#If spot of inconsistancy just tell me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

Note

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied.

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details.

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name.

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror.

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause.

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it.

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort.

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is.

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably.

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing.

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—”

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face.

Oh. He was fucking with you.

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer.

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you.

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies.

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly.

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic.

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you.

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room.

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder.

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back.

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately.

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin.

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are.

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer.

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach.

Something resembling jealousy.

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid.

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you.

You swallow and try to act like yourself.

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see.

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in.

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively.

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place.

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable.

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job.

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it.

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown.

She makes a good point.

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail.

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut.

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer.

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl.

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen.

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny.

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic

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parfaitblogs · 3 months ago

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hard times ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid doesn’t follow through one time, and you really hate that he has a psychology degree.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags:��daddy issues. shoutout to the girls with inconsistent fathers this ones for you. established relationship. readers mentioned wearing makeup, a dress and heels. rational bf!spencer reid fuck i would hate a profiler bf. word count: 1.8k a/n: not a trauma dump fic not a vent fic do not read into this fic at all don't even start to speculate on my life and where these emotions came from they're all fake made up not real make pretend. no photos no aesthetics just me, a tumblr account, and a dream for this baddie.

In all your months of dating Spencer Reid, he had never forgotten anything. Not a date, not a work event. Or, at least, he's never forgotten to call. Even when you had been so busy one week you could barely spare him more than a ten minute phone call a day, he remembered what was going on in your life enough to be there for you.

A false blanket of security draped over your relationship, is what it is now.

A blanket he seemingly had no trouble ripping off you a random Friday evening, throwing it in a fire and watching it — and your trust in him — burn into dust.

Perhaps a tad dramatic for what was happening, but you were always one for theatrics when it came to your emotions. Usually, he welcomed it. He was (abashedly) similar, after all.

Not that he was even here to welcome it.

You'd looked pretty. You'd felt pretty. Past tense, for your shoes were strewn somewhere across the floor after throwing them in frustration, and your makeup was ruined after unwelcome tears had streamed down your face an hour ago. You had been ready for a dinner date you and Spencer had scheduled in only three days ago — penciled in, for you never knew what his work schedule was going to end up being.

You're not sure how long you sat in that one spot on the couch, mind going through every single possible scenario that could've happened between the text he sent you that morning saying he was excited to go out tonight, and the lack of his appearance this evening.

The logical conclusion is that he got too busy, and he forgot. But Spencer Reid's whole thing is that he doesn't forget. Oftentimes he considers it a curse. You never really agreed with him. Until now, it seemed.

The less than logical, emotionally driven conclusion, is that he actively chose to stay at work to avoid coming home because he didn't want to see you. Or he didn't actually want to go to dinner, and he didn't know how to tell you. Or his team offered to go out and he'd rather hang out with them instead of you.

Really, the reasons are endless, and any rational conclusion was lost on you. Mind swallowing you whole as you continued to stare off into space, visibly shaking and head beginning to pound from the crying.

A glance at the clock told you it was near midnight by the time you heard the door handle rattle and twist open, tired, puffy eyes blinking to adjust to the light filtering in from the apartment hallway.

"Hey. Why're you out here? It's late. I thought you'd already be in bed," Spencer rambles absentmindedly, voice so disconnected from you it only made the ache in your chest worse. As he flicks the light on and assesses the state of the apartment, he asks, "What're your shoes doing on the floor?"

You blink a few times. Was he pretending to be dumb on purpose?

You stand on cramped legs, stretching them for the first time since you'd sat unknowingly on the couch nearly six hours ago, dress bunching around your waist. You didn't bother to fix it.

Like a switch, he clicks, his bag sliding off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a thud, realisation settling into his features.

"Our date. Oh, God, I'm so sorry, angel."

"Yeah. I'm sure," you croak, voice hoarse as you pick up your shoes pathetically in front of him, the heels clacking together as you walk towards your bedroom door.

He calls your name, and after you make no effort to return to him, you hear his feet against the wooden flooring, carrying himself to you.

You're in the ensuite, beginning to take makeup off you probably should've removed four hours ago. It was stupid hope you held on to, anyways.

"You're upset. I know. It was awful of me to forget our date," he stands in the doorway, staring at you through the mirror. Even indirectly, you can't make eye contact with him.

"You forgot," you repeat back to him, almost dumbfounded. "You forgot?"

"Forgot isn't... the best word," his fingers dig into his eyes for a split second, and you watch him think. "I got caught up at work. We had a case, then we didn't have a case, then we did, so we started looking into it, and time just... escaped. From all of us."

"Time just escaped."

Your parroting wasn't doing much to further the conversation, and you watch as Spencer averts his gaze to the floor to take a deep breath, before his eyes land back on you again.

"It isn't the best reason, I know. But it's the truth," he says.

"Uh-huh," you mumble, discarding your cotton pads stained with your makeup into the trash.

"Can you stop being evasive?" he catches your wrist before you can return to the sink. "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, almost earnestly. "It's okay that you forgot, Spencer. I won't take it personally at all, and things between us are just dandy!"

"I want to know what you're actually feeling," he replies, voice flat with his irritation, before he forces himself to soften it. "I can't reassure you if all I know is that you're angry."

"Hurt. Forgotten. Disregarded. Disliked. Irritated we're doing this in our fucking bathroom."

At that, he leads you into the bedroom, turning the ensuite light off. "Forgotten and disregarded are synonyms, so I'm assuming that's what you feel the most."

"You're the psyche expert," you mumble, bitterly.

"I'm not trying to be your psyche expert," he quips, and your heart sinks. "Why're you feeling forgotten?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded, for a beat. "Because my boyfriend quite literally forgot about me?"

"I didn't forget about you—"

"—No, you're right. You just forgot about the date that you literally fucking texted me about this morning!" you snap, voice rising in a way that makes you cringe. Yet, you can't stop it. "You! Spencer Reid! Forgot!"

"Don't yell at me, please," he takes a step towards you; you take a step back.

"Why did you forget? Did you choose to? Are you pretending that you forgot about it all to save your ass?"

"No," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't. I told you what happened. You're choosing not to believe me."

"How am I meant to believe that? It's a shit excuse—"

"—It's the truth—"

"—God, you can lie, Spencer! Men lie!"

He goes silent, as do you. You become trapped in an uncomfortably intense staring contest with him, as you watch his brain slowly tick over and decipher what you were saying, and come up with a response. Yours, however, splits open with your own self hatred. Disdain for what you had just said to him.

"Okay," he exhales, very slowly. "I'm going to tell you what I think, and you can tell me how right I am."

"You're going to profile me?"

He pauses. "I'm sure it'll come off that way. I'm not trying to," when you don't protest again, he continues. "I think you're less upset about the fact that I didn't come home for a date, and more about the fact that I didn't message you about it. I've not shown up for dates before. I've always contacted you prior to let you know. And I've promised I would always contact you if something came up that interfered with our plans. Ultimately, I said I would do something, and I didn't follow through. That is on me, and I'm sorry. What isn't on me, is how you're reacting. Which is childish, honey. You're acting like a petulant child, and I don't mean that as an insult, because I'm almost certain I know why."

Your silence is his cue to continue, but he pauses to collect his thoughts. Your lower lip is beginning to wobble, and he feels awful.

"You know how our childhoods affect us," he says, and the second what he's about to say to you clicks in your brain, your teeth clamp over your lip, and your eyes drop to the ground. "Reactions from parents to things we do, things others do, things they do, all builds up in our subconscious. Having a parent who didn't show up for you time and time again, built up in your subconscious. So yes, you're reacting to me not following through with something childishly. I will not take that back. But that reaction is not your fault. It's in response to a trigger, and the person in control of that emotional response is not adult you. It's the little girl who got let down by her father. I won't ever hold that against you."

Your sniffle breaks the deafening silence that follows his tangent. You allow him to envelop you into a hug, at which you break down into a fit of sobs akin to the ones from earlier.

"I hate you," you stutter out in between sobs, voice muffled by his chest.

"You can't say that while hugging me," he counters. It was true, as your hands had wrapped around his waist just seconds ago.

"I hate you," you repeat, punctuating your words with a poke to his back.

"I love you," he replies, instead. His fingers thread through your hair as he cradles your head with his other hand. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you about being busy."

You swallow the lodged sob in your throat with a hiccup. "I'm sorry I acted like a petulant child. And I'm sorry that my dad sucks."

"I'm sorry your dad sucks too," you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Have you eaten?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, and he pulls back, hands slipping down to your cheeks, catching the tears.

"Do you want to eat?"

"The restaurant we were going to is closed," you mumble.

"Maybe. But the Thai place isn't."

"I'm pretty sure it is," you counter, and his eyebrows furrow. "It's past midnight now."

His face falls, he waits a beat, before his hand drops to your own, and he's tugging you towards the door of the bedroom. "Okay. Fine. Well, the Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed."

"I asked for pasta last night and you said the kitchen was closed."

"You asked at three in the morning," he deadpans, as you make yourself comfortable on one of the stools.

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed," you mock his voice from earlier.

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen rules are made by Spencer Reid."

"The rules should be lenient of Spencer Reid's girlfriend."

"Do you want pasta or not?"

"Yes," you quickly say with a firm nod. "Sorry."

He spends the first hour of that Saturday making you pasta; and making up the missed date.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x reader hurt/comfort

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8pxl · 3 days ago

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I know this isnt the purpose of your bloc but youre way better at spotting this but @seanerrr 's pixel art is giving red flags to me and i wanted to know what you thought

no worries, it can be really difficult to spot the inconsistencies especially when they’re trying soooo hard to fake it lmao.

but to answer: they use AI and are trying very hard to pass it off as real (importing to aseprite, half ‘finished’ pieces, describes their ‘process’ etc. truly pathetic. but here’s the signs:

like look at this mushed up slop trying to pass as pixels, nothing is intentionally placed, the pixel sizes are so inconsistent, some blur into other pixels, it’s just a mess. the one on the right is their older art and is also very obviously ai. you can also see hugely different jumps in styles which isn’t always a sign but with the others just cements it more.

the pathetic attempt to explain their process is also magnificent, the ‘hours of thoughtful work’ line takes me out lmaoooo. anyways he describes his process and its inconsistent with actual pixel art, which most pixel artist can tell right away whats wrong (i don’t expect more people to see the red flags but they’re there and huge) if interested in knowing whats wrong you can DM me i don’t wanna help the grifter get better at lying 😤

#detective jubilee #ai #anti ai #gen ai #genai #pixel art #what a loser wow

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astrologydray · 1 month ago

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The Shady/Bitchy side of each moon sign

Moon in Aries ♈️:

Very much hot heads in the moment, then act like nothing happened five minutes later🙄

“Me first, feelings later” head ahh Their emotions take priority, and they can bulldoze others without realizing (or caring).

Even in casual situations, they have to win, and if they don’t, they get salty fast.

If they don’t like you (or even if they do), they’ll say the harshest truth with zero sugarcoating.

If they feel unappreciated or ignored, expect passive-aggressive mood swings disguised as independence🤣.

Moon in Taurus ♉️:

If you piss them off, they won’t yell—they’ll just pretend you don’t exist, maybe Forever to 😭.

Once they claim something (or someone), good luck getting them to share or let go. Possessive & Stubborn as Hell.

They won’t waste energy on just anything, but if it’s about proving a point? They’re on it😫.

If they don’t like you, expect side-eye about your outfit, job, or bank account very much shady Materialistically.

They might not say it out loud, but their face will definitely tell you what they think😐.

Moon in Gemini ♊️:

Cliched, but They’ll talk sh*t about you, then smile in your face like nothing happened. Very much two faced 🤷🏾‍♂️.

They can flip from “I love you” to “Who are you again?” with zero effort.

Their insults are fast, witty, and so clever that you won’t even process the shade until later.

They collect gossip like it’s currency and will use it to their advantage😫.

One minute, they’re your best friend; the next, they’re ghosting you for something more interesting. Inconsistent Energy .

Moon in Cancer ♋️:

They get way too invested in people’s lives and feel personally betrayed if you don’t do what they expect.

Will act innocent and shocked when called out, because they would never!🤣

They’ll cry, vent, or act like the victim, even when they were the problem.

They might forgive, but they’ll never forget (and they will bring it up again).

Expect moody silences, heavy sighs, and “I just think it’s funny how…” energy🥲.

Moon in Leo ♌️:

“Omg, I love how you don’t care what people think of your outfit!” Y’all give backhanded compliments.

If you don’t hype them up enough, they’ll subtly (or not-so-subtly) undermine you🫠.

They’ll act like they’re being humble, but the flex is always right there.

If they’re not the center of attention, they will find a way to redirect the spotlight.

Their emotional outbursts are theatrical, and you will be their audience.

Moon in Virgo ♍️:

They’ll find that one tiny flaw and make sure you never forget it.

“I’m just trying to help!” (while tearing you apart with unsolicited advice).

They act superior by staying “calm” while you look messy.

They’ll shade you while acting like they’re just “being practical.”

If they’ve done anything for you, expect to hear about it forever.

Moon in Libra ♎️:

Smiling in your face, but dragging you in private (or to their other friend group) like Gemini moons y’all be two faced 🤷🏾‍♂️.

Pretends to be neutral but definitely stirs the pot behind the scenes.

Charm is their weapon, and they know how to use it.

If you throw off their vibe, they’ll quietly fade out of your life without a word.

Will ruin you socially if you embarrass them in public😭.

Moon in Scorpio ♏️:

Forgiveness? Never heard of it. They will get their revenge.

They won’t argue—they’ll just stare at you with a look that kills your soul👁️👄👁️.

If you betray them, they’ll cut you off so coldly you’ll question if they ever cared.

Plays it cool, but behind the scenes, they always have the upper hand🤫.

They know your weak spots and will hit them where it hurts if you cross them.

Moon in Sagittarius ♐️:

They’ll say the most offensive thing and then act confused when you get mad.

Will debate you into exhaustion just to prove a point😵‍💫.

Will drop a chaotic take, watch the drama unfold, and then leave the chat.

If you’re too emotional, they’ll hit you with, “Ugh, can we not do this right now?”

Acts like they’re above petty drama but somehow always involved.

Moon in Capricorn ♑️:

If they’re mad at you, expect zero reaction. They’ll just act like you don’t exist.

Every insult is strategic and meant to hit exactly where it hurts🧠.

They will find a way to have the upper hand in any situation.

If they don’t respect you, they’ll make sure you feel it.

They won’t say it outright, but their face will definitely let you know you’re beneath them.

Moon in Aquarius ♒️:

They’ll hurt your feelings and then genuinely not understand why you’re upset.

“I’m just being objective” (as they completely invalidate your emotions).

They hate being told what to do and will do the opposite on purpose.

Will talk to you like you’re slow if you don’t see things their way😐.

If you confront them, expect a shrug and a “whatever” instead of an actual response.

Moon in Pisces ♓️:

Instead of confronting problems, they’ll just ghost and act wounded.

They rewrite reality to fit their feelings, even if it makes zero sense.

“I guess I just care too much” (while making you feel awful).

Acts forgiving, but months later will bring up how you ruined their life.

If confronted, they’ll cry or act confused until you end up apologizing.

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology community #astro #astroblr #astrologyposts #astrology content #astrology insights

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miwsolovely · 2 months ago

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—THE SMELL OF BOOKS

𝜗𝜚 — in which, two book nerds start to fall for each other; you both meet your other half through wuthering heights

PROF!JASON TODD x PROF!READER no angst, fluff all around, university professor inconsistencies ( ? ), university au

— so sweet made my own teeth rot, love this sm, not requested —

JASON TODD, the enigmatic literature professor you’ve heard whispers about from students and staff alike, is known for two things: his sharp intellect and his tendency to disappear into the university library for hours on end. He’s a mystery to most, but you’ve caught glimpses of him during faculty meetings—usually seated at the back of the room, arms crossed, half-listening while his mind seems to wander elsewhere. There’s something about the way he carries himself; a quiet confidence, a brooding edge that sets him apart from the other staff.

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that you finally had your first real interaction with him.

You’d been in the library, hunting for a specific book you needed for your class, when you spotted him at one of the tables near the back, surrounded by an intimidating tower of books. He was scribbling notes into a leather-bound notebook, a pen held loosely between his fingers. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he didn’t seem to notice when you hesitated at the edge of his table.

“Do you mind if I—” you’d started to ask, gesturing toward the book you needed, which was stacked precariously near his elbow. But he’d looked up at you then, his eyes catching yours, and the rest of your sentence had faltered.

“Go ahead,” he’d said simply, leaning back in his chair and giving you enough space to reach for the book. His voice had been low, smooth, with just the faintest hint of amusement, like he could tell you were caught off guard.

From that moment on, you seemed to keep running into him. Sometimes in the library, where he’d nod at you in acknowledgment before diving back into his work. Sometimes in the hallways between classes, where he’d offer a quick, dry remark that left you wondering if he was teasing you. And, most recently, in the faculty lounge, where he’d sat across from you with an extra cup of coffee waiting for you while casually commenting on the book you were reading.

“Pride and Prejudice?” he’d said, raising an eyebrow. “A classic, sure, but let me guess—you’re teaching it as part of a ‘romance through the ages’ module?”

You’d blinked at him, startled, before recovering. “It’s for my Romantic Literature course, actually,” you’d replied, bringing the cup of coffee to your lips, trying to hide a smile. “What, are you going to tell me it’s overrated?”

He had smirked at that, his eyes glinting with something playful. “Not at all. Austen’s wit is sharper than most people give her credit for. I just didn’t peg you as the type to lean on the obvious choices.”

You’d rolled your eyes, but the conversation had spiraled from there, stretching far longer than you’d anticipated. Before you knew it, the coffee in your cup had gone cold, and you were debating the merits of Byronic heroes with someone who could match your passion word for word.

Now, you find yourself looking forward to the moments when your paths cross. There’s an energy about him that’s magnetic, a sense that he’s holding back just enough to keep you intrigued. And though he might spend most of his time holed up in the library or tucked away in his office, you’ve started to notice the way his eyes linger on you when you pass each other in the halls, the way his lips twitch into the faintest of smiles when he catches you mid-rant about a frustrating student or an impossible superiors deadline.

It’s on one of those late evenings in the library that everything shifts.

You’re grading papers at a table in the corner, the quiet hum of the library settling over you like a blanket, when you hear the scrape of a chair being pulled out. You glance up to find Jason lowering himself into the seat across from you, his ever-present notebook tucked under one arm.

“Didn’t expect to see you here this late,” he says, setting the notebook on the table and leaning back in his chair. His gaze flickers to the stack of papers in front of you. “Let me guess—midterms?”

“Something like that,” you reply, surprised but not unhappy to see him. “What about you? Aren’t you usually buried in the philosophy section by now?”

He smirks, folding his arms. “Thought I’d check in on my favorite person in this dump. Make sure you’re not losing your mind over comma splices.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Tempting fate, aren’t you? What if I say I already have?”

“Then I’ll sit here and keep you company until you’re sane again,” he says lightly, but there’s a warmth in his tone that catches you off guard. It’s the first time he’s made it clear—he notices you too, maybe more than you’d realized.

And as the evening stretches on, the papers forgotten between quiet conversation and shared silences, you think that maybe, just maybe, this strange, brilliant man is about to become more than just a passing presence in your life.

He’s nicer now.

You don’t know where it came from but maybe it's because he's been nice enough to lend you his jacket when you forget yours, the scent clinging to it wrapping around you so snugly you wish it’d stay there forever — or more likely the way he looks down at you with his molten hazel eyes; but you don't put up much of a fight.

Not when he brings you your coffee every morning with sweet words hanging from his lips and a firm hand on your lower back, guiding you to your seat. Your skin feeling warm after every touch.

In your respective classrooms, teaching separate things, your mind always drifts to the way he’d say specific things in his specific way.

How you’d love to watch him talk about how an author wrote something and why, the spark that you noticed never died from the comforts of his chest that you’d love to lay your hand on, feel the beating of his heart and sync yours with it.

Now as you sit at your desk, trying, to come up with what tomorrow’s lecture will be about and having your students projects graded by the weekend, your mind drifts.

The smell of his cologne that clings to him the way you dream you would, the sharp edges of his face you wish to trace gently, his smile that you want to gaze at day in and day out.

You groan and rub your face with your hands, exasperated. At yourself for thinking of him, or at him for plaguing your mind like this.

“Don’t tell me you’re stressed about me, doll?”

You blink up at him, your hand still half-covering your face. His figure leans casually against the doorframe, one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other holding a worn book. That familiar grin is plastered across his face—mischievous and warm, the one that’s always been your undoing, the one that revealed itself after he became comfortable with you.

“Mr. Todd,” You manage, your voice coming out more startled than you’d like. “What are you doing here?”

He steps into the room, his steps unhurried, confident, as if he belongs here. And, in a way, he does. He sets the book down on your desk—a leather-bound copy of Wuthering Heights, of course—before leaning against the edge, his hip brushing the stack of ungraded papers.

“I was walking past and heard you groaning,” he teases, folding his arms over his chest. “Figured you needed a rescue.”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrays you by twitching upward. “I wasn’t groaning, just . . . thinking.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I mean, I did feel my ears burning?”

Warmth rises to your cheeks, and you quickly duck your head, busying yourself with the papers on your desk. “You wish.”

He laughs, low and rich, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in slightly, close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his cologne—the smell you were just thinking about. “Don’t I?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, teasing but laced with something more sincere.

You pause, your hand freezing mid-motion. When you glance up, his eyes are fixed on you, studying your face as if it’s a puzzle he’s determined to solve. It’s disarming, how easily he can shift from playful to serious, from cocky to earnest.

“You’re impossible, Jason,” You mutter, though there’s no real bite in your tone. Not when his name slips off your tongue like molasses, slow and warm.

“And yet, here I am,” he counters smoothly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He lets out a breath. “So, what’s got you all worked up? Can’t be the papers.” He gestures to the stack dismissively. “You’ve handled worse.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s nothing. Just . . . a long day.”

Jason tilts his head, unconvinced. But instead of pushing, he reaches for the book he’d brought in, gazing at the cover with a look you can’t identify.“You know,” he starts, his tone casual, “I’ve got this theory about Catherine and Heathcliff.”

You frown, caught off guard. “A theory?”

He nods, settling into the chair across from your desk as if he has all the time in the world. “Yeah. But I’ll only share it if you promise to stop stressing and listen.”

Despite yourself, You smile, leaning forward. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

Jason reaches over and flips to the page he marked, his fingers brushing over the worn edges of the paper like it’s something sacred. You wonder if he marked the page thinking of you.

“See, people think Catherine and Heathcliff are this tragic love story,” He begins, his voice steady and confident. “But I think they’re more like two halves of the same storm—always colliding, always tearing things apart, but never quite able to exist without the other.”

You tilt your head, intrigued despite yourself. “That’s not exactly revolutionary,” you tease, your lips twitching into a smile. “Most people agree their relationship was toxic.”

Jason smirks, leaning back in his chair, watching his hair framing his face in a way that makes you want to take a picture and treasure it forever. “Toxic, sure. But that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s not about their relationship—it’s about their identities. They’re not just in love with each other. They’re in love with the parts of themselves they see in each other. That’s why they can’t let go.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by his insight. It’s not just what he says—it’s the way he says it, with that spark in his eyes, that fire that reminds you why you fell for him in the first place. “That’s. . . actually a good point,” you admit, crossing your arms. “But what about Cathy marrying Edgar? Doesn’t that contradict your whole theory?”

Jason chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Not at all. Cathy’s not choosing Edgar over Heathcliff—she’s choosing safety. Stability. But deep down, she knows she’s lying to herself. She says it outright: ‘I am Heathcliff.’ She can’t separate herself from him, no matter how hard she tries.”

You lean forward, resting your chin in your hand as you watch him. There’s something mesmerizing about the way he talks—so passionate, so sure of himself. It’s like the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you and the story he’s spinning.

“And what about Heathcliff?” you ask softly. “What’s he in love with?”

Jason’s expression softens, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable. “He’s in love with the idea of her. The version of her he thinks he knows. But it’s not real. She’s as much a ghost to him as she is to anyone else by the end.”

The room falls quiet for a moment, his words hanging in the air between you. You study his face, the way his brow furrows just slightly, the way his jaw tightens like he’s holding something back. It hits you then how much of himself he sees in the story, how much of his own life he’s probably pouring into his interpretation.

“Jason,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. He glances up at you, and for a moment, the walls he’s built around himself seem to crack, letting you see the man beneath the bravado.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“Thank you.” The words are simple, but you mean them. For showing up, for distracting you, for reminding you why you fell in love with stories—and with him—in the first place.

His lips curve into a small, genuine smile, and he closes the book, setting it aside. “Anytime, doll,” he murmurs, his voice as soft as yours.

And as the two of you sit there, the papers and the worries forgotten, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is your own version of a love story—messy, complicated, and beautifully imperfect.

It’s in every look, every moment, and every damn smile.

©miwsolovely do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms . likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

#jason todd x gn!reader #red hood dc #red hood dcu #red hood x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #jason todd fluff #jason dc #jason todd x reader #jason todd dc #jason todd #red hood x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x m!reader #red hood fluff #red hood x gn!reader #red hood #jason todd dcu

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satinroses · 8 months ago

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How Yan! Adepti react to feeling jealous (separate)

A/N: I FINALLY finished all the 10+ story quests I had lined up that I was procrastinating doing. It was gruelling. I've never pressed space bar so much in my life. By the end I couldn't feel my ass as I'd been sitting on it for too long BUT on the positive, doing Xianyun's story quest made me nostalgic for Liyue and got me motivated to write a little bit! I may do a harbinger one if I feel a bit silly, I'm not sure yet but please let me know if that's something you might be interested in! <3

(also i’d usually give this a little final read through but i am so exhausted so i just wanna get it posted so please forgive any silly mistakes or inconsistencies)

Word Count: 7.0k words

Includes Zhongli, Xiao, Xianyun, Ganyu

Warnings: Yandere Behaviours, if you are uncomfortable with dark themes please don't read! obsessive/possessive behaviours, younger Zhongli has serious issues - honestly all of them do, threats, violence, murder, manipulation, stalking, implied somno (depends how you read it) in Xiao's excerpt, some truly earth shattering delusions

Ganyu:

Renowned throughout Liyue Harbour for her mild manner and keen work ethic, the overworked secretary of Liyue Qixing was always a welcome sight around the harbour. It had taken Ganyu months to push past her bashfulness alongside countless encouragements from her colleagues and friends to confess her feelings to you.

It had only been once Captain Beidou had drunkenly declared that she would tell you herself if Ganyu didn’t muster up the courage that the Qilin had decided to tell you. Her cheeks flushed pink as she stuttered out her confession to you in the evening lantern light of Liyue Harbour.

Much to her delight you did not coldly reject the woman, instead you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her lips before muttering that you felt the exact same way.

In her thousands of years of life Ganyu cannot recall a time she's known more peace than the time she has since shared with you. Your mere presence coaxes the insomniac into a gentle slumber. Every day she gets to spend by your side is a day in which the woman is glowing with giddiness, so much so that even the conqueror of demons had noted the positive change to Ganyu’s disposition.

Ganyu had always adored her position as secretary even if it had caused her immeasurable stress, she had always strove to serve Liyue in whatever way she could and never resented her position in spite of the responsibility it entailed however now that Ganyu had something to treasure, someone she wished to hold close she couldn’t help the annoyance that crept over her when she was asked to work overtime for the 5th time this week.

The Adeptus wanted nothing more desperately than to return to your shared home (she had insisted you move in with her as soon as possible and you simply couldn’t say no to her large violet eyes as they glimmered with unshed tears at the thought of you rejecting her offer) and monopolise you for the evening, ushering you into bed and holding you as tightly as the poor qilin could, whispering sweet nothings into your skin.

Ganyu prided herself on her maturity but even she couldn’t prevent glowering when she was denied yet another precious night in your company after Baiwen begged Ganyu to stay and help fill in some paperwork.

She had dedicated herself to ensuring the smooth running of Liyue harbour yet even she could not fend off the envy that shadowed her as the thought of you running around the harbour without her. Every single person that was allowed to gaze upon your face while Ganyu was away from your side were rapidly earning spots on the Qilin’s list of enemies (a list she had only created 20 seconds prior)

Due to Ganyu’s soft and sensitive demeanour it’s easy to forget the sway she holds over Liyue. Several of the Qixing owing her favours after her years of servitude, she is in possession of countless embarrassing secrets she has gained access to due to her position. She holds the ears of the wealthiest people in teyvat as well as having fought ferociously in the archon war in bygone millenia.

Ganyu helped construct the very nation of Liyue into what it has become, moulding it with her very hands into the prosperous land it is. The people of Liyue have seemingly forgotten that Ganyu’s servitude is entirely her own choice. She does not serve the Qixing because she sees them as above her, she serves the Qixing because she wishes to, because she understands Liyue would collapse without her guiding hand.

Perhaps people will remember that when a man who makes a flirty remark to you will have a letter left on his doorstep detailing a solemn secret he long thought buried.

Perhaps people will remember that when the girl who blushed when your hands brushed as you both reached for the same bag of wheat is arrested for fraud despite her desperate claims to the contrary.

Perhaps people will remember that when the vendor who overcharged you goes bankrupt the following morning.

Perhaps people will remember that when the treasure hoarder who accosted you for your mora is found weeks later deep in a cave in Minlin, impaled with countless frosty arrows.

Rest assured, if people forget just how fierce Ganyu can be then she is more than happy to remind them.

Xianyun:

Xianyun often considers herself above such petty emotions as jealousy and possessiveness.

She loudly declares herself one of the most measured of the Adepti, harbouring centuries of combat prowess and mechanical genius, raising two independent and fierce young woman on Mount Aocang, remaining a fierce and honourable servant to Morax and enduring the insults that flying rat that accompanied the traveler spewed at her, intentionally and not. Xianyun regarded herself as a dignified and patient woman.

After centuries of not being proven to the contrary, to the mighty Cloud Retainer there is no issue that cannot be overcome with the technical brilliance she has acquired or the thrumming power of the illuminated blood in her veins or so she had believed until recently.

Despite the mystery and majesty the Adepti commonly shrouded themselves in as they dwelled in their mountainous retreat, Xianyun had always been vigilant in ensuring that she honoured her vow to Rex Lapis and safeguard any of his subjects she comes across.

After doing her divinely ordained duty centuries ago and saving a young man from a rock fall she had since become accustomed to receiving offerings from the man's family and his descendants in the centuries since then.

As an adepti offerings of thanks and acknowledgments of her mercy were not uncommon, especially to one so revered as cloud retainer. Even so she continued to be surprised that his descendants remained vigilant in offering their sincere gratitude towards her centuries after she saved the man.

If you asked Xianyun herself she would claim she holds none of the descendants in higher regard than the other however if you were in her presence when a certain individual climbs up the path to Mount Aocang you would be able to see in the way her breath hitches and she stops her sentence, her entire being frozen as she watches them set down the home cooked meal and offer a gentle prayer of thanks.

Even in her crane form her eyes never once stray from the visitor. She trails her vision over them, intaking every aspect of their appearance. how their hair falls over their face, how their breath comes out in warm puffs after the exertion of the climb, how they let a satisfied grin fall upon their face as they set the meal down.

Despite her tenacity and confidence Xianyun has still not formally introduced herself to her visitor, instead opting to watch from afar. She goes out of her way to personally ensure that your journey to Liyue harbour is safe and uneventful as she trails after you in her avian form, her eyes on the path ahead of you. She is more than ready to dart down and defeat any hillichurls or geovishaps or clear the rock slide blocking your path before you’re even aware the obstacle is there.

If anyone were to inquire about her vigilance in ensuring your safety she would puff her chest out and remind them of her contract with Rex Lapis and the duty she had to guard Liyue Harbour and all its inhabitants.

Shenhe and Ganyu have long given up on inquiring about you after a flustered cloud retainer gave them the same monologue about her sworn duty to Morax for the 27th time.

Does she do this with every visitor to her domain? For thousands of years one has been a most faithful servant to Morax, to question one fulfilling their duty is to question ones-

As far as Xianyun is concerned she is simply doing her duty as an adeptus, there is no ulterior motive and she will ensure that she emphasises this to every person who inquires about her interest in you.

She even goes so far as to have Shenhe and Ganyu give her regular updates on your life when you haven’t been out Mount Aocang in a long time (read: over 24 hours)

Upon formally moving to Liyue Harbour, Cloud Retainer assumes the name of Xianyun and decides to use her mortal form to officially introduce herself to you. She will not allow you to know of her true identity as the subject of your reverence until she believes you are both adequately acquainted. One wishes simply to know you she thinks to herself

Again this is merely her curiosity at work she convinces herself. she merely wishes to know you are safe or so she attempts to convince herself, ignoring the tender fluttering in her chest at the thought of seeing you up close.

No this is simply her duty as an adeptus. She takes her contract seriously, nothing more.

She doesn’t seem this invested in any of the other citizens? One does not have to justify Oneself to the likes of you.

From the updates she had instructed Shenhe and Ganyu to deliver when she still resided on Mount Aocang she knew you frequented the Yanshang Teahouse. Unsure of when you would decide to visit it again she simply decided the best course of action would be to go to the teahouse every night from midday to closing until her eyes could meet yours.

On the 4th night of waiting to see you again she was growing antsy and entertaining thoughts of banging down every door in Liyue until she found you once again, her eyes darting around the room frantically. Her vision danced from face to face in a frantic tango until it settled on a familiar one.

Her entire being relaxed as she saw you seated at a table, soft hands clasped around a cup of tea taking tentative sips. The warm glow in your eyes made her feel as though she was feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin for the first time yet seeing that tenderness and affection directed at the person seated opposite you made her illuminated blood simmer as violent imaginings filled the adepti’s mind, a thousand different inventions to bring nothing but distress to your counterpart.

Equally Xianyun’s mind raced with a dozen different ways to fix this situation. No one but her deserved to see the soft glow in your eyes. No one but her was worthy of your reverence. To see you sharing the admiration she thought was only reserved solely for her... One would not stand for it.

You do not survive fighting in the front lines of the Archon war and a thousand tribulations afterwards by allowing slights against you to go unanswered. Xianyun was no stranger to seeking out her own justice.

Such a shame for the person next to you that they are visiting from Fontaine and as such she has no obligation to hold back. Even if they were from Liyue she is not entirely sure even Morax could prevent her from exacting her bloody vengeance.

Although she had originally decided to stay in Liyue harbour permanently she now found herself longing for the recluse of Mount Aocang, her only little world where the only people that mattered were the two of you. That was all she needed. You would soon learn that was all you needed to.

She would pack tonight and leave for Mount Aocang at first light.

The next time you would set foot on the mountain you would not be leaving again.

Xiao:

The conqueror of demons

The vigilant Yaksha

The bane of all evil

Throughout his many millennia of life Xiao has been called by countless titles but from you he longed only to hear his name on your lips.

After saving you from a few hillichurls he had anticipated the usual stuttering of gratitude that was so common from mortals, however what he didn’t expect was how his heart tugged at the sight of relieved tears in your eyes. Large wet eyes looking up at him with unabashed admiration.

The adeptus was puzzled by the clear reaction his body had to the tender gaze you bestowed upon him. With flushed cheeks and dilated pupils the vigilant yaksha quickly fled from the scene, not even muttering a word. He spent the night attempting to disregard how the gentle trembling of your lips replayed in his minds eye or how he simply couldn’t rid himself of the thought of how soft and supple your skin had seemed in the cool moonlight of Liyue.

The following day and night the yaksha busied himself with slaying the beasts and scum that loitered within the vicinity of the Wangshu inn. When you disregard the fervent replaying of your interaction yesterday that thrummed through his brain, the day had passed exactly as he had anticipated.

Torment.

Suffering.

Misery.

These were parts of his day that was not foreign to him. They certainly were not comfortable but there was an air of familiarity around these emotions. Perhaps his day would have ended in a similar way had it not been for the sound of hesitant feet making their way onto the top balcony of the inn.

He peered down from his position on the inn's roof inquisitively. Verr often made a point of ensuring any visitors to the inn avoided the top floor in order to grant the Adeptus much needed solitude.

Instead it was… you. Again.

In your hands sat a plate of almond tofu, your fingers gripping the porcelain plate almost hard enough to smash it as you called out hesitantly

“Adeptus Xiao?”

His hairs prickled as he heard you call out his name. Hearing his name on your tongue, echoing your pronunciation of every syllable, rewinding and replaying the noises you made. The hitch of your breath before speaking, the breathiness of your words, the fondness in your tone despite your nervousness.

He wanted desperately to drop down and greet you, to ask you to say his name again. He would beg if he had to yet he couldn’t move

“If you’re here… Miss Verr told me you enjoyed almond tofu so I’ll just leave it here for you. I-”

You cleared your throat, your voice gaining some timbre as you gained some confidence speaking to what you hoped was the Adeptus that had saved you

“I wanted to thank you for saving me yesterday, without you i wouldn’t be here now”

You placed the plate onto the balcony before giving one last hopeful glance around. No sign of the adeptus. Regardless you whispered a soft hopeful prayer that the adeptus would find the token of gratitude you were leaving him.

As he heard your footsteps retreat down the staircase of the inn he finally allowed himself to breathe again. Leaping down onto the balcony of the inn with feline grace, he picked up the dish you left for him. His mouth pooled with saliva, his appetite was not for the almond tofu before him. As he traced the sides of the plate where your hands had once been, his heart fluttered like a teenage boy with a crush.

Xiao had spent the day thinking of you far more than he would dare verbalise but this new interaction with you had fanned the spark of interest into a blazing obsession. To think that he had been on your mind too, it was overwhelming for the adeptus, he almost didn’t want to believe that one such as himself could be blessed with something so tender to cherish as you.

He took care to watch over you vigilantly, rarely straying from your side. Ensuring your safety and acting as your shadow became his priority, however he still maintained a distance between you both, fearful that perhaps he may frighten you away with the intensity of his desire to guard you his karmic debt might overwhelm him in your presence.

The yaksha’s usual post at Wangshu inn was quickly abandoned in favour of his new perch on your roof. Of course he would never wish to invade your privacy but when you leave your bedroom window open like that… surely you must have some idea that the yaksha has taken an interest in you. Perhaps you know Xiao is there, you’ve seen him in the corner of your eye and this is your way of inviting him inside and you're simply too timid to declare it.

Even if you haven’t seen him and this isn't an invitation, clearly your senses are rather dull and you cannot be trusted to watch over yourself. He has been trailing you for weeks now so if you truly haven't noticed him then that’s all the more proof that he should slip inside your bedroom window… to keep a better eye on you while you remain defenceless as you rest.

Those are the two primary justifications he cycles through as he tentatively slides through your window, his feet silent on your floorboards after thousands of years mastering the art of agility. He wanders around your bedroom, flitting through the little trinkets you had scattered about; pretty seashells, crystals, a vase of silk flowers, your outfit for the following day.

He huffed out a breath at your mortal amusements, countless little testaments to your interests, a dozen tributes to your fascinations. Despite the superfluous nature of these curios you had scattered about, because they were small remnants of you he simply couldn;t bring himself to feel disdain for them, not when they brought him just a little closer into your world.

After he had thoroughly explored every countertop in your bedroom, his eyes darted to what he had been attempting (and failing) to ignore this entire time. Watching your peaceful slumber brought him more relief than he cared to admit. He perched tentatively on the side of your bed. Despite his attempts to restrain himself, he simply couldn’t prevent the wandering of his hand across the soft blanket that covered you.

Once he had traced his hand against your form, separated only by the blanket, he let his hand grasp onto a corner of it. Slowly peeling the blanket off of your form like a present that the archons had carefully wrapped just for him, golden eyes darkening as he drank in your body, covered only by sleep wear.

His deep, trembling intakes of breath stopped only when he saw your brow scrunch as you tossed in discomfort, reaching for the blanket he had since removed. Any moment you would wake up, he was sure of it. With no time to cover you back up with your blanket and even less to put your ornaments and baubles back in their spots he slipped back out of your window silently, returning back into the shadows to observe you faithfully.

The following nights he didn’t dare creep back into your bedroom. You now kept the window shut and curtains drawn. He would be dishonest if he said he wasn’t slightly frustrated by this development but moreover he was glad you didn’t simply ignore such an occasion. After all you didn’t realise it was him in your room, for all you know it could have been some debauched pervert. He would be thankful that you’re so vigilant about your safety if that was the extent of your preventative measures, however it was not.

You now had a friend staying with you. Admittedly you could just be having them stay with you as a deterrent or precaution to any unsavoury folks and yes he likely did give you quite the fright but you have no need for anyone's protection but his. You need only speak his name and the conqueror of demon’s is at your beck and call. He would be your undeterred shield, your unyielding blade to set upon any who would harm you if only you would let him.

Being around you makes Xiao feel tender and breakable for the first time since he signed his contract with Rex Lapis. He should hate how you make him feel but he can’t… he’s not sure he could hate anything pertaining to you. Well perhaps one thing: that friend who seems insistent on escorting you everywhere. Perhaps Xiao wouldn’t mind it so much (he definitely would still mind) if your friend wasn’t so liberal with his gaze, just by analysing the man for a few moments Xiao could tell he had less than noble thoughts about you.

After about a week of being on such high alert your friend convinces you to get out of the harbour, that perhaps some time away would do you some good. Perhaps you could go to Mondstadt for a week or so together. Usually you would be inclined to disagree with his spontaneous ideas but for almost a month Liyue has been smothering you. Initially you attempted to ignore the oppressive gaze you felt upon you, convincing yourself it was a mere delusion, a cruel trick your mind was playing but after last week you were certain there was a real cause for concern behind the gaze that followed you wherever you roamed.

Upon overhearing this conversation Xiao’s blood ran cold. Going to Mondstadt means leaving the area in which he can best protect you. Going to Mondstadt means you’re in far more danger than he could allow, sure he could ask that troublesome bard to keep an eye on you but that simply means opening himself up to questions he’s not even sure he knows the answers to just yet.

The accursed day finally arrives despite Xiao’s feverish wishes to the contrary. You begin the trek to Mondstadt when the sun is high in the sky, he keeps his eye on you, eagerly awaiting any moment you might need help, any opening for him to sweep in and keep you in Liyue for even a second longer. Perhaps this time he might mutter a word to you, tell you ‘you’re welcome’ when you inevitably drown him in gratitude or extend an offer of an escort all the way to Mondstadt (of course he’ll be escorting you regardless of whether you’re aware of it or not).

Instead you make it all the way to Wangshu inn without issue, much to the yaksha’s irritation. As the sun began to shrink into the horizon and the stars began to glimmer softly in the gloam coated sky, you beg your friend to stop in the inn for the night, hesitant to continue on with the daylight quickly dwindling however they refuse, insisting that you were practically at Stone Gate already and to keep on going for a little while longer, spewing empty promises of protecting you if anything might attack you. You shifted nervously, your eyes looking askew but you conceded, following dutifully after your companion through Dihua marsh.

As expected you didn’t get far in the dark without bumping into several hillichurls however much to your misfortune it wasn’t just a handful of meagre hillichurls. The mitachurl towered over you, his thick club raised in the air before slamming down next to your head as you rolled to the side. You darted out from under the beast, your eyes searching through the chaos for your friend only to be met with a distressing view. Your supposed friend fleeing the battle, their eyes searching for yours, tinged with pain as they mouthed a quick “I’m sorry” before continuing their desperate flee, leaving you to fend against the hillichurls alone.

Betrayal and dejection flooded you as you watched the person who had promised to protect you both from whatever had been watching you and whatever beasts you may bump into in the darkness. The stinging in your tear ducts and burning in your chest became dampened as you felt a swift tap to the back of your neck as your world faded into darkness. You felt no pain, no more betrayal as you collapsed.

Xiao had originally intended to take advantage of this situation. To appear by your side when the battle seemed lost, saving you if only to see your eyes light up in recognition of the yaksha before you but when he realised that wretch was fleeing from the battle, surely leaving you for dead he couldn’t stand still for another moment, his fingers curling around the air, instinctually craving the weight of his weapon to rest in his palms.

Using the end of this spear he hit you with just enough force to send you into the soft slumber of unconsciousness, catching you gently before laying you down on the grass, cradling your head like one would a newborn babe. With you carefully positioned out of his path he donned the mask of exorcism that usually sat at his waist, the karmic debt swirling around him in much higher intensity.

Slaughtering a small camp of hillichurls was a small feat for the conqueror of demons however he would not stop there. Xiao refused to rest until he felt that justice had been served for you, his most beloved.

Xiao scooped up your sleeping body before taking you back to Wangshu inn. When he first took up the mantle of protector of the inn Verr had offered him a room as thanks for his service and until now he had little need for it. He entered the dusty room and lay you down on the bed, brushing hair out of your face. The room was filled with only barebones furniture but perhaps tomorrow he would go to your home and bring you some of your pretty ornaments to make it seem more homely for you.

He allowed himself one small indulgence before he would head back out again to seek retribution for you. He removed the glove on one of his hands and took his bare, trembling fingers he traced across your lips. Memorising every inch and crevice of your soft lips beneath his fingers brought him a sense of unfathomable peace he had not felt since… he couldn’t remember anytime he had felt a sense of calm remotely similar to this.

Despite it paining him to do so the yaksha managed to force himself out of the stupor you had coaxed him into with your gentle breathing and sweet scent. Placing his glove back on and summoning his Jade winged spear the adeptus took off into the night once more.

When he returned to the remnants of the hillichurl camp, it didnt take long for him to find a trail. Following the dragging footsteps in the dust led him directly to your ‘friend’, now curled up at the foot of Wuwang hill, snot coating their face as their sobbed into their hands, wracked with grief and distress at their actions.

Even now the adeptus couldn’t muster even an illusion of sympathy or understanding, seeing them in this state only made his loathing for them grow.

They had truly deluded themself into believing they were a worthy protector for you? They couldn’t even defend themself.

With the hatred clawing up his throat like bile, Xiao couldn’t contain the Karmic debt slithering over him. His grip on his polearm tightened as he raised it above his head.

The fact that they truly believed themself to be a competitor for your affections would have almost been humorous had it not been for their display of cowardice not even an hour prior.

He plunged his weapon into their soft flesh methodically, his grip not faltering for even a moment. If it weren’t for his concern about you rousing afraid and alone, he would have taken his time and drawn their suffering out. He would have shown them that a few measly hillichurls were the least of his issues, instead he gritted his teeth, deciding to place your happiness and safety over his own desperate lust for vengeance.

Xiao quickly turned to abandon the scene. Even staring upon the filth’s body, thinking of the warmth and affection you had shared and how quickly they had forsaken you… No, he couldn’t end it like this. He turned back around to the almost corpse- the last few vestiges of life were flickering. Xiao resolved to make the last few breaths of air your friend would take as painful as possible. Digging his foot into their chest before he raised his polearm once more. Cutting and slicing, skewing and carving until all that remained after the frenzy was a mound of meat, muscle and bone.

Xiao crept into the room hoping you still remained asleep. A rare smile blossomed across the pale face of the Yaksha as he saw you curled up on the bed.

Dropping his spear by your bed Xiao stared at you longingly

He had waited so long for the moment in which he could express his feelings to you properly. He wanted to show you he loved you without fear. Now that you were lying in his bed, eyelids closed and breathing deep, Xiao made the decision that he could indulge himself fully before you woke up.

Just this once as a reward for saving you.

He’s sure you won't mind after all the time and energy he has devoted to ensuring your safety he’s almost positive you would be fine with him taking his fill.

Surely after two millennia of selflessness he has earned the right to be a little selfish.

With one swift step Xiao turned around to lock the bedroom door behind him.

Zhongli:

The reaction of Zhongli varies significantly depending on which phase of his life he is in. The man who goes by the name Zhongli has mellowed out considerably since his days as Deus Auri, If someone had stolen your attention away from him they may be greeted with several snide remarks and biting threats, if somebody stole your affection away from him then Zhongli would have a much less pleasant reaction however if either such thing occurred during his younger years as the Lord of the Adepti and God of contracts it is unlikely any potential suitors will escape unscathed.

In his youth Zhongli was far more of a slave to his draconic instincts than he was willing to admit. Upon the realisation of his intense feelings for you, the warrior god is far more frightened than he lets on. You are so fragile in comparison to him, so breakable. Not only that but humans are so flighty. Where Adepti may be content to sit on the same mountain top for centuries in solemn meditation, the same cannot be said for mortals. He has watched them flit about, to and fro for centuries and he would be lying if he didn’t find the mortal proclivity for change rather unnerving.

He has watched humans profess undying love for one another before turning around and betraying their vows to each other. It’s not that he thinks you’re anything like those adulterers, really he doesn’t but… you humans are slaves to your desires (he says, completely unaware of the irony his statement brings), he doesn’t want you to bring harm to your relationship because your human heart is fickle (you have not been made aware of your ‘relationship’ with the Lord of Geo) so he shall personally ensure that no one and nothing will allow you to stray from him.

And yes this is all because he cares about you and definitely not because when he sees other mens eyes flit across you he has to use every ounce of self control to prevent him from smiting the filth where they stand for allowing their lecherous eyes trail across you like a cut of meat at the market or a pretty jewel to possess (again, completely lacking in the necessary self awareness to recall how his own lustful eyes rake across your form).

Any man that makes an advance towards you shall meet a grisly end.

The shopkeeper who gave you an extra bag of rice on the house flees Liyue harbour muttering nothing but reverent prayers and desperate pleas for mercy to Rex Lapis for his transgression.

The Physician who helped bandage up your torso after you were wounded by a follower of Osial was offered a far more lenient punishment. Any place his skin may have made contact with you is carved off, his life is only spared as he was helping you however Morax cannot help the way his claws dig into his palms leaving fresh welts in the calloused skin, still unused to this humanoid form, unable to contain his rage at the thought of another touching you in a state of undress, even if only to heal you. Your bare skin is for his hands alone. If someone had to dress your wounds then they should have summoned him (please note that he has not made his affections for you known to you or anyone else for that matter)

After his most recent battle, felling yet another God who rivalled him for the position of Archon, Morax who had decided to take some weeks to allow for Liyue harbour to recover and the Adepti to rest. However when he learns it was a follower of Osial who dared to mar your delicate skin… He is rallying his Adepti with a fervour and aggression unseen from the warrior god. No one is entirely sure what has incited Morax to take such a devotion to ensuring Osial is destroyed but with his pupils in slits and his grip on Vortex Vanquisher so tight it looks as though the staff may snap, none of the Adepti are brave enough to question their lord.

Despite being renowned as the most fearsome of fighters no one, not even the closest of Morax’s allies had seen such a slaughter brought down by the Draconic lord of Geo.

Barbaric.

Savage.

Monstrous.

A slaughter.

Countless words could be used to describe the massacre Morax unleashed upon Osial, the Overlord of the Vortex and all his followers; however those were the most commonly repeated in the months following the extermination.

All knew to be wary of Morax, however that was the day the people of Teyvat truly learned to fear his wrath.

He hoped that when you looked out of the bay of Liyue Harbour and saw the Guyun Stone Forest, a complete destruction of every remnant of Osial and his forces, you would be reminded of his love for you, you would realise Morax is clearly the superior choice compared to all the other men around you.

Who but Morax could give you Teyvat?

Who but Morax would engulf the world in flame if only to see you smile?

Who but Morax could and would give you every comfort mora could afford?

He had frequently entertained various plans for his courtship with you; however the one his mind spun most frequently was to win the Archon war and assume his role as one of the chosen seven. Then he would raise you up as his consort, granting you immortality and binding the two of you eternally in a contract of marriage.

Of course that didn’t mean he couldn’t let his mind wander to other fantasies, his mind swirling with thoughts of spiriting you away to his palatial domain and keeping you there for days, weeks, months, years, however it took for his insatiable desire for you to be satiated. Only then would he leave his domain to win the war and return to you as the victor of the brutal war and one of the seven, finally able to rest a crown upon your head.

Admittedly he had yet to confess his desire to take you to wife or even that he loved you so desperately and fervently that it was one of the few things that managed to frighten the lord of contracts.

But surely you knew, even if he hadn’t verbalised it. He refused to believe you didn’t feel the tug between you both, reeling you together. You simply must understand what it's like to look into his eyes and feel as though you’re seeing clearly for the first time in your life. You have to know what its like to feel as though every step apart is energy wasted. You too must crave to feel his bare skin against your own, willing to merge into one if only to bring you both closer together.

Even if you somehow did not feel the same things… surely you must feel his gaze upon you. When he looks down at his city his eyes rest only on you, no matter how much he tries to break his gaze away from you.

Besides he doesn’t need words when he has made his romantic intentions towards you more than obvious in the way his draconic instincts have been roaring for him to. You have accepted his gifts of courtship happily, you clearly understand that he can fulfil his role in providing for you and any young you may have. He has seen you wearing the glaze lily in your hair, the very same lily he had his adepti scour the war torn lands for days to obtain.

Admittedly you seemed rather hesitant to accept the chests of mora and countless jewels he had left on your doorstep but equally you didn’t reject the gifts. As far as he was concerned that was proof enough that you had accepted his offer of courtship. By all draconic standards you were now officially entered into a contract with the rising Lord of Liyue and he would not take any contract lightly.

Despite the occasional event where some filthy wretch had to be taught to keep their lecherous eyes and hands off the Lord of Contracts future consort and the fact that he had not been able to converse with you about the future of your relationship, he believed his ‘relationship’ with you was going exceedingly well.

In spite of this and much to the rage of Morax, another reprobate had decided to give you an offer of courtship.

Morax can feel rage thickening in his veins, viscous and violent. Watching you blush softly at the Mortal’s meagre proposition. He understood mortals were far more inclined towards change and adaptation than a being such as he could even begin to comprehend as a deity that stands unchanging as stone, refusing to be eroded by the sands of time or the winds of change. Even so he did not expect such a flagrant betrayal. You don't even have the decency to look shameful as you forsake every thoughtful gift the lord of contracts had spent countless hours pouring over to ensure you received only the best.

Even if Rex Lapis didn’t currently have the time to display his affection verbally he had ensured that he had more than made up for it with his opulent gifts, only the finest for his future consort.

He had been desperately trying to restrain himself from stealing you away to his personal realm every time he saw you pass through the centre of the harbour. He had managed to restrain himself, displaying such self control and patience that he surprised even himself but a man has limits and the prime adeptus could stand no further insult.

How dare that vermin stand where he should, face to face with you, gazing into your eyes, drinking in the warmth that pooled into your cheeks, his arm extended with a meagre sweet flower clutched in his sweaty palm, the stem already drooping from being clutched so tightly.

Perhaps if you begged softly for the poor fools life Morax may bestow a rare act of mercy and only remove the man's eyes or tongue rather than his life, if only to see his beloved happy however all thoughts of Mercy were dashed when you accepted the flower with a soft smile gracing your face.

He didn’t think it was possible for his beloved’s glowing smile to inspire such a primal rage within him.

The city of Liyue harbour came to a stand still as their mighty Lord descended upon their city with a swiftness imperceptible to the naked eye to stand between you and your would be suitor.

A clawed hand clasped around the mortal man’s throat, blood trickling out of the small incisions the razor sharp claws of his humanoid form.

The man gasped for air however Morax’s grip was not dissuaded. His hand only faltered when he heard a familiar voice cry out

“Lord Morax! Please! Please release him i beg of you”

He turned his attention to you now perched on your knees, grasping at the bottom of his robe in a desperate plea and display of reverence. Although his blood still simmered with the fury of betrayal both at you and the wretch that had tempted you away from his side, seeing you now on your knees for him, tears welling in your soft eyes he simply couldn’t stay angry, not at you at least.

He threw the young man down on the ground with a sickening crack, watching him writhe around desperately clutching at the wounds on his throat.

No more waiting and no more distractions. This little infraction has persuaded him to do exactly what he needed to this entire time.

Taloned hands scoop you up, pressing you close into a solid, warm chest as you are quickly whisked away from the harbour and everything you had ever known. He should have known better than to allow you to wander freely without his stewardship or guiding hand to lead you.

Thankfully here in Morax’s private domain you two will be able to remain unbothered for as long as he sees fit, remaining far away from any man that may dare to tempt you away from him and he can rest easy knowing you will be tended to by the servants whilst he goes out and deals with the rodent that tried to damage he and his beloved’s relationship.

Not that it shall matter anymore once the mortal is disposed of. After all, despite his reputation as a war monger and monster, Morax is capable of understanding and empathy. You cannot help the fact that it is human nature to wish to try every experience, to culminate a portfolio of countless events and adventures, it really was a failing on his behalf to not keep a closer eye on you. Not to worry, from here on out he shall never part from your side, he shall be with you every moment of every day to remind you of your vow.

Of course if he wins the archon war, and he will, he knows in his very bones that he was born for the role of archon then he shall have the power and authority to raise you up by his side, as his consort and bestow you with eternal life and only then you shall truly remain at each others sides, forever. He shall not even entertain the thought of you being stolen from him again, covetous creature that he is.

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maikissed · 8 months ago

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a secret sweetheart

jude bellingham x reader

summary: an unexpected article containing an appaling gossip is out. everybody wants to know who Jude's secret sweetheart is... warnings: none, maybe some misspells, I'm sorry, I'm writing like crazy to release some stress as of late...

You jumped up on you seat as soon as your eyes landed on the article. Your mouth wide open, you were hurriedly eyeing the words written in the most outrageous and presumptive manner. And the pictures too, how was it that the moment captured by lenses of a camera was showing such inconsistent image? Giving off the impression that everything described below might most likely be real. Your eyes turning wider and wider with every read word, you turned restless in a span of a second. You huffed analysing the photos, your lip nervously placed between your teeth, you were fuming. It perfectly presented your wide smile, little summer dress on you, his hand placed on your hip, he was looking down at you, his eyes engrossed in something you might have had said seconds before the picture was taken, delicate, tender smile upon his lips. It was indeed sending some kind of message. And you were furious.

“Jude” you called after energetically entering the living room.

His eyes shot up from his phone, he eyed you curiously.

“Have you seen this?” you approached him quickly, the screen of your phone practically in his nose.

He groaned, grabbing your wrist to steady your hand and fleetingly eyed the article. Not even giving it a proper attention. He didn’t seem bothered at all, your eyes widened at his reaction, or lack of it, truth be told.

“What about it?” he asked nonchalantly in a calm voice.

“What about it?! Can you see what it says?!” you screeched, feeling almost hysterical.

“I can see they called you stunning” he beamed at you, relaxing on the sofa.

“Jude!” you almost yelled “The whole world now believes that I am your secret sweetheart!” you accented the last two words using your fingers to present the quote gesture; these were in fact words used in the material.

He opened his mouth to comment on that, but you silenced him angrily with a quick flick of your hand and started to read:

“Now we can say that it is kind of unexpected turn of events for us. Jude Bellingham, an English professional footballer who plays as a midfielder for spanish La Liga club Real Madrid and the England national team, finally presented his secret sweetheart! Not yet spotted accompanied by any lady, despite many rumours of dating the prettiest lot of models and famous influencers, was seen strolling the streets of California with an… unknown beauty. We must say she is stunning, true pleasure to the eyes. And we are surprised, we’ve been hearing so much about his latest infatuation with the Dutch model, Laura Celia Valk” you could hear him scoff but you did not avert your gaze from the article, raising your voice to make sure he won’t interrupt you “But there weren’t any unveiled revelations about their relationship and now we can openly say – multimillionaire star has his eyes and attention somewhere else. And his eyes are full of adoration! We have it all on pictures! Just take a look and tell us this is not the most enjoyable view of a young love blossoming between these two. Why all this secrecy, Jude? Scream, shout and show your happiness to the whole world! We’re waiting for some more sweet content from these two!”

Your cheeks heated, your chest rising and falling in exasperation. You looked at him expectantly. You could see he was fighting a smile, the corner of his lip rising in a smirk. He was amused, you were vexed and anxious.

“When will all this shite with Laura end?” he frowned and you grabbed the nearest pillow placed beside him to throw it in his direction.

“It ends now because the whole of Internet will blow out with these pictures!”

“Wait a second, let me call them and tell them to delete it this instant. What was the name of the site again?” he leaned to grab the phone from you but you swiftly yanked your hand up.

“Be serious” you growled.

“We were on vacation, they were smart and took the pictures. It’s how media and paps work, there’s not much we could do” he shrugged, still way too calm about this for your liking.

At some point you were prepared that the ongoing, growing interest in his persona would make him more vulnerable and seen, followed. You knew people were very much interested in private lives of stars, especially the rising ones that were the hottest subject around, but you hoped that none of such assumptions would be brought regarding the relations between you two. It was a threat for your own life, your privacy. You feared the repercussions, yet somehow you turned a blind eye. And there you had the consequences. Right in your hand.

“What happens if Kit sees these?” you murmured looking away from your friend.

“Is he that insecure?” he mocked, but you didn’t answer him, your gaze timid and withdrawn as you looked at him briefly “What is it? You didn’t tell him who you’re friends with?” he asked in a simple voice, you stayed silent and a second after you could hear him let out an amused gasp “Ooh, were you keeping me secret, sweets?”

You sharply turned your head to spot a cheeky grin painted on his face. You started to look for that pillow once more.

“Why would I bring up the subject of Mister Jude Bellingham so soon? It’s very fresh, he’d probably end up pining over you” you spat, crossing your arms on your chest.

“Is your choice in men that poor?” he chuckled.

“Don’t be rude” you fought “Like your choice in girls is most tasteful”

“From that appealing article I’d say it is”

Your hands fell down your body and you squinted your eyes at him, agitated by his unmoved attitude and ignorance.

“You will not use me for your good press!” you hissed turning around with intention to leave the room, but Jude quickly grasped your hand before you stormed off.

“That’s not what I meant, y/n” his voice calm and gentle when he pulled you closer to where he was seated.

You stood between his knees, upset and worried, your head down.

“Come here” he murmured making more room for you to sit beside him.

Many thoughts kept raging through your brain. You’ve been thoughtless and silly, hoping that your lives would stay easy and uncomplicated no matter the odds. There was worry blooming inside you, but not exactly about your own self, your own private life; you worried such events would made you both have to choose. Choose to be close, or choose to finally part. You were fearful.

“What’s on your mind now?” he whispered, gently nudging your side.

“How can we be friends amongst all this?” you asked turning your head to look at him.

He had the extraordinary ability to calm your nerves with a soft blink of his eyes, delicate, reassuring smile and tenderness seeping into his gaze as he looked at you. You held it in highest regard, the fact that he always was your safe haven. It should worry you, it did sometimes, but you relished in it still.

“Oh no, don’t start with it” he whined with a funny look on his face “I’m not breaking up with you because of some gossips”

You snorted at his reaction.

“How will I be able to date if any man I meet would most likely compare himself to you?”

The sarcastic question made him laugh loudly and you slapped him briefly on the arm, feeling abashed. How infuriating this boy could be.

“Too bad for them” he shrugged “You can date me then, everybody thinks you already are” that added sentence making you scoff.

“Fuck you” you retorted.

“Sure, why not, we could start with that to break the ice”

“Jude!” you gasped in protest, adding a frustrated groan at his flippancy, trying to stand up from the sofa, but he was quick to snatch you back into his arms.

Your life would most likely complicate much more as long as he was present in it.

#football imagine #football fics #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham fluff

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sillylilsquid · 17 days ago

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𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔣𝔢

♥︎summary: Thanos and you have always been each other’s safe place. You helped him through his darkest moments, but now you’re the one spiraling—reckless nights, self-destructive choices, and a past she won’t face. Thanos refuses to let you slip away, stepping in when things go too far. A getaway forces buried truths to surface, blurring the lines of their relationship as old wounds and unspoken feelings collide. But healing isn’t easy, and neither is love. He makes you feel something. Something like safe.

♥︎trigger warnings: au, no squid game. sexual themes, brief descriptions addiction, mentions of sa(nothing in depth, just implied), suggestive photos, blackmailing reader w/ said suggestive photos, oc thanos. minors dni!! 18+

♥︎a/n: 12.4k words. plz enjoy!! i have been writing so much lately, so be on the look out for much more hehe 🖤

The first time you ever saw Thanos cry was in the alley behind a convenience store, vape in one hand, bruised knuckles on the other. He didn’t say much, just mumbled something about how he was “so fucking tired,” voice thick and strained, like he had been holding it in for too long. You sat beside him on the curb, handed him the bottle of cheap soju you had bought on impulse, and let him talk when he was ready. That night, he told you about the weight of expectations, the suffocating grip of addiction, and the fear that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t strong enough to pull himself out of it.

The first time he saw you cry was in your car outside your ex’s apartment. You hadn’t meant to call him, but your fingers moved faster than your brain, and before you knew it, he was there–leaning against the passenger door, arms crossed, waiting. You were embarrassed at first, wiping at your cheeks furiously, trying to play it off, but Thanos didn’t buy it. Instead, he sighed, climbed into the car, and cranked up the heat. “Alright, babe,” he had said, voice softer than usual. “You wanna cry about it first, or you wanna tell me what happened?”

The first time you saw him high, it scared the hell out of you. He wasn’t himself, not really. His eyes were distant, movements sluggish, laughter hollow. You had heard the rumors, but seeing it with your own eyes was different. That night, you dragged him out of some shitty house party, ignoring the protests, the slurred reassurances that he was “fine.” You had sat him down on your couch, forced him to drink water, made sure he didn’t choke in his sleep. And in the morning, when the weight of his choices settled in, you didn’t scold him. You just made him coffee and told him, “I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right?”

And now…now things were different. Now, it was you spiraling. Now, it was you disappearing for days, shutting people out, then swinging to the opposite extreme–going out, drinking too much, spending money like it was nothing. You told yourself you were fine, but Thanos wasn’t buying it.

Thanos noticed it in the little things first. The way your texts became inconsistent–sometimes flooding his phone with nonsense at three in the morning, other times leaving his messages on read for days. The way you bounced between isolation and excess, spending entire weekends locked away in your apartment only to turn around and blow money on drinks for strangers at clubs you didn’t even like.

At first, he let it slide. Everyone went through phases. But then it started feeling less like a phase and more like a pattern.

The night he really knew something was wrong, he wasn’t even supposed to see you. You’d blown him off earlier in the day with some half assed excuse, so he was surprised when he spotted you across the club, drink in hand, laughing too loudly at something some random guy said.

You looked good–too good. The kind of good that wasn’t for yourself but for someone else. A mask. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, eyes a little too glossy, smile a little too wide. He watched as the guy leaned in closer, fingers ghosting over your wrist, and something in Thanos’ chest tightened.

Then he saw it; the exact moment you tipped past tipsy into reckless. The way your hands wavered when you reached for another drink. The way your smile faltered for half a second when the guy leaned in too close.

The slight flick of the guy’s wrist, the quick glance around before he tilted a small packet over your drink. Subtle. Almost too quick to notice. But Thanos saw everything.

That was it. That was too far. Thanos was already moving before he could think twice, his jaw set, his steps purposeful as he cut through the crowd toward you.

Within seconds, he was at your side, snatching the glass from your hand before you could take another sip. “What the–?” You blinked up at him, startled, your expression shifting from confusion to irritation in an instant.

Thanos didn’t even spare you a glance. His eyes were locked on the guy, his entire body radiating something dangerous, something dark. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low. Deadly.

The guy hesitated, feigning innocence. “Man, chill. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wrong answer.

Thanos didn’t need to explain. He reached forward, grabbing the guy by the collar, yanking him close enough that their noses almost touched. “You think I didn’t see that shit?” His voice dropped to a whisper, sharp as a blade. “You wanna try that again, see what happens?”

The guy’s face paled instantly, his bravado crumbling. “A-alright, man, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just–just having fun.”

Thanos let out a humorless laugh, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he shoved the guy backward, making him stumble. “Get the fuck out of here. Before I really lose my temper.”

The guy didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ran the second Thanos released his death grip on his shirt.

You, on the other hand, weren’t running. You were staring at Thanos, arms crossed, lips pursed in frustration. “What the hell was that?”

Thanos exhaled sharply, shoving a hand through his hair. “That guy put something in your drink.”

You frowned. “No, he didn’t.” Thanos clenched his jaw. “I saw him, babe.”

For a second, something faltered in your expression. Something uncertain. But then, just as quickly, it was gone–replaced by irritation, defiance. “Okay, well, thanks for the concern, but I can take care of myself.”

Thanos scoffed, his patience thinning. “Yeah? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it sure as hell doesn’t look like it.” You glared at him. “I didn’t ask you to come save me.” “No, you didn’t,” he shot back. “But that’s never stopped me before.”

There was a beat of tense silence. Then, Thanos sighed, his voice softening. “Come on, babe. Let’s get out of here.”

Your jaw tensed, and your hands curled into loose fists at your sides. You wanted to argue, wanted to fight him on this, but deep down, you knew–he wasn’t giving you a choice. And even in your drunken stupor, a part of you didn’t want one.

You let out a frustrated sigh, crossing your arms as Thanos gently grabbed your wrist, guiding you through the crowd. You could’ve pulled away, but something about the way his fingers curled around yours, firm but not forceful, made you stay.

The cold night air slapped against your skin the second you stepped outside. It should have sobered you up, but instead, it just made the world tilt a little more. You stumbled slightly, and before you could catch yourself, Thanos’ arm was around your waist, steadying you.

“Easy, babe.” He murmured.

You huffed, pushing at his chest. “I told you–I don’t need you to save me.”

Thanos arched a brow. “Yeah? ‘Cause if I wasn’t here, you’d be drinking something laced with God-knows-what right now.”

Your stomach twisted, a sliver of doubt creeping in. You wanted to believe he was wrong, that he was overreacting–but deep down, you knew he wasn’t. It only made you angrier.

“Why do you even care so much?” you snapped. “You’re acting like you are my fucking dad or something.” Thanos let out a sharp breath, running a hand down his face. He was trying to be patient. You could tell.

“Because, babe,” he said, his voice softer this time, “I’ve seen where this leads.” His eyes locked onto yours, unyielding. “And I’m not gonna stand by and watch you burn yourself out.”

Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging. You swallowed it down, shaking your head, trying to hold on to the anger. It was easier that way.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered. “I just…I just needed a break, okay?” Thanos frowned. “A break from what?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Because how the hell were you supposed to explain it? The exhaustion that never went away, the feeling of drowning even when everything was fine, the way your own mind felt like a prison half the time?

Instead, you just scoffed, shoving at his chest again. “Whatever. I’ll just call a cab.” Thanos’ jaw ticked. “No. You’re coming with me.” Your eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Thanos held your gaze as if completely unfazed. “You throwing a tantrum right now, babe?” Your nostrils flared. “I’m not–”

“Cause it kinda seems like you are.” He smirked, tilting his head. “You wanna kick your feet, too? Maybe scream a little?”

Your face burned with frustration. “I hate you.” Thanos snorted. “Sure you do. Now get in the damn car.”

Before you could protest, he was steering you toward his car, opening the door for you like it was already decided. You hesitated. Considered fighting him on this. For some reason though, you let him push you into the passenger seat. And when he shut the door behind you, you stared out the window, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the fact that for the first time in weeks you didn’t feel completely alone.

The drive was quiet. Not the comfortable kind, where words weren’t needed. This was tense–thick with everything left unsaid.

You sat with your arms crossed, staring out the window like the streetlights were the most interesting thing in the world. Thanos, for once, wasn’t pushing you to talk. He just kept one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his thigh, his eyes flicking toward you every so often.

You could feel it. His worry. His frustration. They way he was biting his tongue. It made your chest feel tight.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on with you?” Thanos finally asked, voice steady but careful, like he was trying not to spook you.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your forehead against the cool glass. “I already told you,” you snapped. “I just needed a break.”

He hummed, clearly unimpressed with that answer. “A break from what, babe?” The nickname making you groan. You shut your eyes, willing away the lump forming in your throat. “Everything.”

Thanos sighed. “That’s not an answer.” “Well, it’s the only one I’ve got,” you muttered, nails digging into your palms.

A beat of silence. Then– “You know this isn’t you, right?” It made your chest feel tight. “You don’t know who I am.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Bullshit. You’re not the type to black out every weekend. You don’t throw money around like it means nothing. And you sure as hell don’t let random assholes buy you drinks without knowing what’s in ‘em.”

You flinched. “I wasn’t–” “Yeah, you were.” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. Just honest. “And that’s not you, babe. So, what the hell is going on?”

No words left your mouth. You just continued to stare down at your lap. What was going on?

You wanted to explain it, but how did you explain something you didn’t even fully understand yourself? How did you put into words the exhaustion, the weight in your chest that never really went away, the way everything felt too much and not enough at the same time?

Instead, all you could do was whisper, “I don’t know.”

Thanos glanced at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. “That’s not good enough.”

Your head snapped up, irritation flaring again. “Well, sorry if my personal crisis isn’t meeting your fucking standards.”

Thanos didn’t flinch. “You wanna yell at me, babe? Fine. Go ahead. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breath hitched. That was the problem, wasn’t it. That he was still here, even when you were doing everything to push him away. You turned back toward the window, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “Just take me home, Thanos.”

A long pause. Then, instead of agreeing, he said, “Nah.” Your head whipped around, glaring. “What?”

Thanos’ grip tightened on the wheel as he made a sharp turn, heading the complete opposite direction of your apartment. “You think I’m dropping you off so you can sit in the dark and wallow? Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“Thanos–” “Relax, babe. I’m not kidnapping you.” His lips twitched, but his voice was firm. “You need air. You need to get out of your head for a bit. So, humor me.”

The fight was slipping out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its place. So, instead of yelling, instead of insisting that you just wanted to be alone, you sighed, slumping back into your seat. “Fine.”

Thanos smirked, reaching over to poke your cheek. “There’s my girl.” You huffed, smacking his hand away, but for the first time that your lips twitched just slightly. Just a little.

You didn’t realize where he was taking you until the neon lights of the 24-hour convenience store came into view. You blinked. “Seriously?”

He pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, throwing the car into park. “What? You thought I was about to hit you with some deep, inspirational shit?” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Nah, babe. You need a snack.”

You frowned, your body still tense from everything. “A snack?” “A snack,” he repeated, already opening his door. “Now get your ass inside.”

For a second, you debated being difficult just for the sake of it. But then your stomach grumbled–loudly–betraying you as Thanos shot you a knowing look. “Uh-huh,” he smirked. “That’s what I thought.” You rolled your eyes but pushed open the door anyway, stepping out into the cool night air.

The store was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerators and the scratchy pop song playing over the speaker. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you trailed behind Thanos, watching as he made a beeline for the snack aisle like he had a mission.

“Arlight,” he said, clasping his hands together. “What’s it gonna be, babe?” Sweet, salty, or ‘I have zero impulse control’?” Shaking your head you mumbled, “I’m not even hungry.”

Thanos ignored you completely, already reaching for a bag of chips. “That’s crazy, ‘cause I don’t remember asking.” You glared, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. “You’re annoying.” “And you’re cranky when you’re hungry, " he shot back, crouching to grab something off the bottom shelf. “So, I’m doing us both a favor.”

A sigh fell from your lips, and you ran a hand through your tangled hair. The weight of the night is still pressing on you like a too-heavy coat. A tiny part of you, the stubborn part, thinks you should have insisted that you just wanted to go home. But instead, you found yourself feeling a little better than earlier just standing beside him, staring at the shelves.

A pack of strawberry Pocky caught your eye. Thanos followed your gaze, then grabbed it without hesitation. You frowned. “I didn’t say I wanted that.” “You didn’t have to.” Something about the way he said it–so casual, so certain–made your throat tighten.

You swallowed hard, looking away. “Anything else?” he asked, like he hadn’t just sent your brain into overdrive. You reached for a small carton of chocolate milk and looked up at him. “Happy?” Thanos grinned. “Proud of you, babe.” You rolled your eyes, but the fight in you felt smaller. Softer. The tension in your chest hadn’t disappeared, but it wasn’t unbearable.

After checking out, the two of you climbed into the backseat of his car, the world outside dim and quiet. Thanos sprawled out in the corner, legs stretched across the seat, while you tucked yourself into the opposite side, knees drawn up to your chest. The only light came from the streetlamps outside, casting a faint glow over the dashboard.

He ripped open a bag of chips, tossing one into his mouth before looking over at you. “Alright, so are we gonna talk about it, or do I just keep stuffing you with snacks until you’re too full to be sad?”

Staring down at the carton in your hands you hesitated before opening it, taking a small sip but keeping your eyes casted away from him. “There’s nothing to really talk about.” Thanos made a face. “Wrong. Try again.”

Your jaw clenched, willing yourself not to snap at him. He was trying to care for you, you couldn’t hurt his feelings. “I just–” you let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Thanos stretched out, his legs spread wide with his knee resting against yours, and his arm along the back of the seat. “Ain’t nothing wrong with you, babe.” You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Feels like there is.”

He was quiet for a moment, watching you. Then he spoke, “You ever see a dog freak out ‘cause they got the zoomies?” Your brows pulled together. “What?”

Thanos smirked. “You know, like when they start running around in circles like a damn maniac, then five minutes later, they pass out like they fought a war?” You stared at him then, unamused. “Are you comparing me to a dog?” “More like a chihuahua,” he teased, stealing one of your Pocky.

“Thanos.” He snorted but shifted closer, nudging you with his knee. “I’m saying maybe your brain’s got the zoomies. You go, go, go–party, spend, drink, whatever–and then you crash. Hard.”

Your fingers tightened around the carton. “Yeah, well…what am I supposed to do about it?” Thanos tilted his head, studying you for a second. Then he reached over, poking the side of your face until you turned to look at him. “For starters? Let me help.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want help. But letting someone in–really in–was terrifying. He knew a lot about you, but this one thing…it was something you never wanted to let out of the depths of your brain.

Thanos must’ve seen it written all over your face because he nudged you again, his voice softer when he said, “You don’t gotta do it alone, babe.” Your throat felt tight again, and this time you didn’t fight. Instead, you just nodded.

Thanos’ apartment was quiet, dimly lit by the lamp in his room. You sat on the edge of his bed, your hair damp from a shower sticking to the oversize hoodies he’d given you–his favorite, one that smelled like him. The sleeves were too long, the fabric soft against your skin, and yet you still felt cold. He’d offered you a pair of sweatpants, but you turned them down opting to stay in your underwear.

He sat next to you, one leg bent up on the bed, his arm draped casually over the back of the headboard. He’d given you space since the talk in the car, not pushing, not pressing, just…waiting.

It was familiar the way the two of you could just exist in the same space with no pressures or expectations. But your body was tense, your mind racing with everything you still hadn’t said.

Thanos watched you, his gaze heavy, like he was trying to figure out what was running through your head. Then, after a moment, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You feeling a little better?” he murmured. You let out a slow breath. “Yeah.” He huffed, skepticals, but didn’t call you on it. Instead, his fingers found the edge of your sleeve, tugging it lightly.

“You’re cute when you steal my shit,” he said, teasingly. You rolled your eyes. “You gave it to me.” “Same thing.” He smirked, but it was softer now, like he was trying to ease you into something without making you realize it.

Your chest felt tight. He was always like this–always knew when you needed space, when you needed patience. When you needed him. Maybe that’s why, when he leaned in, when he brushed against yours, you let yourself melt into it.

It wasn’t new. You’d done this before, had kissed him more times than you could count–on impulse, on drunken nights, whenever the two of you were bored, or nights like this when you just needed to feel something.

But the moment his fingers brushed the back of your neck something inside of you snapped. Your body went rigid. A cold, nauseating panic clawed up your throat, and before you even realized what you were doing, you pushed him away.

“Wait–” your voice came out uneven, breathless, like you’d just been caught underwater. Thanos immediately pulled back, hands up, brows furrowed. “Hey. You good?”

Your pulse was hammering, your vision blurring at the edges. No, you weren’t good. You curled your arms around yourself, shrinking into the hoodie like it might shield you from the weight of what you’d been carrying.

Thanos sat still, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t annoyed. He was just waiting. Waiting for you to say something.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “It’s not you,” you whispered. Thanos’ gaze softened. “I know.” He tilted his head slightly, studying. “Talk to me, babe.”

Fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves. You hadn’t told anyone. Not a single person. Saying it out loud made it real, made it something you couldn’t shove into the back of your mind and pretend it didn’t exist.

But Thanos was still there. Still waiting. Still looking at you like you weren’t broken, like you weren’t ruined. Your breath shuddered, you knew you had to tell him.

“It was a hookup,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I-I thought I was okay with it, but…I wasn’t.”

Thanos didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. But his whole body had gone still, like a wire pulled too tight. You couldn’t look at him. If you did, you’d fall apart. So you just kept talking, your voice shaking, your fingers gripping your sleeves so tightly it hurt.

“I was drunk,” you admitted, the words burning as they left your mouth. “Not blacked out, but enough that things were hazy. I remember saying no at first, telling him to slow down, but he just kept–” your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the memory away. “I don’t know. Maybe I should’ve pushed harder, or maybe I just froze, but then suddenly it was happening, and I couldn’t–I just–”

“Babe.” You froze. Thanos reached out, slowly, carefully, giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, his fingers brushed over your knuckles, warm and grounding.

His voice was low and steady. “You didn’t misunderstand anything.” A lump formed in your throat. “I don’t–” “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, firm, leaving no room for argument.

Your eyes burned. Shaking your head you looked down at your lap. “I just…” a shuddering breath escaped your lips. “I feel like I’m losing it.”

Thanos hummed, like he was trying to reel himself in. Then he moved, shifting so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in–not tight, not suffocating, just enough for you to know he was there. “You’re not losing it,” he murmured against your hair. “And you’re not alone.” You squeezed your eyes shut, starting to believe him.

Honestly, you didn’t know if it was the way he was holding you–strong but careful, like he could keep you from falling apart–or if it was the way he looked at you, like nothing about you had changed, like you weren’t ruined.

But before you could stop yourself, you moved. Your hands found his face, fingers threading through his purple strands of hair as you pulled him in. Pressing your lips to his with a desperation that nearly frightened you.

Thanos didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, his lips firm and warm against yours. It wasn’t enough. You needed more.

You deepend it, shifting onto your knees, pressing your body against his. The weight of his hands landed on your waist, steadying you, his grip tightening when you tried to push closer.

“Please,” you whispered against his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Make me forget.” His breathing halted, and for a moment you thought he might give in. But then…

“No.” The word was firm, final. His hands gripped your waist tighter, but instead of pulling you in, he pushed you back, just enough to put space between you.

Your stomach twisted. “Thanos–” He exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath uneven. “You think I don’t want to?” His voice was rough, strained, like he was fighting against himself. “You think I don’t wanna touch you, hold you…help you forget?” His fingers flexed on your hips, and his jaw clenched. “But not like this,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Not when you’re hurting. Not when you’re trying to use me to erase something that’s not your fault.”

Your throat tightened, tears burning at the back of your eyes. “I just–” “I know.” His hands trailed up, brushing across your arms, warm and grounding. “But I won’t let you do this to yourself. And I won’t let anyone take anything from you again.”

His lips brushed against your forehead, lingering there for a moment before he pulled back, his thumbs stroking your sides. “You need sleep,” he murmured. “And tomorrow, we’re getting the hell out of here. Just you and me.” Your brows furrowed. “Where?” It made his lips quirk up in that cocky, familiar smirk. “You’ll see.”

The next day, true to his word, Thanos had all but dragged you out of bed, throwing your jeans at you and one of his shirts before hauling you into his car.

“You’re gonna love this,” he said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled onto the highway. “I don’t even know where we’re going,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

“Exactly,” he shot back, grinning. “That’s the best part.”

And maybe he was right, because when he finally pulled up to the spot you felt something shift inside you. A secluded little arcade tucked between two buildings, neon lights buzzing faintly in the air. It was small, almost unnoticeable.

Thanos hopped out of the car, coming around to your side before you could open the door. He held his hand out. “Come on, babe. Time to let loose.” Slowly, you slipped your fingers into his.

The arcade was dimly lit, filled with the sound of old-school games and muffled laughter. Thanos wasted no time dragging you toward a claw machine, eyes lighting up with challenge.

“Watch and learn, sweetheart,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “You’re gonna lose,” you teased, arms crossed. He shot you a look. “I never lose.” You snorted. “Please. I’ve seen you get your ass handed to you in Street Fighter more times than I can count.”

“Okay, first of all,” he turned to face you, stepping closer, the playful glint in his eye shifting into something heavier. Something deeper. “You keep talking like that, babe, and I might have to shut you up.” The air between you shifted. Your breath caught in your throat. And just like that, the playfulness turned into something else entirely. Something you wanted.

Thanos must have seen the shift in your expression because his smirk widened. He stepped even closer, crowing you against the claw machine, his hands bracing on either side of you.

“You wanna keep talking, or you want me to put this mouth to better use?” Your pulse skyrocketed. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline, or maybe it was the fact that you felt like yourself for the first time in weeks. You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down, crashing your lips against his.

Thanos was having the time of his life messing with you. It started at the claw machine, where he somehow managed to win a stuffed bear on the first try. He shoved it into your arms with a smug grin. “For you,” he said, leaning in just enough for his breath to graze your ear. “To remember me when I’m not around.” “You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered, hugging the bear to your chest anyway.

Then came the air hockey table. Every time he scored a point, he’d make a big show of it–throwing his arms up, biting his lip like he just hit the game winning shot at the NBA finals.

“You see that?” he taunted. “I’m unstoppable.” “You’re insufferable,” you shot back, scowling as he scored another goal.

But the final straw was when he stood behind you at the basketball game, his arms caging yours, pretending to “help” you shoot.

“See, you gotta bend your knees a little,” he said, his chest pressed against your back, his voice a low purr in your ear.

You swallowed hard, trying, and failing, to ignore the way his hands ghosted over your waist. “Thanos–” “Shh, I’m coaching.” “You’re distracting me.” “Am I?” his smirk was pure sin.

You elbowed him in the stomach, and he let out a dramatic groan, stumbling back. “Damn, babe, you trying to kill me?” “You’ll like,” you muttered, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

After an hour of arcade games, where he absolutely did not let you win, Thanos finally led you outside, the cool air wrapping around you.

“Arlight,” he said, stretching. “Next stop.” You shot him a skeptical look. “Another surprise?” He just winked. “You’ll like this one.”

A short drive later, you realized exactly where he was taking you. The spot. It was nothing fancy–just a quiet overlook on the edge of town, tucked away where no one ever really went. It had a perfect view of the city lights in the distance, the skyline stretching wide and endless.

This was your place. Where you’d gone to clear your heads, to escape, to talk for hours about nothing and everything. Some nights, you’d just sit in silence, sharing a cigarette or a blunt, watching the world move with you. It was a place that belonged to just the two of you.

The day had been so much fun you forgot you were even upset. Until now, in this peaceful, quiet spot that had so many memories. It made you feel bad for putting Thanos through everything last night.

Thanos parked, cutting the engine. The silence settled easily between you two. You both got out, climbing onto the hood of his car like you had a hundred times before. He pulled a joint from his jacket pocket, lighting it with practiced ease, taking a slow drag before offering it to you.

You hesitated before taking it, inhaling deep, letting the warmth settle in your chest. For a long moment, neither of you spoke

“Feeling better?” You glanced over at him, the city lights reflecting in his eyes. Yeah. You were. Instead of answering, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. It was slow, lingering, a silent thank you.

When you pulled away, he arched his brow. “What was that for?” You smirked, shrugging. “A thank you.” He squinted his eyes as if he was waiting for more of an explanation. But he didn’t say anything cocky as he took another hit, offered it to you, then leaned back against the windshield. For once he was the one speechless.

The night grew colder and harsh against your skin. Now you both sat in the backseat of his car, heater blasting. You sat curled up in Thanos’ lap, your head resting against his shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around you. He had taken off his jacket to drape it over your frame. For a long while, neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, you murmured, “I’m sorry.” Thanos’ hand, which had been tracing lazy circles against your thigh, stilled. “For what?”

It took you a second to answer him, not trusting yourself to not cry. “For pushing you away. For acting like I didn’t need you when–” your voice cracked, and you shut your eyes. “When I did.”

Thanos exhaled, pressing his lips to your temple. Your name fell from his lips, a word he rarely said since he always opted to call you babe. “I knew what you were doing. I just wasn’t going to let you.”

A shaky breath left you, half a laugh, half a sob. “You’re annoying like that.” “Damn right,” he said, his arms tightening around you.

Silence settled again, the weight of unspoken things lingering in the space between heartbeats. Finally you whispered, “I never told you what exactly happened.”

Thanos’ fingers curled slightly against your waist, but he didn’t push. “You don’t have to.” You shook your head. “I want to.” So you told him. Not every detail. Not every ugly piece. How you met the man.

It was just enough for him to understand why you hadn’t been yourself. Why you’d been spiraling. Why even the warmth of his hands on your skin had made you flinch at times. He listened. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t demand more.

And when you finally fell silent, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “You know what the worst part was?” you whispered. “I thought…for a second, I thought I deserved it. Like maybe I brought it on myself.”

Thanos stiffened beneath you. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet. “Don’t say that.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I know it’s not true. But I felt it. And I hated myself for it.”

Thanos cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Look at me.” You did. His expression was sad, but his eyes–god his eyes–were burning. “You are not to blame for what happened to you. Not in any way. Not for one damn second. You hear me?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded. He exhaled, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “You saved me, babe. You know that?” Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“When I was at my worst,” he whispered. “When I was using, when I was pushing people away,” he shook his head. “You were still there. Always.” Your throat tightened. “Thanos…” “You never let me give up on myself. Even when I wanted to.” his lips pressed against your forehead. “I’ve been clean from hard shit for almost a year because of you.”

A shard breath left you, your hands fisted his shirt. You knew he drank and smoked a lot, but you never realized he was using other substances. Let alone that he had been clean for so long. “I didn’t know.” He chuckled lightly. “Never told you. Didn’t want you getting all proud and annoying about it.” You laughed, an actual, real laugh. Thanos smiled, his arms pulling you even closer.

Stepping into your studio apartment, Thanos barely took two steps before pausing, his gaze sweeping over the palace. Clothes scattered on the floor, takeout containers on the coffee table, an empty wine bottle tipped over on the counter.

You saw it too, the mess, the disarray. And the embarrassment hit fast. “I–” you moved quickly, grabbing the nearest pile of clothes and shoving them into a laundry basket. “It’s usually not this bad, I just–” “Babe.” You froze, gripping a pair of sweatpants in your hands.

Thanos was watching you, arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen counter. His expression wasn’t judgemental, just knowing. Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric. “I didn't mean to let it get this bad.” Thanos exhaled, stepping forward. “You been taking care of yourself at all?” You forced a smile. “I’m fine.” He didn’t look convinced.

Still, he didn’t push. Just reached out, brushing a hand along your waist as he passed. “C’mon,” he said. “Shower, get comfortable. I’ll wait.” Your stomach twisted. The thought of being alone–even for just a few minutes–made your chest feel tight.

“Come with me?” you asked, avoiding his gaze. Thanos didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, babe. Of course.”

So, while you showered, he sat on the closed toilet lit, scrolling through his phone like it was just any other night. He cracked a few jokes, made fun of the random soap brands in your shower, anything to make you feel normal. And strangely, it worked.

By the time you stepped out, fresh-faced and wrapped in a towel, some of the tension in your chest had eased. Thanos had left to grab your pajamas and returned with a cute matching set for you. You slipped them on, and brushed your hair before following him back to the couch.

He sprawled out, one arm draped over the back as you climbed onto his lap, legs straddling his thighs. His hands instinctively found your hips, fingers pressing into them slightly.

“Baby,” he murmured, sighing quietly. That was a new one. He never called you anything other than babe, and it sent shivers down your spine.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Let me take care of you.” Thanos went still. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing down his neck then his chest. His grip on you tightened slightly. “You sure?” he asked, voice low. There was no cockiness to his tone. In response you only smiled, saying “Positive.”

Thanos took a deep breath, fingers flexing on your hips. “Baby,” there was hesitation in his voice now, like he was at war with himself. You leaned in, lips grazing the corner of his mouth. “What?”

He tilted his head back against the couch, eyes scanning your face. “I don’t know if this is a good time.” Your hands traced up his chest, nails lightly scratching over the fabric of his shirt. “I do.” His jaw clenched. “You’ve been through a lot.” You nodded. “I know.”

Thanos let out a long breath through his nose, his grip tightening as if trying to keep himself from pulling you closer. Again he whispered, “Baby…”

You kissed him before he could say anything else. A slow, lingering press of your lips against his. He barely hesitated before melting into it, groaning softly as he kissed you back, his hands sliding up your thighs, pressing you more firmly against him. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was just deep. Like you were breathing life into each other.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead resting against his, his breathing was heavier. His fingers dug into your plush skin, like you were his anchor. “You have no idea how hard it’s been,” he muttered, voice rough.

“What?” you blinked up at him with wide eyes. His fingers traced your bare thighs, tough featherlight. “Resisting you. Not pulling you into my lap every damn time you looked at me like that.” His eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Watching you with other guys was the worst.”

“You think I didn’t notice?” He huffed a dry laugh. “You’d flirt with someone right in front of me, and I’d have to act like it didn’t make me want to knock their teeth in.” Your heart pounded. “Thanos–” he cut you off. “You drive me insane, baby.” he sounded desperate. “And if any part of you doesn’t want this, you better say it now. Because the second I let go, I’m not stopping.”

A slow smirk tugged at your lips as you slid off his lap, dropping gracefully to your knees between his legs. “I told you,” you murmured, hands trailing up his thighs. “I’m positive.”

Thanos’ eyes widened at your movements, not expecting to see you looking up at him with such a desperate look on your face. When your fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans, he shot up from the couch and was quick to tug them down. He messily kicked them off, plopping back down on the couch as he tugged his boxers down his thighs.

You giggled, the sight of him acting so quickly drove you wild. The thought of knowing that he was excited for this made your thighs clench. Your small hand reached out, gently grasping his length. You pumped it a few times, eyes glued to Thanos who was a mess beneath your touch. His head hung back and his eyes were screwed shut. His lips parted ever so slightly as he panted.

There were maybe one or two times before that you had seen Thanos naked. Once at a party where he insisted on skinny dipping with all his friends, and another when you found him passed out in his bed with no clothes on. You never looked, never starred because the two of you were friends and it felt wrong. But this? This felt so right.

The moment you wrapped your lips around him he fell apart. He became a stuttering mess. Your name falling off his lips along with random swear words. It made you feel good knowing you were making him feel so good.

Your movements were slow at first as you tried to get used to the size of him in your mouth. Out of instinct Thanos snapped his hips up, his cock tickling the back of your throat which elicited a gag out of you. “Fuck,” he groaned, eyes opening to look down at you. “Sorry–f-fuck, sorry.”

You used one hand to pat his thigh as if signaling it was okay. Thanos kept his eyes glued to your. The way your eyes were so wide and tears brimmed at them, the way drool and precum trickled down your chin. It was pornographic, and an image he would never forget.

His hand tangled firmly in your hair, not pushing your head but as if he needed something to grasp onto. It made a moan slip from past your lips, sending vibrations through him. That drove him wild.

Faster now, you moved your head. With your hands sprawled against his tattooed thighs you let the fist in your hair be your guide. Thanos pushed your head all the way down, that familiar gagging sensation hinted in you but you held it back. Your nose rested against his stomach, and as you swallowed around him that’s all it took. Thanos was groaning, practically screaming, your name as he came in your mouth. Most of it went straight down your throat but as he let up his grip on you, you made sure to swallow every last bit before pulling away.

Thanos rested back against the couch, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His fingers dragged through his hair as he exhaled, a deep, satisfied sound rumbling from his throat. Then, before you could even think to move, you heard the soft click of his phone camera. Your head snapped up, eyes wide.

“Thanos.” He grinned down at you, tapping his screen before angling the phone toward you. “Nah, you gotta see this, babe.” You hesitated before glancing at the screen. Oh. Your face was flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy. A thin strand of drool clung to your chin, your hands still resting on his thighs. You looked utterly wrecked.

You smacked his knee. “Delete that!” He just chuckled, tossing his phone onto the couch before pulling up his boxers, then gripping your chin, tilting your face up. His thumb swiped at the corner of your lips, gathering the mess before bringing it to his own mouth, licking it off with a satisfied hum.

“Can’t believe you’re so good at that,” he murmured, eyes dark. “You suck cock that well for other guys?” Your stomach flipped. His grin widened. “Nah, actually…I can believe it. Perfect little mouth, always running–figures it’d be good for something.”

Your cheeks burned, and he laughed, hauling you up into his lap, arms wrapping securely around your waist. “C’mere, baby. Let me hold you for a second.” And just like that, the teasing melted into warmth. Into comfort. His fingers traced up and down your spine, his lips pressing lazy kisses against your temple.

“Did so good,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “Knew you would.” You buried your face in his neck, letting yourself melt into him, letting the afterglow and his warmth settle deep into your bones. Yeah. You were exactly where you needed to be.

The night before had been good. Too good. You fell asleep in Thanos’ arms, wrapped up in warmth and a feeling so foreign it almost scared you–something safe, something steady. But by morning, the weight of it all pressed down on your chest like an anchor.

You woke up feeling…wrong. Like you’d taken one step too far into something you couldn’t undo. Like on matter how much Thanos tried, how much wanted to fix you, you’d always end up right back where you started.

He was still asleep beside you, his face slack, mouth parted slightly. One arm was draped over his stomach, the other curled loosely around you, his fingers brushing your hip through the fabric of your shorts. You stared at him, at the way his brows twitched slightly, like even in his sleep he was thinking too much. He’d done so much for you. And you? You were still ruining yourself, just in different ways. You swallowed hard and slipped out of bed, moving quietly into the bathroom before he could stir.

Thanos noticed. Of course he noticed. You were quiet all morning, responding to his teasing with soft smiles instead of the usual bite. You moved through your apartment like you were lost, like you weren’t really there. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched, his eyes following you like he was waiting for the moment you finally cracked.

Then, after a while, he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “C’mon, babe. Get dressed.” You blinked. “What?” He stretched, rolling his shoulders. “I wanna go somewhere. You need to get out of this place for a bit.”

You hesitated, but the way he looked at you, the quiet determination in his face, made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. And you didn’t have the energy to argue.

The drive was peaceful. Thanos had one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the console between you. His playlist hummed through the speakers, low enough that the rumble of the car nearly drowned it out.

The road stretched ahead, empty except for the occasional flicker of headlights in the distance. It almost felt normal. Almost.

You sighed, shifting in your seat. Your phone buzzed in your lap, lighting up with a name you didn’t want him to see. You hesitated. You shouldn’t answer. You really shouldn’t. But your fingers twitched anyway, hovering over the screen. Before you could react, Thanos reached over, plucking your phone from your hands.

“Hey–!” He barely glanced at you, his eyes locked on the screen. His jaw ticked. Then he scoffed, shaking his head as he tossed the phone onto the dashboard.

“Seriously?” You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how tense the care felt. “It’s not–” “Is that him? You’re still talking to him?” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “It’s not like that.”

Thanos let out a humorless laugh, running a hand over his face. “Not like that?” He shot you a look, something between disbelief and frustration. “Babe, c’mon. What the hell are you doing?”

Your stomach twisted with guilt. “I don’t know.” You stretched in your seat, reaching for your phone and once you had it you tucked it securely in your lap.

Thanos pressed his lips into a thin line, fingers flexing on the wheel. He wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t. But it pissed him off in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Because after everything–after the�� way he held you, the way he tried to pull you out of this–you were still keeping one foot in the door of something that was dragging you down. And he didn’t get it. He didn’t get why.

Thanos sighed, shaking his head. “You really gonna sit there and tell me it’s nothing?” Your throat felt tight. You didn’t have an answer for him. And the worst part? He knew that.

You remained silent after that, yet the silence felt suffocating. You stared out the window, watching the blur of passing streetlights, the dark silhouettes of trees lining the road.

Thanos didn’t say anything else for awhile. He just kept driving, his grip on the wheel tight, his jaw locked. He wasn’t mad at you, but it felt like he was. It was so unlike him. No teasing remark, no smartass comment to cut through the tension. Just silence. It made you feel worse than if he had just yelled at you.

Finally, you swallowed the lump in your throat and whispered, “I don’t know why I’m still talking to him.”

Thanos sighed, resting his elbow against the door, fingers tapping against his temple. His body seemed tense, uncomfortable. “Yeah, babe. I got that part.” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. It was tired. Like he was trying to understand something he really didn’t want to understand.

You fiddled with the edge of his hoodie he let you wear, pulling at loose thread. “It’s just…I don’t know. Maybe I like pretending nothing happened. That I can just go back to normal.” Thanos made a sharp sound in the back of his throat. “And talking to him helps with that?”

“No,” you groaned. “I don’t know! Maybe it makes me feel like I still have control over something. Like I get to decide how it ends.” Thanos was quiet for a beat. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he muttered, “That’s not how it works, babe.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, staring down at your now shaky hands. “I just…I hate feeling like this.” His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, an anxious tic he used to calm himself. “Like what?” he asked.

“Like I’m broken,” you admitted. Thanos’ jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened on the wheel. Then, suddenly, he swerved to the side of the road and slammed the car into park. You jolted forward slightly, eyes wide. “Thanos, what the hell–”

“Get in the back.” “What?” Thanos unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face you, eyes dark, voice low and sharp. “Not arguing, babe. Get in the back.”

Thanos could be scary when he wanted to. He could be demanding and strong headed, you knew this about him. His deep voice and tall, muscular frame turned to you and you knew then it wasn’t a choice. He wasn’t challenging you. He was telling you, and you obeyed.

You slipped out of your seat and into the back, settling in just as Thanos followed. He slammed the door shut which made you flinch ever so slightly.

The air was thick, charged, as he sat next to you, stretching out his legs and crossing his arms across his chest. Then, without a word, he reached over and snatched your phone from your lap. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Thanos, don’t–” “Unlock your phone,” he demanded. Slowly, you shook your head no. Thanos clenched his jaw. “I’m not asking, I’m telling you. Unlock the damn phone.” And you did. You reached over and typed in your passcode which earned a hum from him.

He ignored your protests, thumb swiping across the screen. You tried to grab it back when he opened your messages, but he easily dodged you. “Damn, babe. You weren’t kidding. You really are still talking to this piece of shit.” Your stomach twisted as he scrolled through the messages.

wyd tonight? lets meet up

idk. maybe.

u look good in that dress

thanks

u miss me or nah?

u were so into me that night, dont act different now

stop

damn u actin like a whole new bitch. u know i could pull up rn

just drop it

Thanos’ breathing was ragged as he read them. “Maybe?” he read aloud, shaking his head. “Babe, really?” You look away, ashamed. “It’s not–” But before you could finish, he scrolled. You tried to snatch your phone again, but he grabbed your arm holding it down.

And there they were. Pictures. Some from him. A shirtless mirror selfie, a couple of low lit bedroom shots. Nothing outright explicit, but the intent was there. Then he saw your pictures you had sent to this guy. A mirror selfie in a fitted dress. A close up of your lips. And then his whole body stiffened. Because the picture that was staring back at the two of you was something he wasn’t expecting to see. A picture of you. Taken by you. Wearing Thanos’ hoodie. Sitting on your bed, the hem barely covering your thighs, biting your lip at the camera. Your stomach dropped.

Thanos scoffed, his grip so tight on the phone you feared he’d snap it. “You really sent this to him? In my hoodie?” he let out a sharp laugh, but it wasn’t amused. “Fuck, babe.” Your face burned. “It wasn’t–”

But then he scrolled further. And that’s when everything changed. Because there were more pictures. But these weren't yours. They were taken by that guy. Pictures of you. Your blood ran cold. You knew he’d sent them to you, but you didn’t remember him ever taking them.

Your body, sprawled out on the bed. Your face flushed, half turned away. The strap of your dress slipping down your shoulder. The bottom hem pushed up just enough to reveal your lacey underwear. Another one of you naked, your breasts covered just by the man’s hands. Another one with his fist in your hair, makeup smudge across your face as you looked straight into the camera. Eyes hazy from your drunken state. And the worst part? The messages that followed.

dont act like u didnt want it

u looked so good like that

we both kno u liked it

u better stop ignoring me

u know i could ruin u, right?

Of course he had planned to use them as blackmail. That was when you had stopped responding to him, in hopes he’d leave you alone. That’s when you really started to spiral. Your hands had started to shake, and you dared to sneak a peek at Thanos. He hadn’t said a single word, and his silence was lethal. His jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might crack a tooth.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached into his own pocket and pulled out his own phone. You watched in confusion, still frozen, as he tapped his screen a few times, then turned to you.

Your heart stopped. Because there on his phone were so many pictures of you. Some candid, some not so candid. Some from nights when you’d crashed at this place, tangled in his sheets, makeup smudged. Some from parties where you’d clung to his arm, leaning close to whisper in his ear.

Some of the two of you together. His arm slung around your waist. His fingers curled around your throat. His lips at your ear, mouth curved into something between a smirk and a promise. And the picture from last night. You with swollen lips, bloodshot eyes, and a mixture of drool and his cum dripping down your chin.

Your breath hitched. “Thanos…” He turned to look at you, grinning. “You forgot who you belong to, baby.” He’d always been possessive over you, but never like this. He leaned in, voice dropping lower. “Maybe I should send one of these to your little friend. Let him know who the fuck he’s messing with.”

Your lips parted, shock flashing through you. “Thanos, no–” but then, your phone buzzed. Your breath caught. A call. From him. Thanos stared at the screen for half a second before answering.

“Hello?” Your whole body went rigid. There was a pause, then a low, irritated voice. “Uh…who the hell is this?” Thanos smirked, staring straight into your eyes. “Her boyfriend.” Your mouth fell open.

“What?” the guy scoffed. “Dude, put her on the phone.” “Nah, I don’t think I will.” Thanos leaned back, completely unbothered. “Matter of fact, I think you should delete all those pictures and lose this number.” The guy scoffed again. “Man, she was just texting me–” “Yeah, well she won’t be anymore.”

You sat there frozen, heart hammering against your ribs. You should’ve stopped him. But you didn’t. You prayed this would end all of the harassment you’d been through. You watched as Thanos brought the phone back to his ear and, in a tone dripping with amusement, said, “Lose this number, or I’ll make you lose it.” Then he hung up.

The silence afterward was deafening. Thanos tossed your phone back into your lap, his expression still flat, unreadable. But then in a tone that was soft, but no less firm, he murmured, “C’mere, baby.” you didn’t move at first. You just sat there, phone in your lap, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Thanos’ voice was softer this time. “Babe.” The second you were within reach, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his lap, into the solid warmth of his body. His grip was firm but not crushing, a quiet promise of protection.

“I–” “Shh,” he murmured, one hand slipping to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “I got you.” You let yourself sink into him, let your face press against his neck, his hoodie soft against your cheek. His scent wrapped around you–clean, familiar, safe.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You weren’t sure how much time passed before Thanos finally said, “How long has he been pulling this shit?” You hesitated. Too long. “...A while.”

His jaw twitched beneath your head. “And you didn’t tell me?” You pulled back slightly, looking at him. “I–” you shook your head. “I just wanted to forget about it.”

“You really think I wouldn’t notice?” You blinked up at him. “You think I don’t know you?” His fingers tightened in your hair, just a little. Your throat burned. You hated this. Hated feeling seen. Hated how easily he could read you.

Thaons let out a slow breath, dropping his forehead to yours. His voice was quiet, but steady. “Babe, you don’t have to do this alone.” Tears began to burn behind your eyes, thick and hot, threatening to spill over. “Is there more? Because if there’s more to this I need to know so I can end it all.”

You shook your head, a few stray tears slipping down your cheeks. He pulled you in tighter, and this time you didn’t fit any of it. His grasp, the tears, your feelings. You allowed yourself to cry into his chest, body racking with sobs. Thaons held you, never letting his grip falter.

After you collected yourself and Thanos made sure you were okay, the two of you continued your drive. “Where are we even going?” you asked, turning toward him. Thanos smirked, eyes still on the road. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You narrowed your eyes. “I would like to know. That’s why I asked.” He reached over, resting his large hand on your knee. “Relax, babe. You’ll like it.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t press further.

Eventually the roads narrowed, leading to a secluded stretch of land. The house came into view first–tucked away from the main road, sitting against a backdrop of trees and open sky. Your brows lifted. “You rented this?”

Thanos cut the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Just for the weekend.” he shot you a wink, “Figured you deserved a little getaway.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest. You bit your lip to keep from smiling. He noticed, of course he did.

“Come on,” he said, opening his door. You followed him inside, taking in the open floor plan and floor to ceiling windows. Everything smelled faintly like cedarwood, the air crisp from the countryside.

You plopped onto the couch with a sigh, stretching out. “This is kinda nice.” Thanos dropped beside you, picking up your legs and resting them on his lap when he sat down. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. It felt…normal. There was a few minutes of comfortable silence before Thanos spoke up.

“Give me your phone.” You blinked. “Huh?” Thanos held out his hand, expectantly. “I’m deleting those pictures.” you didn’t speak, frozen. “You don’t need that shit sitting on your phone.”

Slowly, you placed it in his palm. Thanos scrolled through the messages, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t say anything. He just started deleting. One by one, he deleted anything and everything that was attached to that guy.

You exhaled, a strange mix of relief and unease washing over you. Once he was done, Thanos smirked. “Y’know, we should replace ‘em.” You frowned. “What?” He held up your phone. “Take new ones. Good ones. Of us.” Your cheeks warmed. “You’re ridiculous.” He shrugged. “I’m right.”

Before you could argue, he pulled you to his side, angling the camera. “Smile, baby.” You couldn’t help it–you laughed as he snapped the photo. Then another. And another. Before long, you were both tangled together, making stupid faces, teasing, playing.

The playful pictures quickly turned into something else. Thanos, always one to push boundaries, tugged you closer, tilting his head as he snapped another picture. This time, his lips were right at your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“Gotta get some better ones than those shitty ones he took, right?” he murmured. You felt your heart picking up speed. “T-thanos–” He flipped the camera, his grip steady on your phone, his free hand finding your jaw as he turned your face toward his. “Look at me.” You did.

The click of the camera felt deafening. Another picture. Then another. His fingers brushed your thigh, pushing your legs apart just enough to make your breath hitch.

He smirked. “You nervous, baby?” You huffed, trying to make your reaction. “Shut up.” He chuckled, tapping through the photos. “Damn. These are real nice.” You reached for your phone, but he held it away, laughing. “Uh-uh. I think we need a few more.”

Before you could protest, he shifted, pulling you fully into his lap. His hand found your waist, gripping firmly as he leaned in, pressing his lips just below your ear. Click. You shivered. Click. His fingers trailed lower. Click.

The playful photo session took a more daring turn as Thanos pulled you up from the couch, his hands skimming over your sides. “Let’s get some real shots, babe,” he said with a glint in his eye, his voice low and teasing.

You looked at him, biting your lip, but a challenge gleamed in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

He grinned, pulling you toward the bedroom, then towards the floor length mirror in the corner. He snapped a picture of the two of you, your bodies close but not touching. His gaze flicked between the phone screen and your reflection.

“You look stunning,” he murmured, his breath tickling your neck as he adjusted you. “Let’s make it a little more…fun.”

You raised a brow but didn't pull away when he guided your hands up to tug your shirt over your head. The fabric slid off, he snapped a quick picture, the camera capturing your bare shoulders and his hand resting lightly on your waist. He was quick to peel his own shirt off.

The heat between you two was undeniable as his other hand found its way down to your butt, fingers lightly squeezing. The picture came out blurry at first–too much movement– but when he steadied his grip on you, the next shot was perfect.

It was only a minute before Thanos had you both out of your pants. You left in your bra and underwear, him in his boxers. His chest was pressed against your back as he took a few more pictures, his free hand placed in suggestive places on your body. Around your neck, groping one of your breasts, fisting the side of your underwear.

“You know,” Thanos whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. “If you weren’t so damn irresistible, I might actually be able to stop myself.” You fought the heat rising in your cheeks.

The next shot was from the bed, the two of you lying side by side, bodies tangled together. The camera caught your smiles, your hands tracing his tattoos, as you shifted, getting more comfortable. You couldn’t deny the electric tension between you–playful, teasing, and full of unspoken promise. Thanos snapped one picture of you on your knees on the floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. That was his favorite one. The last picture was of you two sharing a kiss. He looked at it with a satisfied smirk, leaning back on the pillows.

“I think we’ve got some damn good memories to replace the others,” he said. Then tension in the room wasn’t heavy, but it was hot. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you found yourself squeezing your thighs together trying to relieve some tension you felt.

A mischievous grin curled his lips as he looked over at you. “You know,” he began, “I should probably have these pictures saved for myself–you never know when a little reminder of this will come in handy.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny the heat flushing your skin and the tingles you felt throughout your body. “Oh, please. You really gonna hold them over my head?” “Not like that,” he said, shrugging. “Just think I might need some personal motivation later on.”

You shot him a teasing look. “You want them for when you’re lonely, huh?” He laughed, his cocky grin widening. “If I’m ever feeling bored, sure. But I think it’d be hard to get bored with these.” He sent himself the pictures from your phone before handing it back to you.

The playful tension in the air felt thick, the heat between you two palpable, and Thanos let out a low sigh, stretching his arms above his head. “Anyway,” he said, suddenly standing up from the bed. “I’m gonna grab a shower–feel like I need to cool down for a bit.”

You raised an eyebrow, watching his move across the room, his movements slow but purposeful. “Yeah? You sure you’re not running from me?” He looked over his shoulder, smirking as he entered the bathroom. “Nah, just trying to be respectful of your boundaries, baby.”

You were left in the dim room, the air still heavy with the scent of him and the lingering heat of the photos you’d taken. You sat there, your thoughts racing. It was clear he was affected–hell, so were you–but the playful tension shifted, leaving something more raw, more intense in its wake. After a moment of hesitation, you stood up, almost without thinking. You couldn’t just let him get away with that teasing, could you?

The bathroom door was cracked open, and you caught a glimpse of him, standing under the spray of the shower, steam curling up from the floor. You saw his hand fisting his cock, and heard the quiet panting sounds he made. You knew exactly what you were doing as you stepped inside without knocking.

Thanos froze when he saw you. His trailing up and down your now naked frame. His hand stopped its movements, and he leaned back against the shower wall. “Babe, what are you doing?” he asked, though his voice was laced with something else.

You stepped closer, eyes never leaving his. “I think you’re the one who started this.” You reached out, brushing your fingers against his chest, the warm water cascading over him.

He didn’t respond at first, just watching you with a heavy gaze, as if considering whether or not to step back–or to pull you closer.

But he didn’t move away. He let you inch closer until your lips were inches from his. “You really wanna test me right now?”

“Maybe,” you whispered, hand resting on top of his. “Maybe I just like to see if you can resist me.”

He grinned then. “I can, baby,’ he said quietly, but it didn’t sound very convincing. “But you’re about to make me break that.” That’s when a sense of urgency took over your body. Your lips crashed to his and you removed his hand from his cock to take it in your own.

Neither of your movements were slow or cautious. As you pumped his cock in your fist, his fingers snuck between your legs. They worked quickly against your clit before he pushed two inside you. You let out a breathy gasp at the feeling.

It didn’t take very long for you two to become whiny messes under each other's touches. Each other's names falling from the others lips like a prayer. Whines and moans vibrated off the shower walls. Before you knew it your head was spinning. The two of you came at the same time, and something about that made the whole thing seem even more intimate.

The rest of the weekend was spent teasing, joking, and laughing. Thanos made sure you didn’t think about anything except the two of you. That you were enjoying yourself fully, and hopefully healing. He blocked the guy’s number from your phone and you thanked him for it, not sure if you would’ve been able to do it yourself. Before you knew it the two of you were driving back into the city. You weren’t saddened because you felt the shift of the air between the two of you. Things would be different from now on.

The music thumped through the walls of Nam Gyu’s place, a stark contrast to the quieter, more intimate atmosphere you and Thanos had shared just hours before. You could still feel the heat of your bodies together on your skin.

Thanos had insisted on coming to the party. “You need to loosen up a little, babe,” he;d said, pulling you out of the car and toward the front door. “We’re all done moping around. We’re having fun, okay?”

Against your better judgment, you’d agreed, but you weren’t really sure if you were ready for the noise, the chaos, the crowds of people who had no idea what was going on behind your walls. Yet, as soon as you stepped inside Nam Gyu’s apartment, you felt like you were stepping into a different world.

Nam Gyu was in the middle of a conversation with a couple of his friends when he spotted you and Thanos. He smirked and immediately made his way over to you, clapping Thanos on the back as he winked at you.

“Damn, Thanos,” Nam Gyu said, his tone light but teasing. “You look like you’re about to eat her alive.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck, but it was hard when Thanos didn’t exactly make it easy. His arm was draped around your waist, a possessive but gentle hold that made everyone around you notice.

“She’s been a handful lately,” he said teasingly. “But I’m making sure she’s having fun.” Thanos licked his lips, staring at you and you felt your body burn under his gaze.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol you had begun sipping on or the way Thanos’ words made your heart flutter,mm but you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Nam Gyu raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “I’m not one to judge, but…damn, you two are practically joined at the hip tonight. You’re looking like more than just friends now.”

You froze at his words, a small pang of uncertainty tightening in your chest. Was that how it looked? You couldn’t even really think about it because everything still felt so complicated, but there was something undeniable between you and Thanos. Something unspoken.

Thanos noticed your discomfort, his fingers gently grazing your back, soothing you. “Shut up, Nam Gyum” he said, his voice lighter but still protective. “You’re just jealous because you don’t have anyone who looks at you the way she looks at me.”

The comment made you smile, the small flirtation doing exactly what it was meant to do–ease the tension you hadn’t even realized had built up.

Nam Gyu held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you two have your moment. But if you get too cozy, I’ll have to kick you out.”

You laughed, the sound feeling good, almost reigned to you after everything. Thanos leaned down, kissing your forehead softly. “You okay, babe?” You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest you hadn’t felt in a long while. You were okay. Maybe not perfect, but you were here, and that meant something.

The night went on, and you allowed yourself to get caught up in the energy around you. You danced. You laughed. You allowed yourself a little escape from the weight that had been on your shoulders. And Thanos never let you go too far, always keeping you close, watching over you like a silent guardian.

As the night went on and the party started to wind down with people slowly trickling out, you found yourself standing by the door with Thanos, his hand still on your back, guiding you. “You sure you’re ready to go?” he asked, his voice soft yet serious. You looked up at him. “Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

He smiled and led out the door, but before you left, he turned to you. “Just so you know, no matter what happens, I’ve got you babe. Always.”

You swallowed, emotions swirling in your chest. This was more than you’d ever expected from anyone, and you weren’t sure how you got so lucky, but for the first time in a long time, you felt a little lighter.

The rest of the night was quiet. You two drove back to his apartment, the weight of everything that had happened slowly lifting as you realized how much you meant to each other. In that moment, it didn’t matter if it was complicated. It didn’t matter if you didn’t have all the answers. You had each other. And that was enough.

#squid game #squid game x y/n #alternate universe #squid game imagines #squid game fanfic #thanos x y/n #thanos imagine #thanos squid game #thanos smut #thanos x reader #player 230 x reader #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #choi seunghyun #t.o.p x reader #t.o.p #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p fanfic

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thesweetestapplepie · 26 days ago

Text

‘a quiet night’

wc: 1.7k

tags: fluff, mutual pining? arthur morgan wanting to be more than a fwb wink wink

author note: i didn’t like this much as I thought I did but maybe i’m my own harshest critic. :) also ik the indents are super inconsistent i was on my phone.

“What’chu doing up so late?” The snapping and crackling of the fire burned embers into your vision. Spotty as you blinked. That voice would’ve been drowned out by the thrum of the flames if it wasn’t for that heavy southern accent and the soft chime of spurs brushing against the ground. As you turn, you’re met with the looming silhouette of a familiar man, your gaze trails from his knees up the path to his eyes. Seems he had just gotten back from an outing. There is a husky laugh in his question, a heavy tension in his shoulders as he looks down at you. Soft music whirs from Dutch and Molly’s tent, they had forgotten to turn off the player.

“I like to appreciate good music before someone wakes up and starts their tyrades about laundry, again.” Both your minds immediately go to Grimshaw, earning a groan from the brunette haired man as he took his black worn hat from his head. The soft tufts of hair from his brown head were painted in flecks of ash and grime. Arthur Morgan releases a pitiful chuckle to your complaint, his moonlight golden spurs ringing that satisfying and familiar sound to your ears.

The quiet melody of classical music sweeps the camp in a tranquil star blanketed night. You find your body slightly swaying to the gentle keys of a piano like a glass wind chime swaying with the wind. Arthur’s eyes rest on the back of your neck, such a domestic image in his head bringing an alien feeling to his chest before he finally speaks again.

“If I knew you wanted to listen to this more often, I would’ve brought you back something..”

“You can make it up for me with a dance.” The affectionate and at the same time teasing request sent a slight tug to his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or the deeply embedded fondness he has for you that manages to get under his skin and bones. A simple request, but it creased his face into a smile.

“Ain’t someone with laundry to fold oughta have some sleep to catch?” Despite the soothing drawl of his teasing, he holds out his hand, drowning the tension in his muscles and fatigue in his back with the soft flow of your skin against his. Tenderness melding together perfectly despite the minimal contact at first. It makes your cheeks heat up like the flat smooth side of a stone basking in the sun. He hopes the peak of his tattered hat shadows the heat crawling up his face when you let out a slight laugh, light and airy.

“When’s the next time Dutch gonna leave the old thing on overnight?” You knew he didn’t need the convincing, his left hand already taking your right palm, large and almost overwhelming in warmth. Right hand gently caressing the small of your back as he brings you closer. You don’t observe his blue gaze catching your lips at first. Running along the soft lines of your plush flesh with his eyes, you turn to him, and he looks away just in time to regain any lost composure.

“Ahh-Maybe he’ll let it if you ask him. Old fool’s got a soft spot for women.” You can’t help but think he meant, ‘beautiful,’ women, with the way he fixated his gaze down at you. His attention seemed drunken on the soft state of you. Everyone in camp, whether it was the drunken and rambling Uncle or the observant but private Charles, every outlaw in camp could tell Arthur Morgan had the tiniest soft spot for you. Well, quite the expansive one. It had only grown in size as the two of you got closer. This closeness had only externalized when the two of you began to go to each other for intimacy. Warmth in body. One that he would never admit to anyone but to the crisp, cream white pages of his journal paper and graphite chipped pencil.

Your chest merely grazes his, and the only chivalrous thing he could do was avert his boyish glance. Though, he did pay mind to the way the orange and crimson flames flickered and melded with the color of your white chemise, the material highlighting the slope of your back and the way the fabric hung off of your breasts without support. He admired the natural state of your body in a way that still honored your dignity. Mind filled with slight admiring glances, he swallows down the intrusive thought as the two of you begin to sway in a slight, intimate rhythm.

“I’m shocked he ain’t send it to the fence for a few quick bucks in the name of Tahiti or god knows what.” He said almost exhaustively. Shaking his head, you catch a glimpse of his blood stained clothes, now dried and some almost faded into soft dark brown stains in the blue stitched fabric. Your left hand instinctively finds the span of his chest, the lining of his shirt under your fingernails. His warm body is grounding, steady. He only dips you to the music ever so gingerly as to not get any grime on your perfect white gown.

“So that’s what this is all for.. Wanna know what I think?” Your eyes find the steel blue gaze of his once more.

“You don’t think much, sweetheart.” You ignore his playful jest, not that he cared as he smiled to himself a mischievous grin.

“I think Jack better start singing for pennies if Dutch thinks we’re gonna make enough money to get away to coconut dreams.” Your instigative, sarcastic comment only warrants a gruff, rumbled laugh from his chest. Dim light cuts his face into sharp planes of greases and wrinkles, yet you couldn’t help but admire how perfect he was. He always appreciated your humor.

“Well y’know how it goes.. Donate some to the camp, gotta do supply runs, the constant moving.. It’s just part of the process. Slow.” Arthur wasn’t sure he believed his own hope, you yourself could hear it in the hesitant choke of his last word.

“Is that why you’ve been running off all week this week?” You asked, tilting your head ever so slightly, his gaze wandering up your jawline and back to your eyes as he shudders. He can’t tell if its from chilling cold nipping at his skin, or the way your warm hands flattened and pressed through the material of his clothing.

“You ask that as if I’m never running off.. Like you barely know me.” That comment sends a feigned, offended swat to his chest and he smiles at your reaction.

“Oh, shut it.”

“I would appreciate hospitality for being the one putting some food in your belly!” He had to moderate the volume of his voice, not wanting to wake the other members of the camp deep in their slumbers, only shielded with canvas and tent flaps. Yet, his voice was thick with what you were very aware was deep seated affection.

“And what about greeting you with a slow dance? That not hospitable enough for your liking?” He knew you were simply teasing, trying to elicit a reaction from him. Yet, his eyes seem to shudder in something painful. No. Needy. Yearning. The way you challenge him both charms him in every fold and sets him knocked out and fallen apart. He doesn’t rip his gaze from you this time, you willingly swim in that deep lake blue hue.

“You are a pain in my ass, woman.” An arm pulls you closer, swaying you gently to the music.

“Well—I don’t mean to be such a nuisance to your splitting head, Mr. Morgan.” You flash an incredulous grin.

He drinks in the planes of your face, the way the vibrant colors of the roaring light danced across the perfect skin. Skin you would claim was imperfect, full of creases, a slight wrinkle bridging the corners of your mouth to your nose. Moles patterned you in places you’d rather not. Yet, the dilation of his pupils pulled you into the abyss of his gaze.

“You aint. I think you’re just perfect..” The words leave his mouth before he could register them. Red heat rushed from your chest and up your face out of the blue. Yet, he doesn’t avert his boyish, bashful gaze, even as he bites the inside of his cheek. He lets the words flow, face swept in thinly veiled admiration when his right hand breaks from yours, brushing against the skin of your cheek and softly pulling a strand of hair behind your burning ears. You looked at him perplexed. “I-in good company, I mean. Perfect company.” He corrects himself. The thin lines of his stern mouth threatened to break into a smile that would reveal his heart. You could tell that this moment was intimate in ways you couldn’t describe, intimate as his hand snakes down the side of your face and hooks under your chin, pulling you close to his face as he kisses your chin with a feverish stutter in his lips.

Whenever you and Arthur had sex, whether it be through moments of weakness or in passionate nights far from camp, together, he has always kissed you with animalistic instinct. With a need to consume the warmth of your body, to feel every slope of your skin and every stretch of your limbs when he folds you down. Yet, his innocent kiss only leaves you burning in desire and conflict.

“I’m a bit too tired to do anything but dance tonight, Arthur.” You mused, head tilting back as he pressed his warm kisses along the pulse of your neck before swooping back to the under of your earlobe. He audibly groans at your comment.

“This ain’t about that. Just—” He stammers for a second and it makes the apples of your cheeks burn. “Will you just let a poor, wounded man have this?” You couldn’t deny the buzzing of butterflies and heat in your belly as his voice came out in a gentle riverbed demand. So, you let him shower you in affection. Affection that some may find more than platonic between the two of you. He whispers soft, affectionate words into your skin, words that can only come out of the mouth of a sleep-deprived, touch hungry outlaw. His left hand still warms against your back as he pulls you in and you realize you’re deeper than you thought you were.

author note pt 2- thank you sm for the support on my last fanfic :,)) the kind compliments and words have been amazing to read and so encouraging to keep writing arthur stories for yall

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #fluff #arthur rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Part Two: Carpe Diem Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting

If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.

She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.

Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.

Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.

“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!”

“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.

“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”

She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”

“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”

“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”

“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”

She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.

Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place.

The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.

Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding.

As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.

And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.

All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.

In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.

The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.

It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.

What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.

Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.

Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.

So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.

She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.

She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.

It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.

The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.

The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.

Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.

She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.

“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.

She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.

“Not particularly, no.”

His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.

“Why's that?”

This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.

“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”

Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.

“So you're lurking about in here instead.”

He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.

He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.

“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.

She smiles lazily and shrugs.

“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”

He seems to consider her statement for a moment.

“Why come then?”

She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”

“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”

She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.

There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.

“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.

“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.

She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”

There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.

“Modern Languages.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.

“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”

She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”

He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”

For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.

He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”

She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.”

She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.

“Okay, okay, Michael.”

She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”

It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.

“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.”

The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.

“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”

He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.

“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”

She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.

It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.

“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.

They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between.

“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.

“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”

She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.

Was he checking me out?

As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.

“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”

He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.

“Can’t say there is.”

She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.

“And why not?”

He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”

“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”

He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.

“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”

The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.

Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.

“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”

He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”

She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.

A warmth swirls in her gut at that.

She circles the table, “what about in the past?”

He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.

“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”

The way he says it.

She wouldn't be surprised if he was…

Oh.

“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”

She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.

He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”

She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.

“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”

He seems to miss what she's trying to say.

“Have you been with a girl?”

At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.

She knows she has her answer.

“Well…I…no, I haven't…”

At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.

“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”

His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”

It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it.

“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.

This isn't normal in his world.

Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”

She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”

For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.

She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.

“What if what I want is…you?”

The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.

So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.

The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.

The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.

For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.

The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it.

One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.

He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.

Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.

“Shit - sorry-”

“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”

The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.

Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.

“If you don't want to-”

“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.

She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”

He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.

“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”

He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”

She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.

It's always the skinny white guys.

“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.

She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.

Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.

She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.

She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.

And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it.

Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.

He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.

When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.

The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.

It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.

“Fuck-”

It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.

His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length.

“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.

If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.

Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.

His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.

When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.

“Fucking hell…”

She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.

And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.

“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.

“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.

“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”

His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.

She bites back a grin.

“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”

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