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the-californicationist · 2 months

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Solomon's Seal

John Price works hard to maintain his self-discipline, but sometimes he loses his grip on that fiery temper of his. When he needs help to feel in control again, he turns to you and your impeccable rope skills. You try to keep things professional, but that proves challenging for both of you. After all, John is just a friend, one of your best clients… so why do you keep imagining him as more?

TW: rope bondage, femdom, crying, emotional hurt/comfort, female genitals. Please check AO3 link below for full tag list.

Big huge thank you and kudos to the amazing and beautiful @gemmahale for her ideas and support on this one! Love you, bestie.

You had cleared your schedule the moment you hung up the phone with him. His voice had sounded so strained, like he was struggling to say the words. You knew that, sometimes, John Price’s work asked too much of him, but this time, he seemed so far beyond his usual level of need that you decided it was better to play it safe and cancel all of your other clients for the week.

As you cleaned your studio, you made additional preparations. Something in your gut was telling you to prepare for the worst. You did your best to remember what he liked. No music, low lights, a soft fan for a bit of a breeze, and jute ropes — none of the synthetics in sight. You eyed your collection; eight hanks should have been enough, but you grabbed four more from the back room just to be sure.

You never really pried into his life during his visits, knowing there was probably much he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell you. He had given you just enough information for you to understand the basics, and you had scoured the internet with those small clues to uncover the rest. At best, he was a soldier, handling the expected dangers and stressors of the job. At worst, he was a literal weapon, aimed and fired at His Majesty’s darkest enemies; a demon hunter meant only for darkness and secrets and pain.

When he had come to you last November, bruised and battered, craving your particular set of skills, you had surmised that it was the latter. Sometimes, when you caught a glimpse of the news, you looked at the bombed buildings of Urzikstan for a sign of him, hoping you wouldn’t see one. When there was a battle lost or won, plastered across the front page of the news, you wondered if he had been there in the thick of it, protecting the world from the monsters that ravaged that land, keeping them from your privileged doorstep.

You checked your clock. He’d be in from Heathrow within the hour. You got to work in the wet room, digging around for the soaps he liked best. His favorite bathing oil was a complex, spicy mix of coriander, basil, and bergamot scents. You’d never admit it to him, but you used it when you found yourself thinking about him, unable to get your equally complex, spicy warrior out of your mind.

John was so different from most of your clients. Many people who came to you were usually seeking something other than what you were prepared to give them. Half of your customers came for sex, for which you added them to your blacklist. The other half was a mixed bag seeking humiliation or reassurance, trying to use you and your art as an alternative to counseling or as a way to explore their kinks. They usually didn’t return after they experienced the level of your craft. You did have a handful of repeat clients who appreciated the practice itself, but they usually had their own partners to play with. You were just a novelty to them. An escape.

Working as a traditional Bakushi was no fleeting hobby, not for you anyway. For you, it was a spiritual calling. John was one of the only clients who understood that and actively wanted to learn more. He had asked for stretching routines, breathing exercises, and advice on meditation. Your soldier was the real deal, even if he couldn’t remember any of the terminology to save his life. You were just happy he had managed to adopt the word shibari into his vocabulary. You could forgive the rest. He didn’t need to know the names of the knots or the positions of the body in order to benefit from his practice.

Your doorbell rang. You took a breath to calm yourself. You needed to be centered for John. Yes, you were excited to see him, but he needed you to be his rock right now, and you needed to push your own desires out of your mind.

The door cracked open, and there he stood. He was just as you remembered him, but he looked like he’d been through hell. Those bright blue eyes were sporting a dark, purple shiner on his left orbital bone. He had cut his lip across the top and bottom, a red line still marring the sensitive flesh. John had cut down his beard to a more manageable level, but his hair was long and unkempt. What worried you most were the dark red welts he wore around his neck. It looked like ropeburn.

“John,” you smiled softly, “So good to see you again. Please come in.”

The formalities of such a polite greeting seemed silly to you after what you had been through together. Sessions with John were always… intense.

He stepped into your foyer, looking at you like he had missed you, but you didn’t allow yourself to give in to the fantasy. He needed you to be professional, and you had a job to do.

You took his hand and led him into your sitting room, offered him a glass of water, and sat beside him. He held your hand in his, refusing to let go, playing with the small bones in your middle finger absentmindedly. You smiled at him, enjoying the quiet of his presence, letting yourself take in these silent moments, unwilling to break the spell of peace until absolutely necessary.

He seemed content to bask in the tranquility as well, happy to rub your delicate knuckle back and forth with his thumb, letting his eyes explore you, lingering on your long, silk robe, his gaze burning into your sternum at the join of your breasts.

“How can I help you, John?”

He took a long breath through his nose, his eyes diverting back down to your connected hands; shame, regret.

“I lost control, again.”

You had heard those words from him before. When he first found you, he told you about his temper. He hadn’t given you any details, but apparently he had hurt an enemy beyond what was necessary. Something he had done had changed him. He wanted to be different, to be more even-keeled, so he’d come to you for help.

“The same as last time?” You asked, hoping it would be better than you suspected.

“Worse,” he looked up at you and flashed a tight-lipped, bitter smile.

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

“Tell me what you need,” you ran your other hand across his wounded cheek, watching as the shine of his eyes gleamed in the low light.

His emotions were at war all over his face. His wet lashes, the twitch of his lip, his darting, avoidant eyes; you could almost hear him fighting in his mind. You put a stop to it, scooting closer to him on the deep sofa, holding his stubbled chin in your hand,

“Hey, you know you can tell me. If it’s within my power to give it to you, you know that I will.”

“I know, love,” he nodded his head, “I think you might try to talk me out of it, is all.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to work it out. Rebuilding your trust together after some time apart wasn’t something to be rushed. Finally, after a few moments of thought, he studied your face and admitted his desires,

“I want it all. Just like last spring, but more. I need more.”

Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself. You remembered last spring. Vividly. In fact, you had thought about that appointment more times than you would ever admit. He had pushed himself so far, he’d trusted you so deeply, and you’d watched him heal from his wounds. He’d found a new kind of peace. You remember holding him, still bound, both of you sprawled across the floor, sweaty and grinning, your foreheads pressed together, sharing in his joy.

But, you also knew that him wanting more meant that you would be restraining him from head to toe. He’d done arm and chest bindings with you, and in the spring, you’d put him in a single-leg frog tie. But, you’d never done full body work with him. For all of his progress, John still had issues letting his power be taken from him. He wanted to be in control, almost to the point of obsession, and it was only when he was in your ropes that he was able to practice internal control over himself without threat of judgment or danger. He could examine his temper in your safe setting, testing it like a scientist, finding new strengths within himself, mental hurdles to overcome.

However, you worried about what his mental state would be like when he was fully at your mercy. Had he ever been at anyone’s mercy? You doubted it.

He could see you rolling over the problem in your mind, watching as you thought it through, imagining the possibilities.

“What d’ya say, love? Think we can try?” His eyes met yours, and you nodded.

“Yes, let’s try.”

“I might… uh,” he hesitated, clearly unsure of how his next request might be received, “I’m not sure how to say this, but I might need you… after. I know that’s not what you do, but after last spring, I thought you might make an exception.”

You were fully aware of what he meant. Last spring, laying there sweaty and swimming in euphoria together, you had broken your own rule. You’d let your body slide over John’s naked, tied form, and you’d rubbed his cock across your belly and on top of your pussy, sharing an orgasm together. It was reckless of you, and fully outside of the scope of your role, but it was what was right for you both at the time. He hadn’t asked for a repeat performance, always the perfect gentleman, until now.

You nodded,

“Thank you for asking. We’ll see how it goes, and I’ll check in again at the end. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You moved to leave the comfort of the sofa, but he caught your hand,

“Can we start now? Just a bit. If that’s alright.”

“Alright,” you agreed, “Any new injuries I should know about?”

His face stretched into a boyish smile,

“Too many to count.”

You shook your head, ducking into your studio to grab one hank of rope,

“You’re the only one who gets a pass on that, you know.”

You watched his eyes dart to your hands as you untied the bundle, looping the rope end over end, making your first bight. His energy was electric, but you could see something dark slithering underneath.

“I’ll start now, but you need to talk to me. What makes it worse now, John?”

You stood in the middle of the room, watching as he moved into position in front of you. You waited patiently, not needing to give him instructions. John knew what you wanted from him.

He avoided your question, going through the motions of preparing his body for your work. He tugged off his coat and tee shirt, raking it over his broad back, and you tried to ignore the aching red marks that littered his scarred skin. Then, he unbuckled his belt, letting the metal tip clatter and clang in the quiet room, dropping his jeans and peeling off his shoes and socks. Naked, he folded his clothes and lay them to the side. Then, he found his neutral position, kneeling at your feet, palms flat on his thighs, head bowed as if in prayer.

“Hands behind your head, palm to palm,” you spoke your first command, listening to the timbre of your voice and knowing it was different. You were changing into the person that he needed; someone strong, unyielding.

He complied, but he looked a little surprised. You’d never asked him for this position before, but you knew it would get his attention. He would feel the vulnerability of it immediately, his sensitive ribs and armpits exposed.

You started your work, tying his wrists carefully, making sure to leave the proper amount of room, running the rope, rubbing between the soft jute and his hairy skin to check and double check it for safety. As soon as you had one wrist bound, you moved to the other and heard him begin to talk.

“I nearly lost one of my men last week. Good bloke. Took a bullet for me, so I broke the rules.”

“Which rules?”

“All of them,” he looked up at you, rueful and yet unrepentant.

“Would you do it differently,” you admired the smoothness of his wrist, watching as his pulse beat just under the thin skin, rushing through blue veins, “If you could go back in time?”

“No,” Price’s voice was like that of a beast. A dragon. It was a short, simple word, but within it, you understood exactly the feeling of vengeance he was carrying within it. No, he would not go back and change his actions. He would repeat them. That much was clear.

“It doesn’t sound to me like you were out of control, then,” you looped the knots of his wrists around a temporary harness, simple and quick. This was just for now. You had bigger plans for him after you bathed.

John’s mouth turned up into a wry smile, thinking about your assessment, then he said,

“You might be right, love. But, I’m here. I needed this. Needed you. There must be a reason I feel so bloody lost.”

“Let’s find your way back, then. Stand up.”

You led him by the end of the rope to the wet room. The off-white tiles glowed yellow in the candlelight you had prepared, and as you turned on the tap, the room filled with steam. You watched John’s face become indecipherable as you untied the ribbon of your robe, letting the silk pool at your feet, stepping into the shower before him.

You pointed to the small stool in the middle of the wide shower,

“Sit.”

It was a huge installation. During the build process in your renovated space, you’d asked for two large rainshower heads and a massage wand with a flat drain in the center. John knelt in between the two heads, but well within reach of the wand. You switched it on, watching the water jerk and flow through the metal hose, holding it towards your chest and out of his eyes.

You started with his feet, washing them with only warm water first before moving the wand up his legs, wetting his body in stages. You didn’t use your hands yet, but you were eager to. John was quite the specimen, and you felt yourself flush as your eyes explored his body, lingering on places they really shouldn’t.

You were adamant that you were a sex worker who didn’t have sex. You tried to make it abundantly clear that your clients were paying for shibari practices only, and that you did not do… happy endings. Other than your encounter with John, your clients orgasmed alone, and you went to great lengths to ensure it remained that way. But, here was your weakness, asking you to wash him while he was in your knots, warning you that he might crave a sensual aftercare scene, that he’d been thinking about you. It made your skin flush, and even though you were comfortable in your own skin, his obvious desire for you in such a carnal way made you hyper-aware of your bare flesh.

The wand sat back in its hook, water paused, and the only sounds were the quiet drippings against the tile, a slight sucking from the drain, your breathing. You scraped the soap into your palm, making sure to lather it into a rich, thick foam. You stood, walking around him to his back, and began with his bound hands and arms, rubbing his warm, swollen muscles with your palms, spreading the suds over him liberally.

A long, animalistic groan shuddered through John’s lungs, echoing in the bath. It set your nerves on fire to know that you were giving him such pleasure. You wanted more.

You moved to his back, massaging the scented soap into his body, working his skin firmly to promote his bloodflow. As you made pass after pass, his moans became steady and breathy, his mouth hanging open, unable to fight the relaxation he was experiencing.

You washed his legs and feet, needing to bend over him in order to reach the length of his huge thighs. In doing so, your bare breasts came in contact with his back, only light tapping at first, swaying forward as you washed him. You could tell that he could feel you, and he froze, his noises of pleasure turning into hitched breaths, shocked and inaudible.

Your clients usually washed themselves, but John had asked for special treatment, and this was a new experience for you, too. You tamped down on your excitement, but you couldn’t hide your nature. As you leaned forward to wash his knees and shins, ankles and feet, you had to press your soft tits and contrastingly taut nipples against him, over and over, like two inkless stamps, leaving impressions on his wet skin.

Standing again, you waited to give yourself a minute to compose your emotions. The tips of your hair were damp, and your chest was shining from his soapy torso. You tried to wipe the shine away, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. He needed to be looking inwardly, finding his deeper meaning. Staring at your gleaming, sensitive tits was not what he was paying for, no matter what your biology might have wanted.

You stepped around to his front, and you marveled at how big his frame truly was. While sitting, even though the stool was low, his eyes were directly in line with your furry mons. If he only tilted his chin up a little, he could lick…

Your mind clamped down on that thought like a vice. You breathed steady, kneeling before him and reapplying the soap to your hands, trying to refocus yourself on your work.

That was proving more difficult by the moment. Washing his broad chest was like something out of a dream. His nipples were so responsive, and now you could see the way his face twisted with pleasure as your hands massaged your serums into his skin. Every swipe over his pink nubs make him gasp in a new pitch, his brow furrowed with desperation, but his eyes stayed pinned to the tile, just like he was meant to. You expected all of your subs to avert their gaze, to concentrate on their mind, and you made it clear that the practice would stop if they lacked the discipline to do so.

You had never been more grateful for that standard, because if John’s sharp, pale blue eyes found yours right now, you might not be able to keep yourself from losing your own control.

You stepped out of the shower for a moment, grabbing the tie from your robe, slipping it out of its loops. Then, as a way to anchor yourself, you wrapped it tightly around your wrist, twisting the knots you made so that they would face inwardly, the discomfort reminding you of your duties as his dominant. It would work for now, you hoped.

Already, you could feel yourself coming back online, as if someone had splashed cold water in your face. That was, until you turned back to John and saw the last part of your process.

You peered down into his lap, hands full of creamy suds, ready to wash his belly and his nethers, only to discover that he was as hard as steel. His cock flagged tall and curved, tapping on his abdomen, far beyond his bellybutton, giving you a reminder of what was plaguing your dreams. It was beautiful. The uncut skin of his shaft folded around the rim of his ruddy head, eager to be slicked down so that you could tease the tip of him. His balls were round and full, hanging as he sat on the edge of the bench, and all you could think about was what delight was stored within them, ready to burst.

You focused on your knots, letting your one ribbon keep you grounded, and you finished the job. Your hands rubbed soap along his belly, fingers dancing through the thick happy trail of his lower abs. He was built like a workhorse, and although he was fit, his body was well-fed and wide, his core wide and protruding with his strength, thicker as he sat on the stool. There was no bodybuilder’s trim waist. He was all power, heavy and built for unimaginable destruction. You’d never seen his equal, nor a man even close to his immense form. If someone had told you John was one of Zeus’ many bastards, roaming the earth immortal and inhumanly large, you might have believed them.

“I’m going to wash the rest of your body. Remind me of your safeword so that I know you can use it,” you commanded softly, hearing your own voice bounce around the hollow room.

John did not meet your eyes, fully committed to his submission, but you could see his cock pulse with anticipation. He spoke quietly but clearly,

“Red.”

“Louder,” you instructed.

“Red,” he obeyed.

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Good. Stand up.”

You needed to make sure he was ready to proceed. John, experienced as he was, could get stuck in his sub-space just like anyone. So, you made him practice, let his mouth feel the word again and again, primed and ready to be used.

Finally, you reached for his genitals, washing his cock and being mindful of where you spread the soap, scrubbing ever so gently down his ballsack, and then swiping across his cleft, washing through his legs to clean every last bit of him.

Then, trying to be almost clinical about it, you washed him off, cleansing his lower extremities to ensure his comfort before hosing down the rest of him.

Finally, you shut off the water and began to towel him dry, wiping at his dripping skin, trying to ignore how his body’s heat seemed to radiate onto your bare body, inviting you to lean just a little closer, to press into that lovely burn.

But, you didn’t. You discarded the towel and untied your wrist cuff, leaving it with your robe. You reached behind John’s head and unbound the center knot of his ties, allowing him to bring his wrists to the front of his body like handcuffs. You used the end to lead him like a prisoner through your space, parading him to the studio quickly and quietly, eager to begin the main event.

Once inside the studio space, you finished untying his wrists, setting him free once again. He looked down at them, running his fingertip across the raised ridges left by the ropes before dropping his arms to his sides, waiting for your instruction and guidance.

You knelt next to your basket of rope, retrieving a hank from the stack and unwinding it. His eyes darted to your hands, watching you prepare it just for him, like a dog expecting a bone.

“Lay in the center, arms at your sides,” you told him and watched as he followed your instruction. He was less hard now, more relaxed than before, but before long, as he lay there letting his excitement build, he strengthened again, his prick bowing up onto his stomach, flushed and full.

You got to work. Your first goal was to put each of his legs in an advanced frog tie, turning his body on its side so that you could bind his ankle to his thigh, first one leg and then the other. Once his initial ropes were in place, you checked their tension, moving two fingers around and around, trying not to notice his mounting enthusiasm every time you brushed along his inner thigh. Then, once you were satisfied, you helped him into a kneeling position, pushing a thin buckwheat pillow under his knees for comfort.

He shook his head,

“Don’t need it, love. I wanna feel the floor. The pain… helps.”

You eyed him, turning your lips into a soft grin,

“If this were a normal session, I would give that to you,” your tone got his attention, and he did look at your face now, needing to see your intent, “But, what I’m about to put you through is something different. Trust me, John.”

“I trust you.”

He settled into the pillow, returning to his meditative position. You took his hands in yours and held them between your two palms, squeezing them tight, binding them without rope for a moment. Then, you began to breathe in deep, cyclical patterns, over and over. He breathed with you, and you saw the tension leave his face. Whatever had happened to John on this last tour was plaguing him, and you slowed things down to give him a chance to control himself again.

He breathed in with you, and his air rushed out with yours, washing over your skin like a summer wind, keeping your body responsive to him. Every now and then, as you meditated together, you caught his eyes fixed on something other than the floor. He was staring into the darkness between your legs, shadowed by your body and covered with curly hair, hidden from him in plain sight. It was hard for you to focus, knowing he had his mind on your body, but eventually, he averted his gaze, focusing inwardly again.

Finally, when you felt his heart rate slow, you used another hank of rope to create a short waist belt, applying more tension than usual as you fed it along his hips, knowing his thick ass and thighs could take the pressure. Still, you were adamant about safety, watching him every moment for discoloration or discomfort.

He was fidgeting now that the tighter straps were on him, and you saw him closing off his stance, bringing his knees closer together. You caught him, and used one of the loops on his thigh to pull his legs apart again,

“Spread them. Let the pressure flow through your belly and out of your center.”

“Aye,” he sighed, settling into the pain and doing his best to spread his knees wider, concentrating on the feeling. His cock was leaking now, leaving little dark marks on the canvas of his knee bolster, bobbing between his legs as he spread them wider, shining and wet.

You grabbed another rope, trying to hone in on your work,

“I’m going to bind you in almost the same style we practiced last spring, but it will be modified to provide more of that challenge you’ve been looking for. Place your hands behind your back, palms on your elbows, if you can.”

Not every sub had the flexibility to obey, but John did. He’d been doing his stretches. As he assumed his position, his arms’ placement made his chest broad and high, stretching his pecs open while his back was pinned, the skin folding in on itself as his shoulder blades folded back like featherless wings. You threaded your rope over his shoulders, centering the bight at the back of his neck for an anchor point. It was essential that no pressure was applied to the front of his throat, and you were ever-mindful of the fresh injuries that marred his neck.

“What happened here?” You asked, letting your finger pass under a rope that lay on his injured skin, making sure it was loose and gentle. You would give him tightness elsewhere.

He was hesitant to answer you, but he shrugged,

“Bastard came up behind me. Before I could react, he had the wire around my throat.”

“Did you escape on your own?” You pried, trying to keep him talking as you started the long process of his arm binding.

“Aye. He was so busy trying to choke me, he forgot I still had free hands and plenty of bloody knives in my belt.”

You praised him for his openness,

“Good.”

“Is it?” Now, you heard the doubt in his tone. It made you pause, but you simply continued with your ties, not allowing him to know that you were challenged by his cynicism or regret or whatever darkness was making him lean on his fear and anger instead of his peace.

You left his question unanswered, allowing it to hang in the air between you, forcing his mind to dwell on it. You needed him to answer it within himself before you went opening more portals to other emotions and struggles.

You added more and more rope to his binding, and when you finished, you pulled the cord forward across his chest, resting it below his nipples, making sure to graze them as you checked your tension, enjoying the trembling shudder that came from him as your reward. It was the most advanced harness you had performed in a long time. This one was unforgiving. He couldn’t twist left or right. His shoulders were forced down and back, shrugged tight against his body, and his arms were completely powerless. He could pull and heave to try and move his hands away from his back, but there was no escape.

You sat across from John once more, holding his chin up so that he would know you expected him to look at you, and you asked him,

“Do you have any pain or tingling?”

“No.”

“Say your safeword to me one time.”

“Red.”

“The next step will be the final rope, and then we can sit together for as long as you need. Do you want to continue?”

His eyes stared into yours with a bright clarity, and he answered softly,

“Yes.”

You could tell that he was slipping deeper into his sub-space. His eyes softened, but his body shivered. If you brushed your fingers along his ribs, his muscles would kick and jerk. Anything harder, like a deep tissue massage against those huge thighs and he whined for you, smokey and gravelly, full of feral need.

You moved behind him, taking a rope and placing it across his forehead, using your hand to tilt his head back until his eyes were staring at the ceiling. Then, you carefully crafted a face harness, making sure there was not too much pressure on his more delicate bones while still limiting his range of motion so that he was forced to keep his chin pointed up.

You connected the rig to an anchor point on his wrists, and then you took your position in front of him again, staring at his bearded jaw and injured neck, watching his body struggle to relax into a very uncomfortable pose.

“Breathe for me, John,” you knew it was a lot.

Controlling someone’s body was one thing. Even Price had experienced tight knots before, but when you took control over the head, that animal instinct all humans keep deep within themselves tended to come alive. It was a primal fear. You watched John’s chest rise and fall, his stress tumbling around in his breaths as he tried to stay calm.

You reached out both of your hands and rested them on his chest, feeling the way he jerked at your touch, overstimulated and sensitive. You pet his fur, the thick brown hair that dusted his body, soft from the oils you had used. As he breathed, you felt it moving in his lungs, and you let your fingertips ghost over his nipples, rubbing them with the backs of your knuckles, admiring the way they perked up at your attention, puffy and swollen from the unforgiving rope that made them bulge outwardly.

“Mmf–fuck,” he coughed, his eyes knitted into a worried sort of agony.

You smiled, bringing your own nipples towards his chest, letting your soft peaks brush against his hard ones, moving your breasts up and down, drawing little circles and crosses over his chest.

You knew he couldn’t see what you were doing, but he could feel it. He knew, instinctively, and it was sending him into a drunken daze. The pleasure of your touch combined with the pain of your ropes pushed him beyond where he had been before, and perhaps it was past where you had dared to go as well.

“Control your breaths, John. There is nothing else you are responsible for. I’ve taken it all from you. You need to breathe and to spread your peace through your mind. Focus.”

He didn’t respond, but his breathing stilled, and his eyes closed. You removed your touch from him and let him bask in the sensations he was experiencing.

Minutes passed, then more. It had been almost an hour, and you were admiring the way he stayed strong, at first. You reached out to him to anchor him when he seemed like he needed help, caressing his arms and back, massaging the muscles that must be burning white hot by now. He was much more determined than any other sub you controlled. If anyone could handle this difficult position, it was him. But, he was not invincible. You saw the way his breathing became labored, and his cock, which was losing and regaining its hardness as time went on, throbbed from its struggle.

“Do you want to continue?” You asked again, touching him as you had before, moving your hands from his chest to his belly, petting him rhythmically, avoiding his phallus but touching everything else around it. You knew it must have been teasing him, forcing him to imagine how your hands might feel if they reached just a little further.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice strained due to the position of his jaw, and you watched the bulge in his neck bob up and down.

More time slipped by. Your hands had wandered down his legs and across the soft pads of his feet. His body was buzzing with the energy he was spending in order to stay the course. He must have been far beyond simple pain at this point. You remembered a similar scene you’d experienced, and this was much longer than you ever expected to be in it. If John was anything, he was stubborn.

But eventually, you heard him speak,

“We knew it was a trap before we went in. I was reckless, and angry, and I wanted my fuckin’ revenge.”

He paused but you just kept up with your massage, rubbing him down, letting him know you were still there. He continued,

“That bastard was gonna shoot me,” John’s voice cracked from his despair, and you saw shining tears stream down his temples and into his hair, “It was me that he wanted. Then, my… one of my men, he jumped right in front of the gun and took the bullet for me. I thought he was dead. I thought I was, too. But, after… I left my team. Charged in alone. I did things to those men that I'll have to think about for the rest of my bloody days. I became… something else. Something… “

You wiped the tears from his face, petting his cheeks, letting your thumbs brush over his lips gently. He sighed, and you could feel his breath on your fingers,

“It wasn’t right. I knew better, I just wanted them to bloody pay. Wasn’t sure if I was going home with a fuckin’ medal or my papers. Didn’t care.”

There was a long pause, and then, his voice became small. His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling, but they were wide, full of fear and uncertainty,

“Am I a monster? Is that… Is that the real me? Who am I? What am I?”

You leaned forward and planted delicate kisses across John’s stretched neck, licking and sucking at his skin in very light, careful touches, tasting his wounds and trying to heal them.

You sat back, removing yourself from his body, letting him sit alone for a moment before you said,

“You are a human being. You are capable of love and hate, pleasure and pain. You might feel like you need to answer for some of your violence, but your own humanity is not defined by your actions. You believed that was the path you needed to take. You destroyed dangerous men before they destroyed you. That is not a monster. A monster destroys the innocent. Were those men innocent?”

“No,” he snarled, full of spit and ire.

“They made their own choices. They controlled their own lives. Your perception of your own control is too broad, John. You couldn’t save them. They didn’t need saving. You did. It was you who needed to be saved.”

“I should’ve been able to stop… to stop… stop killing. I couldn’t. I needed them to burn for what they did to my fuckin’ soldier. To my friends! Fuck!”

John was gasping now, too full of emotion to control his breath, releasing his stress in deep, bellowing grunts. You unfastened his head harness immediately, freeing him. The instant he could move, he let his head fall forward and placed his cheek on your breast, stretching himself as far as he could, hoping you would be there to catch him.

And you were. You held him in your arms, wrapping your own across his many knots, feeling the fibers of his ties and the smooth warmth of his body, separate but unified. You could feel his wet cheek upon your skin, his anger rolling off of him in waves. He was letting out each breath as an exhaled hiss, the fire in his eyes at full peak, a blazing rage that seemed like it would suffocate him.

You picked up his head in your hands, resting your forehead on his and told him,

“Let it go. Just like that. Scream. Let it out of you, John. Forgive yourself.”

He let himself go for a moment, howling like a wild boar, full of unnatural rage and pain. You heard his shouts and tucked them away from your heart, keeping them for later, choosing to just let him express it and have his crashing waves of feeling wash over you, but you refused to drown in it. He still needed you.

“Do you forgive me?” His plea was that of a boy, innocent and achingly pure.

“I forgive you,” you replied without hesitation, “Forgive yourself, now.”

He shook his head back and forth, rubbing his face on yours, bitter and despondent,

“I can’t…”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you to,” you barked, grabbing him at the base of his skull by his hair, forcing his head back into that same bent position, holding him by force, “Trust me, John. Say it out loud. I forgive myself. Say it. C’mon.”

“I… forgive...”

“C’mon. I know you can do this,” you used both hands to hold his head under your control, your chests pressed together, your breathing equal and ragged, both of you pulled to the end of your abilities.

“I forgive myself.”

“Again!” You gasped. You tugged at his nape, forcing him to arch his back with what little movement he still had access to.

He grunted in response, breathing heavy, each exhale a guttural shout,

“I forgive myself.”

“Good. So good. Let it out. Use the pain; let it wash you clean.”

You let his head come forward, and you saw a new man staring back at you. Before you knew what was happening, you felt your lips crash together with John’s, sliding along his mouth, tasting him and being tasted by him. His tongue slipped into the hollow of your palate, folding and twisting for more and more control, taking you into him as much as he could manage. Then, he pulled away abruptly, resting his forehead against yours again,

“I’m sorry. I just… I feel…” You watched him search for the words, “I feel like I’m back. It’s been so long, but I can feel myself again.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you,” he tilted his head, exhausted, sitting back on his heels, his face a serene picture of peace, “I need you to touch me, like this. Please.”

You looked at him for a moment and then moved your hands between his legs, finding his warm rod waiting to be held. As soon as your fingers touched him, his whole body convulsed, and he cried out at the sensation.

You began to rub his shaft with long, slow strokes, avoiding his head for now, finding a nice, easy rhythm, encouraging John to match your breathing. He did, stealing kisses when your faces were near one another, and eventually, you were nose to nose, sharing your breaths again, listening to the rush of air and the wet slick sound of his tacky precome being spread all over his length.

You reached behind him and grabbed another bolster, putting the soft pad behind his back. Slowly, you helped him lay down onto it, knowing his arms would be crushed by his weight, but making sure the stress was something he could stand. His legs were spread wide, fully pliant and open to you, and you sat between them, bringing your hands back to his center, working his curved shaft up and down, watching as his belly filled with air, expanding from his breaths, only to collapse again, the muscles within him clenching and releasing in an undulating pattern of lust and need.

“Oh, fuck,” he bit his lip, wrenching his eyes shut, “Please… I need… Bloody hell, I need you, love. Please.”

“Are you sure, John?” You tried to check in with him, ignoring your own desire to immediately fulfill his wish, your pussy swollen and dripping in anticipation.

“Yes. I want you to take me. Please.”

His eyes looked up at you, his body bent and bowed, sweet and desperate for you, looking to you for his pleasure.

Carefully, you straddled him, feeding his head between your legs, sighing with joy as his tip slotted into the soft divot of your hole. He couldn’t thrust up into you. In fact, he couldn’t participate at all. You were the only one who could bring him pleasure or bring him pain, and that thought made your head rush, making you dizzy with desire, knowing that this man, a ruthless killer, mysterious and brutal, steady and kind, all of what he was — he was helpless beneath you.

As you sank down onto his girthy tip, your body ached from the stretch. It was an effort to fit him inside of you, and you breathed through it, wanting to push yourself flush to his hips. When you met his warm root, you shared a loud moan together, the relief overwhelming you both.

Then, you used your hips to make grinding, wide circles, churning his cock within your core, making yourself even more soaked, feeling your movements sending repeated signals to your cunt to make more and more slick come. It seemed endless, and it pooled out of you, matting his hair and drowning his dick in hot, sticky fluid.

He was grunting softly at the apex of each circle of your hips, his voice hoarse and full of want. You heard him wanting more, wanting you to hump him up and down, to slide yourself along his cock from root to tip. But, you were in charge, and you set the pace. So, you continued, around and around and around in an impossible spiral, using your hands to play with his nipples, pinching them cruelly, positioning them under the tight rope to make them ache to be free.

“Ungh, fuck! You’re fuckin’ soaked, love. Feels so bloody good.”

You smiled down at him, refusing to take his bait, knowing he was beyond ready for more.

Sure enough, he began to beg you, his skin flushed and his heart beating hard from being edged by your grinding,

“Will you fuck me… please? Just… I need… fuck, I need more. Fuck me, please! Oh, fuck…”

“Shh. Be good for me, John. Trust me.”

You stayed the course, rocking your hips around his base, never letting him thrust in and out, just winding yourself around him like a tight spool, pushing him to his breaking point. He felt so good inside of you, and his cock was so deep, you could feel the turgid body of his shaft if you pressed down on your lower belly, your fingers finding his outline through your skin and muscles and fat, your hands making indentions in your flesh, teasing him from the outside.

“Cut me out,” he snarled, straining against his bindings hard enough to hurt himself.

You peered down at him, slowing your hips to a glacial pace,

“You know your safeword, John.”

“Cut. Me. Out.”

His eyes were vicious when he looked up at you now. He was like a hungry wolf; his gaze held within it a dark promise that — if you cut his leash — he would destroy you.

On one hand, your body celebrated that realization. It was eager to be devoured by this monster of a man, but you had worked hard to control your primal urges, and you decided to put your hound back in his cage. You let your hand snake around his throat, squeezing where it was safest, digging in your nails for him to feel your threat more vividly, knowing it would hurt him against his healing wounds,

“If you want to stop, say the word.”

You waited, watching his tortured face, panting and wet from tears and sweat, but he remained silent. You licked your lips,

“You came here for a lesson in self-control, and I am your teacher.”

For the next half hour, you made sure John Price understood who was in control of his pleasure. You sat on his cock, rocking back and forth until you felt his body tense up, and then you pulled yourself off of him, leaving his throbbing prick out in the cold, tapping at your ass cheeks, begging to be let back in.

You ignored him, touching yourself with your fingers, using the chubby flesh of his lower belly to rub against your cunt, smearing your wetness all over him as you played in your hole.

Then, you would put him back inside and start the process all over again, grinding and stopping, grinding and stopping, until your mighty sub was whimpering for release, his balls tight against his core, ready to flood you with his come at any moment.

Finally, when you saw how fuck-drunk he was, coming in and out of consciousness like he’d been drugged, you decided to relieve him of his burden. You caught his eye and made sure he knew what was coming. Immediately, you had his full attention. He began to chant, hoarse and rasping under his breath,

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck…”

You let the anticipation build, slipping your pussy over his head in feather-light swipes, letting your folds tickle his cockhead mercilessly. Then, you began to bounce your hips on his cock.

“Ungh– love, I’m —” he growled, his words breathless and broken, unbridled.

“I want your come,” you confessed, getting lost in your own pleasure, “I want it in me… Deep. In. Me,” you changed your tone, tightening your grip on the nape of his neck as much as you dared, “And I’m going to take it from you.”

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, shining with fresh tears, overstimulated and raw.

Then, you saw the relief smooth across his brow, and you waited for a breath before you felt it, spearing yourself on him to his hilt, plugging your cunt so that his come would be plugged up inside of you, filling your emptiest parts, making them warm and swollen with his spend.

You felt him bursting inside of you, his girth stretching you every time he throbbed, spraying inside of you over and over, dumping his load into your soft hole. When you felt him finish, you began your grinding circles again, causing him to roll and twist, aching from the pleasure and pain.

“Nngh… love, please… can’t… I can’t…”

You yanked the slip tie out from under his shoulder, and suddenly, he had control of his arms again. You did the same to his legs, freeing him from your ties, ending his captivity.

Like a flash, he erupted upwards toward you. His hands went to your hips, sitting up to hug himself around your body, crushing you to his chest and forcing you down into his lap, spearing you on his sensitive rod as if you had planned to pull him out. His mouth savaged your breasts, biting them cruelly, his fingers holding you tight enough to leave you bruised.

You grabbed his face, holding his bristled cheeks in your hands again, bringing him up to kiss you. You pressed your lips to his as delicately as you could manage, trembling from your bliss. He kissed you back, and that’s all you did for what felt like an eon. Your mind swam through a blank, glittering cosmos, and the only thing that was real was the feeling of John’s mouth on your mouth and his sex on your sex, his hands on your body and your hands on his body, his pain and your pain, his love and your love. You and he were muddled together like pigments on a palette, jonquil and fuschia, no longer existing as one or the other and yet both smearing together, mixed and inseparable, ready to paint a bright, endless sun.

You had melted, it seemed, under John’s sweating, heaving body. His ribs bullied into your belly every time he took a breath, and his cock had softened so that it slipped away from you. Your body ached for its comfort again, every nature-made part of you punishing you for losing it, coaxing you to do anything to get it back, to fill the space left vacant. You were tucked into his chest, folded and hiding beneath his chin, rubbing at the flat of his sternum with the back of your hand.

His finger brushed a stray curl from your brow, touching your hair with respect, staring down at you in awe,

“My hero,” he purred.

You smiled, kissing the stubble on his chin,

“Am I, now?”

“My head…” He stared up at the ceiling again, going to it for comfort like a long lost friend, “It’s so quiet. So clear. You’ve done that for me, and I’ll be thanking you for the rest of my days.”

“I’ll always be here for you, John. You are my muse in more ways than I’ll ever admit,” you laughed breathlessly, a little sad. It was bittersweet, falling in love with a man you couldn’t have. But, you found yourself in him and now you would need to work out how to live without that mirrored reflection. You felt linked to him, two unbroken cords looped together like Solomon’s seal, inseparable and yet laid on two disparate paths.

“Don’t…” He said, his tone sounding even more sorrowful than yours.

You sat up on your elbow, bringing your face up to his to look at him, to see his emotions,

“What?”

“Don’t make me hope.”

“What do you hope for?” Your voice fell into a whisper, your heart not having the strength to ask your question aloud.

He matched your tone, purring out his confession with a tired but cheeky grin,

“For a woman who can bring me to my knees,” then, his expression turned serious, and his eyes traced his finger as he played with the stray curl he had found, studying its winding path, “For a healer. Someone who can remind me of who I am. Everytime I stop to catch my breath, I’ve been hoping for you.”

Your heart stuttered, knowing that he was not a man to settle down in one place. You looked down at his chest rising and falling with his breath, matching your rhythm, unable to meet his eyes,

“How long can you stay?”

He put a thick finger under your chin, just as you had for him during his session, making you meet his gaze,

“Let’s start with tonight…”

He planted a soft kiss on your left cheek.

“...then tomorrow…”

His lips kissed your right cheek, dragging hungrily across your skin,

“...and all the tomorrows that you’ll give me. I’ll take them all, if you let me.”

John placed his final kiss on your open mouth, lips parted, concentrating on what he was saying. You smiled, kissing him back in earnest,

“Tonight, then. And tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow,” he nodded, smiling brightly, rolling himself over you to shield you from the chill of the room, folding you into his darkness, safe, bound to him without a cord, knotted together without a bight, tangled for however long the strands would hold.

AO3 Link --- Thank you for the kudos!

#call of duty fanfic #captain john price #john price #call of duty #captain price #captain price x you #captain price x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #fem!reader #john price smut #oh captain my captain #captain johnathan price #captain price smut

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loveemagicpeace · 2 months

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🦋Mercury & Communications🦋

Mercury in Aries - your way of expressing yourself is very direct and you can be harsh with your words. You focus a lot on topics that interest you. You can have a strong opinion when it comes to things that involve you. You can be very impatient when it comes to information and you want to know it right away. At times, your communication can be more aggressive and you don't like so many details. You use highly expressive language and throw a lot of slang into your speech. You are not so attentive to things around you. Criticism or negative feedback can be taken personally. Still, they are not afraid of a fight or a challenge, on a mental level. They like to talk about sports. In life, they can be involved in many sports activities. Mercury-in-Aries people suffer from headaches, especially in a raucous and noisy atmosphere.

Mercury in Taurus- your way of communicating is more slow, monotonous. You like to have conversations (especially you like to talk about food, music, money, movies), I also noticed that they like debates that are of better quality and include rich content. They stubbornly stick to a certain opinion and give in only when they have good arguments for it. They like to talk about clothes or beauty in general. They also like to talk about nature or plants. These people rely on their senses when it comes to processing information. Smells, noises, and mood are all employed. Mercury in Taurus people have an overall pleasing manner of communicating. These natives learn best when they see real-world uses for the theories they’re trying to absorb. They will not talk with all people , but only with those they feel comfortable with. Taurus are often successful art and antique dealers.

Mercury in Gemini-your communication is very fast and variable. Also, your way of expressing yourself can be too fast for some people. You can absorb a lot of information, but you are not a person who would think about something for a long time. You can quickly change your mind and decide on something else. You like to change topics and get information from several different sources. Many times you are more interested in the opinions of others and can make decisions based on them. You can quickly get bored and replace your energy. Gemini people pick up more from their environment than most, and they can process information at lightning speed. At times there is a distinct lack of order in your life. You would make a wonderful debater, public speaker, or ac- tor, and you have lots of friends because of your infec- tious good humor.

Mercury in Cancer-your way of expressing yourself is usually emotional. A lot of your words come from emotions and how you feel at a certain moment. You put a lot of emphasis on family and their opinion. There can also be a mother here, who in some way affects how you think and communicate. You have to be careful not to rely too much on your mother's opinion. You like emotional conversations that cover many deeper topics. Most of all, you like to talk in a comfortable place, such as at home, on a comfortable chair, on the sofa, while drinking your favorite drink. You can quickly become emotional in a conversation and if someone hurts you, you can be rude with your words. that Mercury in Cancer natives will remember almost anything — from their own past, to your conversation two months ago. Mercury- in-Cancer people are successful as scholars, historians, teachers, and writers. You are likely to make a profit in real estate and may inherit money from the maternal side of your family.

Mercury in Leo- your way of communicating is fast but superficial. Many times, if you are not interested in the topic, you will no longer listen or give importance to it. Sometimes you can say things that are out of place and only later realize that you may have exaggerated. Your way of expressing yourself is also dramatic. You like to talk about others, gossip, love dramas. In conversation with others, you often find yourself in it. You are excellent at promoting ideas and getting their message across. These people can be very attached to their opinions, taking pride in their beliefs, which are often rather idealistic. You are also very confident in everything you say. You have a sunny side that is always with you. Though you would rather play than work, you are determined to be successful.

Mercury in Virgo- your way of expressing yourself is stable, sometimes judgmental, firm, realistic, even political. You like to talk about serious topics. Many times the topics can be politics, the world, work or general happenings in everyday life. When you speak, you always tell everything in detail and you can go very deep into the details of certain things. You can also be conflicted when it comes to expressing opinions. Many times you can give advice to people even if they don't ask you for it (you always want to find a way to solve a problem). They generally pick up a lot of facts and figures, and learn their own trade well, but have trouble truly absorbing the knowledge they collect on a deeper level. Mercury in Virgo natives may appear humble at times, but they get quite protective when it comes to handling day-to-day affairs. A fault is your eagerness to take on too much work or too many projects. You wear yourself down, and at times become nervous and hypercritical. As a Mer- cury-Virgo you have a superb talent for creative crafts.

Mercury in Libra-your way of communicating is beautiful, gentle, warm, pleasant. You can talk to any person and you can create a way of talking to any person. Although you can be a bit judgmental at times. You can talk a lot about your partner and the relationship. The theme of love is primarily in the foreground with this Mercury. If you are interested in anything, it is the relationships of others or what is happening with others. You can also have the quick influence of others (which means that sometimes you think with the head of others or rely on what your partner says). Your partner's opinion can be very important to you. You are also always looking for harmony and peace in conversation. You are good at solving other people's relationships because you know how to look at things from an objective perspective. You are especially successful if you team up with a strong person who can direct you.

Mercury in Scoprio-your way of expressing yourself is through depth, emotion, directness, truth. You are always looking for the way to the truth, no matter what the situation is, you will always want to know the truth, because that is what will set you free in a way. You can have obsessive thoughts, and especially if you like something, you can only think about it for days. You like long emotional and deep conversations. You like to have a really open, real conversation with someone. You like it when the person tells you their secrets and that you can share a dark side with the person. You don't like small talk. You are direct and sometimes very harsh, especially if someone makes you angry or hurt. You can say the harshest things to a person without a bad conscience. Your way of communicating is also very passionate, inspiring and dedicated. You always know how to empathize with other people. You probably have a volatile temper, and Mercury-Scorpios are known for their biting sarcasm when crossed or upset. You have an emotional intelligence. You will fight for a cause even if it is hopeless, or sacrifice your time and ener- gies for someone you love.

Mercury in Sagittarius-your way of expressing yourself is very energetic, intellectual, optimistic and happy. You always know how to find the good side of a situation and you know how to see the key things in a conversation. You can help others with your words. You give good advice to others. You can also help others find their way. You are open-minded and honest. You're a life-long learner who loves discussing deep, philosophical questions. You also have an expressive nature and a great sense of humor, which often make you the life of the party. Your opinionated and honest personality can sometimes hurt peoples’ feelings, and your visionary way of thinking can make it hard for you to focus on small details. Your mind naturally absorbs new information, and you love pondering life’s deep questions. Some people find you too blunt and outspoken, but that quality springs from Sagittarius’s basic honesty.

Mercury in Capricorn- your way of expressing yourself is usually very realistic, serious and maybe sometimes more cruel. You can also have a pessimistic view. This makes you a practical person; your thoughts are more realistic and down to earth; and communication over concerned matters is precise and clear. You don’t waste time and get down to the point, earning people’s respect. You speak when you have something to say and choose your words carefully to ensure you appear well-spoken and knowledgeable. You can talk a lot about work and this could be the theme most of the time. Mercury-Capricorns often at- tain positions of leadership because they are so dependable and have an air of authority. Life is serious to Mercury-Capricorns and you see its dark side—though a redeeming trait is your dry sense of humor.

Mercury in Aquarius-your way of communicating can be very different from others. Many times you can emphasize things that involve society and friends. You can also look a lot at your friends and what they think about a certain thing. You are rebellious when it comes to your opinion. You can talk about very strange, unusual topics (such as: aliens, robots, etc.). You are intelligent, idealistic, humanitarian, open-minded, eccentric, and unconventional. • You spend a lot of time in the realm of your mind, and you’re always searching for logical, rational explanations for things. You love to analyze character and motivation, and with your finely tuned powers of observation are able to predict accurately how someone will react in a certain situation. Sometimes you may seem eccentric, for your ideas are ad- vanced and you also enjoy saying things that shock other people.

Mercury in Pisces- your way of expressing yourself is very poetic, dreamy, cute and loving. You can have a very friendly way of communicating with others and you never want to hurt other people. Many times you pay more attention to how others feel than how you feel. When you talk about a certain thing, you really get into it and your mind really opens up and you usually have a sparkle in your eyes. You like when someone listens to you and you are happy to talk about it. Because you can often be misunderstood, you don't like to talk to many people, but only to those who bring you warmth and give you the feeling that they understand you. You are also sensitive, imaginative, and open-minded. You think in colors, shapes, and feelings and express yourself through abstract ideas and art. ou prefer to live in your fantasies rather than deal with facts, logic, and details. You are big on feelings and impressions rather than words, trusting your inner voice to tell you what’s going on rather than what’s right in front of your face.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🩷🧚🏻‍♀️

#astrology #zodiac signs #energy #mercury #leo #aries mercury #pisces #libra mercury #scorpio #mercury capricorn #virgo #mercury sagittarius #cancer #gemini #taurus

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divineecelestial · 1 year

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Pretty Girl [ 2 ] — Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary — Eddie doesn't like when other guys talk about his girl. You think he's stupid because you're not his girl. He proves you wrong.

Word Count — 2.8k

Warnings — Graphic depictions of sexual activity, kinda mean!eddie, enemies to lovers banter, thigh riding, light face slapping, dirty talk

Part One

18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI

The old metal of the trailer creaked as the door slammed closed. With a wavering hand squeezing his blood-stained nostrils, Eddie glanced away from his reflection in his mirror and poked his head from the restroom doorway. His eyebrows furrowed as he recognized the quick and light footsteps approaching him.

He had practically pleaded with Dustin to not make any more phone calls. He was already embarrassed, more exasperated with the number of times he’s had to stuff his nose with clean tissues, and didn’t want to deal with the scolding and teasing from his friends. Thankfully, none of them had arrived, but, of course, you weren’t like any other person he’d ever met and drove over. If things were different and he wasn’t squeezing his nose with blood seeping beneath his fingernails, he would have paid more attention to the fact that you were there for him. But, stupidly of him, he didn’t think about that. “You came?” He asked, his voice nasally as he squeezed his nose firmly.

Your eyebrows furrowed together with obvious confusion as you neared him. “Of course, I came. Dustin said you needed me.” Now, that wasn’t something he could easily disregard. He wasn’t even sure you knew you had said those words, far too concerned with the pile of bloodied tissues in the corner of the room. You came because he needed you. You pushed his hand aside, carefully tilting his head back and he wordlessly complied. “What happened?”

Now, this was where things became awkward. Roughly an hour ago, Eddie saw something he definitely shouldn’t have. From across the hallway, he watched you. This wasn’t anything new, he could watch you for as long as he could if given the chance, but what was new was the guy across from you. He keeps telling himself he isn’t jealous, couldn’t possibly be. The words overspread his thoughts, suffusing every crevice and space of his head as he watched the spectacle. Maybe, just maybe, if he said the words enough, he’ll eventually believe them. He had to. There isn’t any reason for him to be internally seething with jealousy. You weren’t his. But, God, watching you smile like that because of some random guy was more than enough to have him become nauseous. Seriously, he could feel revulsion bubbling within him.

After you dismissed yourself with a small wave and watched with unfamiliar wrath as this prick motioned for his friends to check you out as you walked away and made a bet on who could fuck you first, he came to a final and startling conclusion. You were his. And that ass these dicks were checking out was definitely not theirs, only his. You ascended up the stairwell and he caught the faintest glance of beneath your skirt. Yeah, that ass and you were only his.

He explained some of what happened and he couldn’t restrain the pleased smile as the concerned softness on your expression deteriorated and was replaced with the familiar annoyance. “You can’t fight people just because they were talking to me.” You sneered.

He removed the small tissue from his nose. “Of course, I can,” He said casually, unbothered by the possessiveness he was displaying. Your glare hardened. “I know you’re mad at me, but you look so good right now.” You did. The sheen of your lipgloss was reflecting from his bedroom light and your hair was styled just how he liked it.

If you were nerved by his words, you didn’t show it. “You could have gotten seriously hurt.” Even though you were pissed with him, nothing new, your honey-laced words rejuvenated him like a gulp of fresh air. Those butterflies fluttered inside him, threatening to tear through his skin and fly amongst your aura.

He smiled boyishly. “You look really beautiful in this skirt, by the way. It really suits you.”

His bloodstained fingers gingerly plucked at the bottom of your skirt, lifting the fabric teasingly before dropping it. “You are infuriating.” You said through clenched teeth.

“And you are quite possibly the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

There was a flash of something in your gaze and he wouldn’t have even caught the change if he hadn’t been mesmerized by the color of your eyes. You blinked and it was gone. “What the hell were you even thinking?” You didn’t know why you even asked. This moron obviously wasn’t thinking.

Another lovesick smile. “You’re all I think about.” His finger caressed the skin above your knee. “You care about my well-being, gorgeous?”

You visibly swallowed. “No, not at all.” You said and you weren’t even convinced by the declaration.

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly unconvinced as well. “Oh, really?” He asked.

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, really.”

Eddie’s dubious stare remained on you as he thought for a moment. “You might be able to lie to everyone else and have them fooled, but I can always tell and you’re lying right now.”

You crossed your arms across you chest and chuckled humorlessly. “So you think you know everything about me now?” You didn’t know how to feel about being seen so clearly.

He leaned further back against his bedframe and you despised that he behaved with such a casualness, an obvious nonchalance while you were straining to remain as stoic as you could manage. “No, I do know everything about you and I know deep down you like me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t like anything about you.” You lied straight through your teeth, your glittering eyes glowing with a wave of irate anger reserved solely for him. You knew you were lying because there was a different layer of him you were discovering every day and you hated it. you hated that he wasn’t as terrible as you initially thought he was.

“Tell me more.” He demanded, slowly looming closer to you.

“I’m not flirting with you,” You clarified, “This isn’t some dirty talk.”

His face was disconcertingly close to you and even though you pretended the close proximity disgusted you, you didn’t move. “You’re right. This is better.” And for a moment, neither of you said something. “I never noticed your eyes were this pretty.” He could see you; the depths of your eyes illuminated beneath the light, each shadow accustomed to the shadows and darkness glistening on display for him. Small wrinkles creased by your eyes as you softly smiled, a tenderness reserved for him at that moment, and damn, he swore his breath was yanked from his lungs at the sight. “Don’t look at me like that.” He suddenly said.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“The way you’re looking at me, it’s turning me on.”

Your expression transformed into disbelief before glancing down at his crotch, merely a few inches away. “Are you seriously hard right now?”

He grinned shamelessly. “Can you blame me?” He asked brazenly. “Look at you.” Truth be told, if it was regarding you, it didn’t take much at all for him to get hard.

You refrained from expressing how much you like this. “It’s been less than fifteen minutes and you already have a boner. Do I really have that much of an effect on you?”

There wasn’t any hesitation as he answered. “Absolutely.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop distracting me.” You pushed his head back again, closely examining inside. The bleeding had stopped and there didn’t appear to be any visible fractures. He would be okay with some ice. “So what were they even saying?” You asked, referring to moment that apparently started everything.

Eddie stiffened, hardly noticeable. “Doesn’t matter. I took care of it.”

“If it’s about me, I deserve to know.”

A moment passed and then another, and he didn’t answer. You were going to ask again in a much more demanding and firmer way when he suddenly sighed heavily. “They were making bets on who could fuck you first.” You could the admission burn his tongue like acrid poison.

Your breathing hitched as you processed his admittance. “You were defending me?” You quietly asked. This definitely made things worse for you. The reason he was starting fights, bruising his knuckles with dark redness and scrapes and scratches, was because they were talking about you. Eddie Munson was defending you in his own perverse way.

“Obviously. You’re not up for grabs. You’re mine.” The way he spoke with careless possession shook you to the core. It was as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And you supposed to him, it was.

Your walls were slowly tumbling and crashing down. Fix it, your brain screamed. “I’m not yours.”

He smirked and it was almost devilish. “Not yet.”

“Not ever.” You corrected, choosing to ignore the fire coursing through you.

That insolent smirk never dwindled. “I see you’re still pretending you aren’t madly in love with me.” He said with sweet amusement.

Any and all snarky remarks were stolen from you as his hand gently touched your thigh. So soft. So tender. Fucking fix it, your brain screamed. “I hate you.” Was all you could pathetically manage.

His touch was so simple, feather-light, but it left fire trails on your skin. “If you hated me, you wouldn’t have let me cum for you.”

Another observation you couldn’t find a response for. “A mistake that’s never happening again.”

His hand moved upward, so slow you were restraining yourself from shoving his hand beneath your clothes. “You liked it. I know you did.” He said and you despised knowing this was nothing but the truth. He was confronting you, teasing you because you couldn’t deny it. If you really didn’t like watching him stain his clothes with cum, you wouldn’t have allowed it to happen. You would’ve punched him, reported him, done anything other than spread your legs and tease him. You didn’t like it, you loved it. “I bet you touched yourself when you got home.”

You did. You touched yourself with your fingers until they ached, came with muffled screams as you shoved your face into a pillow until your vibrator’s batteries died, and you even used your showerhead. Hearing him moan and whine like a pathetic boy was fucking filthy and you were soaking through your panties by the time you stepped inside your room.

He took your silence as admission. “Fuck, you really did, didn’t you?” He could feel the warmth radiating from beneath your skirt, teasing his fingertips. If he wasn’t hard enough earlier, he was now. He twitched beneath his jeans. “Sit on my lap.”

Don’t do it. “You’re delusional if you think I’m gonna—”

“Don’t be a fucking brat and sit on my lap.” Your brain was losing and you were thinking with your body—your body that was craving him like he was some addicting drug. Without another word, you slowly crawled to him and plopped down on his clothed thigh like you were always meant to be there. You could feel him throbbing against your clit. He was big and thick. His eyes closed for a second, processing what was happening. This was a slice of heaven served to him on a golden platter. “Get yourself off on my thigh, pretty girl. Make a mess for me.”

And just like that, any delusion you might’ve had that you were capable of turning him down, was flushed down the drain. “What?” You asked breathlessly. In that moment, he could’ve demanded you kiss his sneakers and you would’ve fluttered your eyelashes at him as you did so.

He gripped your face with a firmness that might’ve made you whimper if you weren’t so shocked. He squeezed your cheeks with one hand, forcing your lips into a teasing pout. “Rub that pretty pussy on my thigh and make yourself cum.” He wasn’t asking. This was a demand he knew you were going to do for him.

You released a wavering breath as you began to move against him and you could hear your arousal clinging against his jeans. This was embarrassing. But not to him. He was probably sick enough to lick your juices from where you’d been rubbing. “Suck on my fingers and keep those pretty eyes open. Look at me, baby.” His fingers that weren’t tainted by his own blood were inside your mouth and you eagerly sucked, licking and kissing them as if they were his leaking cock. Your lips were flushed as you hollowed your cheeks and he watched you drooled on his fingers with heart eyes. “You are fucking beautiful. Let me see those pretty tits.”

There wasn’t any hesitation this time as you lifted your blouse, displaying your breasts and pinching yourself. Another twitch from his cock and he jerked his hips, earning a soft moan from you. “I could cum just by looking at them, pretty girl.”

You removed his fingers from your mouth. “Call me that again,” Your voice was soft, breathless, and laced with a vulnerability he’d never heard from you before. “Please.” Desperate. Needy.

The arrogant smirk on his pink lips was annoying and you wanted to sit on his face so you wouldn’t have to see it. “Aw, you like being called my pretty girl?” There wasn’t any thoughts floating within your mind. All you could think of was the liquid lava moving through your bloodstream as you rubbed your clit against his cock faster. You only nodded. “I thought you hated me? But look at you, drooling for my cock.”

It was pathetic because you were drooling. You were never going to hear the end of this. He slapped your cheek lightly, pleasantly stinging. His touch didn’t hurt, it never did, but it did get a message across. “Let me hear those pathetic sounds. You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m gonna let you not make any noise.” He was going to memorize and repeat this moment for every time he spit in his hand and jerked himself off. He needed to hear you. He was losing his composure and there was another slap. “I’ve been wanting this for years so fucking moan and say my name.”

“O-Oh, my fucking God, this feels so fucking good.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, quickening your pace. Your facade of disgust and hatred disappeared. “Fuck yes, Eddie!” His hands gripped your waist, fingers dipping into the skin of your ass, and he pushed you down harder against him. “Just like that. Just like that.”

His warm and erratic breaths brushed against your jaw. The softness of his lips kissing and sucking as he moaned against your skin. “Come on, baby, make me cum. You can do it, just keep rubbing that pussy on me. Give it to me.”

His mouth moved against your breasts, kitten-licking your peaked nipples before sucking. Something inside you snapped and there was nothing but blinding pleasure, strong enough to steal the moans and air from your throat as you chased your pleasure. Your eyes closed before there were smaller and quick slaps against your cheek. “Look at me when you cum.” His calloused hand slowly drifted to your throat, a firm and shaky grip.

His body twitched and squirmed beneath you as he whimpered against your chest, tongue swirling against your nipple and his hand squeezing the other. Your movements slowly came to a stop and he released your breast with a playful pop.

His fingertips gently caressed the softness of your cheek, lingering a moment longer on each mark coloring her skin. You leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand as you closed your eyes. You listened to the hard and quick patter of her heart, to each slow and deliberate breath of his, and the rustling of the leaves outside. And you swore if you listened closely enough, you would’ve heard the thumping beneath his chest. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else,” He whispered, a thought escaping his quivering mouth before he could even process his own voice. You ruined him, tore out his thumping heart with your manicured nails, and devastated him—a devastation he craved, needed like the blood coursing through his veins. He would’ve bruised his knees worshipping the floor you stepped on. You had undoubtedly ruined him and he couldn’t do anything about it but thank you.

In a daze, you tangled your fingers in his hair and pressed your glossed lips against his. He couldn’t breathe. You were kissing him, drunk from your orgasm, bare skin against his thick cock, and he couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. He didn’t move. He didn’t kiss you back. At the lack of reciprocation, you pulled away.

The softness of your lips lingered on his, a ghostly remnant of a daydream he’s had for as long as he could remember. His eyes slowly fluttered open, shock swirling in the pools of darkness. His breathing hitched as he forced himself to breathe. Slow and steady. But he couldn’t because he swore he could almost still taste you. Outside, inside the community and neighborhoods of Hawkins, no one would’ve guessed Hawkin’s It-Girl kissed him, your sweet perfume entangled with his cheap cologne. That’s something nobody could’ve predicted, including himself. Well, and that you rode him until you made yourself and him cum.

Your hair cascaded across your skin as you tilted your head, trying to decipher the gleam in his eyes. Your lips were flushed as if you’d been gnawing on them, and you almost pouted at what you thought was rejection. Disappointment colored your expression and you scooted away from him, suddenly uncomfortable with the silence of the room. “I’m sorry I kissed you.” You stood from him and straightened your clothes, readjusting them. “Let’s just forget about it.”

And you were out the door before he could explain that he literally couldn’t talk or function because his dream girl made him cum so hard he was seeing stars.

Shit.

Taglist — @eddiesguitarskills @twihard08 @twilight-love-nochu-main @names-were-taken @definitelynotecho @sidthedollface2

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson series #eddie munson self insert #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

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awxcoffeexno · 1 month

Text

unholy

mean!loganhowlett x mutant!reader one shot

fic masterlist

summary: you work at a shady dance club that offers other services. logan is a regular but this time he decides to implement his claws.

content warnings: very very VERY 18+. MDNI. claw worship and knife play!! mentions of blood and cutting. logan is very very mean and he likes hurting reader because he knows she can take it. reader is a mutant and a sex worker. please proceed only at your own risk, this is pure degeneracy and very very nsfw. also, sex, piv, mild slapping, lots of sucking and mention of bruises (only from the sex). vaguely set in the 70's after stryker's experiment (mostly only in my head because origins logan lives in my head rent free). also cameo from blue from sucker punch as a shout-out to baby me.

word count: 4k. longest from me.

a/n: since my utterly disgusting thoughts rubbed off on a lot of other people and the last claw worship fic was quite well received, i went ahead and wrote an nsfw version. this is pure filth and his fckin claws will never not make me feel some typa way. i will not apologise.

it's sweltering in the club, the music pounding, and the air filled with rising smoke from the hand-rolled cigarettes in the patrons' ashtrays. your mind is buzzing from the overstimulation and your muscles ache from the dancing, begging for a rest.

you love every last bit of it.

a man reaches up to where you're standing and tucks ten dollars into the string of your thong. you smile at him flirtatiously and sway down onto your haunches so you can lean in and thank him properly.

you've been in the trade long enough to know that the better you thank them, the more they keep coming back for. you're in the business of sales, really; conversions are everything. this business is fast business—there's the wall street boys and the dance girls, the two most proficient sales people in the world.

the man grins at your sultry voice, rewarding you with another ten dollars and a hot kiss to your neck. this isn't a no-touch club and that might be your favourite thing about working here. men are more likely to behave when they're allowed to touch rather than when they think they're rebelling by touching.

your hair, damp from sweat, sticks to your forehead and it almost makes you sad thinking about how nicely you'd done it earlier in the night. real big and fluffy, just like blue likes it.

and just as you think about him, he appears at your pole. he runs a hand up your sticky calf to catch your attention and you slide down, knowing from his expression instantly that there's more work to do.

tina quickly takes your place on the pole and you thank her with a kiss to the cheek and five dollars from your string. it's simple courtesy, and an unwritten club rule. if you're leaving your post for higher paying activities, you thank the other girl who is covering for you with money.

"hey, babydoll," blue says in your ear over the music, sliding a hand around your bare waist. "big ol' guy's here for you. the one with the…" blue rubs his cheeks, "fluff."

"logan," you say, more to yourself than blue, and he tips your chin to him.

"ask for 200, and only let him bring you down to 180. you gotta make up the difference for last week, sugar."

200 is asking for a lot for the hour. your going rate is a hundred and that's only because you're one of blue's favourite girls and he brings you his best clients. but logan's been a regular for the better part of six months now and blue knows he can hustle him for at least 180. besides, you were sick all week last week and blue warned you he'd make you pay.

so you lean in and give him a kiss, promising him the money.

"attagirl," he smirks, tugging your mouth open with a thumb and slipping a pill in.

you smile at him gratefully and start up the stairs, the roar of the music fading into a hum. quickly spitting the pill out into your hand, you tuck it into your bra. you'll flush it down the toilet when you get to your room. blue says the pills make it easier but you hate how groggy they make you feel. in any case, you like your sessions with logan.

he's good for you, keeps you from floating off into the sky. you're fairly certain there's an old roman story about flying a little too high. or was it greek?

slipping into your little red room, you quickly wash up and change into a silk robe that you know will not last the night. not around logan. but blue keeps a steady supply of them coming so long as you bring him good money which you do.

once you've refreshed your make up and puffed on a cigarette, you press the buzzer, letting the boys downstairs know to send logan up.

his broad shoulders fill your doorframe under a minute, the warmth of his presence sending a shiver down your sweaty body. he's clad in all black formal wear that rather reminds you of a funeral.

"whiskey?" you offer, watching him sit down on the plush leather chair that most others don't even bother to notice.

logan likes it slow, taking his time to unwind and ease up before he takes his stress out on you. it's rather nice, your usual routine.

however, when he grunts a yes and you start pouring his whiskey, you notice that something's off about him today. his eyes are a little droopy when they're usually so alert. his skin paler than the usual golden tan he sports.

something's wrong and you don't like the feeling that settles in your gut at that.

you take the whiskey over to him and climb into his lap, offering him the glass.

"what happened?" you ask, your voice betraying the concern you should probably never feel for any client.

he looks at you and snarls quietly, "poison arrow."

fuck.

logan's not particularly well beloved by the kind of gentry that a place like this attracts or the people he crosses paths with regularly. this much he's told you before and he's nothing if not honest.

but a poison arrow?

fuck.

your recent knack for eloquence aside, you ask quietly, "and… are you okay?"

"m'fine. fucked my healing though," he grumbles, pulling the collar of his flannel to the side, showing you the ugly gash that stretches from his shoulder, disappearing into his shirt.

you and logan share that power, a gift really. accelerated healing. it's come in handy plenty to you and you're only a dance girl. you cannot begin to imagine how a man like him will survive without it.

he sees your cringing expression and barks out a single-syllable laugh. the sound breaks you out of your thoughts and you look at him, startled.

"look at your face, pretty girl. told'ya m'fine. it's getting better already," he says and his voice, though tinted with his usual casual condescension, is gentler than you've ever heard him. he's… reassuring… you? you think??

"now, c'mere," he downs the whiskey and uses both hands to pull you closer by the thighs.

and then his mouth is at your neck, and there's the logan you know. rough and uncaring, cruel because he knows your body can take it. knows you can take what he can never do to anyone else.

he savours the salt on your skin, running his large paws down your arms tucking your wrists behind your back. he likes you detained, pliant and ripe for the taking. his throaty groan on your skin in the dip of your now exposed collar bone makes the need curl in your core.

real need, not the kind that you summon with other clients. need that is amplified when he squeezes your wrists tighter together to make you quit squirming.

"lo–"

"shut up." he commands, licking and sucking down your neck and shoulder, and that's that. you snap your mouth shut immediately.

logan slips your robe off both your shoulders with his free hand and his teeth sink into the flesh in the nape of your neck hard enough to draw blood, making you cry out his name. he's exhausted and healing too slowly and he needs to use you as his stress ball and fuck you until he feels better.

you want to cry out, you want to beg him until he gives you what you need but you know better than to do that with him. your hips however rut into him, making him yank you back and glare at you.

"and who let you do that, princess?" he says so calmly, voice oceans deep and velvety smooth, that you don't realise for a second that it was a question. a rhetorical one.

you blush and it makes his lip curl in a patronising smile.

"oh, i'll give you what you need alright. all you gotta do is ask, sugar."

you want to remind him that he was the one that told you to shut up but that won't end well, so you oblige.

"logan, please…" you whisper, hands trying to readjust in his grip, grasping for a more comfortable position. "please let me have you."

"that just won't do. need me to help you put together full sentences too?" he grumbles, readjusting because he's clearly in pain. "say it like you want it. say you want my fat cock to fill your needy little pussy. say you want her to feel good."

logan's mouth is disgusting. the words aren't too different from what the other men that come to your room spout but on his tongue they sound particularly dirty. and apparently you like dirty because god fucking dammit… his words and his voice and his scent and his everything make your need for him desperately worse.

"please, please, just need your fat cock to fill my pussy, to stretch her out, logan." you grovel. "need my pussy to feel good, please."

"jesus fuck, princess. got quite the mouth on you." he smirks as if he wasn't the one to draw those words from your lips. "let's put it to good use."

he isn't going to let you have his cock in you to quench that need that easy. he always, always makes you work for it.

he juts his chin out, gesturing to you to get on the floor and you slip between his legs, looking up at him reverently.

you like him in your mouth anyway. you like the way he uses you just hard enough to make you cry but never hard enough to make you feel like you're drowning–unlike some people who come here, the ones that make you bury your face in blue's chest later as he lectures you about needing to toughen up.

but when he reaches our for you, his hand comes into your focus and it makes you gasp softly. the space between his knuckles, home to his claws, is bared open, dirty and covered in blood. the claws cut him open every time but heals immediately so it's never mattered before. you take his giant hand with both of yours to examine the wounds but he yanks it away. the back of his hand comes down on your right cheek in a sharp, firm slap.

"focus," he growls and you rub your cheek, eyebrows setting into a frown.

your tone is firmer than it is around him when you speak. "show it to me, logan."

he shifts in his seat, gauging you. he isn't used to hearing any form of authority in your voice. nor is he used to being taken care of. he cracks his neck, shaking it off and then leans forward.

"you wanna see?" he says, voice so low it makes your toes curl.

you swallow thickly and nod, chewing on the inside of your lip.

"then you're going to have to pay, princess."

your tummy jumps as he puts his fist in front of you. you're about to reach over to grab his hand again, leaning in close to take a better look, but out come his claws making you shuffle back in alarm. they stop at your lips, drawing a hitched breath from you.

"open your mouth, angel. it'll hurt too much if i push them in myself."

the old man has lost it.

"lo–" you start to protest but he's retracted all but his middle claw with a loud snikt, and is pushing the flat of the remaining one into your mouth.

the cold adamantium of logan’s claw presses against your tongue, the sharp edge demanding obedience. you part your lips further slowly, letting the flat of the blade slide deeper inside, grazing your tongue. the metallic taste is sharp, a reminder of the danger you’re playing with.

logan’s gaze never leaves yours, dark and unyielding. there’s no softness in his eyes, no hint of gentleness. this isn’t about comfort or care—this is about control, about reminding you who’s in charge. his other hand grips your jaw, fingers digging into your skin just hard enough to bruise, forcing you to keep your mouth open.

“good girl,” he mutters, the praise laced with a mocking edge that makes your stomach twist. his tone is condescending, amused by how easily you submit to him.

he begins to draw the claw out, then slides it back in, a slow and deliberate rhythm that forces you to focus on the sensation—the cool metal, the danger of the sharp blade so close to your skin. your breath hitches, a mix of fear and something darker curling in your gut.

“look at ya, angel,” logan sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “so eager to worship something that could slice you open without a second thought.”

it’s as if he knows exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you crave his approval despite the cruelty in his touch.

his grip on your jaw tightens as he tilts your head back further, forcing you to take the claw deeper into your mouth. “don’t bite down,” he warns, the threat clear in his tone and you realise… he can feel it. he can feel your mouth on his claw and it's stoking the fire in him.

you nod as best as you can in response to his words, your eyes locked on his, wide and pleading. the pain from his grip mingles with the strange pleasure of submission, and it’s almost unbearable. you feel like you're on fire. logan watches you struggle, a twisted smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your discomfort.

“you like this, don't cha?” he taunts, pulling the claw out just enough to let you breathe. “you like being reminded of what i could do to you if i wanted. y'like knowing that i’m the one who decides how far this goes.”

he’s right, of course. you hate how much you like it, how the power he holds over you only intensifies the burning need in your belly. it’s humiliating and exhilarating all at once, and logan's reading you like an open book.

“now, let’s see if you’re really worth the trouble,” he growls, sliding the claw out entirely, leaving your mouth empty and aching. he leans back in his chair, holding his hand out in front of you, the metal gleaming under the dim light as the other claws come out too. “kiss them. show me how much you want it.”

your heart pounds as you lean in, pressing your lips to the cool metal with reverence. the taste of them lingers on your tongue, and the weight of his gaze is almost suffocating. but you do as you’re told, kissing the blades as if they're something sacred, something you’re desperate to prove your devotion to.

logan’s smirk widens as he watches you. “that’s it, princess. make it worth my while. maybe then i’ll give you what you’re begging for.”

the claw lingers against your lips and you tilt your head slightly, pressing a softer, more deliberate kiss to the adamantium, tasting the faint tang of blood and iron bloom on your lips. the edge is sharp against your skin and you aren't surprised you've managed to cut yourself. but your body takes care of you and the wound is gone before you even lick the blood away.

your tongue flicks out, tentative at first, tracing the length of the blade. you can’t stop yourself, your need to please him overpowering every other instinct. logan’s eyes narrow as he watches you, the barest hint of approval hidden beneath the hardness of his gaze.

“that’s more like it,” he murmurs, his voice quiet… tired. “show me how much you love it. show me how much you’re willing to do to keep me happy.”

you press your tongue flat against the claw, dragging it slowly along the length, tasting the cold metal. you wrap your lips around his claw and carefully start sucking the way you would his cock, making him groan your name. you cut yourself over and over as you suck but it bothers neither of you, the pain translating directly into the wetness between your legs.

“attagirl,” logan growls.

“thank you, logan,” you whisper against the claw, your voice trembling with need. “thank you for this.”

a dark chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest. “thank me when you’ve earned it,” he replies, pulling the claw away just slightly, taunting you with its absence. your lips chase after it, a whimper escaping as you realize how much you're genuinely, truly enjoying this.

“please,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “please, logan, let me have you. let me take care of you.”

he raises an eyebrow, the cold amusement in his eyes never wavering. “take care'a me? is that what you think this is?” he presses the claw back against your lips, harder this time, making sure you feel the point against your skin. “you’re here to serve me, princess. and you’ll do it how i want, not how you think i need.”

a shudder runs through you at his words, the sharp edge digging just enough to leave a thin line of red along your lower lip. your eyes sting with tears, but you don’t dare pull away. instead, you lean into it, pressing your lips against the claw in a silent plea for mercy, for something more.

logan’s smirk deepens, his other hand coming to rest on the back of your head, pushing you forward just enough that the point of his claw cuts into your lip again. you gasp at the sting, but the sound is muffled as he presses down harder, forcing your mouth to open.

logan watches you, his expression unreadable, but his grip on the back of your head tightens, holding you in place as you continue to worship the deadly weapon in your mouth. “want to take care'a me?” he mocks, his voice rough and dark. “you think that's what i need?”

you nod as best you can with the claw in your mouth, your eyes pleading with him.

but logan isn’t done with you yet. he pulls the claw from your mouth, leaving your lips wet with a mix of blood and saliva. you gasp, trying to catch your breath, but before you can say anything, he shoves the claw against your chest, just above your heart, the point pressing into your skin.

“thank me,” he growls, his voice a low snarl. “and mean it.”

“thank you, logan,” you whisper, your voice cracking with desperation. “thank you for your claws.”

the cruel twist of his smile is all the reward you get, but it’s enough. he drags the claw down, slicing through the thin fabric of your robe, leaving a trail of red in its wake. you flinch, but you don’t pull away, your body trembling as you try to keep still under his touch.

"been good, babygirl." he relents finally, watching as your wound heals. "c'mere."

he hauls you into his lap with ease, despite his injuries. you make quick work of his buttons and throw his black shirt open. your eyes snap up to his and then back to his body.

he's covered in bullet holes. five that you can count anyway. your hands reach for them but he grabs your wrist.

"m'fine. they'll heal. two already have."

oh.

so you plant your mouth on his, kissing him deep, savouring the tobacco and musk of his breath. he tugs you closer, hooking a finger into your panties and dragging them down your smooth legs. it makes your toes curl.

the sticky mess between your legs leaves a dark patch on his trousers as he goes back to sucking soft bruises into your neck.

and then you hear his claws before you feel them, the cold metal cutting through what's left of your robe like butter, pressing into the soft skin over your scapula. you brace yourself, nails sinking into his broad shoulders and he cuts the claws in, slicing you open.

"logan, please!" you cry out but the pain is only momentary, delicious and burning hot, before your skin stitches itself back up like clockwork.

"fuck… me," he gasps and you've never heard him so affected.

he undoes his belt with a practiced hand and slides it off, tossing it off to the side and tugging his pants down. quickly, you position yourself over him, sitting down with your head rolled back, sheathing him with your warm, wet walls. he's splitting you open, stretching you the way you begged earlier.

and then he resumes cutting, slicing your back open as you move up and down on his cock. you bury your face in his neck, hiding your tears of pain and pleasure in his neck as he undoes you.

he grabs your jaw when he notices you start to lose yourself.

"no, you pay attention, bub." he snarls in your ear, kissing you roughly. pulling away when your eyes are wide open again, he slips a finger into your mouth.

the salt and blood on his skin makes your mouth water and this is beyond fucked up but you regret nothing. you suck diligently and he reaches down and wraps his mouth around your nipple, making you suck a sharp breath in. you feel his teeth sink in and it sends a shiver down your spine.

your hands in his hair, you tug sharply, making him growl and switch to your other nipple.

"logan…" you whine around his finger, thighs aching from the effort of riding him through it all.

he grunts and takes his hand away from your mouth. both hands on your waist, he starts to fuck you like a fucking fleshlight, moving you up and down on him like you weigh nothing.

you hear a snikt and a claw comes up to your face, running down the side of your cheek and making you mewl in pleasure.

you only just realise how much logan's wound you up in the hour that he's been in your room. you're hurtling towards the edge and he's barely been in you for a few minutes.

but you've wound him up too, the nerves in his body alight with pleasure.

"fuck, doll," he groans in your ear, retracting his claws and steading you with his hands again. "not going to last long tonight."

fuck. blue is going to kill you for letting Logan go so quickly.

yet you cannot seem to care.

you mewl his name and pick up speed at that, panting and gasping, and aching to please. he feels the telltale sign of your edge in the quivering of your walls and yanks you down on himself, pushing you over the cliff.

it's like fireworks and butterflies and pure fucking ecstasy.

"been a good fucking filthy girl," he whispers in your ear, knowing it'll make you react around his cock. "lettin' me cut'ya open like that."

you press your damp brow against his shoulder, riding your high weakly but your pussy does enough to bring him to his climax as well. he grunts and wraps his arms around you, holding you tight down in his lap, filling you warm and deep.

he pants softly in your ear and you look at him with a giddy smile. you reach for his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles and…

his hand is healed.

and… so is his other one.

you pull back to check the rest of him and… they're all gone. all of the bullet holes.

a sly smile spreads across your lips and you look at him with satisfaction dancing in your eyes.

"took care of you after all."

he lets out a surprised laugh, eyes softening with something you haven't seen in him before. he pulls you back into his embrace, and this softness is new. nice, but new.

"yes you did, princess."

i need to be committed and lobotomised with logan's claws. blue would love that.

love, d <3

taglist: @techwrecker, @saltwaterburns, @lilaccmilk, @clevah-girlboss

divider: @rookthornesartistry

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine angst #logan howlett angst #logan howlett xmen #xmen #xmen fanfiction #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #sucker punch #blue from sucker punch literally did not need to be here but this is my multiverse of madness :)

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anadiasmount · 1 year

Text

tainted memories - jude bellingham.

wow wow okay hi!! sorry for the break i took. i began uni again after my holiday so i haven’t been as active on here. but i received this request for jude, and decided to try it out. please leave some feedback as us writers appreciate it a lot 🤍🧟‍♀️

summary: breaking up wasn’t apart of the plan. so was also inviting him to your friends party, but now that he’s back after seven months, a little rekindle never hurts anyone, right?

angst? smut and fluff. minors dni! 🔞

wc: 3.6k

“need any help?” you turned slowly to be faced with those soft brown eyes. his plump lips drew in as he peeked his head through the door. you shook your head and got back to washing the dishes. “you going to continue ignoring me?” he said causing you to begin breathing quicker than before, after feeling his presence come behind you.

you were in charge of one of your girlfriends all -white all-white-themed surprise party, in honor of her birthday. this meant you’d see jude after breaking up over 7 months ago, since your friends were friends with his. while seeing familiar faces made you happy, you couldn't help but feel sad all over again. jude and you ended on good terms, so he thought, after he stressed he wanted to focus on his last months at dortmund and start with his new team in madrid.

you didn’t want to split, rather try and make your relationship work and get through the obstacles you were bound to face together. you physically and mentally weren't prepared to let him go, he was your person, the person who never failed to make you feel like the luckiest girl. you were his, but instead, you let him go, and respected what he asked.

you began a new cycle all over again, from having that hard shell that protected you to being his girlfriend, then back to being that old person you were building your walls up again. people came and went in your life, its what you were used to, and you thought with jude it was different… he made you feel different, in many positive aspects, always supportive, loving, caring, and soft with you.

maybe you pushed him away? maybe you gave him a reason to leave? maybe you weren’t enough for him?

jude being jude still tried to keep contact, he would text, sometimes call, but you knew deep inside you wouldnt be able to move on if he was still present. it hurt because he wasn’t yours anymore, you still loved him, after months being apart, he still brought that spark inside you to burst. it was his effect burned inside you.

the familiar perfume and scent blinded your senses, when you felt two arms trap you from behind, two hands on the edge of the counter. “you haven’t said a single word to me y/n…” you shuddered as he whispered in your ear, his nose tracing your jaw down to the nape of your neck. “say something, please…” the pleading in his voice broke your heart. you dried your hands and turned around.

his face centimeters apart from yours, where you could see his brows fluttering in and eyes darker than usual. “excuse me,” you tried to move out of the way but he refused, “no. did i say or do something? you don’t answer my calls? my messages? tell me why.” you opened your mouth to speak but instead you shook your head again, attempting to move out the way, you still had the responsibility of the party, that was your priority right now.

“y/n-”

“no. you don’t get to do that. you said you wanted your space, and i’m respecting that. i don’t have to give you reasons as to why i’m not speaking with you, jude. what we had was said and done, you wanted to focus on yourself and that's great- “

“y/n? are you done with the dishes were waiting on you to surprise emmy,” one of your friends said, becoming slightly awkward at the room with your ex. she sensed the high tension so she quickly went back outside. jude’s hand wrapped around your wrist, your attention back on him, “we're talking later. we ended on good terms and i plan for them to remain that way,” jude insisted, to which you only nodded your head.

he was confused. for once in his life he was confused that you were such a stranger around him. the girl that stayed up with him while he reminisced and spoke of his early days at birmingham, the one and only girl his mum loved and adored, his girl who made his favorite dish after a bad game, the girl who smiled only around him, the only girl who never failed to bring and feel butterflies in him, the one girl who defended him always, and that girl who made him into a bigger and better person. that girl, his girl, wasn’t there anymore.

maybe he lost you for good? maybe you didn’t love him anymore? maybe you were seeing someone? no, you were his, only his.

the night was successful, the surprise went to plan, and everyone was having a good time. although you were still stuck from earlier, trying to do anything to distract your thoughts from him, whether it was picking up cups, heating up food, talking with your girls especially, and drink the special cocktail you loved dearly. your eyes trailed over to him again, where you locked eye contact for the hundredth time that night. he looked good, way too good, twenty was treating him right.

“you and jude keep ogling? something going on?” you friend asked, catching onto the lingering glances. she took a sip of her red cup, “nothing really. he wants to talk but i don't know if i’m ready for that. i knew he would be coming, but i wasn’t prepared to see him like that. what if he tells me he found someone else? or that-” you panic rubbing your forehead with your palm.

“first breathe, i’m here with you. as much as it may hurt or feel slightly uncomfortable, it's the closure you may need to move on. but what if he wants to talk with you to rekindle again? do you think you would be open to that? and if he says he’s someone else, show him what he will miss on. you're beautiful y/n, and he was lucky to have you once in his life, just don’t let him bring you down again…”

she was right. if he did move on, that wasn’t your place to meddle, you’d have to let him go and be happy for him. but if he did want to consider getting back together, why now? why now when he’s living his best life in madrid? why now after saying he wanted to focus on himself? why now when you’re trying to avoid those soft brown eyes who once brought happiness to you, still do…

“just think about it yeah? right now lets dance, distract yourself from him and the world,” she yelled as soon as krazy by pitbul begin to play. you laughed and danced with your girls, letting loose and for once not caring for what anyone said or did. you threw back two shots, knowing they weren’t going to do anything as you weren't a lightweight.

as the night came to an end, mostly everyone had left, besides him. you said your goodbyes to your friends, offering them leftovers of food and cake, making sure to wish them a be careful, and promising to hang out soon. you sighed tiredly closing the front door, looking over at the big couch that drew you in to sit down on. jude appears, but all you do is stare at your hands, tracing the small tattoos you have to get rid of the anxiety beginning to build up.

“i want to apologize, you were right. i did say i wanted to focus on myself but i was stupid thinking it would’ve still meant us talking like we always did. part of me never wanted to let go of you, and still doesn’t. i thought that i was doing the right thing but in the end i learned the hard way that not only was i hurting myself but you along…” jude says, watching as your head slowly lifts up, your cheeks burning red.

“while it was hard on me, my mind always traced back to you. how your eyes filled with confusion and tears when i broke up with you. i get why you didn’t want anything to do with me, but believe me it was harder to not hear or see you on the daily. please don’t blame yourself for one bit, or think you aren’t enough because you’re more than perfect than what i could’ve asked for…”

“i needed to get away from you, but it's hard doing that when your ex-boyfriend is the talk of the town,” you joke hearing him let out a small chuckle. “i wanted to so badly respond to hear your voice, how you were doing, talk about our silly work problems but i knew if that i continued to hold onto the hope one day you’d come back, it would hurt more than loving you every day,” you said.

“i was confused yeah, but i needed to think on the brighter side that you were doing this for yourself and not for any other reason. I just wanted the best for you and i thought that distancing myself was the best idea… i still love you so much jude, and this, us, hurts. i’m not yours, and i can’t call you mine anymore, i can’t hold or kiss you, love you like i did…” you continued.

“when i heard you weren’t doing okay after three months i almost caved in, but i thought you would’ve hated me or worse just not care. and to not have you like i once did was taking a toll on me. my mom was concerned as to why we broke up, but i couldn’t tell her the truth. i hurt you and im so sorry baby…” jude cried out, grabbing your hands and kissing over your knuckles.

“I want and need you back… i still love you more than ever, and if you let me i can prove to you im now a better and mature man…” he pauses and breathes in, “leaving you was the scariest thing i’ve encountered, not having you by my side taught me i can't live or sleep without you there…”

“and if you say all of this to just leave me again? or you regret your decision to get back with me?” you can’t help but ask, letting a few tears out. what if it got too much for him? you wouldn’t be able to live with another heartache caused by him again. you need to hear him say he’s in it for the long run, not one where he can just up and go whenever he pleases.

“i can assure you right here, right now, that you’re it for me. you’re my future wife, the mother to my kids, the only person i want to grow old with. the only girl who’ll support me at the end of the day no matter what. the only woman who i will forever love and cherish…” you giggle and choke on a sob, feeling jude’s thumb wipe away the tears.

“don’t leave me… that all i ask. but i need you too jude. all i ask is for you to communicate with me, for us to give each other the assurance we need to move forward, that at the end of the day you’re the only one i come back to, to watch spy kids over and over again,” you say making him chuckle, watching as he let out some tears. You wiped them away, brushing your thumb over his soft cheek, his eyes closing at the feeling. “So were really doing this?” you ask. “yes we are really doing this…” jude says leaning and scooting closer to you.

you leaned in, his eyes slowly fluttering closed, was this real? the touch of his lips connecting with yours confirmed it. the way his larger hand cupped your cheek and pulled closer, completely taking your breath away. you whimpered softly as his tongue entered your mouth, him groaning at the smallest sound you made. you brought your hands and cupped his upper shoulders before bringing your smaller palm on his cheek.

jude pulled you onto his lap where you felt the big prominent bulge, leaning forward and grabbing your torso to hold you in place. his lips quickly connected back with yours, tilting his head to the side a bit as he pulled you closer, chest to chest. “jude…” you let out quietly, the tension all becoming too much, too hot…

“yes? fuck- d-do you wanna stop?” he whispered faintly on your lips, to which you shook your head no. you leaned back slightly, your hands going back to unzip the white dress you were wearing, jude’s eyes roaming from your swollen lips down to your chest where your white lace bra covered what he wanted to see. “are you sure? i don’t want you to regret this y/n…”

“i’m more than sure that i want this… i need you, jude. just like you just said…” he groaned and pulled you back towards him, where he kissed your lips like a hungry starved man. peppering kisses from your jaw, down to your neck, and that exact spot he manages to find that makes you go crazy. he bites down gently then sucks the skin where he marked you, kissing softly over it. “i need you too. need you so bad my cock’s aching to feel you again…”

he lays you down onto the plushy soft couch, grabbing a pillow and laying underneath your head. jude quickly removes the dress but leaves you with your white undergarments, his hands dragging your sides, observing your body like it would be his last time seeing it. you begin to cover yourself but he stops you, grabbing your hands with one of his and trapping them above you head.

he kisses you softly on your lips, then your forehead in reassurance, “don’t cover up baby. you’re so beautiful and all mine, yeah?” you nodded leaning up to kiss him again. he lets go of your hands, watching as you sit up again, overlooking at your fingers fidgeting with the button on his top. he lets you do it, your warm palms connecting with now his bare chest, running your thumb over his nipple, looking up shyly to see jude bitting his bottom lip.

as you lay back down, you watch as he removes his pants, his erected cock lined against his black calvins. “staring at me now?” jude teased, his hands resting on your knees as he pulled them apart to settle between them. “can’t help it, jude. you’re so handsome,” you complimented watching as he smirked. “and i’m all yours, right? say it y/n…”

“all mine.”

“good. because all that nonsense from before isn’t true. you’ve always been mine… only mine.” jude removed your bra, kissing from your collarbone down through your sternum, to finally sucking the hard erected nipple into his mouth. a soft moan left your lips, arching your back just a bit, while your hands gently grabbed his head. you didn’t expect your night to end like this, but you weren’t complaining since jude knew what exactly to do. he knew what brought you to the point where you saw only stars.

your eyes connected, watching as he flatly laid his warm tongue on the bud before sucking it again, twisting the tip of his tongue before doing the same to the other nipple. you felt as his lips traced all over your abdomen and hipbone, feeling as he removed the only thing that was left covering you. “can i taste you? make you cum all over my tongue again?” you moaned at his words, telling him to go on.

one hand kept your inner thigh open, as the other one rested over his shoulder. he kissed along the inner flesh before kissing and sucking your clit into his mouth. he groaned, watching as your eyes rolled back. his tongue moved up and down various on the small bead before going left to right, kitty licking all the way down to your coated entrance. “oh fuck!” you yelled out, as he brought two fingers and began to flick them in and out, hitting that certain spot that brought you closer and closer than ever.

he tilted his head to the side, his curls ticking your inner thigh as he began to flick over your clit once again. Jude’s fingers now flicking inside you, “i can’t, i’m close jude…” you said bringing your hands to play with your tits. “yeah? then cum for me y/n. cum all over my tongue like i asked,” to which you yelped and moaned as you felt on cloud nine again, closing your eyes and letting the feeling of euphoria linger all over you body.

he overstimulated you just for a bit, then kissed all the way back up again to your lips, where gripped your hips, grinding into you to relieve himself. “you feel that? that’s how you make me feel baby…” he whispers feeling as your hand slides down his abs, to the waistband of his underwear. the kiss is heated, tongues fighting for dominance, jude pulling away sometimes to groan or moan against your neck, as you gave him the sloppiest handjob.

feeling as he twitches on your palm as you guide your hand up and down, tugging and wrapping your grip tightly before soothing over it. “i need to cum… but not like this. can i fuck you now?” he admits, looking over and making sure there are no signs of you being unsure or regret. “please jude, i want to feel you a-ag-again…” you shuddered as you felt his hot tip being dragged up and down your slit.

one hand helped him stay up, while the other one guided his cock inside you, the familiar stretch of your walls as he easily slides into you. the two of you moan in delight, stunned at the pleasure as jude begins to roll his hips, going deeper and deeper. arching your back as he pulled out his cock and then quickly rolled back in. “jude..” you moan like a devotion, squeezing him tight, hearing him let out a grunt before feeling him thrust back into you.

you cry out as you feel his big length find a nice wave of ecstasy for the two of you, jude’s head falling into your shoulder trying to hold back from cumming on the spot. “you feel so so so good baby. such a tight pussy for me…” he moans out when you scratch his back and grip his biceps. you look down to see where your bodies meet, a wet mess that has you rolling your head back again.

“oh god jude… you’re so deep i can’t-” you turn your head to the side as he finds your g-spot thrusting over and over again, his hips slapping against yours. it couldn't get more better than this. jude grabs your chin and kisses you passionately, swallowing your moans and pleads. “you’re gonna cum for me? need and want you to cum on my cock y/n… show me how much of a good girl you are and cum on my cock, baby.”

jude makes it his goal to have you cumming for him, but you try to hold off so you can cum together. every cell in your body is on fire, ready to burst into fire because it feels so good. it gets harder by the second as he picks up the pace, his thrusts sloppier by the second, moaning your name, resulting in you clenching around him. you're unable to form coherent words, just hearing his breathing getting louder, your chest rising. “i’m nearly there y/n, want you to cum with me, can you do that?”

“yes jude… but i beg you to please don’t stop it.”

jude let’s go of your hips, forehead falling with yours as he reaches his high, feeling his cock twitching inside you, his cum lacing your wet walls with his release. your body tenses for a second, the hot feeling now being replaced by cold waves as you cum, lazily kissing as jude lays on your chest. “i love you, y/n, so much.”

“i love you too Jude. forever like we promised.”

after going up for a shower, jude takes care of you, since you were unable to walk properly. he makes sure you’re hydrated, wearing the plaid shorts you love with a black long sleeve, him just an old pair of boxers he still had lying in your flat, he checks that all lighting units downstairs are off, grabbing the box of cookies and goldfish to eat.

he pulls you into his embrace, hugging your waist never letting go, constantly softly kissing your cheek like he always did. after he uses the restroom and helps you brush your teeth, you’re lying on your bed, the white sheets covering your shivering bodies.

jude lays on top of your chest again, his right hand sliding up and down your side, his head resting comfortably on the crook of your neck, his eyes fluttering and smiling when you kiss his temple lovingly. “go to sleep jude… you need it, i’m not going anywhere,” you promise feeling as he wraps you closer to him. “don’t ever let me go please, just want you here like this all the time…” he confesses, his head coming up to see your glowy eyes.

“i’m not gonna… i feel safe and at home in your arms like this jude. so no, i’m not letting you go again or ever,” you stick with your word. jude’s lips softly kiss yours, tasting your cherry chapstick with a hint of mint.

“goodnight princess. i love you.”

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham one shot #football imagine #football smut #football x reader #football fanfic #jude bellingham x y/n #jude bellingham x you

1K notes · View notes

chaotic-birds · 10 months

Text

strong for you || j.pt

Jason comes home injured, prepared to patch up and rest with you, but he soon realizes something isn't right.

❤️‍🩹 Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

❤️‍🩹 Genres/AUs: Action, some angst & fluff, established relationship

❤️‍🩹 Warnings: Use of guns, mentions of killing, hostage situation, blood, injuries, reader referred to as girl

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 2.3k

❤️‍🩹 Author's Note: Just felt like writing more Jason 🥰

masterlist

Jason uses the rest of his strength to lift open the window. His panting grows louder after he tumbles inside, feeling a bit safer in his home. He doesn’t have to worry about people hearing him in pain and taking advantage of his weakened state.

He knows you’ll be by his side in a matter of seconds. He hates how he came home injured since it always worries you, but he rather be hurt here than anywhere else.

His eyes shut tightly as he tries to calm down. It’s becoming harder to breathe under his helmet. He feels suffocated. He needs fresh air.

With a shaky hand, he begins to raise it to unlatch his helmet. However, an all too familiar click makes him halt; his eyes open wide and he forces his breathing to slow so he can hear better.

It’s then he realizes you should’ve been tending to him by now. You should be easing him out of his suit as you comfort and scold him simultaneously.

He lowers his arm as slowly as he can, worried whoever it is will act irrationally if he moves too quickly. Maybe if he was somewhere else and not injured, he would’ve leaped up and snatched the weapon from their hand.

But he can’t.

He’s home. He can’t put you in any more danger.

In slow motion, he turns his head to assess the scene.

There are five men in total. Each has a rifle in their hands, accompanied by a handgun on their hips. You’re seated on one of the dining table chairs that’s been moved, hands and feet tied together. You’re staring at him with big eyes—a mix of worry and panic.

Jason curses to himself mentally.

You’re already fearful of being held captive, but now you’re fearful of his wound too.

He already knows what questions are floating in your head: How deep is it? How much blood has he lost already? Are there any more injuries?

Jason hates that he was stupid tonight. He hates how out of all the nights to have fucked up, he fucked up tonight. But that doesn’t stop his determination. He’ll power through the pain if it means you’ll be safe in the end.

You turn your head to the man on your right. He holds himself to a different status than the others. The amount of confidence this man must have makes Jason want to gag.

“I’ll give you the files if you let me tend to his wounds,” you bargain.

Macho Boss smirks down at you before moving his sight to Jason.

“Well, you’re surely an unexpected guest. Didn’t think one of the bats would come to rescue a mere civilian when there are bigger crimes out on the streets,” he observes, then glances at you. “I guess this one’s special, huh?”

Jason suspects that this guy thought he could get away with his act since he’s not committing a big crime, compared to others in Gotham. Illegal activities happen all the time here, right? Jason almost snorts at his bad luck.

Macho Boss nudges your shoulder with the barrel of his gun. The cold metal touches your bare skin exposed by your cardigan, making you shiver. It must’ve fallen in your scuffle earlier.

Jason narrows his eyes at him even though his glare is hidden by his helmet. He’s grateful he etched a permanent scowl on it now. He wants your captors to know that despite being injured, he’s still got enough strength to incapacitate them.

“Please,” you grab the captor’s attention again. “Let me help him.”

“Why should I let you? His injury means he’s weak. I can’t let him stop us, now can I?” he questions, slightly mockingly.

“You can tie him up after I’m done.”

“Like hell you will,” Jason gruffs and the other person holding a gun to his head jabs him with it.

You send him a glare—signaling it isn’t the time to be snarky. Jason rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything more.

“Do you want the files?” you ask Macho Boss.

“You’re going to give us them whether we let you play nurse or not.”

“Perhaps, but you’re wasting time. Why take the hard way when I’m offering to give them up so easily?”

The man hums in thought. Finally, he nods at the man to your left.

Within seconds, your ropes have been cut. You gesture to the bathroom.

“First aid is in there,” you inform and carefully make your way to the room.

One of the men follows you, gun pointed to your head. You expect nothing less.

If they weren’t here, you’d be rushing to the kit, but any sudden movements will get them trigger-happy.

Your movements are slow as you retrieve the first aid along with a wet washcloth. You make your way to kneel beside Jason. Blood continues to seep through his fingertips, creating a pool of red beneath him. You fight back the worry consuming you.

You gently guide his hand from the wound so you can begin cleaning it.

Jason watches you for a second before shifting his gaze to the others. They’re staring at you both, weapons aimed. They seem impatient and ready to fire.

“You should be making a run for it,” Jason says to you lowly. Though it doesn’t matter the volume of his voice, it’s so quiet that everyone will hear him regardless.

“And get shot in the back? No thanks,” you argue, setting the bloodied rag to the side to start patching him up.

Jason wants to reply he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d have his hands on his guns, shooting everyone before you could get hurt. But he doesn’t want them to know how much he cares about you. Perhaps that’s a fruitless wish since they’ve probably already gauged their affection from their body language.

Jason grunts when you touch a certain area. He’s been trying to keep his cool—for the sake of seeming stronger than he appears to his captors, and for the sake of your sanity.

Your eyes move to his helmet, and there’s a silent “sorry” in your expression. He can tell you’re trying to appear strong, too.

All Jason wants to do is fill these guys’ heads with lead, then snuggle you in bed.

As you continue attending to his wound, he asses his options. He could quickly shield you with his body while he took out the men, but even then, he wouldn’t be able to move and risk the potential of you getting shot. The thought about tossing you out of the window since there’s a fire escape there is strong—get you out of harm’s way so he doesn’t have to worry about you in the crossfire.

Jason’s thoughts get interrupted when you lean in. He watches quietly as you kiss his helmet softly. His lips twitch in an immediate response, but then he feels something slip into his palm.

Clever girl.

With one hand, he slips the small knife you gave him up his sleeve; with the other, he caresses your back. He hopes his action distracts the men from the quick exchange.

You pull away carefully as Macho Boss grits out, “Touching. You done now?”

“Yes,” you reply.

The second the word leaves your lips, a pair of hands are pulling you from Jason roughly.

Jason quickly begins to stand but a heavy boot stomps on his fresh wound, forcing him down again. He breathes in a sharp inhale at the impact, head tilting back and fists clenching.

“Red!” you gasp, struggling against your captor’s hold. More so for his health and safety than yours.

“Relax, love,” Macho Boss coos, but it’s nothing close to soothing. “You can’t expect us to trust your buddy here.”

Then, he turns to the person who’s pinning him down. “Tie him up.”

“You better be treating me to dinner after,” Jason huffs.

Suddenly, Jason’s hauled up and shoved into a nearby chair. His arms get pulled back, forcing a grunt out of him because of his injury. His feet are then secured.

“What a charmer,” Macho Boss scoffs. “Now, the files.”

Your gaze lingers on Jason to make sure he’ll be okay before walking to your bedroom where your laptop is.

“Put me in that room,” Jason demands as he watches you leave.

“Not a chance. You can sit pretty with me right here,” the man behind him says.

Jason clenches his fists as you disappear from view. There are only three of them in the room now. Two went with you.

Easy.

Jason shimmies the blade low enough to reach the rope around his wrists. He waits a few minutes for everyone’s focus to dim before beginning to slice at the material.

“So what’s Red Hood doing in some rando’s apartment, hm?” Capture Two says.

Jason shrugs, subtly cutting the rope as he speaks, “Would you believe me if I said I have a magical power that lets me sense trouble? Because wow… My inner crime detector was blaring.”

Captor Two huffs in annoyance. “Yeah right. You probably got cameras set up around here.”

Jason catches on to the man’s agenda: Find the location of the cameras so they can take them out next time.

“There’s even one over there,” Jason says with a nod to the left.

“There is?” the guy questions and turns.

The second he does, Jason breaks through the rope and disarms and knocks out the man behind him. Gunfire erupts and Jason quickly takes cover in the kitchen nearby.

“Fucking liar,” Captor Two growls.

Jason laughs. “Sorry, man. Let me make it up to you.”

Jason peeps around the cabinets and aims with proficient precision. Two down, one to go.

Upon hearing the scuffling in the living room, you quickly retrieve the gun that’s taped under the desk. For once, you’re grateful for Jason hiding guns around the apartment.

Before you can second guess your actions, you shoot Macho Boss in the kneecap before ducking and shooting the second man in the same place. Once they’re both down, you take away their guns in case they try anything on the ground.

Jason rushes into the room hearing the gunshots, both pistols raised. He pauses in his trek when he sees you—seemingly unharmed—standing between the two men on the ground.

The men are groaning, blood soaking the carpet he vacuumed yesterday.

“Next time come when the carpet is already dirty,” he says before slamming the heel of his gun onto his head—knocking him out. He walks to the second guy and does the same. It’s tough for him to do so since he really just wants to shoot them instead, but he told Bruce he’d attempt his no-killing rule. It’s day four, and he already feels like giving up.

“Nice teamwork,” you comment and place the guns on the desk.

Jason stuffs his pistols in his holsters before he unlatches his helmet. He tosses the item on the bed, then pulls you close until his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss.

You yelp in surprise into his mouth. Jason smiles at the sound and squeezes your body tightly against his armored one.

When you pull back, you’re looking at him with a silly smile.

“Don’t tell me all this is what gets you hot and bothered?” you tease, fingertips gliding down his chest gradually.

Jason grins and pecks your lips with a proud grin. “Can’t help it. You’re sexy when you’re in action.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest until he’s loosening his grip reluctantly. “You’re sexy too.”

Jason can’t resist but lean in again, although this kiss is shorter.

“You okay?” he asks, mood turning serious. He holds you at arm’s length to examine your body.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Nothing but a flesh wound,” he beams.

You shake your head and glance around the untidy room.

“Can you call Dick or someone to clean this up while we go to a safe house?” you plead, too lazy to help with the cleanup. You just want to sleep with Jason next to you.

“We don’t need him. I’ll take care of it,” Jason informs and bends to pick up one of the men.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, Jay,” you sigh, words meaningless as he throws the second body over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“I’ll be fine, babe. Give me ten then we can cuddle. I know that’s what you want.” He smiles knowingly.

You roll your eyes playfully at his light tone. He isn’t wrong, but you wish he wouldn’t exert all his energy now when he’s injured.

But this is Jason.

Stubborn ass.

Jason takes two trips to carry the men out. You rest your elbows on the window seal, watching him drag the unconscious men in a small circle with their backs to each other. He takes a chain and secures it tightly around them. You think he’s done but he pulls out a paper. You squint, leaning a little out the window.

Sprawled in black ink is:

BAD GUYS FOR PICK UP

Jason steps back to admire his work, then turns to look at you. Although you can’t see his expression due to his helmet, the two thumbs up he gives you indicate there's a smile adorning his handsome features beneath.

Chuckling, you shake your head playfully and return the thumbs up before nodding to come back inside.

Your gaze follows the tall man as he struts back toward the building. You tuck yourself inside, shutting and locking the window as you stare at the silly paper with his handwriting.

He wouldn’t be your Jason if he wasn’t mischievous. After all, it’s one of his many talents.

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#jason todd #jason todd angst #jason todd fanfic #jason todd action #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you

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tarotofhope · 18 days

Text

PAC: 𖤐 Advice for your current friendships (+You as a friend) 𖤐

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

Pile 1

Cards: The Chariot Rev, The Tower, Page of Swords, 3 of Swords Rev, King Of Wands, 5 of Swords, The Magician.

Welcome to your reading Pile 1.

You are someone who could have a group of friends but only one or two are close to you. You have a very outgoing personality but you have strong values when it comes to friendships. See, you won't give a flying f*** if toxic friends leave your side but you're also not someone who doesn't know how to stay in a friendship. You might unknowingly get stuck in toxic friendships even when your intuition is on point. You know which friend of yours is good/bad but you don't go calling out on them or fight them unnecessarily to get them out of your life. You just simply be yourself and let them be themselves. You let the friendship unfold with time but because of this mindset, you sometimes stay connected for a long time with friends who are backbiters and not your well-wishers from the inside. You are then somehow forced by nature/Universe to leave or let go off such friends. The friends you make are quite the opposite of you. There could be lot of jealousy too because you might be an extrovert, smart, creative and multi-talented person but your friends are not, they are too introverted and defensive. I also think that some of your friends might want to become the main focus of the group and because of this, they don't like this outgoing, cheerful and bold personality of yours, they think you're stealing all of their light.

⊹ You as a Friend :

Cards: Queen of Wands, 9 of Pentacles, 6 of Swords and 8 of Cups.

You are very outgoing, adventurous, active and bold. You might also have good intuition and you're very down to earth but your boldness shines more so people get to see that side of you more. You're a 'no bullshit person' and you would stand your ground and fight when your boundaries are crossed. You choose yourself above toxic friends and relationships. You don't let others ruin your peace of mind. That's very applaudable, Pile 1. But your friends don't understand this, they think you don't value friendships/relationships and that's why it's easy for you to leave but actually you value it a lot, that's why you don't waste your energy with invaluable, backbiting, jealous and toxic friends. You're actually looking for good friends whom you could consider like family in the long run. You are a great friend but your friends tend to misunderstand your intentions a lot. You can also give great advice, you have a great sense of humor, you're reliable and very friendly.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Pile 2

Cards: The Lovers, Knight of Wands, 10 of Cups, Page of Swords, 7 of Wands, The Star and 3 of Swords.

Welcome to your reading Pile 2.

You are someone who has been betrayed or hurt in friendships earlier so you come off as a bit confused and puzzled and could have mixed feelings about people.

You don't trust people altogether in general because of the hurt.You're afraid that you might get exposed to someone with negative intentions. Your friends, you might have only 2-3 of them, they do love and support you a lot. They seem very outgoing, mature and understanding. I can also see a differently abled person here. It could be you or one of your friends. People might have teased or hurt your feelings many a times. Your friends stand like a pillar/shield in front of you. They don't let other people hurt you. I can also see that you might get many judgemental remarks from other people for which you fight a lot. I'm also seeing that all these friends of yours or atleast one of them consider you as family and they want you to feel the same for them and also it can be that, one of these friends want to become more than a friend or even want to marry you and create a family with you because we got The Lovers and the 10 of Cups. They are very defensive of you and they think you're beautiful and perfectly balanced.

⊹ You as a Friend :

Cards: 8 of Wands, 7 of Cups, Queen of Swords and 3 of Wands.

You are someone very helpful and a humanitarian, Pile 2. Your friends like this about you. You only have 2 or 3 friends and they could be like family to you or they find your friendship very challenging because they think you don't open up to them as much as they do but they do love and support you a lot. One advice for you would be to know that not all people are going to have ill intentions about you. You need to give chance to people in friendships and relationships as well. You know you will be cautious because you've learnt your lesson earlier so you won't let people hurt you again and you also shouldn't leave good friends behind because of fear and confusion. Keep helping people like you always do. Speak more for your rights and beliefs then nobody would dare to hurt you. Your soul demands to be seen and heard. Get out of your comfort zone more and see things falling in place before your eyes.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Pile 3

Cards: The Magician, 9 of Pentacles, The Hierophant, The Devil, 2 of Swords, Justice, 6 of Cups.

Welcome to your reading Pile 3.

You are stable and perhaps the rich friend. You might yourself have many connections with posh/rich people. You're the friend who would fight tooth and nail for your friends' well being and betterment but I think your friends are just for namesake. They are there but they are not actually there for you, not emotionally. There is this half-heartedness about your friends, as if they won't care if you leave, they think they'll find so many others like you. I'm getting 'friends with benefits' vibes here. You are rich, your friends are rich but there is also this confusion about each other's real intentions. You guys think that money and wealth has brought you guys together otherwise you wouldn't have been friends. Some or all of your friends take you for granted and they don't actually know the value of true friendship. They think you're also like them. You might be wealthy but you're helpful, kind, grounded, stable, reliable and trustworthy.

⊹ You as a Friend :

Cards: Page of Cups, 4 of Wands, 5 of Wands, Queen of Pentacles, Death.

You are very kind and helpful, reliable and caring but you don't show your emotions openly, you show your love by standing by your friends when they need you, giving them advice and helping them. You're into long term friendships and relationships. You consider your friends as family. You invite them at social gatherings and house parties. You even call out your friends whenever they are wrong but you never insult them in front of everyone, you talk to them about it privately. There is this issue that most of your friends want spark, excitement and variety in frienships and relationships, so they might turn their back on you whenever you start to seem less interesting to them. Some of them might even use you for your money and then leave your side. There's an advice for you that you must consider your seriousness in friendships important and valuable and hold it as a criteria to make stable friends. You don't have to have friends just because you're lonely. You might be someone who attracts negative people in your life so you need to be cautious of other people's intentions. If you think that someone is mean or toxic, for the sake of your mental health, please don't try to drag the friendship further, leave it, end it.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Pile 4

Cards: The Tower, 3 of Pentacles Rev, Wheel of Fortune Rev, 5 of Swords Rev, 3 of Wands, 4 of Wands, The Fool.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4.

You are the funny friend who was once wasn't funny or the one who never realised they had a great sense of humour. You used to be very serious when you were a child. There maybe some really sad and life-altering experiences which made you the way you are today. You could be someone who's all fun and bubbly when you want to be funny but during serious talks, you are also serious. Your friends might not understand the weight/impact of your hurtful experiences, they are not bad though, infact, they might be good listeners but they don't relate with your tough experiences and so they don't understand your point of view well and also, they might not be able to give you any advice. You, my pile 4 might come off as weird, different and unpredictable to your friends. You might have 2 friends but only one of them could be your best buddy, whom you mostly hang out with, make deep conversations with. Your friend treats you well but the connection between you guys might not look so strong to both of you because you guys don't get to talk and hang out much recently.

⊹ You as a Friend :

Cards: The Sun, 2 of Swords, The Devil clarified by The Star, 2 of Wands, Strength and Hermit Rev.

You are someone who had such friends in your life earlier who gave you a hard time, so now, you've turned into a good mixture of funny and serious. You act like a clown, crack jokes to make your friends laugh, because maybe you were also deprived of a good childhood and you don't want your friends to get bored around you, so you try to be funny, all the things that you never did earlier, you're doing now. You were fated to meet these friends because they play a major role in helping you understand what you actually want in a friendship. I mean to say, they are a good friend but they might not be the one you're meant to stay around your whole life. They might be your well wishers too but you're actually meant to be around such people who would really understand you to your core. Few of you might also belong to the rainbow group, my dear pile 4. You have unique thoughts and very different choices from your friends. You mostly like to stay in solitude but your advice would be to open up and find your community and like-minded people, pile 4.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Pile 5

Cards: 4 of Wands, 5 of Pentacles, 6 of Pentacles, 9 of Pentacles Rev, 7 of Cups, King of Swords and King of Cups.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5.

You are someone who is in a constant fight for your peace of mind. You have a good balance of logic, rational thinking and emotional intelligence. You are not biased in your approach. Your friends and you seem to be on the same page as far as your friendship is concerned. You seem to be a loner Pile 5 and so, you might only have one friend who's close to you. You guys help each other when in need. You guys are not the ones to have arguements and fights over petty things. You both are stable and secure. For some of you, your friend seem to be someone who lacks financial security and is constantly working towards that. You guys seem to be indecisive and struggling with different problems on your own. You seem to understand each other well. You don't let anybody say anything bad about your friend. You seem very protective of them. Now, this could be both of you. There is this mutual respect and understanding between you two. No matter how much far you are from each other, you would miss each other and respect each others' boundaries and decisions.

⊹ You as a Friend :

Cards: 9 of Wands, 6 of Cups, 9 of Cups, Chariot, 6 of Swords, 8 of Swords, Magician and Hermit.

You are an overthinker, Pile 5. So, sometimes you tend to imagine worst-case scenarios in your head, overthinking about things which you shouldn't and that could get the best of you. You might have certain serious family issues because of which you go into hiding, or like to be in solitude more, no contact with anybody, nobody knows your whereabouts, nothing. So, your friend might get a bit concerned about this part of you. If you guys are far from each other or don't talk or meet frequently, it seems you, pile 5, do not tell about your problems to your friend just because you don't want to ruin their day. You need emotional satisfaction and understanding, a never ending connection with your dear ones, like a daily dose, if you don't get that enough, you tend to drift away from everyone. You are advised to focus on yourself and your needs first, solve your personal problems and don't let them get to you. The world can wait. True friends will wait too. You should also do some meditation because you might be dealing with a lot of issues which are effing with your mental health.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

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#astrology #divination #spiritualgrowth #spirituality #tarot divination #tarot pac #tarot pick a card #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot asks #tarot reading #tarot #pick a picture

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cowgirlcasanova · 3 months

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I made the mistake of clicking on a link to a reddit thread about abigail marston.

the way the men on there talk about her makes me physically feel sick. the names they call her, the way they describe her and john’s relationship, the way they constantly bring up her past in a negative way.

They seem to lack any and all artistic thinking skills. to me, one of the main points of media and art is how you’re supposed to analyze and discover the things they aren’t outright said. You have to dig a little deeper, you have to actually think. The people on that godforsaken website seem to just not have/be able to do that!

abigail was a prostitute. yes, we all know this men of reddit and it’s okay! please shut up about it!!!!

she was also an orphan, even worse for the time, an orphaned girl. she had little to no opportunities in the world she was born into. EVEN JOHN KNOWS THIS. “she’s a woman in a man’s world” and they act personally offended on johns behalf. john was an orphan too, i can promise you he understands how hard it is to survive and he doesn’t look down on her! Not that it even begins to matter if john or anyone else “understands” her reasoning for her choice of survival. It doesn’t. it simply matters that abigail was incredibly strong throughout that time of her life and rest. she survived and did whatever she could to and that is to be appreciated.

These men seem to have this one single idea that “abigail was prostitute so john thought baby not his cause so many men 🤓” SHUT. UP. no actually that was so much more actually john not ready to be a father and being afraid of himself!!!! honestly speaking, the entirety of that situation has very little to do with abigail herself. but no they’ll never understand that because it was written out in black and white and you may have to think a little to get to that conclusion. not to mention, they could never accept it because then john marston wouldn’t be as “alpha” BE QUIET IM BEGGING YOU.

the way they discuss abigail and uncle made my skin crawl. there is nothing else said about that relationship, there is no one specific cannon explanation as to how or why they knew each other. but the men i saw discussing it said such disgusting and vulgar things about how uncle “reallyyy knew abigail”. truly horrifying. There’s so many different ways they could’ve crossed paths. she was a prostitute but that’s not all she was. she was still a woman, a person. i can assure you she had other hobbies and activities that she did, that she enjoyed doing.

not to mention how it seems to be such an odd and disgusting fantasy for them that “everyone in the gang had abigail” i hate to break it to you but no they didn’t! Now this is up for debate for a lot of people and i actually want to make an entire post just dedicated to this. When looking at both instances where that was said, it was purposely said to hurt john and throw him off. not to mention, abigail was never around when it was said. There wasn’t an instance of anyone saying it in camp or even throwing an insult to john about it in rdr2. hmmm i wonder why that is????? Bill said it to make him stumble and dutch said it because he knows john and he knows how to hit him where it hurts. But, i don’t think any of it is true. of course no internet bro is going to actually think into enough to even be curious so!

abigail marston is someone to be admired. someone who persevered as much as any man in that gang but she doesn’t get the same appreciation. she probably had to work just as hard if not harder than some of the men just to stay alive in her youth. Abigail marston is not a nag, she’s not annoying, she’s not “mean” to john. take a step back and look at what she’s responding to and give her the same grace you give arthur and john. “oh well arthur just had a hard time showing emotions because of the way he was raised” “oh john couldn’t deal with everything so he ran away for a little bit it’s okay.” let abigail have that same grace.

so sorry this was not meant to be this long. clearly it has been nagging at me. if you read this love you and love abigail marston!

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 john #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #dutch van der linde #rdr2 dutch #abigail marston #rdr2 abigail #bill williamson #rdr2 bill

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 5 months

Note

Do you think Tom was the only student Dumbledore hated? I think Tom probably isn't the only Unfavorite Student and there are more out there that Dumbledore was successful at sabotaging.

(Side thought do you think Moody started out on Dumbledore's bad list but then worked very hard to "redeem" himself by trusting Dumbledore in all things and that's why he's so weirdly loyal to Dumbledore?)

Dumbledore and Hating People

The thing is that Tom Riddle does seem to hold a special place in Dumbledore's heart.

There are other characters we see who are also loathsome/have qualities that Dumbledore despises but it's in different ways/not to the same degree.

Dumbledore utterly loathes Lockhart, purposefully sets him up with the job so as to either destroy his reputation fundamentally or kill him. However, I'd say Dumbledore is contemptuous and dismissive of Lockhart. Dumbledore has 0 interest in the man beyond destroying him, and doesn't spend much time thinking about him beyond getting him in the castle and letting the curse do its work.

Dumbledore is dismissive and contemptuous of Cornelius Fudge, but again, doesn't focus on him much beyond pitying his shortsightedness and holding him in general contempt.

Dumbledore similarly doesn't love the Dursleys but it feels like that's in a way of he has 0 opinion or interest in Vernon and just... a very weird treatment of Petunia. I wouldn't even say he dislikes them, in fact, I think he likes the idea of them beyond the general disappointment in not treating Harry exactly the way he'd like (except they are doing that but he'll never say as much).

While we don't know that Dumbledore doesn't have stashes of memories he's painfully collected over the years, going to anyone who ever interacted with Tom Riddle and asking "please give me every memory you have ever had" only for the vast majority of them to slam the door in his face, given the focus he has on Tom Riddle it seems... unlikely...

Add this in with Tom's "dark glamour", the way Dumbledore talks about him, the way he pontificates about him as if he's a fictional character and Dumbledore is writing fanfiction and metas about the man, and we're looking at a... I'll call it a fixation where Tom hit all the right buttons for Albus Dumbledore in a way that other people just haven't.

Basically, the people we see Dumbledore hate just aren't hot enough (or are women so Dumbledore doesn't care).

I'll put it this way. Harry's easily Dumbledore's second fixation, he puts a lot of work into this boy, but Dumbledore's way less... into him is the only way I can put it, than Tom. Harry's there as a vehicle/means to destroy Tom and acts as a foil to Tom. Everything about Harry for Dumbledore is presented as "in contrast to Tom Riddle" and that's telling to me.

As for hating students...

I think most of the time Dumbledore just doesn't give a fuck.

With Draco who was actively endangering the student body, nearly killing several students to ultimately kill Dumbledore, and ultimately letting Death Eaters (including Fenrir fucking Grayback) into the castle where it's a miracle no one died/got lycanthropy Dumbledore was into it and a) knew the whole time b) did nothing to stop it because then Tom would hurt Draco. (It's too bad Katie Bell got cursed for six months in the process of that huh Dumbledore or you didn't approach Draco with that offer to give him clemency until the last five minutes of your life).

I doubt Dumbledore knows who Crabbe and Goyle even are.

And he seemed to favor the Marauders (rampant known bullies) and not care about Severus at the time and now thinks quite highly of Severus for having redeemed himself for love/following a narrative Dumbledore likes while also being unable to not do what Dumbledore wants.

He only cares about Ron and Hermione in relation to Harry and just likes the general idea of them (Dumbledore is very big on the "idea" of people).

Dumbledore and Moody

I don't think so.

We've seen the redemption story Dumbledore likes and that's Severus Snape's. Dumbledore likes a narrative, Moody having been disliked then just choosing to be a sycophant would be very unimpressive for Dumbledore because he'd see no reason for Moody to have changed/not an impressive enough reason.

It has to be for true love, friendship, some reason that is a compelling narrative to Dumbledore.

Everything for Dumbledore fits into these narratives from Merope dying in childbirth (she just didn't love enough), to Lily being murdered (she loved her son so much she sacrificed herself), to Snape (his love for her means he is now undyingly loyal to her son), to everything.

Plus, I don't get that feeling about Moody.

Dumbledore has plenty of people unquestioningly loyal to him, he cultivates the Order such that this is the case, it's not so much that Moody's an outlier for being so loyal but the fact that he is in the Order of the Phoenix at all means he must be this loyal to survive there (notice Percy is not a member). In the Order we're seeing the people who survived the litmus test of "actively not questioning Dumbledore in any decision he ever makes" (see HBP and the Christmas Party and shooting down of Harry's "Draco's up to something and Snape is too" for reasons that are simply "I trust Dumbledore completely" and nothing else).

If Moody wasn't like that, he wouldn't be in the Order.

So, I think Moody's just like the rest of them and I don't see a reason why he would have ever been different.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #albus dumbledore #anti albus dumbledore #tom riddle #alastor moody #the order of the phoenix #anti the order of the phoenix #meta #headcanon #opinion

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astridthevalkyrie · 5 months

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your match is made | xavier x reader

“I know,” he continues, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “that the people in our classes, the nobles, the folks in the marketplace, they all hold me in high regard.” “Xavier,” you try to argue weakly, already feeling your heartbeat speed up from where this conversation is going. The thought of losing him, of losing your best friend, your prince, your everything, it is paralyzing. “Please don’t—” “I know that my weapon of choice is a longsword.” “Stop,” you whisper. But he doesn’t, and he looks directly into your eyes with an open, honest sincerity written all over his face. Like this is his truth, even though it is yours. “And I know that you have known me all your life, and I feel that I have known you for even longer than that.”

cw: fluff, like that's it that's literally it this is so fluffy

word count: 6.6k

a/n: lyric credits used in this fic: téir abhaile riú by celtic woman <- fire song btw, listen to bless your ears, it also sets the vibe of this fic very nicely tbh. jeremiah's my favorite boyfailure.

Lanterns hang from every available line in and around the town square, brightening any block lucky enough to fall under its horizon. In every corner and roadblock, there are carts littering the streets, dozens upon dozens of merchants calling out their best prices on their finest goods, all the way from fabrics stitched by the very same threads used for the royals’ robes, to common sweet chocolates that all the teenagers are purchasing in bulk to share with their friends and younger siblings. There is room to move around, but there is not a single area that is not bustling with people, either trying to purchase steamed corn from the stalls or simply enjoying the festivities with their families. And in the center of it all, the bards play with such finesse that their fingers may as well be the source of the music rather than the instruments.

Such is the celebration of lights, a celebration of the light. Of Philos, of this miracle that humanity has been gifted with. Every year without fail, the people gather in the town square to commemorate this historic occasion, and every year without fail, it is the grandest jamboree you have ever bore witness to.

“C’mon, Xavier,” Jeremiah protests out loud, “what would be the point of having the crown prince with us if he refuses to pay for our meals?”

Xavier simply shakes his head, the serene smile never leaving his face as he denies Jeremiah for the third time tonight—he clearly derives great pleasure from doing it. “I’d hate to rob you of the chance to participate in Philos’ market tonight of all nights.”

Jeremiah groans at his right, and from Xavier’s left, you giggle. It’s the same routine every single year, and at every occasion to be honest, and yet Jeremiah never stops trying to emphasize the difference in his wealth versus the royal family’s. Xavier, who you think would give his last dime to an ant if it looked hungry enough, looks like he loves refusing Jeremiah more than participating in any one of the activities tonight.

The spicy aroma of rice cakes fills your senses then, and you let out a longing sigh as you look to the stall decorated with steaming bowls on all sides. “I’m starting to get hungry too, now.”

Both of them follow your gaze, where the vendor is hurriedly turning this way and that to discuss prices and accept payments, while three of his chefs work in the back, delivering more as the demand increases. Xavier hums quietly, then takes out a small black pouch from his pocket.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to eat.” He holds out the bag for you to take, but before you can, Jeremiah scoffs, loudly.

“Oh, that’s sick.” He points an accusing finger at the prince. “That’s sick! If you keep playing favorites, you’re going to get betrayed when you take the throne, I hope you know. I swear I’m going to lead a revolution against you myself.”

“Do you really think my grandis knight would ever let you harm me?” Xavier shoots back, and you beam as Jeremiah rolls his eyes, snatching the pouch straight out of his fingers.

“I’ll take this, and I’m going to get two”—he holds up two fingers for emphasis—”two bowls, and I’m not sharing. Your grandis knight can split her portion with you.” With that, he stomps off in a huff, leaving Xavier with his head tilted and a confused expression on his face.

“I don’t understand. There should be enough coins for three bowls.”

“He’ll get you a bowl.” You raise your voice enough for Jeremiah to hear as he walks. “He’s very grateful that you offered your money, isn’t that right, Jermy?”

Jeremiah makes a rude gesture without even turning back to face you, and you laugh, grabbing Xavier’s wrist to follow him. If it were any other member of the royal family, they’d be getting swarmed right about now, and would likely require at least ten guards to stand around them at all times to ward people off. That is how the king and queen sit, a few blocks away from the main festival, up on a platform elevated high enough that no one could think to climb it, with Lightseekers both in front of them and on the ground, safe and observing the celebration from a distance. Philos’ crown prince is different. Xavier is out in the town with the common folk so frequently that he’s almost lost all the celebrity status his title comes with. Of course, that makes him popular in an entirely different way. The people in the market always seem happy that someone of such high status would lower himself enough to walk and talk amongst them.

His hand slips lower as the two of you go after Jeremiah, warm fingers intertwining with yours. You think little of it, reckoning he doesn’t want to get separated with so many people around. Xavier isn’t one to shy away from touch, at any rate. Once you spar with someone enough, it’s only natural to become physically comfortable with one another. He places his hands on your shoulders when he wants to guide you somewhere, bandages your cuts with his own calloused palms, presses his lips to your forehead to check whether you’re sick or not. In the face of all that, him holding your hand while running through a bustling crowd is hardly surprising.

Jeremiah is waving the pouch in the air hopelessly, trying to be noticed amongst the rest, when the vendor spots the two of you. “Xavier!” he calls happily. “Good timing, I have a fresh bowl ready just for you!”

“Unbelievable,” your chestnut-haired friend mutters under his breath, elbowing you as you laugh at his misfortune. Xavier steps closer, and you see him hold up two fingers to ask for more. When he points over, you wave to the vendor, who waves back before calling out instructions over his shoulder. In almost an instant, he has three steaming bowls filled with rice cakes ready for you to take. Your mouth almost waters at the sight.

Xavier picks up one of them to offer to you, which you take gratefully. Taking a few steps to the side to avoid crashing into anyone, the three of you find a relatively less crowded place to dig in.

Before you can take a heaping sip from the spoon, he gently takes your wrist and blows on the hot broth, meeting your eyes with a soft, concerned look. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” you remind him teasingly, but blow some air of your own onto the spoon before finally digging in. As the flavors explode inside your palate, you hold back a moan at how good it tastes.

“Miss Knight!” a high-pitched voice calls out, and you turn in time to see a tiny pink blur moving past people’s legs.

“Adelaide!” You hand your bowl to Jeremiah, who passes it to Xavier without even blinking, and kneel down to catch the blur in your arms. “Look at you, you look so pretty! I love your dress!”

The little girl’s eyes light up at the compliment. “Thank you! Miss Knight,” she bounces up and down eagerly, “I made something for you!” In her hands, she holds out a product of one of the several craft stalls set up for the children during the festival, a simple but elegant flower crown that she holds out like a grand prize. And from how your heart melts, it may as well be.

“Oh, how beautiful. Thank you so much. Would you put it on for me?” You tilt your head down, and she places it on with all the care a child of six years would have. You know you’ll have a difficult time getting it out in a while after the flowers tangle with your hair, but you don’t mind at all. Adelaide is your favorite person to visit whenever the three of you come to town, the daughter of the seamstress who makes your uniforms, and you’d do anything to see her smile the way she is now.

“You look like a princess,” she says in awe. Your cheeks warm, and you stand up, gesturing to the other two.

“Speaking of which, you remember Xavier and Jeremiah, don’t you?”

Her small hands grip your dress robes as she hides behind your legs, peeking out at them. Xavier, with both his hands occupied holding your bowl and his own, merely smiles encouragingly at her, while Jeremiah waves. “Hiya, Adelaide. Your dress looks awesome!”

From the corner of your eye, you see her face turn bright red, and right as you’re about to coo inwardly about her adorable little crush, you hear someone calling her name. All your heads turn, as an older blonde boy, out of breath, almost pushes past people in his rush to run to her.

“I told you not to run off like that! You could get lost—oh.” He stops short when he sees you, blinking as the color returns to his cheeks after his run. “H-hi there.”

“Hi, Neville.” You smile at Adelaide’s older brother, who’s almost always around when you visit. “Enjoying the celebration?”

“Definitely—I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you, I was helping Mother with her stall, a-and I didn’t know your master would give you the night off.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. And the grandis knight is at the king’s side, he could hardly stay to train me on such an important night.”

“Right.” He stands with his hands on Adelaide’s shoulders, only staring, seemingly forgetting why he’s there in the first place. For a few moments, no words are said at all.

Right when you’re about to cough awkwardly, he snaps back to attention. “Um, would you like to dance?”

“She can’t,” Xavier says immediately, almost making you jump. He’s almost right behind you, looming over your shoulder and staring Neville straight in the eyes with an expression you’ve never seen on him before.

“Xavier!” The blonde bows clumsily (and unnecessarily) before straightening up, an unspoken question in his eyes. He looks between you and Xavier, and while you hadn’t been planning to agree to his request in the first place, you look at Xavier curiously as well. He’s never before dictated what you do during the celebration, whether you’re with him and Jeremiah or with some of the others in your class.

“She can’t,” he says again, a bit more softly, “she can’t, because…” He takes one glance at you, then down at the two bowls in his hand, then looks back up. “She’s already going to dance with Jeremiah.”

“What?” both you and your supposed dance partner question at the same time.

“You’ve been meaning to ask her to dance the whole night.” Xavier’s blue eyes fall on Jeremiah, with a pointed gaze. “This song is about to end, I think now is as good a time as any.”

“But I’m eating!” he whines, shaking the bowl in his hands as though to beg Xavier to take pity on him.

“I’d be happy to dance with her before Jeremiah steps in—” Neville offers, but he’s cut off by Xavier again, and this time his voice is icier, and his eyes are narrowed on Jeremiah who’s pouting at him.

“No, I think Jeremiah should do it now before it’s too late.”

Whatever message he’s trying to get across, Jeremiah clearly understands it, groaning and taking one last sip before grabbing your hand and tugging you to the main grounds. You’re only slightly irked that no one actually waited for your answer on whether you wanted to dance or not. But you’re more confused than anything else. Just a few minutes ago, both of them were fine, what could have happened so soon to make Xavier sound so cold?

“Have you really been meaning to ask me to dance all night?” you try asking, but Jeremiah only rolls his eyes.

“Please shut up. I already have to deal with His Majesty the Oblivious Idiot tonight, I can’t deal with both of you.”

“What are you talking about—”

“Miss Grandis Knight!” one of the bards, the violinist, waves to you. You’re momentarily distracted, smiling at her. It’s quite nice, if maybe a bit egotistical, to hear anyone call you what you’re trying so hard to be even when you haven’t achieved it yet. “Coming to dance?”

“I am!” you shout back cheerfully. “Give me a good one!”

She thinks for a few seconds, then makes a motion to the other musicians. Placing the violin against her collarbone delicately, she begins to pluck a familiar tune, one that has you lighting up and has the crowd cheering. Even Jeremiah grins as the two of you face each other, both of you well versed in proper dance etiquette from taking the same classes growing up.

First, he bows, mimicked by the other men in the large circle that’s formed, extending a hand to their dance partners. Then you, and the other ladies, curtsy, and with a light step you take his hand and begin the dance. The bards begin to sing the contagious melody, as you and Jeremiah step in place, back and forth, your arms extending then coming together, before he twirls you under his arm. Both of you are laughing for no real reason, perhaps aside from how frivolous this is compared to the fighting techniques you’re usually partaking in together.

The song builds, and builds, and his hands slip to your waist, helping you leap across him before he ducks his head dramatically. The violinist calls your name, pointing at you to sing the next verse. Through your giggles, your cheeks warm at the attention, but you oblige.

Swishing your dress around you, you bounce off Jeremiah, pointing at him with a flourish. “Come now and follow me down, down to the lights of Galway where—” Your eye catches Xavier’s, who’s watching you as though you’re the main event. With everyone else’s attention already on you, you’re not sure if you can possibly take any more, but something about his gaze makes your chest feel lighter, as though in this celebration of lights, the real light is the one staring at you, the one who has eyes for no one else. “There's fine sailors walking the town, and waiting to meet the ladies there!”

The bards take over the song again, yet the spell doesn’t break. As Jeremiah twirls you again and hands you off to the next man, switching dance partners easily, you beckon Xavier towards you, urging him to join.

The night is young, you try to convey to him wordlessly, and I don’t want to be without you.

He steps forward, as you switch dance partners again. While you hadn’t meant to dance in the first place, it makes you feel lightheaded in a good way. The movements you have to do are light as opposed to rough and unforgiving on your muscles, and the alternating hands on your body handle you as gently as possible instead of trying to seek out all your weak points.

Your head tilts to the side, trying to see if Xavier entered the fray or not. You’ve lost sight of him, in a different part of the circle now, and you can’t search properly without breaking the formation of the dance and ruining everyone’s fun. The next person you spin into ends up being Neville, who chuckles shyly and tells you, “Not bad, Miss Grandis Knight!”

His moves are far more stiff than Jeremiah’s, but far be it from you to judge when he hasn’t had formal training. The important thing is that he tries, and you still have fun, and besides, the song is ending now. You’re almost back to where you started in the circle, just one more spin and—

A familiar, calloused hand grazes yours, skimming down the side of your arm. You gasp at this touch, far more coarse than the others, and the only one to leave you breathless, not least because it’s accompanied by the striking blue of Xavier’s eyes.

When he extends and brings you closer, it is more than just natural. Xavier is of royal blood, it is almost as if he was born to do this. Your feet step with his without you having to look down, so familiar with his balance and pace from years and years and years of sparring together. And not even once do you break away from his piercing gaze, because you’re nervous that if you do, he might just disappear.

The song comes to an end, with a final step forward and your hands on Xavier’s chest, and everyone erupts into cheers. The noise surrounding you makes the silence between you and him all the more deafening.

As the two of you simply stare at each other, breathing in sync, one of his hands reaches up, first resting on your cheek before then making its way up to gently adjust the flower crown that had slanted on your head while you were dancing. Once he fixes it, his head tilts down, just enough that his nose brushes against yours, and a smile forms on your lips.

“I am very pleased you joined, my liege.” Your eyes shine in gratitude.

Xavier opens his mouth to respond, and that’s exactly when Jeremiah chooses to slump against his shoulder, yawning. “Oh man, I’m spent. When do we go back to the academy?”

Xavier looks mildly disgruntled. “This is going to go on for hours,” you tell him, frowning, “we can’t leave now. Besides, the fireworks will start soon.”

“Another dance?” the crown prince suggests, sliding your palm into his.

Jeremiah gives him an unimpressed look. “Give it a rest.”

Stepping past the two of them, you look at all the tables mostly occupied by children being distracted by someone painting little butterflies and stars on their faces or the tiny flutes that are passed out for them to blow into. One of the pastry vendors is handing out baked goods for free, and while you didn’t actually get any chance to eat earlier, you want to find something to actually do. You’re not tired after dancing; on the contrary, now you’re restless and brimming with energy.

“Come on,” you declare readily, taking both their hands and pulling them into the ruckus. Your boys have little choice but to come along with you. Your feet will start to ache soon too, you’re sure. But for now, while they don’t, and while the way Xavier was staring at you is still burned into your mind, you want to enjoy yourself.

Once again, his fingers tangle with yours, clinging to your hand warmly—a stark difference to Jeremiah’s, which you have to grip onto harder to make sure he doesn’t get left behind. He whines and complains the whole time, telling you he’s sore all over and that the three of you should try and beat the rush by leaving early. You’re used to this routine every year, so you’re not fazed. Nor is he serious, because even though you could physically force him to stay, Jeremiah never tries to leave until you and Xavier are good and ready.

As you run, different students in your section call out to you and Jeremiah. People are just slightly more hesitant to address Xavier directly, but you’ve never understood such a thing. The last thing he is is intimidating. Well, maybe place a sword in his hand and he becomes slightly fearsome (to everyone except you). There’s still no need to pretend that Xavier ever struts around demanding everyone show him the highest respects. He’s the furthest thing from arrogant.

It makes you feel proud, really, knowing you’ll be in the service of Philos’ greatest king.

“Xavier!” someone finally calls out. For a second, you’re thrilled, until you see who it is, and your face falls.

The title of grandis knight comes with a certain authority. Not one that you actually have yet, of course, but people respect the current holder of the position, and as his prized mentee, that respect teeters down to you most of the time.

Keyword being most.

Just a few months back, you and Lillia had been close friends. You weren’t as close to her as you were to Xavier and Jeremiah, but she was still someone you confided in. You knew a few personal things about her, and she knew a few personal things about you. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t a guy, or your trainer, or one of the older students. Just another girl around your age training to become a Lightseeker.

But you should have realized that the respect you garnered by swearing to be the future king’s bodyguard came with a reasonable risk of betrayal as well. And yes, betrayal is a strong word. Technically, nothing happened. There is no accusation you can level at her. At least not without someone calling you hysterical, and that’s hardly needed when you’re already a woman seeking the highest position in the court, second only to the king himself.

It had come down to one night, with just you and her sitting and talking about nothing in particular, when she had leaned in and asked you something.

“So do you like anyone?”

It had been a quiet night, and the two of you had been the only ones awake, holed up in an old classroom, so you hadn’t thought any consequences could come from speaking truthfully—or at least, what you had genuinely believed to be the truth.

“Not really.” You’d shrugged, leaning back on the desk you were sitting on, putting your weight on your palms. “Most of the people in our section aren’t really my type.”

“Really?” Lillia had smiled slyly. “Not even Xavier?”

Your nose had wrinkled—not in disgust, just confusion. “Xavier? Why?”

“What do you mean? You two spend all your time together. You’re always sparring. Doesn’t romantic tension build up after something like that?”

“Maybe if we were equally matched,” you’d huffed, shaking your head, “I always beat him, I certainly don’t feel any tension. Besides, he’s going to be king. And I’m trying my best to be his grandis knight. We could never be in a relationship even if we wanted to be.”

“So you don’t have any interest in him?” she’d asked, a little more forcefully. You’d thought nothing of it at the time.

“I mean…” Your stomach had twisted a bit uncomfortably and you’d averted your gaze. “If you had a sword to my neck, if I had to choose someone…”

And it had forced you to think about it. A far off scenario, if he wasn’t going to be the king, or if you weren’t going to be the grandis knight, or maybe both. It had been difficult to see Prince Xavier as anything else, but…it wasn’t impossible. If you were both just students, or partners, or even if you worked at that bakery that he loved to frequent.

If you were just a normal person, and he was as common as everyone else, the first thing you’d thought you’d notice about him would be his eyes. It’s what you notice about him most of the time regardless. He has nice eyes. They have a sincerity in them that most people lack. And he looks at you a lot, so you would know.

He’s not bad to look at either. And he’s kind. A good leader. With a precious heart. And skilled fingers—

Blinking out of the hypnotic thoughts you’d fallen into, you’d hidden your suddenly flustered state as best you could and simply answered, “I suppose if I had to choose to love someone, I’d choose Xavier.”

And that had been that. Or so you thought. Everything had been alright, at least.

Until the next morning, when you’d walked out of your class and seen Lillia’s arms around Xavier’s neck.

For a second, it had felt like Philos stopped turning on its axis.

It wasn’t like Xavier had reciprocated. But that was only because he had been too polite to shove her away, and it would’ve been inappropriate to engage in anything further. Crown prince or not, he was still a guy, and obviously a pretty girl pressed into him in such a way would interest him.

And Lillia had caught your eye, and smiled triumphantly, as though to say well, if you don’t want him, then…

Even though you hadn’t said you didn’t want him. Well, you had said you weren’t interested, yes. But you had also told her that if someone held a blaster to your face if you didn’t cherish someone, then you would cherish Xavier. And maybe that hadn’t been a confession, but it hadn’t been you giving her permission to pursue him either. Not that she needed your permission, because it wasn’t like you had a claim on him, and it wasn’t supposed to make your chest burn that he, even for a second, looked at anyone else the way he looked at you.

You hadn’t confided your weak feelings to anyone else after that.

“Hi, Lillia,” Xavier says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You didn’t even realize until now that the three of you had approached her. “What’s this booth for?”

“Oh, it’s amazing,” she gushes, wrapping her hands around his arm and tugging. Your eye twitches. “She’s a fortuneteller. For just a few copper pieces, she’ll answer any one question you want to know about your life.”

“Really?” he asks softly, and all your gazes shift to the woman who bows her head to the prince, sitting in her chair with a purple drape over the small table in front of her. “I’m not sure what I’d want to ask.”

Lillia smirks in a way that makes you uneasy. “Well, I asked about my future partner.”

“Partner? For sparring?”

“For marrying, you dolt,” Jeremiah snorts, “c’mon, Xav, sit down and let’s see which unlucky soul gets to be queen of Philos.”

You’re nervous that he will, and you’re nervous that you won’t like the answer. Because it wouldn’t be you, you’re sure of that. And you shouldn’t want it to be you. That doesn’t mean you think he should be with her, either. What business did Lillia have pursuing Xavier, at any rate? She was training to be a Lightseeker too—but of course, the average knight did not have the same restrictions the grandis knight did—not that it matters because you have no say regardless—

But Xavier shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. My future partner will simply be…whoever the kingdom deems the loveliest of the lot.”

Your heart both inflates and deflates at his response. On one hand, you hadn’t wanted him to have his fortune read, for fear of heartbreak. On the other hand, a part of you had foolishly hoped that he would have the same option to love like everyone else did.

“You should do it,” Jeremiah nudges you with his elbow. Before you can protest, Lillia’s eyes light up.

“Oh, yes, you should! Here, come sit.”

“Um, I don’t know.” Warily, you gaze over at the fortuneteller, who merely gives you a serene smile. “Is she going to give me someone’s name?”

“No, just a description. She told me my future partner would be someone of noble descent.” Lillia beams, showing off her too-perfect teeth, and suddenly you feel inadequate. You know what she’s implying, even if Xavier doesn’t. After all, there are very few people who would match that description.

So, not wanting to seem like a coward, because the king’s sword is anything but a coward, you step forward, sitting down in the leathery chair. You’re about to reach for your pocket to take out the copper pieces, when Xavier reaches over and places them in the fortuneteller’s palm, giving you an encouraging look that makes your heart sink. Perhaps you should have listened to Jeremiah earlier and called it a night.

When the woman takes your hand, she closes her eyes, running her thumb back and forth against your calluses. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and you try not to move a muscle. For some reason, it feels like if you so much as twitch, you’ll get the wrong answers, and you’re not even sure what the right answers are.

Her eyes open, piercing yours with a startling gaze. “Fascinating,” she murmurs, “I see three things about your lover.”

To hear that word—lover, instead of spouse or partner, makes your entire face feel hot. Lillia giggles, saying something under her breath that you don’t catch but makes you feel violent tendencies nonetheless.

“First, he is someone held in very high regard by all around him.”

Oh no.

“Second, a longsword is his weapon of choice.”

Oh no.

“And third, you have known him all your life.”

Well, she may as well have just screamed Xavier’s name at the top of her lungs.

Everyone is silent for a few seconds. There is a heavy pause in the air, because who else could she be referring to? Who else fits that exact description? All Lillia was told was she’d be with someone of noble descent, which could be at least a few people. The painful beating in your chest is onset because there is only one person that your fortune fits.

You know it, he knows it, even Jeremiah and Lillia know it.

So you do the only thing you can do. You calmly stand up, offer the fortuneteller a tight-lipped smile, and turn on your heel and run.

Behind you, a few different people call your name, though you note distinctly that Xavier isn’t one of them. After that, even if other people are still recognizing you and trying to get your attention, you can barely think straight enough to identify their voices, let alone respond. You run, out of the town square, out of the festival, out of the sight of anyone who could possibly perceive you.

You run as far as you can before your legs start aching, which, unfortunately for you, takes a long time with your endurance training. By the time you feel even a twinge resembling pain, you’ve already made it a far distance away from the celebration, near the seamstress’ shop.

With gritted teeth, you heave yourself over the fence, knowing you’re more than welcome in her garden. It’s luscious, orange and lavender chrysanthemums in the center stealing the spotlight from all the other flowers. Instead of going towards them, you curl up next to the lilies, because you already feel unremarkable enough.

It’s not that you think Xavier would be disgusted by you. The two of you are friends—but that’s exactly it, the major problem of having feelings for him. Besides the fact that you are supposed to brandish your sword in his name, you cannot like him because you’d rather die than lose your best friend. You couldn’t even say how long you’ve known him, but you do know that he’s the best part of your life. Not for anyone would you bow your head. Not for anyone would you lay your life down. You’ve observed Xavier for years and years and there is not a single other person in the royal family that you would follow into any battle, through any world, past any planet.

You groan, burying your face in between your knees. At some point in between the months Lillia first asked you about him and now, you’ve gone beyond just considering him as more than a friend. You’ve even got past having a measly crush on him.

You’re in love with Xavier, and it’s awful.

Breathing slowly, you gaze up at the night sky, where the fireworks have still not made their appearance. The wind teases the flowers around you, making them tilt a little to the left, which is oddly how you feel too. Not uprooted, but bent, just like a flower.

With a blade of grass in between your fingers, you follow the direction the flowers are blowing in, only to find yourself staring at shining ceruleans.

“Xavier!” you gasp, eyes widening with a start. You move to stand as a reflex, but he raises a single hand, and you stop.

There isn’t a single bead of sweat on his face. He is breathing a little raggedly, and his uniform is stained with some sap he must’ve not been able to avoid from the bushes on the way over. His face—well, his face is pristine as always, there isn’t a moment when the prince of Philos looks anything less than dreamy. But it’s not his features you’re gazing at, but the concerned expression upon them, directed straight at you, with caring eyes and pinched brows.

You almost want to cry just at the thought you’ve worried him.

“Are you alright?” His voice is quiet, cautious, fragile. Like you may break if he’s too forceful in his questioning.

“Yes, fine,” you reply automatically, though you suppose you now have to make up a story for why on Philos you ran away like a child, especially because he sits next to you, knees raised in the same manner as yours.

“I was merely…overwhelmed, by the crowd.” The explanation sounds weak even as your tongue speaks it, but you cannot think of any other reason for your actions. At least this is easier than the truth. Anything is easier than the truth.

For a few seconds, there is silence, and as uncomfortable as this already is, you can’t bear it. So you turn to look at him, and you realize with burning cheeks you realize he is staring right back. You don’t even think he’s looked at the blossoming flowers even once; his head seems to be fixated in your direction.

“I know you constantly score better than me,” Xavier says softly, “but I am not foolish.”

With a hesitant hand, as though he’s asking for permission, he reaches up to once again adjust the flower crown on your head. Your heart falls, and you really should’ve known better to think Xavier could not read you like an open book, especially after a fortuneteller quite literally did read you like an open book.

“I know,” he continues, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “that the people in our classes, the nobles, the folks in the marketplace, they all hold me in high regard.”

“Xavier,” you try to argue weakly, already feeling your heartbeat speed up from where this conversation is going. The thought of losing him, of losing your best friend, your prince, your everything, it is paralyzing. “Please don’t—”

“I know that my weapon of choice is a longsword.”

“Stop,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t, and he looks directly into your eyes with an open, honest sincerity written all over his face. Like this is his truth, even though it is yours. “And I know that you have known me all your life, and I feel that I have known you for even longer than that.”

Your lower lip trembles. Never once did you take him for the cruel type. There is no rule nor reasoning for this, to utterly expose your feelings even more and mock you for them, and if you sit here any longer you’re afraid you will begin to sob, and then not only will your friendship with Xavier be at risk, but your future position as well. The grandis knight cannot be weak. The grandis knight cannot shed tears for such silly matters as love.

To preserve your role, to preserve your reputation and your dignity, you make to stand, to run even farther this time, but Xavier holds your wrist before you can, tugging you back to face him. There is no cruelty in his expression, in fact there is a tenderness as though he is somehow touched by your very clear devotion to him.

His finger tilts your chin up, unwittingly making you demand a respect you don’t believe you deserve right now. His brow is pinched, as though he’s upset that you would let anyone, even him, turn you soft as a dandelion.

“I also know,” he breathes, “that this kingdom finds you incredibly lovely.”

The world seems to stop.

“As…” Xavier’s hand rests itself on your cheek, and the most beautiful smile lights up his face as he murmurs, “Do I.”

You lean in the same time he does, and faintly you hear fireworks erupt as you kiss the prince of Philos for the first time.

The world is quiet, and so, so, so loud. Blood rushes to your face and to your ears, and you ignore it by placing both your hands on his cheeks, whimpering softly at how good he tastes. Every burning feeling and sensation you’ve felt in his presence these past few months, and really, your entire life, all seem to explode in this moment. The world is blue, and white, and Xavier.

His lips move so gently against yours, once again acting as though you are fragile, but it feels good this time, the idea of being something so precious as to require care for him. His thumb rubs soft circles into your cheek, you can barely pull away from him to assure him that he can be more forceful if he wishes, more wanting, more greedy.

“Please,” he whispers against your lips, asking for what you aren’t sure, but you nod your head regardless, because you’d think you’d give him your very soul if he were to ask.

When you do pull back, he is looking at you so longingly it makes you more breathless than even dancing you did earlier. His gray-blonde hair nearly conceals his eyes, so you brush it from his face, breath hitching at his proximity. You’ve always known that he’s the apple of everyone’s eye, but you’ve never had the privilege to admire him so closely before.

“I don’t need a fortuneteller to tell me who my partner is.” Xavier rests his forehead on yours, eyes closing. “Whether it’s for sparring, or marriage, or anything else. You are the only one I want with me, through everything.”

You’re surprised you can even muster words when you shyly respond, “Likewise, my liege.”

His eyes shine, and the two of you finally look up to admire the fireworks bursting across the sky in incredible explosions of color. They pale in comparison to the eruption within you, but they are magical nonetheless, and you lean your head against his shoulder to watch.

A gentle kiss is placed on top of your head. “I know we only celebrate this once a year. It is a special time. Still…” He meets your gaze again, and the corners of his lips turn upwards. Tonight, there is only you and him now, you’re sure of it. “Would you mind terribly if we were to ignore the fireworks?”

Maybe one day you will learn to resist him. You sincerely doubt it, though.

“Not at all. But the seamstress and her kids will probably be back soon.” You place a begrudging hand on his chest, not wanting to stop him, but trying to act proper regardless. “Neville checks on the garden every night. He might see us.”

Xavier seems to consider this for a second.

“Oh well,” he mumbles, leaning in to kiss you again, “what a shame.”

He doesn’t sound very sorry at all, and amidst the soft glow of moonlight, you surrender to him, lost in your very own little celebration of lights.

a/n: if i had a nickel for everytime i’ve written a character x reader story where they’re at a party and they dance together but then leave to have a nice moment by themselves i’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?

#love and deepspace #l&ds #love and deepspace xavier #xavier x reader #xavier x mc #xavier #lads #xavier fic #lads x reader #lads xavier #l&ds x reader #l&ds fic #xavier x you #xavier x y/n #valkyrie stories

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rubydubydoo122 · 5 months

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could you talk more about fanon vs canon tim drake? i havent gotten too far into the comics yet but have seen a lot of him (mis?)characterized by others

Just a preface, I'm not gonna crucify any Tim fans who find themselves writing these tropes, because it is fandom, and everyone's allowed their own interpretations of the character, I'm just personally not a fan of these takes on Tim because in my mind they just don't make sense for the character. If anyone has differing opinions, feel free to (politely) explain them to me, because I'm happy to hear them.

Ok, so much like Fanon Dick Grayson, there are two versions of fanon Tim Drake.

There's version A.) where where he's one minor inconvienience away from becoming a supervillain (I understand where this one comes from and I don't HATE it) and there's version B.) where he was criminally neglected as a kid and is infantalized (This version of Tim I Loathe)

I'll start with version A. I see where it comes from. Mainly the Red Robin 2009 run, but we have to remember that Tim was grieving pretty much everyone close to him during that era. He was being self destructive because of that grief, and yeah, grief changes a person, but Tim is the type of character who would still turn out good despite all the hurt handed to him. Oh! But Gun Batman-- Tim actively chose against being that. He would rather kill himself than let himself become a version of Batman who went against everything Batman stood for. I know there are multiple storylines where Tim meets and evil future version of himself, but those versions would constantly be like a weight on him to be good. All in all, if I had to choose between the fanon Tim Drakes, I would choose villain Tim Drake, as long as it's done in more of a character-study way rather than a 'He deserves to go evil, as a treat' because it's an interesting take with the right motives.

Now onto Version B. Loser Tim Drake. The reason I Loathe this version of Tim is because it usually involves Characters Assassination of the characters around him. Ok, so do I agree that Tim Drake was somewhat neglected? Yes. But goddamit, the way I see Jack and Janet portrayed, you would think that they were running from the feds or something. They were good people, just bad parents. Maybe a little immature to raise a child, but it wasn't to the point where they would probably need to call CPS. Neglect isn't black and white, and the Drakes fell into that grey-- which I personally believe to be a lighter shade. You do have to remember that a lot of Tim's introduction was written in the 90's where parenting styles were a lot different compared to Today. Still, they sent him to boarding school, meaning they made sure that some form of adult was taking care of Tim AND a lot of people try to make Jack Drake out to be the villain for stopping Tim from being Robin, and blackmailing Bruce for it, but... It's What Any Sane Parent Would Do? I'm 18, but I know if I ever had a kid, and then fell into a coma and then woke up and found out that my Kid was fighting crime in one of the most CRIME RIDDEN CITIES alongside my middle-aged neighbor who dresses up like a furry I WOULD CALL THE FUCKING COPS. But enough about the Drakes. Because not only does Loser Tim Drake assassinate their character, but why is 17 year old Tim the victim when it comes to 10 year old Damian-- "Oh he tried to kill him' They're both trained by assassins. They're both trained. They're both Trained. Why Is a Junior/Senior in high school hurt by the actions of a 5th grader. I have a similar age gap with my younger brother. We have had pretty brutal fights and the next day we're fine. I'm not going to get into "Attack on Titans Tower AUs" but I will say this, Every Time I Start To Read One Of Those, I Lose Half Of My Hair Because of How Bad the Characterization Of Both Jason And Tim are. Please, Read, The, Comic. Jason Wasn't Trying To Kill Tim. If He Was, Tim would Be Dead. ANd Tim was Snarking Jason Through The Entire Confrontation. Lastly, Why Has DICK 'BAMF' GRAYSON TURNED INTO TIM"S NUMBER ONE OP????!!!! DIck IS LITERALLY TiM's ChiLDHOOD HEro!!!!! NoT BAtMAN, DICK GRAYSON. And like, not only that, Dick and Tim are the most brotherly. I'm Begging, Please go read a 90's comic. Why is it, the only time I see Dicks Manipulative side in fanon, It's in opposition to Tim? I bet it's bc of Teen Titans Go. I bet the only Tim and Dick interaction they've seen is TTG Robin going "No BOdy cARes AbOuT TiM DrAke"

Sorry that ended up becoming rant-y, and less objective. Since actually reading comics, fanon Tim Drake gets on my nerves.

#tim drake #anti tim drake #not anti tim drake #anti fanon tim drake #batman #batfam #dc comics #bruce wayne #jack drake #janet drake #justice for the drakes #dick grayson #damian wayne #jason todd

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withleeknow · 7 months

Text

wishful thinking. (05)

chapter five: say what you mean

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; mentions of sex, kissing, we’re starting to dip our toes into angsty territory !!, less edited than i’d like but what’s new lol word count: 2.8k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Get me a drink, I get drunk off one sip, just so I can adore you I want the entire street out of town just so I can be alone with you Now go when you’re ready My head’s getting heavy, pressed against your arm Just to adore you, I adore you

Adore - Dean Lewis

Whenever Minho asks if you two could hang out together at your place, it usually means that you will end up in your bed.

Tonight you suppose is no different.

Even though you often cap off the night having engaged in activities that could make the Victorian lady in Hyunjin faint, it’s not all that you do. Both you and Minho never let yourselves forget that you’re friends first and foremost. Sex is the added benefit that should never take anything away from your friendship. He is still one of the people you’re most comfortable with, one of the few people whose company you enjoy.

You’re sprawled out on the couch in your small living room when Minho returns from the kitchen with a plate of freshly peeled tangerines, the same ones that he brought over earlier. You push yourself to half-sit up so he could squeeze himself between you and the armrest, before you go back to laying your head on his lap as you two resume watching a bad movie that you put on.

“I hate this so much,” you comment, your eyes glued to the TV screen.

“You picked the movie,” Minho says. “It’s not that bad. The plot is kind of decent.”

“I’m not talking about that. Jeez, if they wanted to make a movie where the main character is a graphic designer, you’d think that they would at least consult someone who knows literally anything about visual art. Look at that horrendous typography job, the text isn’t even aligned with the edges and corners. This is hurting my soul.”

Your cushions (Minho’s thighs) shake lightly as he laughs at your dramatic outburst over something as trivial as a fictional character’s poor standards of digital art. But you really aren’t kidding; the way the woman on screen is butchering the text alignment is quite literally making that very particular part of your brain want to shut down for the next five to seven business days.

“They should’ve consulted you first, is that right?” Minho asks.

“They really should have. I could’ve done wonders for them,” you say matter-of-factly. “I almost majored in graphic design, y’know.”

You have a habit of biting your tongue around others because you know that people don’t really care about the same things you do. Whenever the opportunity arises for you to share tidbits about your interests, excitement would tumble out of you only to be quashed soon after when no one wants to listen to your silly little rambles. It’s disheartening, you’re used to it.

But you never feel that way around Minho. He always lets you babble on about anything and everything, even if he might not know what the hell you’re talking about. He indulges you. He never makes you feel neglected or ignored.

“Hmm, my little genius artist.” He taps your cheek once, and when you turn your head to glance at him, he tells you to open up before he slips a slice of tangerine past your lips. “You’re right. Even I can tell that it’s horrendous.”

You hum appreciatively when the sweetness of the juicy fruit floods your tastebuds. Minho’s hand trails down your arm to rest on your stomach, just below your ribs where he fiddles with the worn fabric of your sleep shirt. If he moves his hand up, he would be grazing your bare chest underneath your shirt. You didn’t bother with a bra because, well, comfort above all else, especially within the four walls of your own home. Besides, it’s nothing that Minho hasn’t seen anyway.

He keeps on feeding you tangerines in between your complaints about bad design standards until the movie ends and the plate is cleared. The only sound in the room is the soft music on the TV as the credits start to roll.

You turn to lie on your back, staring up at Minho. “That was deeply disturbing.”

“You chose it,” he reminds you. “You went in knowing what the premise was.”

“Yeah, I have no one to blame but me. I had too much faith in humanity.”

“And you call me weird.”

“You are weird,” you say. “But I like weird.”

Minho looks down at you and for a moment, he says nothing. His fingers trace something on your stomach. A heart or an odd circle, you don’t know; you’re always bad at deciphering those. His eyelids fall a bit, softening the usual sharpness of his gaze.

Then he’s pulling you by your shoulders, guiding you to sit up and before you know it, you’re situated on his lap with one of his hands on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. Minho tugs you closer, meeting your lips in a kiss in which you waste no time returning.

He’s sweet, like the tangerines that you were sharing all evening. It tends to start like this - sort of randomly, whenever it feels right. He squeezes your side in a comforting gesture as his tongue slips into your mouth. There are times where it’s more urgent, where one of you is needy and desperately seeks the escape and release that can only be found in the other’s embrace. Other times, it’s slower, more gentle, where you can really focus on making each other feel fully satiated.

This, right now - you would pinpoint somewhere in the middle. There’s no fiery clothes-ripping urge, nor a need to lay the other person bare and knead every single knot of stress from their system. Today, there’s just languid wanting; an unhurried inclination to be close.

Him and his tangerine flavored kiss, you and your resolve built on shaky foundation.

You start rolling your hips over his, tugging on his shirt because you want to feel his skin against yours. Minho stops you though; he puts both hands on your hips and pulls his lips away from yours. You blink, dazed, confused.

“I...” he starts, trying to even out his breathing as he finds the words. “I don’t want to have sex tonight.”

Embarrassment instantly washes over you. The rejection is a little humiliating; it’s the first time you’ve ever felt like this around him. Your cheeks catch fire from the mortification, and you’re very aware that you’re still sitting in his lap, right over his crotch.

Wanting to climb off of him and just fucking bury yourself in a ditch, you start stuttering like an absolute fool, “Oh... Y-yeah, no, of course! Shit, shit, I’m sorry. Of course we don’t have t-”

Minho holds you in place, one of the hands on your hips goes to cup your cheek to make you look at him. It effectively shuts you right up.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” he says, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in an earnest apology. “I just want to keep kissing you. Is that okay?”

You’re at a loss for words. He’s holding your face, your waist, so delicately. He looks drunk on your presence alone even though neither of you have had a single drop of alcohol tonight, so sincere in his simple request that you feel your heart swell tenfold.

You want it too. You’re more than okay with just kissing him.

You don’t answer him verbally. Instead, you just nod and move to kiss him again, your hands tangled in his soft hair. The sweetness of the tangerines grows more and more distant as you chase his lips, but you can taste his smile. It’s infinitely more saccharine, and it only grows sweeter when he holds you close and knocks the breath out of you.

When you pull away for air, you slump against him, hiding your face in the crook of his face, shy all of a sudden. He keeps you there but continues with his onslaught of kisses - on your hair, your cheek, your neck, anywhere his lips can reach. Like he simply can’t get enough of you.

“You really like kissing,” you comment, giggling quietly as you do. “Even when we… y’know, bone.”

“Bone? You’re so romantic, babe.” You feel the rumbles of Minho’s chest as he lets out a hearty laugh, the sound of which fills the space of your modest home, embeds itself in every nook and crevice, in between every minuscule crack in your walls until the whole place feels warmer, brighter somehow. “Are you complaining?”

“No... just pointing it out.”

“Well, I like kissing you,” he says. “You’re not a terrible kisser, I guess.”

You sit up straighter and catch the teasing grin on his face before you roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks. You really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“Says the girl who uses ‘bone’ to describe sex.”

“It’s a perfectly good euphemism for ‘sex’.”

“You might as well just say ‘boink’.”

“Literally shut up.”

“Sure.”

Then he’s pressing his mischievous smile against your mouth once more, and you can’t really wrap your mind around how it’s even possible that he keeps getting sweeter and sweeter. His sugary kisses send warmth tingling up your spine, make a fluttery sensation erupt in your stomach. You’re lightheaded, and not the kind that can be remedied by a sufficient fix of blood oxygen.

Even though you’re perfectly content with kissing, there’s a certain implication that comes with only kissing that you’re not sure what to do with. He’s literally inside of you on a weekly basis and yet, this feels much more intimate than anything you two have ever done.

Because friends don’t kiss each other the way he’s kissing you right now. Friends don’t kiss each other the way you’re kissing him back.

A chime from your phone breaks you two apart, the intrusion forcing a mildly frustrated grunt from Minho. You find the mobile device hidden between the cushions of your couch, and after you quickly scan the notification on the screen, you tell him, “It’s Hyunjin.”

“What did I say? It’s always him at the scene of the crime,” Minho mutters, speaking in the same tone that one would when their sibling interrupts a round of their favorite video game. “What does he want?”

��Just wants me to send him a photo of the sample portfolio from our class.”

“Ignore him. He can wait.”

“He’ll call me if I don’t reply.”

“He’s so annoying,” Minho grumbles but loosens his hold on you nonetheless. “Hurry back.”

“It’ll only take a minute, you big baby,” you chuckle, pressing a swift peck to his lips before you get up from the couch and head toward your bedroom with your phone in hand, searching for the binder that Hyunjin is asking about.

Once you’ve snapped the picture and sent it to your friend, you return to the living room. When Minho hears your footsteps, he holds out an arm, silently beckoning you into his embrace again. And you do. You slide into the space next to him, slotting perfectly against his side.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace along his forearm until they reach his wrist. “This is pretty,” you say, touching the thin link bracelet that he always wears, the one with a small charm hanging off the center in the simple outline of a dove.

“You like it? I’ve had it for ages.”

“Mhmm, it suits you.”

A moment passes where you both sit in silence as you fiddle with the gold jewelry, and you can feel Minho’s eyes on your face the entire time. After a while, he pries your fingers off his skin, only to swiftly take off the trinket.

“No, Min. What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer you. You attempt (in vain) to pull your wrist back but Minho is stronger. He holds it in place as he clasps the chain around your wrist.

“Minho, you are not giving me your bracelet.”

“Relax. It’s not like it was passed down from my great-great-grandfather. It’s just a random bracelet I bought when I was 18.”

“Why would you even give me your bracelet?”

He shrugs, as though he’s merely doing something as simple as letting you borrow you a pen. “It looks good on you.”

You look down to where his hand is still on your skin, his thumb gently sliding over your pulse point as he admires how the dainty gold reflects the dim lighting in your home.

And he’s right. It does look good, but he probably doesn’t mean it in the same way that you’re thinking of right now. You think it looks good because it’s something that belongs to him that’s now wrapped snugly around your wrist, like some sort of affirmation spoken in a language that only the two of you can understand.

Minho leans over and presses his warm lips to your forehead. It takes you by surprise, the way he does it as if it’s second nature to be this affectionate with you. It’s a tipping point, then suddenly your thoughts are running rampant.

The instruction has always been plain and simple: No strings attached.

But...

The chaste kisses with no expectation of sex, being protective when you’re in the presence of other guys, even giving you his bracelet to wear just because you said it was pretty.

Why do all of these sound an awful lot like strings?

You hesitate, then you ask, “What are we doing?”

“Hmm? You wanna watch another movie?”

“No, that’s not... What are we doing?” You don’t even know what word to put more emphasis on.

Minho looks at you and loosens his fingers. What he can’t understand through your words, you think he sees it in your eyes. “Say what you mean.”

“Are we friends?”

“Of course we are.”

“Are we still friends?”

“Do you not want to be friends anymore?” He cracks a smile, but you can tell that he’s just doing it to lighten you up. “You have terrible timing. I literally just gave you a bracelet.”

“Friends don’t do that.”

“Friends don’t give each other bracelets?”

“Friends don’t kiss like that.”

Minho seems a bit taken aback, though he regains his composure in mere seconds, his voice calm as he tells you, “Friends don’t have sex either.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. What are you saying? You brought it up.”

You open your mouth, only to subsequently close it because your thoughts were never really that coherent in the first place. You look away from him to glance down at your wrist.

“You’re being confusing,” Minho says quietly, honestly.

“I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

“Did anything change for you?” he asks.

“No,” is what you tell him after a long minute, when what you really mean to say is I don’t know. You can see it as it happens, some stars fading from his eyes, some light growing more faint in his irises. Though the despondence on his face disappears so fast that you’re not sure if it was even there at all, or if it was only a figment of your imagination.

Then you throw the question back at him. “Did anything change? For you?”

Minho’s answer is the same as yours - a clear No - and yet, it makes you feel like you’ve been punctured by something sharp. You don’t know why your heart drops upon hearing him say the exact same thing that you did, but you try not to let it show on your face. Your poker face isn’t anywhere as good as his, but you hope that it’s enough.

You give him a tight-lipped smile and nod a little.

“Then nothing’s changed.” He strokes your hair, emphasizing his point with a soft smile as he reassures you, “And nothing has to change. It’s a bracelet, don’t overthink it. We’re good.”

Sometimes, the decisions you make are bad because you can foresee the outcomes, or at least, you have an idea of the consequences will be later on and yet, you still choose to go through with it anyway.

Just like how you chose to watch a movie you knew would drive you crazy with its trivial details, you choose to accept the feeling of Minho’s bracelet around your wrist. You choose to believe him when he said nothing has changed, and that nothing has to change. You choose to sweep under the rug the thoughts that you’ve been having about him lately. You choose to overlook the reason why you’ve been having those thoughts instead of facing it head-on because you’re terrified of what you’d find if you dig deeper.

You choose to let the conversation end here though it still lingers in your mind, and you choose to let him kiss you goodnight when he leaves because tonight has already been a series of bad decision after bad decision anyway.

And when you fall asleep, it’s the soothing coolness of the golden dove against your skin that lulls you to slumber, like he’s here right beside you to hold you through the night.

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