, so you shrug in response, and Santiago feels another white hot flash.

It’s perfect. He’ll take it.

“It would’ve compromised the mission, he was onto me. I’m fine.”

You’re fine. He laughs bitterly at that.

“I’m glad you’re fine, princesa,” he hums, not thinking about how he enunciates his words as he stalks towards you, painstakingly slow, brown eyes never straying from his target.

He’s quick, his reflexes sharp, and he has your chin between his fingers before you even register his hand moving.

“But that’s not a fucking excuse. You know your safety comes before anything else and we had no way to help you.”

“But I was safe.”

“But how were we supposed to know that, huh?” He shakes your head in his grip, like it’s enough to get you to see his way. “You could’ve been dead for all we knew. Do you have any idea what-”

He stops himself. That unfamiliar emotion is bubbling in the pit of his stomach again, and he pushes it away, down, down, down where it can’t touch him, can’t hurt him.

He needs another spark.

But now, he’s struggling to find it, and it’s clear. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you watch him wrestle with himself and hesitate, and he panics when your lips part because he knows you’re getting ready to ask him if he’s okay and he doesn’t fucking want you to. He doesn’t want to answer you.

So he just growls again, his hand moving to the back of your neck where he pushes your head forward until your lips meet his in a kiss that’s anything but gentle.

It’s all teeth and desperation and frustration and just like your annoyance, it’s perfect. Santi clings to that frustration to fuel his anger again, and he’s satisfied when it works and he feels the familiar tendrils of rage wrap themselves around his body. His free hand moves to your shirt, and he uses his grip to haul you to your feet only to shove you towards the dresser. You catch yourself, knocking a few things off in the process but you don’t care. You love it when he gets like this.

“Santi-”

“No.” He’s behind you again, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so your neck is perfectly exposed to him, breath hot against your skin. “Don’t you dare say a fuckin’ word, understand?”

You nod obediently — you’ve always taken orders as well as he gives him.

“Good girl.”

He nips at your neck once, twice, three times before he sinks his teeth in, biting down, marking you and he smirks when he feels your knees buckle just slightly. You’re struggling to hold yourself up already and he’s hardly touched you.

His hand travels around to the front of your neck and he wraps his fingers around your throat, not applying any pressure, simply just holding them there. He feels your pulse thrum under his fingertips and he counts along for a moment, smirking at just how quick your heart is beating.

“Nervous baby?”

You hesitate, and he feels you gulp, feels the way you shift just slightly under his touch.

“No.”

He tsks, sighing in your ear almost disapprovingly. He lets his grip tighten around your throat, and he revels in the sound of you trying to pull in air before he cuts you off completely.

“Maybe you should be.”

His free hand slams between your shoulder blades and you’re suddenly flat against the dresser, the force of it knocking what little air you had left in your lungs out. He gives you a second, just a second to use your safeword or to tell him to go a little easy, but you don’t.

He knows you’ll tell him if he needs to take it down a notch.

There’s nothing slow or patient about Santiago’s touch. It’s urgent, each movement made with purpose, never lingering, he doesn’t have time for that. He just wants to feel you, just wants to feel that anger and the pleasure and nothing else.

He pulls your jeans down your thighs, not bothering to get them all the way off or worry about your shirt. His eyes are immediately on your ass, and he growls when he sees that you’re wearing his favorite color — red. He loves you in red.

Not enough to save the panties for another day though. He rips them clean off your body, the stretching, tearing sound of fabric making him groan alongside your gasp.

“Open your mouth.”

You don’t hear him the first time, too absorbed in the feeling running through you. He smacks your ass, hard, the sound reverberating through the quiet room. The moan that leaves your lips might just be the most sinful sound Santi has ever heard.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

This time, you hear him, and you obey just like he knew you would, opening your mouth for him to stuff your panties into.

“Fuck I can smell you on them from here princesa.”

He loves it. He loves it so fucking much. He smacks your ass a second time, feeling it turn hot under his touch, then he does it again and again and again until he’s satisfied with the way you flinch, until you’re laying limp against the dresser with tears running down your cheeks.

“Color?”

Like he said before, your safety means more to him than anything else, and through his anger he still always checks in to make sure you’re okay to continue. He never wants it to get to a point where he actually hurts you, even though he knows what your body can take, even though he knows you’d let him, you’d even ask him to.

You can’t speak with your panties in your mouth, but one finger means green, two means yellow, and three means red. You hold up one, and he lands one final blow just to see if your answer changes. You still only hold up one.

“Good girl.”

He grabs your wrists and drags you back towards the mattress, and you immediately fall face down ass up just how you know he likes, but now he hesitates.

His knees are bothering him today, more so than usual, and he doesn’t know if he can kneel behind you long enough to fuck you how he wants to.

That only makes him angrier, feeling like he can’t perform. Feeling like he’s not good enough, like he’s failing in a field where he’s always personally felt like he’s excelled.

All he sees is red and you and it’s the exact distraction he’s been looking for, the perfect combination. His blood burns, his fingers burn, his mind is fucking screaming your name and nothing else. There’s nothing but you and the rage boiling in the pit of his stomach.

It’s intoxicating, it’s everything, it’s familiar.

“No, no no,” he laughs, shaking his head as he undoes his belt, hastily pulling it through the loops of his jeans. “On your side, hands behind your back.”

He’s on you the second you're in position, tightening his belt around your wrists so you can’t move them, can’t touch him. He chuckles darkly when your fingers wiggle around in search of something to hold onto.

“Poor baby,” he hums, voice completely condescending and he loves the way your eyes roll at the tone of his voice. He loves that you get off on this just as much as he does, he loves that you dance with his temper, that you know it almost as well.

He’s so fucking hard. He can’t wait any longer.

He doesn’t check with his fingers to make sure you’re wet enough to take him, he knows you are. He can smell you, he can see your juices glisten when he hoists your leg up to reveal your pussy to him. You’re always so wet, always so ready for him.

And he’s more than ready for you, stroking himself in the palm of his hand while he looks you over with hungry, dark eyes. His hand is nothing compared to the warmth and pleasure he knows you’ll bring him, there’s not a damn thing in this world that can make him come as hard as you.

He lays behind you, continuing to pump his length as he drags the tip of his cock through your folds, nudging at your clit and smearing his precome all around. He can feel you clench, can feel you try to pull him in as you start rocking your hips against him.

“Jesus Christ, you’re acting like a fuckin’ whore for my cock babygirl. You need it, huh? You need me?”

You immediately start trying to beg through your makeshift gag and normally, that would only earn you more teasing but just like you, he can’t take it. He needs you just as much, if not more.

His nails dig into your left hip as he pushes himself against your entrance, leaving little crescent shaped indents in your skin, his grip so tight you both know it’ll bruise but it’s more than fine, it’s so good. He stops, wanting to drag it out for just a moment longer and your begging only continues, growing louder and louder until Santiago finally gives in.

All it takes is one sharp thrust and he’s so deep inside of you, spreading you open on his cock, tearing your walls apart to make room for his length, your bodies flush against each other. His free arm is wrapped underneath your body, his hand finding your neck again as he quickly sets his pace, not giving you more than a single second to even attempt to adjust to him.

It’s hard, it’s fast, it’s dirty and your cunt is squelching around him so deliciously, the sound only pushing him further — he doesn’t know if he wants to slow down so he can listen to it properly or if he wants to go faster.

“Fuck,” he grunts into your ear, his voice gravely and rough and he thrills in the way it makes you shiver. “Fuck you’re so tight, you’re squeezing my fucking dick baby. How’re you this tight?”

You only let out a moan that’s somewhere between a sob and a scream, and that sound alone is so entirely hot in itself, it’s enough to make his toes curl. He wants to pull that noise from you again and again and again, he wants you shaking and gasping and writhing. He starts using your hips for more leverage, knowing that he can get you to cry and whine for him this way.

You squirm and jolt each time he brings you back onto his cock, every time he hits that spot you didn’t believe existed until he fucked you for the first time and he wants to explode as he watches you struggle to take it.

He knows you’ll hold up your fingers if you need him to stop, but he still pulls your panties out of your mouth just so he can hear it, just so can listen for your words. You never say them, you only scream and cry and moan about how good it feels, how he’s pounding your pussy better than anyone ever has and how you never want him to stop.

“Yeah baby?” he purrs, nipping at your earlobe, tugging on it as he thrusts harder and harder. “This my pussy princesa? Tell me.”

“It’s yours,” you sob, clenching around him over and over. “God Santi, it’s yours, I’m yours.”

“That’s fuckin’ right baby, that’s it.”

He tightens his grip around your neck, his left hand moving from your hip to your clit, fingers matching the pace of his thrusts. He’s rubbing you so hard, he’s almost surprised when you angle yourself closer, but that’s his girl. That’s his fucking girl.

Santi can tell you’re close when your sounds grow higher in pitch and when he no longer needs to drag you back into his thrusts — you’re doing all the work for him, moving on your own accord, searching for that last little push you need to get over the edge and he lets you.

He lets you control the pace, lets you take what you need and that’s when that unfamiliar, unwelcome feeling enters his stomach again. He tries to ignore it, tries to push it away, tries to tap back into the anger but once it’s gone, it’s gone.

Now he’s just frustrated, but he doesn’t let himself get distracted, not when you’re on his cock, bringing yourself closer and closer to an orgasm he doesn’t want to miss a second of.

He rolls onto his back suddenly, catching you off guard but he steadies you on top of him and uses your bound wrists to continue rocking you on his length while you get adjusted again. He brings his free hand back to your clit, just like before and it’s not long before you’re right on the brink of coming again. Santi’s right there with you, watching you roll your hips and bounce on his cock, impaling yourself on him again and again. You’re so full of him, he only wants to fill you more.

He thinks he might actually let go first, but then you’re falling apart on top of him in a matter of seconds, sobbing his name so loudly while your thighs quiver and your body trembles. That’s what finally does it for him, and he comes inside of you with a deep groan that echoes in his chest, his back arching completely off the bed in an attempt to get even closer to you. He quickly grabs your hips again so he can continue to piston himself up into you, watching your combined release leak out of your pussy and coat his cock in glistening white. He only moans, quieter this time, and fucks it back into you, his pace slowing as his cock twitches over and over and quickly becomes oversensitive.

He doesn’t forget to undo your hands before he pulls you back onto his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you and burying his face into your neck. He’s working hard to catch his breath, and he hopes that that’s all you think he’s doing when really, he’s having to put twice as much effort into not falling apart.

His chest is heaving with emotion, his eyes are filling with tears that he refuses to let spill over. His anger is completely gone and only this remains. He doesn’t know how to control it, doesn’t know what to do with it and he hates it. He hates it so much.

And you notice, of course you fucking notice. He’s slow to launch into aftercare and it’s obvious that he’s distracted through it, something heavy weighing on his mind.

“Santi, what is it? Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t fucking call.”

His voice waivers and cracks and his cheeks immediately turn red, though he’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or this feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

“What if something happened to you? You didn’t call.”

“Santi,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair, and he’s frustrated all over again. Usually he’s so good at reading you, he knows you like the back of his hand, but again he’s unsure about the emotion. He doesn’t know if you’re exasperated or if you’re concerned. He doesn’t wait to find out.

“You have any idea what was going through my head,” he bites, wiping furiously at his eyes. “I thought you were dead.”

He doesn’t see the expression on your face, doesn’t see how his words hit you right in the chest and shatter your heart. He misses the way you swallow the lump in your throat and he doesn’t see your hands start to shake, but he feels them when they cup his cheeks. His shoulders slump at the contact, and then Santi just breaks.

“You didn’t fucking call, why didn’t you fucking call?”

He chokes on a sob, coughing to try and rid himself of it but it doesn’t work. He hides his face into his hands, shoulders shaking as he softly cries and he’s just happy that he’s able to keep himself quiet.

“Oh sweet boy, come here.”

Santi let’s you pull him into your arms, he lets you comfort him in a way he didn’t know he needed, in a way he never even imagined wanting.

And he lets himself feel all of that unwanted emotion, because he needs to get it the fuck out. He doesn’t want to hold onto it like he does with his anger, he doesn’t want it dancing in his veins. He never, ever wants to feel this way again.

Santiago is familiar with anger.

But he’s completely unfamiliar with the fear of losing you. He’s not used to the nausea or the way his hands shake with panic, the way his chest feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself. He’s not used to any of it, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him.

But at some point in the middle of the night, he looks up and he sees you, still holding him, still comforting him, and it suddenly hits. Suddenly, he understands.

It’s you.

This is how you’ve ruined him.

You’ve made him feel things he’s been pushing away for so long, things he’s tried so desperately to keep under lock and key where it can never hurt him.

You’ve stripped him of his control, his power. You’ve taken away his anger and you’ve replaced the throbbing bruises on his knuckles, the smoke in his lungs and the blood that paints his vision.

He doesn’t see red, he only sees you.

Santiago is familiar with you.

[ashesandhalefire]

progress report: i am missing you to death

alex, michael, and a lot of unsaid things.

-

inspired by an entirely out of context teaser shot of alex and a desperate need for interaction that has yet to be satisfied by season 3 canon.

-

Deep Sky provides the coordinates and the time, so Alex shows up and waits.

While he stands in the cool night air, he scans the flat terrain that stretches out to one side and the gully where the highway sits. Other than the whizzing traffic, oblivious to his insignificance, everything is quiet.

After about twenty minutes of the vibrating stillness, Michael slinks out of the shadows with his hat tucked low over his face and leans against the back of the car beside Alex’s SUV.

Blood rushing in his ears, Alex does a second quick sweep of the lot’s perimeter. Nothing obvious has changed in the shadows since he crept through the bushes to check potential sight lines, but Alex isn’t stupid. He was in over his head when Project Shepherd turned out to be just his father’s backroom hobby. Deep Sky outclasses his expertise in a way he isn’t ready to reckon with. They could be anywhere—somewhere in the lot, somewhere down the road, somewhere miles away—and Michael has sauntered directly into their crosshairs.

He left about five feet between them when he stopped to hook one ankle over the other and stare out at the traffic, and the distance is enough for deniability. Alex tightens his hands into anxious fists and forces a long, deep breath through his nose.

“Hey,” Michael says with a casual nod of his head. They stand listening to the roar of tires chewing their ways along the desert highway, and Alex waits for a sign. He checks Michael’s chest for the red point of a laser sight just in case. Nothing happens. They stand a little longer, and then Michael leans over and asks, “You got a light?”

“No. You got a cigarette?”

The corner of Michael’s mouth twitches. It stirs up a fondness that Alex has carefully and surgically distanced himself from for the last few months, and he glances around the parking lot again. Being in love with Michael is too easy. He falls into it without needing to think about it or to try, and the laziness of trusting things to fate is probably why they’ve never gotten it right. He should probably consider himself lucky. Sinking back into those feelings now, fruitlessly, after so much time has passed, will make him sloppy in a way he can’t afford.

“You shouldn’t be here. They could see you.”

Michael tucks his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugs, easy and unbothered. Or, almost unbothered. The muscles in his jaw are tight and tense. “You don’t even know what they do or if they’re looking for me. I haven’t exactly been hiding for the last year.”

“That doesn’t mean you should paint a bullseye on your chest.”

“But you should?”

Michael spits barbs like an old man working his way through seeded melon, careless and precise in equal measure. He always finds soft flesh.

“This isn’t a game,” Alex grits out, face growing hot with frustration. He watches a tractor trailer speed by on the road below and shoot a piece of trash out from beneath its tires.

“So tell me what it is, then,” Michael says, mouth turning down and voice suddenly going sharp as a knife’s edge, “because I didn’t really wait around to hear the rest of the story after Valenti said you were joining a cult.”

Alex looks over, and Michael’s brow is pinched to match the irritated wrinkle of his nose. Anger and tension leak off him like heat shimmers off the pavement at midday. He holds his casual posture, ankles crossed and hands tucked, but his eyes are furious.

“It’s complicated.”

Michael scoffs. “You know what, I shouldn’t bother. I should just drag your ass home, no questions.”

And now Alex’s temper flares: “Try it.”

“You think I wouldn’t? To save you?” He laughs meanly. “I’d have you over my shoulder so fucking fast—”

“I don’t need to be saved.”

“Obviously, you do.” Michael pushes off the car. The brim of his hat catches the light from the lamppost and casts half his face in shadows. “We have enough problems on our hands right now. We don’t need to poke the bear.”

“This bear poked first,” Alex says, equally furious. He checks behind Michael before hissing through his teeth, “They kidnapped Mimi. They drugged Jenna Cameron. Turnabout is fair play.”

“This isn’t turnabout! This isn’t even revenge. You’re joining their club. You are flinging yourself into a pit, Alex. A big, dark, deep pit, and when you get far enough in, none of us are going to be able to get you out. We’re gonna lose you. For good. And for no fucking reason.”

“Not for no reason,” Alex says. A tingle of shame trickles up the back of his neck. He knows he’s unprepared, going in without an exit strategy. But he can’t sit on his hands and do nothing. It makes him nervous and paranoid to be idle. “They know things.”

“Who gives a shit? Who gives one fucking iota of a shit about what they know?”

Alex frowns. “You have always wanted to know more—”

“Not like this! Not at the risk of—” Michael puts a fist to his forehead. Then he pulls off his hat and takes another step closer. His voice is softer when he speaks. “Why are you so hellbent on doing this, huh? This isn’t just your dad anymore. This is bigger than that.”

“I know.”

“They are gonna swallow you whole, and what’s the point if you’re just gone?”

Alex draws another long inhale through his nose. The weight of the thick, ugly ring on his finger feels like an anchor dragging him down. The memories of Caulfield crumbling to pieces in a cloud of fire are heavier. “If there’s even a chance that they know something, what choice do I have? I’m not getting caught off guard again. I owe you that much.”

“Bullshit,” Michael says with a jerk of his chin. “Doing it is one thing, but don’t pretend you’re doing it for me.” A pair of low-riding sports cars scream down the highway behind him, bobbing and weaving through the minimal traffic with their engines blaring. One falters behind a gas tanker and then chases its companion off towards the horizon with an roar. “If you had any interest in doing something for me, you would stay.”

Cold uncertainty creeps into Alex’s chest, and no number of layers can keep it out. He wants to ask: would I be welcome? Because he hasn’t felt like he would be in a long time. He had showed up, again and again. Sometimes, he had been wanted, and sometimes, he hadn’t been. The haze of open mic night had cleared for an instant, and the future had been visible, tangible, workable, and then, just as quickly, had vanished into the air. He had been left with Isobel’s obvious, humiliating pity, her mouth turned down as she stood to listen through the last note. That door had been closed. And yet, he wants to ask: would I be welcome? Dignity be damned.

“Are— are you asking me to stay?”

There must be something in his voice when he says it, no matter how hard he tries to control the pathetic wavering and the sunken surprise on his face, that means something to Michael. His whole body eases forward as if carried by an invisible current before he catches himself and says, “I’m done asking people for more than they’re willing to give me.”

“But you would ask? If you thought—?” Alex pushes. “You would want to ask?”

The corners of Michael’s mouth turn down and his gaze narrows almost imperceptibly, but Alex is watching for it. The more Michael closes off, the more Alex feels himself splitting open. Something bright and electric stirs in his chest.

“Because I thought you wouldn’t,” he says, waiting for the moment when Michael’s eyes widen, just slightly, just enough to understand. It comes, exactly as expected, and Michael sways closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d ask. I’m not about to beg, but I’d ask.”

He’s gotten Michael to beg before, but never for something as serious as love. On his back or on his knees or in the bed of his truck, Alex has heard him plead and bargain for things he wants in the neediest, most desperate whispers, but that had been all carnal, base pleasure, and he had known Alex wouldn’t tell him no. Here, he’s talking about a different type of submission, the kind that humiliates someone like Michael, someone who has never been given enough. Michael won’t beg, and Alex needs to be asked, and a lot of time has been wasted between them thinking that one is the same as the other.

He can’t say he’ll stay. He’s too far in to back out. And, even if he could do it, staying doesn’t mean riding off into the sunset. It means more of the same: the secrets, the conspiracies, the mysteries, the agonies, the scraping open of old wounds in last-ditch efforts to heal them. But it also means Michael, so everything else is white noise.

Michael sees it all play out on his face. He sets his hat on the roof of Alex’s car and then turns to lean against the hatchback. He sighs, and Alex can tell that more weight than usual is resting on his shoulders. It’s not just Max dragging him under. His whole body sags with it, and the sharp focus that’s been in his eyes begins to recede as he drifts away towards the call of whatever nightmare is lurking at the back of his mind.

“It’ll be okay,” Alex says because he lacks for anything else to say, and Michael  stares at his boots with a sad smile. His throat bobs as he swallows down whatever it is that’s too hard to talk about with so little time left to say it, and then he turns to look at Alex.

“Your dad was a piece of shit,” he says, like this is some sort of revelation, “and you’re you.”

The words, said like an accusation, should probably turn his stomach, but they’re also said with a reverence that pushes Alex’s heart up into his throat. Whatever is happening has rocked Michael to his core far beyond how Alex knows to help.

“Less of a piece of shit, I hope.”

Michael stares at him, flexing his hand, and then says, with a nod, “Significantly, yeah.”

“I guess that’s the best I can hope for.” Alex laughs, and then he tips his head back to look at the starless sky. “I’ll take being afraid of being like him over being proud of being like him any day. At least it means I’m going in the right direction.”

Jesse haunts Alex differently than he haunts Michael. To Michael, Jesse is another human face that did something terrible to him, just more proof that looking for another planet to run to is a good idea. Jesse is a more specific phantom for Alex, much harder to let blur into the background of the general awfulness of life. There are reminders of his father all around town: placards, photographs, the sign for the street they lived on, a six-foot statue in town square. Those can be faced much more easily than the hints of his father that Alex finds in the mirror: the deep-set wrinkles in his brows, the cut of his mouth when he frowns, the tone of his voice when he yells, the shape of his thumb. To be a little less like him every day is an exhausting but necessary struggle.

Michael smiles, and Alex, mystified, thinks maybe he managed to help after all.

“Your plan wasn’t really to drag me home over your shoulder, was it?” he asks to distract from how Michael carefully swipes a finger at the corner of one eye.

Michael huffs, and the car jostles. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just wasn’t about to let you go without—” He licks his lips and says, “I wasn’t about to let you just go.”

Alex scuffs his shoe against the loose gravel. “Couldn’t get Kyle’s hubcaps off this time?”

Guilt settles over him after he says it. Guilt and something else, something like the relief of setting down a heavy burden that’s been carried too long.

“I thought you were making a mistake back then, too.” Michael takes the comment in stride, accepts it, and reaches out to touch the ring on Alex’s hand. He pinches it carefully, Alex’s fingers curled into the heat of his palm, and rolls his thumb until the ring twists to expose the thinner underside of the band. He strokes, skin then metal then skin, over and over. “Flinging yourself into some dark pit that you’d never come out of again.”

Alex wants to tell him that this is different. He can’t.

“Do me a favor, okay?”

Hand slipping up over Alex’s wrist and into the soft corner of his elbow, Michael crosses the final inches of space between them and pulls Alex close. In the dim light of the parking lot, they might be mistaken for the sort of strangers who meet in shadowy corners for quick exchanges of misery with rough words and rougher touch. But then Michael, trembling, touches the lapel of Alex’s jacket and presses a long kiss to his cheek.

He keeps his mouth there, breath hot and soft, and, before he gathers himself enough to continue, Alex says, “I’ll come back.”

Michael laughs, but it sounds like a gasp for air. “Not even gonna let me ask?”

Alex hums. “I’ll come back.”

“Yeah, you’ll come back,” Michael warns, “or I’ll come get you. And it won’t be fucking subtle.”

It sends a shiver down his spine to think of Michael storming a place as infinitely large as Deep Sky feels. If it comes to that, he’d be better off left behind. But as the thought comes, Michael’s grip shifts and the tentative press of their sides becomes a full-bodied hug that envelopes him like a warm breeze. His nose turns into the side of Michael’s neck: rain, crisp and fresh; gasoline, but faint; smoke, from his fire pit.

“I’m not really going anywhere. It’ll be fine.”

Michael squeezes, and Alex squeezes back. Everything else he wants to say is too big for this moment. And, selfishly, he wants to know that Michael will wait to hear it. He scolds himself for the thought, because they’ve each done their share of waiting miserably at the wayside, but then he lets it stand. Michael squeezes again, fingertips digging into separate points as he clings.

Alex cups a hand to the back of his head and touches his curls. He thinks about what it would mean to kiss Michael now, to kiss someone that he loves, who loves him, and imagines a tower of precariously stacked dominoes. Michael laughs wetly, and Alex lets go first, fingers lingering reluctantly.

[anotheranimestan]

hi! I just read “all bark no bite” and omg it was so good!! looking forward to more of your writing and possible a part 2 if you get the chance!

Thank you!!!!!😃🧡 Your wish is my command!

All Bark No Bite (pt. 2)

Bakugo angst + sexual tensionnnn

Read part 1 here

wc: 3k

I hope this is as fun for you to read as it is for me to write! Also why is he 👇 this fineee for no reason.

The next morning, you woke up trying to convince yourself it was all a dream...or a nightmare. But the way you could still feel the softness of his fingers around your neck completely contradicted your wishes. You also had to keep wiping little smiles off your face throughout your entire morning routine. You tried to combat them by listing all the things you hated about Bakugo but it was helpless. Every train of thought ended with the shape of his lips and how nicely they molded with yours.

You and Mina walked to class together and you swore she’d developed a mind reading quirk. You felt her eyes on you like a blazing sun. Although this was really all in your head. She only asked “are you okay?” because you kept looking at her like you’d committed a hate crime.

You and Bakugo didn’t look at each other once during class. No leg shaking, pen stealing or insults. Not even a well timed scoff when you were called on to answer a question. You tried your best to clear your mind and forget everything that had occurred in that hall last night. After a while of this torture you even were having a little bit of success.

But of course your peace was ruined as you walked to lunch. He couldn’t let you have anything. And of course he wasn’t going to leave you alone.

“Hey Little Bite, I hear we get to pick our groups for combat training today. All Might is going to make me a team captain, obviously. So if you want to be on my team let me know. I mean I assume you don’t wanna lose. You just gotta ask me nicely.” His usual cocky tone crept under your skin.

You desperately tried to ignore him as he followed you. Each footstep he started gaining on you being more annoying than the last. But what really did it was the pencil he threw at your head.

“Please, actively do not pick me.”

He ignored your objection and continued on his line of bullshit.

“I suppose I could take you. Your quirk would be useless, I’m all the attack power we’d need to win but I could use you as a decoy or something.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t want to be on a team with you, moron. Your pea brain doesn’t know how to do anything but blow shit up. You’re like an explosive cave man. Besides being too close to you for too long makes me wanna vomit.”

He cackled. You knew exactly what he was thinking and immediately regretted your words.

“That’s weird—“

You picked up a rock from the ground and threw it at his head. But he just caught it and made it explode with a smug look on his face.

“Ugh. I cannot stand you.” You groaned.

“You sure about that?” He said with a suggestive eyebrow.

He was so hot....it made you want to punch him in the throat. Without thinking you shrugged off your backpack and swung it at his face. His reflexes bested you again though and he caught the bag, yanking it from you. The force was harder than you expected, it sent you flying into his chest. You both tumbled to the ground and landed shoulder to shoulder. Your skull hit a small rock with a wack. Rubbing the back of your head, shooting pain surfaced.

“Ow!! That fucking hurt dumbass!”

“Sor—“

You swung your arm, aiming to kill, and hit him in the stomach.

It must have really knocked the wind out of him because he made a loud grunting noise that hinted at his surprise. It wasn’t often people got to land a punch on Katsuki Bakugo. King Explosion Murder.

“Do that shit again Little Bite! You’ll regret it!” He grabbed your wrist, attempting to clear a way to get you back. You both started wresting trying to punch each other in the gut. Literally rolling around in the grass in a red hot death match of who could out curse the other.

“Omg, are you guys about to kiss right now?” Mina teased from out of absolutely nowhere, scaring the shit out of you.

You both froze solid as the blood drained from your face. She knew about last night? How did she find out?!

“You told her!?” Bakugo’s entire face was contorting through a whole range of emotions. Shock, horror, embarrassment, accusation, cheekiness, embarrassment again.

“What!?” You panicked. “No! I didn’t!” You swear you didn’t. You replayed your whole morning in your head just to double check.

You turned to your pink friend. Her eyes were wide and her mouth fell open. You watched the gears turn in her head as she realized she’d stumbled upon a miraculously juicy discovery.

“OH. MY. GOD!!! No freaking way!!” She squealed unable to contain herself.

She started blabbering as she attempted to cope with this information. She had absolutely no idea what to do with it.

Your stomach fell as you realized this fatal error. Wait....this wasn’t your error. You pushed him off you and you both scrambled to your feet.

“This is your fault! Why’d you say that!” You shoved a finger in Bakugo’s chest. Which actually hurt because....he’s solid.

“Don’t yell at me!” He yelled back at an even louder volume.

Mina started running around in little circles. “They kissed!!!” She then abruptly stopped in her tracks and you watched a lightbulb flicker on.

No.....

“KIRISHIMA!!!! KAMINARI!!!” She screamed as she ran toward the cafeteria.

“MINA DONT YOU FUCKING DA—“ Bakugo exploded into a full sprint to chase her down. But she was like a rocket.

You chased after them desperately trying to reconcile all this is your mind. But it was no use, your brain was melting. Everyone was about to find out. The relentless jokes...they would never end. You could die right here.

Both of them ran so fast you fell horribly behind. By the time you rounded the corner and caught up to them a whole event had already taken place.

Bakugo was screaming on the top of his lungs. You could practically see the steam coming off the top of his head.

Kaminari was standing there in his stupid form with a half torn shirt. Jesus, what did Bakugo do to him?

Mina and Kirishima were laying on the ground, their face covered in tears. They were laughing so hard no sounds were even coming out.

“Oh my god,” Mina squeaked out between gasps for air, “Bakugo has a crush.”

“It’s so adorable!” Kirishima said wiping the tears from his eyes as he attempted to stop laughing. With no success, they both bursted again after seeing Bakugo slamming his fists into the grass. The teasing was making him want to rip his eyes out. He couldn’t stand it.

“Shut up Kirishima!!!” He jumped on top of his friend and started repeatedly banging his head into the ground. Of course this did absolutely nothing to the hard head. It just made him laugh even more.

Poor Denki just stood there drooling with a little smile on his face and giggling.

You were frozen. Stunned. It was like watching a comedy movie in which you were the punchline.

But all the laughs fell a silent as a furious voice cut through the air.

“What is this.” It wasn’t a question. Mr. Aizawa looked like he hadn’t slept in three days and this used up his last bit of patience.

“Bakugo. Get off him immediately.” He growled.

You knew how this looked. Bakugo was attacking Kirishima after successfully making Kaminari fry his own brain. Your friends’ laughter wasn’t enough to hide Bakugo’s apparent violence even if it was over something as stupid as a kiss. Mr. Aizawa couldn’t possibly know that.

“I overlooked your behavior yesterday, picking a fight with Miss. y/n. But now attacking your other classmates as well? This is violent behavior is unacceptable.”

“Mr. Aizawa—“ Kirishima tried to defend his friend but it was no use.

“Not another word.” Your teacher was glaring at Bakugo with laser beams.

The hot head just stood there in silence with a scowl on his face and two tightly clenched fists. He was really just going to take the heat for everyone? No arguments?

“I’m putting you on house arrest for the rest of the day. No more classes and no combat training.” You watched the dagger go through Bakugo’s chest. Today was going to be offensive training with All Might. You knew he was looking forward to it. Guilt punched your core.

“Mr. Aizawa wait. I’m the one who picked a fight with him yesterday. I challenged him. He shouldn’t get into trouble because of me.” You shuffled toward him timidly. He was scary when he was like this.

Everyone looked at you in surprise. They all knew it was true, that you’d egged him on. And he wouldn’t be raging right now if you hadn’t kissed, so today was also partially your fault. But they were truly surprised because you normally would revel in Bakugo getting scolded. But you weren’t fucking evil. And this wasn’t Bakugo’s fault at all...although he really needed to get his fucking temper in check. Idiot.

“Is that true?” Aizawa asked Bakugo.

The hot head took a deep breath. “Does that sound like me at all? I’d never give into her weak attempts at baiting me. I fought her because I wanted to.”

Your eyes popped out at his words. He lied. Why the fuck would he do that?

Mr. Aizawa escorted Bakugo to the dorms, lecturing the entire way.

“This sucks.” Kirishima said with a frown.

“I know. I feel so bad!” Mina cried sadly.

You had no words. The four of you walked to lunch with drooping heads. You held Kaminari’s hand the whole way until his brain recharged.

Recalling you’d left your backpack in the quad you ran back to get it. Upon arrival you realized Bakugo’s backpack was also there. He wouldn’t even have his stuff with him to finish homework or study during house arrest. You groaned. This guilt was horrible. It ate at you for rest of the day. The rest of your friends didn’t feel any better. And combat training wasn’t the same for you without that familiar sound of explosions going off in the background. It actually made the class feel kind of empty.

As usual at the end of the day you sat in the common area with the rest of the girls.

“So...is it true y/n?” Ochaco poked hesitantly.

You glared at Mina. Loose lips as usual.

“Sorry y/n. I talk when I’m stressed.” Mina cried only kind of regretful.

You sighed. You didn’t have the heart to actually be upset with her. You were the villain here. Getting Bakugo into so much trouble.

“Yea.” You huffed out. Talking about it made you cringe. It was like admitting your sworn rival had defeated you somehow. Even if you sort of didn’t mind the way he did it...

“What was it like?” Mina asked excited for the details.

“Is he a good kisser?” Ochaco added.

Your mind fell into a fog as you replayed the kiss again. Your skin went electric as you remembered the feel of his hands on your waist and those noises he was making. His lips wrapped around yours....

“Oh my god...Ochaco shes in love!” Mina concluded from you zoning out for what ended being like 15 seconds of you staring into space with a little smile on your face. She was practically singing.

“I am not!” You yelled flustered.

“Why are so many people yelling today?” Kirishima chuckled as he rounded the corner to join the couch.

“So is he mad?” Mina’s voice had changed into the sad one from earlier.

“I don’t know. Every time I knock he just tells me to go away. But that’s not that different from normal honestly.” He smiled. Their friendship was so odd.

Suddenly his backpack flashed through your mind. It was sitting in your room.

You got up to leave. You tried to be sneaky about it as they discussed how to cheer the victim up. But to no avail, they’d never let you sneak off again.

“Where you going huh?” Mina’s voice was painfully suggestive.

“To my room!”

“Uh huh, we’ve heard that one before.”

You stuck your tongue at her.

Kirishima twisted to face you over the back of the couch. “So if I ask Bakugo tomorrow if he saw you tonight he’s gonna say no, right?” Who knew he could be this ruthless. No mercy.

You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. You’d been cornered.

“Look. He left his backpack earlier and I’m just going to give it to him! Jeez do you want to do it or something Kiri?” You were seething.

“Nahh, you should do it. He’ll just yell at me to go away again.” He winked. It made you cringe again.

You could peel your skin off from this teasing. But you know someone who hated it even more. You knew that’s why he wouldn’t let Kirishima into his room.

You ran off before they could crack any more jokes.

On your way to the elevators you heard a creepy cackle come from somewhere. You spun around, alarmed, as a “what the fuck” escaped your lips. Your eyes landed on one eyeball peeking through the crack of a doorway.

“Can I get a kiss too?” The voice was wet with drool and lust. “Just one?”

“I will kick your face in Mineta.”

The door quickly shut. Did Mina tell the fucking whole class!?

With more haste now you stormed to your room to get the stupid backpack that was causing you so many problems and made your way to your other problem’s door.

Before you knocked you realized your hands were shaking. Nervous? Seriously, over this moron? You shook it off with resolve and knocked.

“Fuck off Denki, for the hundredth fucking time I’m busy!” A gruff voice yelled from behind the door.

“Oh please, busy with what?” You retorted reflexively. Earlier you had decided you were going to try to be nicer but that sentiment wore off as soon as you heard his annoying voice.

The door swung open.

“What do you want?” He said with a raised eyebrow.

Your mind went blank. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Of course it made his biceps look better than normal. He was wearing a black t-shirt that made his skin look perfectly tanned and was snug in all the right places. And why did he always smell so good damn. Today it was like vanilla and woodsy aftershave.

Stop staring. Stop staring. Speak bitch.

“Here’s your backpack. You should keep better track of it. I had to carry it around all day. That’s annoying.” You tossed it at him.

Why couldn’t you say anything nice? He took the heat for everyone. It’s like your mouth was rebelling against you.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Maybe you should work out more weakling.”

Panic panged in your chest as he started to shut the door in your face.

“Wait—“ you stopped it with your hand.

He paused. Mild interest dawned his brow.

“Why—why did you lie?”

“What?”

“To Mr. Aizawa. You could have told him it was my fault.”

“What do you care?” He pressed. His tone always managed to infuriate you.

You spun on your heels and started to walk away. “Nevermind.”

“Because I felt bad. You hurt your stupid head.”

You’d forgotten about that with all the guilt that had been overrunning your head. It didn’t even hurt anymore. You were surprised he’d even noticed.

“Oh.”

“But obviously you’re fine now so I guess it was all for nothing.” He added quickly trying to sound indignant.

The guilt punched you again. Especially now that you were face to face with him. He didn’t even look mad. He actually looked calm. And he looked good. You tried to deny your attraction to him. But flashes of his hand on your waist started invading your mind again. You could feel him wrapped around your neck. The way he was gentle and rough at the same time.

“Instead of just standing there you could actually make yourself useful. You owe me anyways.”

You snapped out of it trying not to look flustered. You shot him a confused and slightly offended look.

“Fill me in on what I missed in class...” he explained. He wouldn’t make direct eye contact though.

“Are you saying you need my help?” You had to do it. You couldn’t not take an opportunity.

“Tch. Obviously no—“

“Let’s do it. Move.” You said as you pushed past him into his room. Your hand made full contact with his abs and you felt that heat again.

He shut the door behind you and your heart started off like a race horse as you heard him lock it.

You suspected it was to lock the other boys out. God forbid they catch you in his room after all this.

Shit....you were in his room. Alone. With your hot head. The day after he kissed you. The evening after he took all the fury of Mr. Aizawa for you and moments after he asked you to help him study even though he gets way better grades than you.

He cleared a spot for you to sit on his bed and then leaned back into his chair with his hands locked behind his head. His flexing muscles were distracting you again.

“You better actually remember everything.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at him.

His words were supposed to rile you but the way he looked at you, like he was secretly loving that you were here was making your stomach flutter. You could feel your face red and you prayed he wouldn’t notice. At this rate you were going to throw yourself at him before he had the chance to kiss you again. As long as you two didn’t start fighting again first.....

~~

💥 YES there will be a pt 3!!! 💥

It’s going to be called “sTuDyiNg” HAHA (hint: Bakugo doesn’t actually wanna study “dumbass”)

Update: Pt.3 is up now!! Read it here

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 10 second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Meta)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Unclean Realm

Lan Wangji has a Louis Henry Sullivan moment on seeing the Nie family home, becoming enraptured by its overwrought monumental architecture after a lifetime of restrained good taste and single-story buildings.

He approaches the fortress with the expression of delighted wonder that he usually reserves for when he’s looking at the moon or at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is like, yep that’s a building, all right, but he supports Lan Wangji’s kinks.  

Meng Yao tells them about the Wen Clan directive, and has what appears to be a moment of genuine, affectionate amusement at Nie Huaisang’s reaction.

Jiang Cheng kinda blames the Lans for inventing the whole “indoctrination” thing and for encouraging his brother’s disaster bi tendencies. Wei Wuxian responds by complimenting the Lan Clan, almost like someone who met his true love got some real value out of the instruction he received there.  

(more after the cut)

One of the great ironies of this story is that Wei Wuxian sort of becomes a rogue Lan disciple because of his relationship with Lan Wangji. He relies on Lan temperament techniques, uses music as a primary cultivation method, has committed all of the Lan rules to his supposedly terrible memory and cites them on multiple occasions, and is an important mentor for the younger generation Lan disciples. Because Hanguang-Jun is just that good in bed.

Xue Yang in the background of this conversation is channeling OP’s church-enduring, school-enduring inner 10-year-old.

Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-Zun, appears, and couldn’t be more different than his brother. On first watching this episode, I saw him as a grumpy, sexy, very emotional leather daddy man who is quick to anger. Rewatching, I see someone who’s struggling with a growing illness...the resentful energy kind.

Nie Mingjue’s handling of resentful energy is very different from Wei Wuxian’s straightforward interest and acceptance. NMJ has a traditional cultivator’s view of it, regarding it as evil and as something to resist, while he is literally carrying it on his back. He’s like a secret alcoholic who is preaching temperence, and can’t find a way to be reconciled with himself.  

At this point of the story, Nie Mingjue is keeping it together, but is under a hell of a lot of stress, and Baxia’s blood thirst is already maybe a problem.

The Yunmeng bros think that Nie Huaisang’s fear of his brother is hilarious, because they don’t understand the situation. They think he’s just living in a hideously toxic family dynamic like theirs, when actually he’s in a loving, sorta healthy, if parentless, family that is being crushed under a generational curse.

Compliments for the Yunmeng Bros

I’m not the first meta poster to notice how happy Jiang Cheng is to be praised by Nie Mingjue.

He never gets this at home. Jiang Yanli praises him, but in that watery “you tried your best” way that doesn’t really stick.  Nie Mingjue’s praise really means something, because he is a fearsome warrior and stern authority figure. And this is a double compliment, because Nie Mingjue says he heard it from Lan Xichen, and agrees with it.

Let’s Make Terrible Decisions

Keep Xue Yang alive, says Wei Wuxian, and Meng Yao immediately agrees, although I’m pretty sure he would have proposed that even if WWX hadn’t.

So they do, not realizing that “kill him later” is never a good plan for someone who 1. super needs killing 2. has a whole lot of death-dealing skills.

Future clan leader Jiang Cheng notices how smart and talented Meng Yao is.  Xue Yang finds it hilarious when the trio praises Meng Yao, possibly because their evil team up is already underway.

Boss’ Bed Warmer Son of a Ho

The constant insults toward Meng Yao are about his mom, but there’s another level of leering implication, that Meng Yao seems to encourage in his conversation with the soon-to-be-murdered guard captain.

Nie Mingjue elevated him way above his expectations, and he is ridiculously pretty, which has to create rumors. In the Nightless City scenes when he’s fondling Baxia and telling Nie Mingjue’s family secrets there’s definitely a sense of intimacy that’s not just “loyal retainer.”

I feel like maybe this whole exchange is a bit of theater designed to show Xue Yang something without showing it to anyone else. Meng Yao didn’t need to have this conversation in front of his prisoner.

Let’s Do Exactly What We Said We Wouldn’t

Once the younger quartet are alone with Nie Mingjue, Wei Wuxian crosses the room away from his friends and practically into Lan Wangji’s pocket, if Lan Wangji had pockets.

He has no pockets and also has no personal bubble any more, when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

We could make a weapon out of Yin Iron, Wei Wuxian says, completely forgetting his entire conversation with Lan Yi, apparently. Lan Wangji doesn’t argue with this idea.

Nie Mingjue warns Wei Wuxian not to try it.

I stabbed a man in Qinghe just to watch him die

Nie Mingjue is like the Johnny Cash of the cultivation world, carrying the weight of his poor choices and trying to steer the young folk to the path of righteousness. But--like Johnny Cash--his bad choices have made him really fucking cool, so he isn’t very good at deterring anybody.

Meng Yao Didn’t Come Here to Make Friends

Immediately after Meng Yao’s fellow Nie clan people call him “son of a whore” again, Wei Wuxian meets him, is nice to him, addresses him by his military title, bows to him, asks why he’s away from the party, and thanks him for his service.

But Meng Yao has already decided to make friends with Xue Yang, so Wei Wuxian goes onto his list of people that he doesn’t give a crap about except if they can be useful to him.  Then Meng Yao goes to make out hatch a plot with Xue Yang.

I’ll Sleep On Your Roof

Meeting SongXiao seems to have done away with the last of Lan Wangji’s resistance to his connection with Wei Wuxian.

He hears a noise on the roof and, when realizing it’s Wei Wuxian, he smiles one of his tiny reserved smiles before heading outside.

When he sees Wei Wuxian drunkenly sprawled on the roof, limbs akimbo, wine on his chin and neck, mouth full of poetry about the open road, Lan Wangji gives him the most fond look imaginable.

Then he reluctantly leaves, with his signature “say goodbye, but only when he can’t hear you” thing.

They’ve both come a really long way since their first meeting. Wei Wuxian is openly and vocally attaching himself to Lan Wangji...but is not actually entering his space or asking for anything from him; he just wants to be near him, and wants to let him know that. “I’ll sleep on your roof tonight.”

And Lan Wangji just...loves him. Wei Wuxian is drunk, embarrassing, demonstrative, eager to make a hell weapon out of yin iron, touchy feely, and absurdly sexy. And Lan Wangji is pretty okay with all of that.

I Might Have Been Drunk

Wei Wuxian carefully avoids telling Jiang Cheng where he was last night.

Even if he did get blackout drunk, he would have woken up on Lan Wangji’s roof. And I don’t think he was as drunk as that. He just knows Jiang Cheng wouldn’t like the truth.

Wen Fucking Chao, Again

Wen Chao shows up to be annoying and boring.  This leads to a pretty good fight between Nie Mingjue and Wen Zhuliu. Note that when the chips are down, Nie Huaisang stands with his Gege without any cowering. Almost as if he had hidden reserves of bravery, and is not as helpless as he lets on.

Wen Zhuliu isn’t styled to be super hot, although he’s certainly compelling, and in Dance of the Phoenix he looks good with sensitive-guy hair wispies. I wonder what actor Feng Mingjing looks like out of character?

BRB, adding a tag to my follow list

Battle Bros

When the fighting breaks out, the Yunmeng brothers are decisive and united, with Wei Wuxian giving orders to Jiang Cheng and JC following without hesitation.

I feel like if these two could have gone through a few big battles together, instead of being separated during most of the Sunshot campaign, their whole relationship would have improved. On the battlefield, they respect, trust, and understand each other.  

The Pointy End

Nie Mingjue is holding his own against Wen Zhuliu, but he gets distracted by Meng Yao hollering “Xue Yang has escaped” and then shanking the guard captain right in front of him.

Wen Zhuliu takes advantage of the distraction to aim a very slow stab at Nie Huasang, and Meng Yao jumps in front to get stabbed on his behalf.

When the Yunmeng bros show up to help NMJ, Wen Zhuliu immeiately yanks Wen Chao back behind him and points his sword at Wei Wuxian. He absolutely sees these two as a serious threat.  Considering that eventually WWX is going to kill Wen Chao while JC kills Wen Zhuliu, this concern is not misplaced.

Wei Wuxian tells Wen Chao to stop being such a jerk, and Wen Chao menaces Wei Wuxian and gloats about the burning of cloud recesses. The burning, that is, of some part of cloud recesses that doesn’t include the library, the Jingshi, the main cultivation chamber, the rabbit warren, or Lan Qiren’s house, unless the Lan Clan is really really good at rebuilding things to very exact specifications.

In a rare moment of seeing Meng Yao’s internal thoughts, he is worried about Lan Xichen when he hears about cloud recesses.

The Yelling Part

Now we have the particularly nasty breakup between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. It’s...got some layers. Meng Yao is cowering on the floor, but is not apologizing.

He never apologizes throughout this encounter.

孟瑤無悔  - Meng Yao (has) no regrets

This scene is amazing and excruciating to watch, even more when you know what’s ahead.

What the Fuck is Meng Yao’s Plan

On one level this is Meng Yao, manipulative sociopath, setting up a cover story for his aiding and alliance with Xue Yang.  On another, this is Meng Yao, loving subordinate, being tossed aside by his lord because he dared to stand up for himself.

He uses the same “scout’s honor” gesture we’ve seen Wei Wuxian use to swear he’s telling the truth. Wei Wuxian is always lying when he uses this gesture.

I’m...not sure exactly what Meng Yao’s plan is, with all these chess moves? By stabbing the captain in front of NHS, he created an opportunity to plant a cover story about Xue Yang’s escape. He might be hoping that Nie Mingjue will forgive him and keep him on, while Xue Yang can stay in his back pocket to be used later.

Dry eyes? Try Visene

Or he might be intending to get kicked out, given his non-apology. In any case, Nie Mingjue is weeping during this encounter, and Meng Yao...isn’t. He is signaling distress in his voice, expression, and body language, but his eyes are dry up until the last moment, and even then they just glisten a bit. In a show where every actor is an expert at crying on cue, that’s got to be a deliberate choice.

Which isn’t to say that Meng Yao is faking being full of emotion in this scene. It’s just that the emotion isn’t necessarily sorrow.

What Does Nie Mingjue’s Head Think

Flip the view and this is about Nie Mingjue being betrayed by a subordinate, who has turned out to be a self-serving murderer. And on another level it’s Nie Mingjue being betrayed by his lover, who was just using him for advancement.

I rewatched the later episode where we get the scene as Nie Mingjue’s head perceived it, and he’s particularly brokenhearted and disillusioned from his head’s POV.  In that version there is a telling addition to the conversation.

Nie Mingjue asks about the guys who were roasting Meng Yao behind his back. He asks, if I hadn’t come, would you have murdered all of them?

Um. No, dude. Of course fucking not. That’s what a patriarchal authority does. That’s the way an angry Nie Mingjue/Baxia team might solve a problem.

Meng Yao has to use subterfuge to kill his enemies. And while he super hates being called “son of a whore” it’s absolutely not enough to make him kill someone, with the risk murder brings. Likewise, being treated well isn’t enough to make him spare someone. Nie Mingjue totally doesn’t get this, because he’s been the patriarch of this clan his entire adult life.

And Here’s the Actual Problem

There is a betrayal here, but Nie Mingjue is not simply a victim.  Whether it’s a sexual relationship or a non-sexual bond of affection, there can be nothing solid in Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao’s relationship within a feudal society, because it is fundamentally unequal. Even if they love each other deeply - which I’m not convinced either of them does - every encounter they have is tainted with power dynamics.

Meng Yao has been elevated by Nie Mingjue and quite probably taken into his bed, as well as being told many family secrets, but has not been given a new surname (like, for example, Wen Zhuliu was) or independent power. More importantly, Nie Mingjue has not used his authority to remove or punish the many people who disrespect his subordinate.  Lan Qiren would have had all of those gossipy fuckers kneeling in the snow, and Wen Ruohan would feed them to his mosh pit zombies.

Meng Yao is a murderous little snake, but he is right to be angry with Nie Mingjue about some things, and his pursuit of his own agenda is understandable.

Well, That Was a Slice

Meng Yao leaves, hurt, with a dignified bow; just as he did that one time when his dad kicked him down the Carp Tower steps.

Take note, both patriarchal authorities: that is his way of saying “I’m going to murder you one day.”

Nie Mingjue sits with his broken heart, as we realize that we’ve only spent 20 minutes with this guy and we’ve gone on an entire emotional journey with him. This episode packed in a LOT.

Soundtrack: Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues

[yandere-daydreams]

Kinktober - Day Thirteen

Prompt: Medical Play

Pairing: Sakusa/Reader (Haikyuu!!)

TW: Kidnapping, Implied Non-Con, Gaslighting, (Severe) Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Physical Abuse, and Infantilization. 

Sakusa keeps you on a strict schedule.

Well, it’s less of a ‘schedule’, and more of a routine you’ve fallen into, now that you have someone so capable to take care of you. You were so stubborn, at first, too hard-headed to believe that your boyfriend had your best interests in mind, but you’re past that, now, and you can see Sakusa for the caretaker he is. Really, you should count yourself lucky he even took someone so disobedient in, considering everything you’ve put him through. All those temper tantrums, those hissy fits, those fights… It’s honestly a miracle he can still manage to say your name so fondly. He wants to keep you healthy, after all, he wants to keep you happy.

It’s the least you could do to sit back and let him.

Every morning, Sakusa gets up an hour before you to make breakfast. He cooks every meal, technically, but breakfast is always the most intimate, the most hazy, the only one that’s filled with soft kisses and softer touches and the bitter scent of coffee, something you enjoy more than you should, since you’re not actually allowed to drink it. You can’t say you really want to, though. You like the feeling of resting your head against his chest, your eyes half-lidded and your mind still foggy as he feeds you by hand, rewarding each bite with a smile or quiet words of praise.

He's meticulous with your diet, going over every calorie, every ingredient, every vitamin, but you’re afraid that might not mean he’s very good with nutrition. He’s an athlete, and he’s always been an athlete - he doesn’t really know how to accommodate a lifestyle that’s not filled with training and conditioning and doing things, rather than whatever meddling tasks you use to occupy your time. By the time he leaves for the day, insisting on taking your temperature before letting you kiss him goodbye, you’re filled with energy that cleaning his constantly spotless villa won’t make a dent on. Sakusa says you shouldn’t exert yourself. He used to tie you up so you wouldn’t - cuff your wrists to your headboard and  bind yours ankles together, too, if you tried to kick him - and when you wouldn’t stop complaining about how bored you were, how this was torture, he’d get angry and shove a vibrator inside of you, one no amount of writhing or squirming would dislodge, and you’d be left to cry and cum until you swallowed your pride and begged him to turn it off. He’d give you a bath, afterwards, of course. Sakusa’s great at baths, it’s always so warm, and he knows all your favorite products, and sometimes, if you were good, he’ll even stop holding your head under the boiling-hot water before you run out of air. Sometimes. Occasionally.

You’re sure he’s done it once or twice, probably.

You don’t complain about the boredom, anymore. You try to read for a few hours, to kill as much time as you can with activities Sakusa approves of, but you find yourself resorting to the meager electronics your boyfriend lets you borrow when he’s not home. He really doesn’t like it when you use those kinds of things. He thinks too much screentime will rot your brain and ruin your eyes, so a parental lock always turns on after a few hours, one you need a password to disable. Usually, you’ll spend half an hour or so trying to guess at it - you’d even gotten it right, once. You’d teased him about it, playfully mentioning that he still remembered the name of the place you’d first met, but Sakusa’s never had much of a sense of humor. He hadn’t been mad. He repeated that, over and over again, as he bent you over his knee, as he folded his belt. He wasn’t mad, just disappointed. You went against him, and then you admitted that you had. You did something stupid, and then you bragged about it.

He hadn’t chosen to make it so sentimental again, when he reset his password.

After that, you might try to sleep. ‘Might’, because you used to, but it’s gotten harder since you started sharing a bed with Sakusa. You still love sleeping with him, and you adore waking up in his arms, but…

He’d given you a collection of stuffed animals, when he first brought you home, as little, only half-effective comfort items. It sounds childish, and it was childish, but burying your face in something velvety and plush might’ve been the only thing that got you through the first few weeks, aside from Sakusa’s support. They’re still there, in your old room, stacked into a neat, adorable pile on the corner of your bed, but Sakusa makes sure they stay there. He says he doesn’t feel comfortable letting you keep something pressed to your chest all night, but you think he’s lying. He always keeps you pressed to his chest - it makes it easier for him to grind against your ass, after he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. He says you’re too delicate for sex. He says you’re not ready for it, that he’s scared he might break you if he lets himself go. You can only count yourself lucky he has enough self-restraint to be so gentle with you, when his discipline does falter.

It’s bliss, when he’s at home. He makes sure you never have to lift a finger, that you don’t have to take a step he thinks might not be effortless, and by then, you’re so happy to have him within reach, you’re ready to let him do just about anything. He’s just so caring, too. Sakusa puts your health above everything, and although you doubt any germ could possibly make it through his layers upon layers of bleach and sanitizer, he still feels the need to look after you as thoroughly as any real doctor would. There’s a whole room dedicated to your weekly ‘check-ups’, an office-space filled with bandages and blood tests and tools with names so long and so nonsensical, you’re half-convinced he’s making them up, whenever he bothers to explain what he’s doing. 

He does have his moments of paranoia, though. Some days, he’ll come home dejected and on-guard, and you’ll be asked to strip down and let him lift you onto the nearest counter for an impromptu exam.

It’s still a little embarrassing, honestly. You’re used to the the feeling of latex, by now, of rubber-clad fingers exploring all the wrong places, poking and prodding, the pad of his thumb pressing against the flat of your tongue or running over your bare chest or scissoring you open, but it’s heard not to feel... dirty, afterwards. He’s just taking care of you. He’s just looking after you. If you find a way to get off on that, if you find a way to pervert it, there’s something wrong with you, not Sakusa. If he notices, he’s too nice to mention it, beyond accepting the meek apology you try to offer when things get out of hand.

You’re usually exhausted, afterwards, and he cradles you against his chest as the two of you take a shower, as he kisses your forehead and tells you how beautiful you are, how clean you are, how he’s going to make sure you never have to touch another speck of pure filth that’s outside again. If you ask nicely, you get to wear one of his shirts to bed, and Sakusa holds you close and strokes your back as you let yourself relax against him. He likes to talk about how glad he is that you’re so well-behaved, now. He’s just so happy you finally know he’s trying to take care of you. And you’re happy that he’s happy. You’re happy he loves you.

And you’re so, so thankful that he taught you how to love him back.

[internalsealpanic]

Bloody Valentine

Summary: There is nothing more romantic than being stuck in an elevator and arguing about terrible life decisions. 

a/n: Blame @littleredwing89 for the existence of this.  This is, as of the time I’m posting this, the 4th part (chronologically) to my Dick Grayson/Merc!Reader series. It might be better for you to read part 1 or part 2 before reading this as the angst might hit harder if you do. 

Warnings:�� Mentions of blood and injury. Dick and Reader are both hypocrites with no self preservation. It also gets a little heated(?) in the end but nothing really bad.

Main Masterlist

Dick Grayson Masterlist

Direct Sequel to this: Sweetness 

This was not how you pictured your Valentine’s Day. 

Sure, you weren’t exactly picturing a candle-lit dinner under the stars or slow dancing in the pale moonlight like a Hallmark movie. But you’re not exactly thrilled to be standing outside an emergency room waiting area, clutching an unopened pack of cigarettes and a spare superman shirt, as per the police chief’s suggestion. You tap your foot impatiently as an officer persuades the hospital staff to let you in as you stupidly forgot to bring any of your IDs. The pack of cigarettes crinkles loudly earning you a withering look from a tired-looking mother. 

You take a breath. 

You settle yourself in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs they point you to. There’s a scream in your throat. And you’re so close to crying. From frustration, anxiety, fatigue? You couldn’t distinguish. 

You flick your eyes to them. Finally, the staff relents and you brush past them brusquely.   

Your thoughts spiral. The bile lingers at the back of your throat. Burning. Acidic. Dick had lost a lot of blood but not fatal, they told you. The sob that left your mouth was inhumane. You’d almost dropped the phone. Static and white noise vibrated through your eardrums. In a trance-like state, you walk towards the room they kept him in, tunnel vision guiding you to his door. That’s what shock does to you. 

All you can think of is him.

You hold the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, glaring at Dick through the rearview mirror, more specifically the white hospital issued sling cradling his arm. You watch Dick as he pretends to not notice the look you’re needling him with.  “I spy with my little eye something… green,” he says absentmindedly as he stares out into the flow of traffic. 

You keep your narrowed eyes straight ahead, not even thinking about dignifying his little distraction. Right now, all you were seeing was red. 

To your right, Dick sighs dramatically, running his hand through his black hair. “So you’re just going to ignore me, huh?”

You’re not but you sure are trying. 

Dick as far as you knew was used to silence but he thrived in noise. He lived off of interactions, good or bad. You’re usually an endless supply of banter and playful quips but right now you needed the silence. You needed him to stew in it along with you. This isn’t to say you were particularly ill-tempered or impatient with people, being friends with someone like Dick necessitated a certain level of patience in your opinion.  And sure, you had a sharp tongue but you didn’t lose your temper often. But as you sit there next to him with your teeth grinding, fingers tapping, and muscles clenched, you could feel anger coiling under your skin. 

He lets out another sigh, this time sounding genuinely exasperated. Good. “(y/n), I don’t know why you’re upset by this- I’m a cop. We both know the risks.” 

The coil under your skin burns and you break hard, pointedly ignoring the loud cursing from the driver behind you. Dick chokes and hisses as the seatbelt digs into his chest. You offer him no sympathy or apology as you shoot him such a glare that whatever smartass remark he has for you dies on the tip of his tongue. Considering all the villains and heroes he’s had glaring at him over the years, you consider this an accomplishment. Dick flinches at the intensity of the anger wicking off of you. 

You click your teeth and turn back to the road, seeing the light turn green again. “You were issued a gun for a reason,” you say flatly, opting for this instead of the litany of other ways to say ‘you’re a moron’. You’re polite like that. 

It’s Dick’s turn to level you a look but unlike him, you don’t flinch, too caught up in your own anger. “Well, I assessed the situation-”

“You were wrong.”

“- and thought I could deescalate,” he says scowling at you through the mirror. Hurt flashes behind his eyes.  He looks… like a mix between petulant and offended but you can’t bring yourself to care to do more than give him a withering look, especially not when you still have his bloodied uniform burned into your mind. You admired his determination to keep the peace the way you admired how uncompromising his stance was on second chances. You really did but… It was the second time he nearly died that week and it was just Tuesday. 

You stop again. You close your eyes. Loving someone who could someday not come home to you was not a possibility you had prepared for.  You just- You just weren’t ready to care for someone so… destructible.  You weren’t sure how to process all the anxiety that came with that, so you turned to anger. It just seemed so much more productive and tangible than the shapeless fear anxiety brought you. “And you nearly got shot in the heart,” you deadpan, heart twinging. You taper your emotions down into something more manageable, something easier to compartmentalize. You can tell Dick was going through the same process. Which one of you was having a harder time, you couldn’t tell. 

“He barely grazed me.”

“Correction, you have a hole in your shoulder.” Asshole.  You bite back the insult, trying not to escalate the argument. You click your teeth but try not to clench your jaw or grind your teeth. The first person to lose their temper loses the argument. 

Dick huffs, resting his chin against his uninjured hand. His eyes flicker to you then the window. “I’ve had worse,” he mutters and your stomach tumbles to the ground getting crushed by the tire. Your mind careens. Your lungs fill up with the smell of ash and gun smoke. For a moment, your eyes do not work. For a moment, you’re in a crumbling building. Your eyes watching the billowing smoke curl against the sky. A blast of heat so hot it makes the liquid in your eyes boil breezes past you. 

You feel the flick of Yasiri’s tail on your skin and suddenly your foot is on a gas pedal instead of a broken cement floor. You blink, a tar-like emotion is swimming under your skin. You breathe. You glare at the traffic in front of you if only to focus your vision. “You’re impossible,” you snarl. 

In the corner of your eye, Dick peels away from the window, anger flashing in his easy-going features. He’s brandishing a sneer. You brace yourself. Dick… Dick Grayson was a mean son of a bitch when he wanted to be and he knew too much of your hurts. You swallow, gripping the steering wheel. Yasiri swims on your skin, surfacing just enough to get ready to strike but also just enough to be hidden. 

Dick opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Dick closes his mouth then opens it again and instead of something truly scathing, Dic opts for something more teasing probably realizing that pissing off your driver is a really bad idea. “You say that like you’re any easier to talk to.”

“At least, I know how to listen,” you bite out, voice drawing dangerously low. Dick’s eyes flicker to you, his shoulders bunching up a fraction. You click your teeth and take a calming breath. 

Dick snorts, the knot in his shoulders disappearing. “Yeah, right.”

You bristle. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel contemplating on whether to deck him. You should deck him. You should definitely deck him. Would that open up his stitches? It probably would. You mutter a curse. It feels nice rolling off your tongue and it seems Dick feels the same when he curses in Romani. You catalog the word for later use. Dick turns away from you, glaring out the window. You can see the way his eyes narrow through the reflection in the window. The look in his eyes is a complicated mix of irritation and hurt and regret.  

You silently agree to table the discussion, at least, until you got off the road. 

You brush past the elevator door, tossing your bag to the corner and leaning against the cool wall of the elevator. Dick enters and leans on the opposite wall, gingerly rubbing his shoulder. Neither of you look at each other. You watch the buttons light up as the elevator climbs up. Your skin is still buzzing from emotions. You thought the quiet drive would right them but… it didn’t.

To your side, you hear the restless tapping of feet. You glance over to Dick whose body is vibrating and itching from movement. Seems you weren’t the only one jittery. You smother a snort in your hand. It was cruel but you find the fact that he’ll be so bored while recovering is slightly funny. 

The elevator shakes. You’re thrown off balance. There’s a metallic clunking above you. You both lookup. Dick strains his ears to listen. You quiet your breathing so as not to distract him. He sighs and curses, the side of his fist pounding against the wall. “It’s just broken.” You look at him, eyes wide and dumbfounded. 

“Are you fucking with me?”

He shakes his head. “I wish,” he scoffs. You scrunch your nose and Dick sneers. “We’re just gonna have to wait, I guess.”  And you press yourself against your wall. “Wonderful.” 

You both stew in silence. “I can’t believe I’m stuck...” you mutter under your breath as you try to pry the elevator doors open. Dick rolls his eyes at you. “You can’t open those doors, (y/n),” he ruffles his hair in frustration, “we just need to wait for the fire department, dumbass.”He says, his head lulling back against the wall. 

 You hiss, your fingers sore and red. “Has anyone ever told you that you were an ass?” You snarl making Dick scowl at you. 

“You’ve said so like 5 times in the emergency room and 2 times in- Do you really wanna start this again?!”

You punch the door, creating a deep divet. “You’re goddamn right I wanna start this again because, Richard, for once in your goddamned life I wish you would stop being such a self-centered dickweed!” You seethe. Your knuckles hurt. They feel cool. They’re probably bleeding. 

Dick shoots up from the corner. “How am I self-centered?”

“Risking your life like a fucking moron like that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to save those people.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” you throw your arms up in exasperation, “do you know just how bad you are at keeping yourself alive because of that fucking hero complex, huh? You dumb. piece. of. Shit.”  You take a deep breath and continue your tirade. “You think you’re invincible just cus you run around in tights all night?”

Dick smirks at you. “You never had a problem with my tights when-”

“Check your ego, Grayson. I’ve dealt with a lot of spandex-clad pretty boys before, you’re nothing special.” You want the words to sting. 

“Oh please, you dealt with them by putting them in body bags!”

“Yeah! Fuck you! You’ll end up in one the rate you’re going.” Dick is speechless for a moment. Something in Dick’s eyes flares. You flinch and open your mouth to say something but Dick roars, the sound loud in the confined space. “What? Are you gonna tell me to stop being a hero? Are you gonna tell me that I’m not good enough to be Nightwing like how Bruce told me I couldn’t be Robin? Hah?”

Your heart drops and your chest burns. Your hackles draw up as high as they can. You bare your teeth. “No, you fucking moron That’s not the point!”

“What is it then, (y/n)? What do you want from me?!”

“You always go on this damn crusade to save everyone and everything and you don’t bother to take care of yourself or how it would affect others!”

“Wha-”

“No! You don’t- You don’t ever think!”You shove him against the wall, jabbing your finger into his chest. 

Dick glares down at you, grabbing your wrist in an almost painful grip. His finger jabs against your collar bone as he gets in your face, his hot breath fanning against your skin. “Fuck you! You’re just as bad as I am! You always throw yourself in front of others at the first sound of gunfire.”

“Dipshit, I have accelerated healing!” you say, ripping your hand out of his grip. 

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE INVINCIBLE.”

“Neither are you!” You sob, it comes out wet and raw. You close your eyes. You can still see the blood on his uniform. You sink to the floor, clutching at his shirt. Your tears sting even as they fall to the floor. “Neither are you.”

“(y/n)...” Dick’s shoulders droop as he watches you proud form crumple, entire body shaking.  He lowers himself to the ground slowly, careful not to agitate you. 

You press forward and bury your face into his shoulder, fist lightly punching his chest. You don’t want him to see you cry.  “Dick… I’m not saying you should quit… that- that’s just who you are.” You hiccup, tears flowing.“I just- I don’t want to bury you. I don’t- I can’t lose you, you fucking moron… You can’t just worm your way into someone’s heart and- and- ”

“(Y/n)...” Dick pulls you into his lap and lays his chin on your head. He hadn’t really thought… He should have known. He should have guessed. 

You pull away and look him in the eye, eyes bloodshot from crying. “You can’t just expect me to be ok with the possibility you won’t come back to me,” you say lowly, punching his chest.   The next few words come out in a shy whisper, low enough that Dick has to strain his ears to hear you. “Dick… I love you. I want to grow old with you, you waste of oxygen.” You cry into Dick’s shoulder not able to face him.  Dick shakes his head. He puts his hand on the back of your neck and presses a kiss to your hair. Dick doesn’t know how many times he has to tell you he doesn’t think less of you for crying on his shoulder but he’ll tell you no matter how many times you need to hear it.  

You sit in silence with only your muffled sobs and Dick’s comforting words filling the dead air. 

 “Timmy is gonna kill you for making me cry,” you sniffle, facing him with a wet tear-stained smile. 

Dick gives you a crooked smile in return.“ I still have no idea how you managed to turn my siblings against me,” Dick says, planting another kiss on your face but this time on your eyelid just below your brow. 

“You say that like it’s hard.” 

Dick pouts at you and you cackle loud and high, somehow still managing to sound musical. “I am a lovable big brother-”

“-And I’m a fucking nun-” Dick pinches your ass through your skirt. “We'll  have nun of that,”

You grab Dick’s wrist in a tight grip, managing to narrow your eyes at him. “I am not dropping this conversation just  to get fucked in an elevator.”

His eyes shine cheekily at the idea.“Wasn't my plan... but that works.”

“Dick…”

Dick leans down, his nose grazing your pulse, brushing like petals against your skin. “Let me make it up to you,” Dick says, licking a stripe up the column of your neck. Ignoring the swell of his pants against your inner thigh, you pinch his cheek, tugging him away from your neck. Your stomach roils at the loss of his lips on your skin but you suppress a whine to glare at him.

Dick looks up at you, mischief lighting his eyes. He pulls away from your hand. His lips find their way back to your neck then back up your jaw. His lips press kisses along your jawline. “It’ll-”kiss”-be-” kiss “-sooo worth it.”

Your breath hitches.“Dick...” you whine, feeling your skin heat. Your mind is buzzing. He smiles against you. His fingers toy with the strap of your bra, tugging it down slowly, carefully, making sure you feel every bit of his movement. “I hear my name-” he kisses your shoulder “-but you’re not stopping me.”

You roll your hips, panting for him. Dick’s tongue is hot against your skin. “C’mon, sweetheart, you know I can make you scream my name with just one hand,” Dick whispers against the shell of your ear. His hand slides down your arm down to your hip, his hand guiding your ass towards his growing bulge. “C’mon, Sweetheart, think about it-” Lick ”-the words I could make you sing.”

“Dick...” you pant, arching your back, pressing your body against his, giving him more access to your neck. Dick nips at your flesh happily. “Honey, I’m going to-”   

You yelp, your skin flying off your bones when you hear the elevator doors open. Dick, unphased, continues kissing you and licking up your skin. 

“Heeey guys, it’s Grayson,” the fireman calls out to the other men behind him. He turns back to the two of you with a cheeky grin.“Dickie, if I’d known it was you..” He glances towards you, eyes catching on the red hickeys blooming on your shoulder. You want to evaporate. “You guys need a minute?” Dick grins against your skin, looking up at you through thick lashes. “Thanks, Jerry, but we might need more than that.”

You glare down at Dick who simply smiles at you as he nips at your flesh.  “What? Feeling shy?” Dick breathes against your neck and all of a sudden, all of the anger and irritation comes creeping back. You shove Dick lightly, standing up and fixing your shirt. “I think he has a concussion. I suggest you check him out,” you snarl, brushing past Jerry leaving Dick on the floor, horny and stunned. 

“I’m totally fine!” Dick says, scrambling to his feet and grabbing your bag. 

You glare over your shoulder. “Our argument isn’t over.”

“What? But- I thought- We were about to-” Your scowl deepens as you see Dick flounder.  Jerry cackles as he gives Dick’s back an unsympathetic pat. 

“Sorry about that, Grayson. I guess you were destined to get blue balled,” Jerry laughs shaking his head. Dick sighs deeply, his shoulders drooping. “Are you really sorry?” Dick asks, side-eyeing Jerry. Jerry grins. “Nah, but it’s the thought that counts,” Jerry says, looking all too pleased with himself. 

Dick bumps past Jerry gently with a slightly petulant look on his face which earns him a chuckle from Jerry and a glare from you. “Watch the shoulder,” you crow from the hall. 

Jerry shakes his head. “No, hero’s welcome, huh?” Dick rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, she’s not exactly happy about the hole in my shoulder,” Dick admits, sheepishly. Jerry shoves Dick forward lightly and the other firemen do the same. “Go get ‘er, Tiger!”

Dick falls into step behind you, his lips brushing the back of your neck. His arm wraps around you as he pulls you close. He places a kiss behind your ear. You gasp and you hear hoots behind you. “Dick… Don’t… You can’t solve this with an orgasm,” you sigh, feeling your resolve crumble as his soft lips brushed the weak point of your neck. “Honey… please.” Dick holds you against his chest. The beating of his heart thaws you. “Honey, I’m sorry...” His breath runs down the side of your neck and it feels like feathers caressing your skin. You take a breath. He just knew how to make you melt. 

“... I love you too.”

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell   @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

[vexillumalbum]

Just saw this for mysme, but could I possibly indulge myself and ask for a MLQC headcannon or fic of the boys having a wet dream about MC? Whatever you’re feeling my love ♥️ Thank you for your beautiful work 💕💕

Thank you for your request! I hope this satisfy you haha 

NSFW below

Victor

„Victor~” your voice filled with need was one of the giveaways of how much you wanted him. And when you spread your legs, sitting in front of him on the desk in his office to show him that in the morning you had totally on purpose forgotten to put on your underwear, something inside him cracked and within seconds your skirt was on the floor.

Blood boiled in his veins and was reaching his cock, causing him to lose his temper. You were so beautiful with cheeks tinted a light shade of pink and eyes begging him to fuck you, he was unable to resist you.

A whimper left your plumped lips when cool fingers of one of his hands marveled upon your slick folds while the other hand made a quick work of his belt and zipper. You kissed him, or maybe he kissed you. It didn’t really matter. You were both too lost in a moment to care.

„So good—” Your moan reached his ears drowning his own groan as his hard length disappeared in you. A feeling so heavenly familiar yet excitingly new every single time his cock was enveloped by your heat.

The scent of your arousal - sweat mixed with floral perfumes, your sweet cries of pleasure as he was senselessly pounding into you, your warmth that was so inviting he—

Bzzzt bzzzt bzzzt

Startled, he woke up in his bed, his pajamas disheveled and sheets creased. He turned off the alarm clock, then ran a hand over his face to discover that his forehead was covered with sweat.

A low grumble got out of his chest. He instinctively glanced over to the other side of the bed, where he would normally find your figure sleeping under the covers, but now it wasn't there due to the business trip you were taking. 

Usually he could control himself and his lust, but your absence was taking its toll on him, and he'd had dreams like that for several nights now. 

Ignoring the aching hardness in his pants, he grabbed the phone to see if he had received any messages from you. And when he saw you assured him in one of your text messages that you would be home tonight that day, his member throbbed a bit.

He replied with a simple „I’ll be waiting” but in his head he already saw all the places and positions he would take you in. He had to make you regret leaving him for so long.

But for now his hand had to be enough

Gavin

Too much. 

The sight of your breasts bouncing with every swift move you made, the heavenly sounds escaping your plump lips and the way your warmth welcomed him back with your every move accompanied by his feverish thrusts.

It was all just too much for Gavin.

His large hands caught your hips to encourage you to move more and as his calloused fingers dug harder into your flesh, his name left your mouth making him unable to think properly.

„Gavin!” 

Your hands mindlessly wandered along the edges of his muscles and with every second your nails were digging more and more into officer’s skin leaving moon-shaped marks. He was barely controlling himself, every time you rode him, he would had to hold himself back in order not to finish too early. 

He recognized all the signs that you were close. Your hands clenched into fists on his chest as your eyes rolled back, and your pussy squeezed his cock tighter and tighter with every move. 

He had always thought you were beautiful, but it was in those moments when you were on verge, ready to plunge into the abyss of pleasure, that he considered you the most alluring.

Gavin let himself get lost in pleasure knowing yours would come soon enough and when one of your hands went to grab his hair and tugged lightly he—

Ring ring ring

He sit up frantically trying to stop the noise that caused him to wake up. Because of his actions his phone, still ringing, dropped to the floor making Gavin frown. 

Who was calling him on the early Saturday morning?!

Picking up his phone, and seeing your smiley face along with your name on it, he started panicking a bit vividly remembering his dream. Dude, relax, she doesn’t know

„Gavin? Where are you?” 

„What do you mean?” He asked shifting uncomfortably on the bed. There was a big contrast between your voice in his dream and your voice now but hearing it still made him blush.

„You were supposed to help me with rearranging the living room today! Did you forget?”

Shit, he forgot

„Ugh, no. Of course not. I’m on my way.” He mumbled. „See you soon.” He hung up before you could say anything more as he collapsed on the pillow. Painfully aware of his erection he tried not to think about you but it was too hard. He could make love to you a thousand times before but still be turned on even by smallest things so a dream like that was a lot to handle for him.

He groaned, got up and made himself presentable enough to go to your apartment. On the way out he grabbed a few packs of condoms, you know, just to be prepared in case of… ekhem

Lucien

„Professor, please.” Was the only thing able to be heard in one of the lecture halls one day in the early evening. 

Your body devoid of any clothes was leaning over a large mahogany desk with your ass sticking out in the direction of Lucien, who was sitting in an office chair with a smug grin plastered to his face. His hands folded over his chest as he was watching your curves swaying slightly in anticipation of what’s to come. 

„Naughty girls do not get their treats.” He mused.

„Please! I know I was a bad student falling asleep on your lecture! I’m sorry, now please, please~”

Tired after a long period of teasing from the professor, all you wanted to do was to release the tension he'd been building inside you. But you knew you weren't gonna get what you wanted if you weren't cooperating so you patiently waited for Lucien's next move with your hands clutching the edge of a desk. 

Okay, maybe not so patiently.

You wiggled your ass and arched your back moaning his name. Your juices freely ran down your thighs glistering in the evening light of the setting sun pouring through large windows. A heavenly sight, he would think.

After a moment of silence you heard quiet metal sounds as he was unbuckling his belt and in an instant Lucien’s hands were on your hips. With a delicate kiss between your shoulder blades and a squeeze to your rear, his whole length disappeared inside you. 

The warmth that enveloped his member was addicting and he would never get tired of it. Plunging in and out of you at an insane speed all he wanted to was bring you to your release, that would trigger his and he would spill inside of you or on your ass, he hasn’t decided yet. 

You were close, and he was close and—

Beep beep beep

The sound of his alarm clock has never startled him until now. Usually he would be waking before it even had the chance to start ringing. 

His eyes shot open and for a second he didn’t know if he was still dreaming or not. But the grayish reality brought him back to earth. 

He wasn’t one to like his own dreams, usually they were nightmares, although today he wanted to go back to sleep and finish what he started. Yet, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again. 

He reached over to the other side of the bed to hug your body to his chest and leave some butterfly kisses along the back of your neck.

After all, if he couldn't go back to sleep, he’d make his dream come true.

You moaned causing more hot blood run downwards to his member. In that moment he knew he would not let you go until he had you ravished.

„Wake up, butterfly. I think you owe me some apology for falling asleep on my lecture.” He whispered into your ear before grinding into your rear, making you very much awake.

Kiro

The couch in the music studio wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture you’ve ever sit on, let alone have been fucked on, but with Kiro every place was good enough to make passionate love. So when Savin left the room with the producer to discuss more details of Kiro’s next album and the blonde send you one of his trademark smiles promising mischief, you knew what you were up to.

Moments later you were pinned to the cushions with your blouse unbuttoned and Kiro’s lips attached to one of your nipples kissing, biting and licking. 

You tried to keep quiet but there was nothing more that your boyfriend loved than your sweet moans so he made everything to make sure you would whimper and whine with his every move. All the people outside the room be damned.

His painfully hard length brushed against your bare thigh and when you buckled your hips to have some sort of friction one of his hands held you in place. He found your pout adorable and sexy at the same time.

„Someone’s impatient.” He sang as he positioned himself in front of your drenched pussy.

„Kiro~”

His thrusts were deep and hard and so so good your eyes were rolling back with each and every one of them. The way you clenched around him caused shivers to his spine.

„I’m close~” you sang, and when you finally reached your peak he found himself unable to control his release further. A few more snaps of his hips and—

Bang bang bang

„Kiro, wake up! You’re gonna be late for your rehearsal!” A voice, one that definitely did not belong to you, was yelling outside his hotel room door. „I’m gonna cut out all of your sweets if you won’t wake up!” Ugh, Savin

„I’m comin’. Give me a few minutes.” His reply was muffled by a pillow he put on his head but somehow his manager still heard him and left him alone. 

Palming himself through his pajama shorts he grabbed his phone and quickly dialed your number hoping you would pick up. And you did after a few signals.

„Kiro? Hello! Are you up?” Your melodious voice was a pleasant sound to his ears. 

„Good morning, Miss Chips.” His usual high voice was lower by a few octaves making you shiver at the other side of the call. „Was I in your dreams last night just as you were in mine? Because I think you should make it up to me for not being able to finish.”

You knew exactly what he meant. It wasn’t the first time you and Kiro would have phone sex due to his constant travelling and to be honest every time he called you would wish it was this time of a phone call. 

You rapidly sucked in a breath which made his cock twitched in his pants.

„Oh, Kiro~” Luckily you were still at home, so you had some time for him. 

„I hope you know that when I come back, I won’t let you leave the bed.” He purred into the phone making you wet already. „But for now this has to be enough.”

Shaw

Your mouth around his cock had been his dream ever since the first time he’d seen you. 

Those pink lips stretched out to fit his girth and gentle hands pumping what you couldn't fit - he thought about it at least once a day.

So when one evening you stepped in the shower with him and dropped to your knees, Shaw thought the heavens finally listened to his pleas. 

You started slow, hungrily staring at his member, which gave him a big boost to his ego. You wanted him as much as he wanted you and hell, was he proud of that.

He slipped his hand through your hair and rested his back against the wall, letting the warm water run down his muscles freely.

„C’mon, baby.” With a little encouragement you started licking and sucking at the head. Shaw’s grip in your hair tightened causing you to moan and finally take him all into your mouth. What you couldn’t reach was enveloped in your hand.

Everything about it was perfect. How you were bobbing your head, how you were gagging with his every thrust making your throat squeeze slightly around his cock, how you would hum feeling him getting close. He had no idea where you had learned giving a blowjob so well but he wasn’t the one to complain.

A few more second and he could reach heaven with your lips around him. A few more—

Ding dong ding dong

Oh fuck

So it was a dream after all

He groaned, tossed around the mattress and stretched out before standing up to see who was knocking on his door so early in the morning interrupting his good time. Sharky lying in the corner of the room gave him a look that Shaw could only describe as disgusted, at what the man muttered "What are you staring at?”. 

Ding dong ding dong

He opened the door to reveal your annoyed, a little red face with wide eyes staring at him angrily. 

„Shaw! I’ve been standing here for— Hmph!” He interrupted you with his lips on yours and his hand around your waist pulling your figure into his chest. He didn’t even let you take a breath kissing you hungrily.

He didn’t know why you came to see him probably because you two had agreed to meet on that day and he overslept but he didn’t give a damn. He had a big problem in his pants caused by you and you were the one who was gonna solve it.

He slammed the door, slung you over his shoulder and carried you into the bathroom ignoring your confused screams.”I have to take a shower, right? I just woke up.” He told you with a hint of mischief in his tone and you knew what was going to happen.

Maybe gods did listened to his pleas after all

____________________________________________________

thank you so much for reading!

if you want to read more of my works they are here

[illegal-spiegel]

To Love a Jerk

Pairing: Neito Monoma x gn!reader Genre: angst, fluff Warnings: getting shot, mention of blood Summary: you and Monoma have always butted heads but things take a turn when class 1-A is attacked by the League of Villains Word Count: 2.4k words

It wasn’t always like this. 

At one point, you and Monoma were good friends. Then, entrance exams came around and you somehow made it into class 1-A while he was stuck in 1-B. It honestly didn’t make any sense to you. People like Mineta can be in class 1-A while other people with amazing quirks and skills are in lower classes? Maybe Mineta will be better once he acts more courageously.

Either way, the school splitting you up like this wasn’t a problem for you but it was for Monoma. He’s always been prideful and being put in a lower class rather than being with other top students wounded his pride. In return, he pokes and prods at class 1-A. Luckily for you, his teasings directed at you are normally just playful because while he doesn’t like being a ‘lesser’ to you, he still remembers the friendship that you two once shared. 

You actually got into UA under recommendation and passed the entrance exams with flying colors. Because of this, you were in the top three of your class, alongside Bakugo and Todoroki. For some reason though, Mr. Aizawa pushes you harder than the other two. Maybe because he sees your potential and wants to help you improve. Who knows. Either way, you don’t appreciate being worn down like this every day. 

After practicing out in the field with your class, you all make your way back inside. Once inside, he lets you have a restroom and water break before returning to the classroom. You’re currently gulping down water like you just got out of being in the desert for a week when Monoma comes over to you and the others that were waiting for water. 

“Wow, you guys look tired. I can’t believe class 1-A is so weak! You were out there for, what, an hour? How pathetic!” You pull your head away from the fountain, turning to look at him. Once he sees you, he goes quiet for a moment before smirking and walking over to you. “Aww, what’s wrong, (Y/n)? Are you tired? Want me to fetch you a towel for all that sweat and dirt on you?” he coos. 

You sigh and roll your eyes, not really feeling in the mood to be putting up with him right now. “You sure are talking big but we both know that if I wanted to, I could still wipe the floor with you in this state,” you say boldly, staring at him with fierce eyes. His smirk falls and he stares back at you quietly for a couple of seconds. 

“You do realize that I can just copy your quirk and then it would be a pointless fight, right?” he replies, quirking a brow up at you. You aren’t sure why you decided to say this next. Normally, you would never say such things to him, or anyone else for that matter. It’s just that you’re so tired, you hurt all over, and your head is too hot, making it hard to think straight. 

“Yeah, you’re right. It would be pointless because you don’t have your own quirk. You have to steal other’s quirks just to fight. How does that feel? Being so unoriginal, I mean.” As soon as you finish, you want to take the words right back. Everyone stares at you both, looking between you two in complete and utter shock. 

Luckily for him and unluckily for you, Kendo comes over to save the day for Momona before you can apologize. “C’mon, Monoma. Stop tormenting class 1-A,” she says weakly, looking at him with concern. She’s never seen him like this. No one has. 

He’s silent. 

Monoma just stares at you in silence, hurt shining in his eyes. If anyone else insulted him, he would’ve laughed cockily and fired something back. He never thought you would ever say such things to him. He looks over at Kendo and nods before walking outside with the rest of his class since it’s now their turn to go out. 

You sigh and close your eyes, guilt and shame filling you to the brim. Stupid, stupid is what you are. “(Y/n)? We are walking back to class now,” you hear Deku softly call out to you. You turn away from the door that leads outside and turn to look at him, smiling weakly at him as you walk with him back to class. 

After that day, he refused to come and talk, or torment, you. It was eating you alive inside. There was no “Need some help with your homework, (Y/n)? You’ve never really been the sharpest tool in the shed.” or “Hey, (Y/n). I got a ninety-eight on my quiz whereas you got a ninety-seven. How does it feel to be such a sore loser?” He always used his insults as an excuse to talk to you and to even help you with said homework or something else that was ‘embarrassing’ for you.

He still talked to the other 1-A students though, continuing to make fun of them and the like. His insults were actually worse than usual. You decided after the third day of him not talking to you that enough is enough. You were determined to corner him and talk to him after school.

Today, your class was to go to USJ and practice your skills for saving and helping people from natural disasters. You were actually pretty excited to be able to work on these abilities. Well, that is until the League of Villains appeared. They separated you all and caused havoc amongst all the students. 

After fighting through villain after villain after villain, you and some of the others finally reached the source. The villain had hands all over him along with a dressed-up villain with a purple smoke-like substance emitting from him. All Might was fighting tooth and nail to beat some bird looking figure. 

It took a little while for things to start looking up and you started to believe that the good guys will win. You even helped to stop the bad guys and you’ve never felt more proud of yourself. You helped save All Might! 

It all came crashing down though when a villain with gun barrels for fingers fired shots at your group. You were hit and you honestly didn’t feel it at first because of the adrenaline. The villains warped away, letting you collapse to the ground and relax. Once your adrenaline started to subside though, it was the worst pain you’d ever felt in your entire life. You ended up blacking out from all the pain. 

When you woke up, you were in a bare white room, which you figured out was a hospital. You shift your position a bit and then feel it. You turn to see Monoma sitting in a chair with his head on your bed, his eyes closed as he peacefully sleeps. You sigh and gently place your hand on his blond locks, planning on running your fingers through the silky strands. 

That is until he pops up the second you touch him. He stands up with a shout of your name, his chest heaving with each heavy breath that he dragged in. “Are you insane? What were you thinking? What part of ‘top bad guys’ made it seem like a good idea to fight them?” he shouts. 

You stare up at him with a blank expression as he yells before a smile starts to break out on your face. “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” you reply teasingly. He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, glaring sharply down at you. 

“I know you’re fine, you dope! The nurses who have to keep checking on you because you decided to do something stupid told me as much!” he snidely replies back. You bite your lip, trying to stop smiling. He’s honestly such a dork. Instead of saying he’s worried about you and he’s glad you’re okay, he insults you. 

It goes on like that for a while until a nurse finally comes in and tells him to lower his voice. The nurse, seeing you’re awake now, goes to get the doctor. The doctor explains you were shot and lost a lot of blood, but they got you here in time and were able to save you. You didn’t realize how serious it was until the doctor finished telling you everything. She then tells you that you’ll have to stay at the hospital for a little while to make sure that there are no complications.

“You know, you’re very lucky to have such a kind boyfriend. He made sure you were always wrapped up in a blanket, the window open to give you light and fresh air, and—”

“Okay! Thank you, doctor!” he hisses, a blush spreading across his face. The doctor chuckles as she and the nurse leave, teasing smiles on their face. You turn to look at Monoma with a raised brow and a smirk. Before you can tease him though, he’s standing up again and grumbles out, “Are you hungry? Thirsty? You were out for quite a while. I’ll go get you something since your weak body can’t handle it.” He then walks to the door before quickly leaving, your giggles following him out.

He visits you every day and even stays when your whole class comes to visit you. “Look at that, I didn’t think Monoma liked anyone,” Denki teases. Monoma’s face lights up as dark as Kirishima’s hair. 

“Look at that, I didn’t think you knew so many words,” he hisses back at Denki. 

“Monoma,” you say in warning. He turns to look at you before huffing and leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “He didn’t mean that. He’s just in a pissy mood,” you excuse for Monoma. Denki didn’t seem to mind one bit as he grins, turning to look at Sero and Kirishima before making a whip sound. Monoma opens his mouth to give a snide remark, placing his hand on the bed to help him stand up. You place your hand over his though, successfully stopping him. He instantly shuts his mouth and stares down at your hand. 

You then notice that Deku isn’t there amongst your peers. Once you ask where he is, everyone explains that he, once again, went too far and injured himself. You hum in understanding, knowing how reckless Deku can be. The class catches you up on what you’ve missed out on as they leave their flowers, balloons, cards, and the like all over your room. You thank them for visiting as they leave, your eyes moving to Monoma once they’re gone. 

He remained quiet the entire time and still appeared to have a blush on his face since you kept your hand over his. “We really need to work on that temper of yours,” you tease, giggling as a pout comes to his lips. 

Once you’re finally released from the hospital, he takes you home and makes sure you are 110% fine before finally leaving. When you come back to school, everyone is ecstatic to see you back. Everything goes back to normal after that. 

Well, except for the fact that Monoma follows you around like a lost puppy now. At first, you thought it was cute. I mean, he wasn’t the only one worried about you. After a while though, he was the only one still fretting over everything you do. You didn’t want him treating you like glass anymore, so after school one day, you confronted him. 

He’s walking you home like always, making sure there’s nothing blocking your path as you two walk. “Monoma, why do you treat me like porcelain?” you ask, coming to a stop as he moves a branch out of the way for you. He pauses and turns to look at you, acting like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Well, it’s not my fault that you’re so weak. It was pathetic how you—”

“You need to stop,” you interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. He stands up straight after moving the branch off to the side. 

“Stop what? Helping you? You always complained that I’m not nice to you and now you’re saying I’m being too nice? Make up your mind,” he says after scoffing. You sigh and walk over to him, coming to stand in front of him. 

“Monoma, please. Talk to me. Why are you acting like this? It’s been weeks since I was shot. Why are you still treating me like this?” He turns to face you, his eyes seeming to shine under the sun. 

“Because I…” he trails off, looking away from you once more and starting to walk away. 

“No, Monoma. We are talking about this,” you command, taking a hold of his arm. He spins around and turns to face you, suddenly in your personal space. 

“Because I care about you, (Y/n)! As soon as I heard what had happened, I felt like someone punched me in the gut. I suddenly couldn’t breathe and I prayed to god for the first time in years. I prayed that you were okay, that you wouldn’t die before I could tell you how I feel,” he says in one go, gasping for air when he finishes. 

Your brows furrow though, this explanation not clearing anything up for you. “How you fe—” He cuts you off with his lips, deciding to show you instead of telling you how he feels. Your eyes go wide at the sudden kiss, your heart trying to jump out of your chest. You close your eyes to return the kiss but before you can, he pulls back and stares into your eyes once you open them again. 

“I love you, okay? Jeez, how stupid are you?” he breathes. You can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl, tugging him back in for another kiss. He wraps his arms around you with a low hum, a breeze blowing through you both and making his hair tickle your forehead. The kiss is sweet and loving, your lips sharing the words that you two have always had trouble saying. 

“You did it again. Is it that hard for you to say something to me without insulting me?” you ask once you two pull back. He scoffs and tightens his grip on you, his eyes playfully squinting at you. 

“Is it so hard for you to say it back?” he sasses, a smirk coming to his face. You bite your lip and bring one of your hands away from his chest to brush his hair out of his eyes. 

“I love you too, jerk.”

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