#never noticed before that he was changing seats

[retiredteabag]

Wishful Thinking

arranged marriage with nanami… a continuation

pt. 1 - pt. 2

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

The silence that permeates the car you were shuffled into with your husband is suffocating.

Your life partner had let go of your hand the moment he had reached to buckle you into your seat. You strain your fingers now, hoping the sweat on your palms hadn't been noticeable.

A driver from your clan's estate had been tasked with dropping you and your husband off at your newly arranged space. You knew this man, the man who was seated directly to your left, was not affiliated with any clan, this meant you had no idea where you were headed.

Several shipments of your belongings had been retrieved over the weeks since the higher-up's declaration of marriage for you had been in place. A steady and simple move-in awaited you. Something you weren't particularly happy about.

You thought through a list of things to occupy yourself with instead of awkwardly standing in this stranger mans presence.

As curious as you were about your future arrangements, you truly could not ignore the silence in this vehicle much longer. Had you married any of the expected bachelors, you were sure your ear would be talked off at this point, yet, you did not even know this mans name.

You took in a deep breath, preparing to speak, the blonde fellow, (your literal husband) turned to meet your eyes, likely having expected you to say something. His eyes shock you, and you turn away once more to stare out the window.

You strain your hand into a fist and work up the courage. Turning with an inhale once more, you force out words before you can change your mind, "Terribly sorry..." You start, looking him in the eyes, "Could you remind me of your name?"

You had never been given it to begin with. Perhaps the officiant at your wedding had recited it in his speech, but you had been a little distracted at the time.

"I'm sorry?" He strains his neck in your direction, eyebrows raised.

"Your name? Sorry... I think I ought to know it, right?"

"You don't know my name?" His head shakes a little as he speaks, incredulous.

You hesitate, "...No? I wasn't paying the most attention for it during the ceremony..." You mumble the last bit, waiting for him to cut you off, but he just stares at you.

"I'm sorry-" His hand hovers mid-air, "You weren't given my name?"

Oh no, you've offended him.

"Oh! It's not like that! My family is....very fond of you! And the higher-ups speak very well of you as well! I...well...I erm..." How do you fix this? Stroke his ego?

His hand is firmly on his forehead now. "That is not what I meant. I'm asking you - you were not informed of my name? Who I am? Were you even aware you were to be wed?"

You fumble a bit with the skirt of your dress, "Of course! Yes, I just... well, I didn't know who, but the marriage bit was no surprise."

"But the rest, that is all true? You had no idea you would be marrying me?" He looks frustrated, to say the least. You had no idea this would come as shocking news, someone should have informed you.

He is peeking at you through his hand, "Well...no, but-" He cuts you off now, but he seems to not be speaking to you.

"No wonder you looked so ill up there..."

Okay ouch.

"When did you agree to this marriage? Was this simply... decided for you?

You weren't sure what to say. Had this not been decided for him as well? Speaking frankly, you were not entirely sure of why he had been chosen as your partner, he had no duty to his name. Even so, he looked repulsed at the realization, eyes shot wide.

"Well... it was-" Were you supposed to be talking about this? Should you say this to your husband? "Umm... Well, I'm sure you know the higher-ups are involved with the clans..."

He shifted in his seat to face you fully now, "You...were forced?" He almost looks frighted at the concept. You want to laugh.

Of course, you were. How else did he think marriage worked?

Despite your thoughts, all you said was, "No, it was a mutual understanding that I would be married."

"Yet you know nothing about me." He looks forward at the road.

Was that what this was about? "I'm a quick learner, if you're concerned about that."

He sighs and smacks a hand to his face again. "No...No that is not what concerns me."

You have a litany of responses ranging from, 'I see...' to 'what does concern you then?' but you say none of them. You just sit forward and stare at your palms.

Oddly enough, it does not take long for the silence to be broken once more.

"Nanami." He says.

"I'm sorry?" You hadn't expected him to speak, eyes wide, you turn to him again.

"Nanami Kento. That's-" He sighs, as if it's a real chore to introduce himself, "my name is Nanami Kento."

You look to one another for a moment before you quickly break the connection, gazing out your window, deigning to not look again until you arrived.

"Mmm...thank you." You finally say.

--

Although you knew the house was not terribly far from your family estate, it felt like hours had passed before you allowed yourself to move once more.

Mr. Nanami had climbed from his seat once the car had halted.

Eager to be away from me it seems.

Only, he had seemed surprised as you climbed from your door as well, having walked around to greet you.

"Allow me," He had said, reaching for the small train case in the back of the car, it had been filled with small wedding gifts and your husband insisted on carrying it for you.

I wonder how long he will keep up this act. You found yourself thinking. Your new residence was sizable. Nice, in an uncomfortably clean way. Perhaps that is how your husband liked it.

As you stepped over the threshold, moving out of "the man of the house's" way. You took it in.

This place must have been chosen by the higher-ups. Your father would not have bought you a home, nor did you expect a man without clan connections to have been able to purchase such a plot of land.

It was only mid-afternoon. Yet your life was impossibly different than it had been only a few hours prior. You had expected the driver to stay and discuss the honeymoon with the two of you but it seemed he had not been instructed with that information.

As many frightening realizations occurred to you, you were able to resign yourself to acceptance, putting aside the...bedding...situation... the concern that stuck with you was dinner plans.

Were you expected to have that prepared? You didn't know what he preferred though....

Thoughts of your...marital duties swam in your head while Nanami was making his way towards the living room.

"Of course," He was saying, "You're free to use whatever you like, these things are as much yours as they are mine..." He had rounded through the sitting area and around the kitchen into the master bedroom, never once turning to look at you.

It was clear that people had come to prepare the area for you two. On his bedside table, you see a comfortable pair of plaid pajama pants and a loose grey shirt. You had not been presented with such. No, on the bed, strewn out for the both of you to see was a... sordid... set of black lacy lingerie.

You stood in silence. A resigned look on your face. Your husband on the other hand, had coughed, spun around, and fully walked from the room in moments.

What was he doing? Was he sickened by you? Did he expect you to appreciate his apprehension? If you were being honest, you would like for him to get this act over with as quickly as possible.

Looking at your marital bed, you were once again reminded of your mother's sobs only this morning. You looked down at the gown that clung to your waist. You had felt pretty today, despite the occasion. You knew you would not feel beautiful in that raunchy piece of string.

How long do I have? You wondered.

Finally moving yourself, you come before the undergarments, sit next to them, and run your hand along the bed's silky duvet.

You sat in silence for longer than you expected to be given. You finally reached your hand up your spine. Unzipping the dress, unbuttoning the clasp at your neck.

You slid it off your body. Walking around the room near-nude to lay the dress along the ladder of a bookcase. It was nice, actually. Maybe you wouldn't mind it here.

You did not rush to dress in the sexy, frilly, underthings. You might not have been perfectly comfortable in your body, but that didn't matter. Not when you had knowledge of the intentions behind your wedding for years.

It was a bit of a challenge to get it on. You weren't sure how to get your arms through at first, and then you swapped them around when you couldn't figure out the neck bit.

What did it matter, it would be coming off anyway.

After dressing, you sat in the same spot on the bed for a while, staring at your hands. You wondered if he was expecting to eat first. Seeing as he had left you alone, however, you figured he would return eventually.

It was cold like this, you hopped he would hurry.

Just as you were beginning to consider moving to look at the bookcase, (panty clad and all) your spine snapped into place when you heard him calling for you. When had you given him your name? You weren't sure.

He was speaking loudly so you might hear through the wall, but not in a frustrated manner, "The kitchen staff is arranging something for us to eat-" He had slowly began to open the door, when his eyes landed on you. Not a moment passed before he dropped whatever he had in his hands. It loudly clattered to the floor and he slammed the door shut. The noise echoed in the room.

"What-??!" He stuttered, "What are you doing?!!"

Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish. What were you doing? What did he mean? And how exactly do you respond?

"I... uhh-" You looked down at yourself in the ridiculous lace.

You had not been trained in much regarding sex, having been told that the man you would marry would be well aware of how to educate you when it came to your actions. Suddenly self-conscious, you wondered if you had done something wrong.

Nanami calls your name from outside your new bedroom, then repeats it. Firm and unmoving. "What-are-you-doing?"

Your hands flounce around. Stuttering for a response, "I- I don't know!?" You finally force out, the tone coming off a little too questioning for an answer.

After a moment there is a dull *bonk* against the door. You hear no response for a long while. The room is so silent, you can hear your heart pounding. It was so painfully uncomfortable, you reached a hand to your chest to try and calm it. Finally, he clears his throat and calls out to you from behind the door again.

He speaks your name gently, as if calling to a child, "I'm going to come in now, okay?"

You sit upon the bed once more, back straight. "Alright." You nod to yourself.

Unsure of what to expect, you watch the door handle tilt to allow for your husbands entry, but your eyes narrow as he shifts into the room, avoiding your gaze - in fact - avoiding your presence completely.

His arm is shaking off his nicely tailored suit jacket. Still turned to look at the closet, he comes before you, jacket in hand, and reaches out for your shoulders. You almost want to shrink back from this odd behavior but remain still as he wraps you up in his clothing.

After a few awkward seconds, he turns to look at you. "What are you doing?" He repeats, low and calm.

You raise your brows, "What... are you doing?" You reach up to feel the jacket covering your collar and torso, instantly, he drops his hands from your shoulders.

He shakes his head, a hand tugging at his loose blond hair. "I don't... understand." He is no longer looking in your vicinity. His voice shakes and all the air leaves his lungs.

"I'm sorry." You wrap yourself tighter in his jacket, shifting to stare at him, "Was this not... expected?" His apprehension certainly came as a surprise to you.

Suddenly he's back, fully facing you, "Expected?" He raises his brows, "What is this? You're... what? Doing what is expected of you?". Despite the severity of the moment, it is now that you recognize how expressive his features are. His neck, up to his cheeks, up to even his ears are a warm pink. It wouldn't be improbable to assume his chest is a rosy shade right about now as well.

You decide to push the boundary, share your frustration. Why is he upset? If he does not want you, he should just say. It's not as if you desire him in that way. This has been an incredibly stressful and tense day, at least he knew who you were before all of this, you did not have that liberty. If anything, you should be upset with him!

"Is it not?" You speak up, "Forgive me, but I was under the impression that...this" You pull your arm out from under his jacket to motion between you two, "was how this worked."

He makes a face. Revolted.

"You are- we-" He cuts himself off, waving his hands before himself, then covers his face, "no." He gets out, "This is not how this works."

"Well." Now you're flushing, embarrassed. You straighten yourself, balling his suit jacket in your firsts. "What... would you like for me to do? I told you in the car that I learn quickly, if thats-"

"Stop." He spits out, voice suddenly higher than before, "Just...stop."

You swallow. What does he want from you? "Okay." You whisper.

He calls for you gently, and motions for you to stand. He turns away from the bathroom now and shifts in the other direction, looking at your wedding gown strewn across the bookcase ladder. He purses his lips. "Please.... dress yourself." He swallows, motions towards the wardrobes along the wall. "Something comfortable in there. I was... going to ask your preferences, for a meal-for dinner. Let me-"

He clears his throat, moving away now toward the bedroom door, he drops to the floor and picks up what must be his phone, having been dropped earlier, he rubs the screen on his pant leg. "What would you like?"

You stare at him, straight-faced. "Anything you like." You're not a picky eater.

He sighs, looking up at the ceiling, "No. What do you like to eat?

You shrug, "Anything. I don't mind." You shake your head at him and he just looks you up and down. The stupidly large jacket comes mid-thigh.

He takes a deep breath. Then exhales dramatically. Nods. And he's gone. This time, when closing the door, he makes an effort to do so gently.

--

You had found a soft cotton pajama set in one of the dresser drawers. Having long since removed your previous attire, you wonder what your husband is thinking of as he silently serves two plates of Chinese food.

You wonder what your father would say if he saw Mr. Nanami serving up dinner for his wife as you sat on the living room couch.

You're taken from your thoughts as Nanami places a large wooden tray on the couch, he places the food on it.

It seems you will very much be eating together.

"I hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you don't." He murmurs, seating himself near you in the dimly lit room.

In no world would you complain about the food your husband served you. Even if you disposed it, luckily, you liked Chinese cuisine. Before you can even get out a word of appreciation he is speaking again, "I think we should talk."

You sit up straight. "Alright."

He motions for you to eat, "Feel free. I think we ought to have an open discussion."

You grab your utensils but don't reach for anything until after he takes a bite. Awaiting his words.

"Well... I believe we ought to be on the same page about this. I had been under the impression that we were... but as I can see, that is not the case." He stares at you intently.

He is not speaking down to you, but rather, making space for an open conversation. You set down your chopsticks, and await further explanation.

"I suppose I should know what exactly the higher-ups asked of you."

You raise your brows, "Sorry?"

An apology has become a common synonym for many of your reactions.

"Earlier, you asked me for my name. And just then-" He flushes a little, motioning to the bedroom, "well- you mentioned expectations and I feel I ought to ask you what is is that has been requested of you."

Is this man daft? Is he playing with you?

Before you respond, you test the waters, "What did the higher-ups demand of you?"

The man sighs.

"I am terribly sorry," he calls your name again like its easy, a habit that makes your stomach flip, "It seems that people have not been honest with you, you deserve an explanation. I just expected you to be aware of this before our union."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes watch you and the chopsticks laying on the wooden tray.

Ah.

You reach to take a bite. It's good, and oddly puts the man before you at ease.

"Before this, I was intending to leave sorcery."

He states it as if it is nothing. Your eyes bug out and he pauses, allowing for you to ensure you heard correctly.

"The higher-ups have a large amount of sway in Tokyo, I'm not sure about Kyoto, but they were not fond of this plan."

I can't imagine why that would be. You thought as you recalled the moment you had first seen this Nanami Kento.

It had been an annual meeting between the Kyoto and Tokyo branches. You had heard him refer to sorcery as "a pain". Had he been considering retirement even then?

You simply nod, listening quietly. "It was their intention to find me...a wife." He huffs, "Maintaining a life in sorcery was highly important to them."

Oh, you see. Perhaps he wasn't so different from you after all.

The higher-ups have only had one expectation for you, even since showing promise in the world of sorcery, even after moving up the ranks at Kyoto Metropolitan Curse Technical College. Your job was plain and simple.

To have babies.

Sorcerer babies.

Had they been so afraid of losing one sorcerer to the regular world that he was cornered into loveless marriage? All to keep him from departure? Was that why Gakuganji had been so immediate with his instatement of your husband?

"I see..." You nod once more.

"I would like to know your experience as well. What was it that they asked of you?" He had both hands laid flat on the makeshift table between the pair of you.

You consider what to say. "I...have known-" you try again, "My duty has been laid out for some time now." You tilt your head, he's squinting at you.

"Please. Just tell me. They... forced you - to - to do that?" He points his head in the direction of your room once more.

Now you're confused. You want to speak in a way that doesn't insult his intelligence but he's making is difficult for you. "Did you not... marry me for children?"

He chokes.

Coughing to clear his throat, he wipes his mouth. "That is not- eugh-" he tries again, "They cannot ask that of you. I will not do anything that you are not explicitly requesting of me." He pauses effecting a moment of silence before, "Do you understand?"

But you don't. "Mr. Nanami, are you... not expected to produce children? Is that not why you were chosen to be in this situation?"

He responds quickly and with precision, "I did not marry you for what you could give me. No."

You can't hold in your confused laugh, "Then...why?"

"Was it not the easiest for the both of us?" He smirks at you, his shoulders have eased only slightly after hearing your laugh, "I was informed that your other options were not the most savory."

"You knew you would be marrying me?" You ask, ignoring his reference to your suitors and flummoxed by how easy it is to speak comfortably with a man you had been so recently adverse to.

"Yes. I... cannot believe you were not provided the same..." He pauses, "I was under the impression that this was a mutual decision..."

"Oh." It's all you can say.

Nanami takes in a deep breath from across the couch cushions. "I'm sorry." And you really believe that he means it. "I would not have agreed if I knew." He forms a flat line with his lips.

"I think you're right, though..." He looks at you, addled, so you continue, “This was the easiest choice. I think so too." You're unsure of how else to conclude.

Your wedding dinner had not been what you would have expected and the night, unlike anything you could have predicted.

Nanami Kento, no matter how you denied and tried to shuffle from the bedroom, had sworn himself to a guestroom after collecting the night clothes laid out for him on the bedside table.

He had gently grabbed your shoulders, maneuvering you towards the bed and away from the exit. Pleading with you to remain in the master bedroom. Claiming that he had intended to sleep in a separate bedroom since the beginning.

Though you pulled at his arms to try and swap your standing, telling him adamantly to take the bigger of the bed options, he simply drew close to you, shifted farther from the door and blocked your sights. He lead you softly to the bed, and when you attempted to side step him and make your way to the guestroom, he took one arm, catching you by the waist, and swiftly lifted you from the floor.

"Please. Do not ask me again. Sleep here, alright? All of your things are here. I will be very comfortable in the guestroom."

And before you could get out any complaint, he had you placed upon the duvet. His hands were off you in an instant, but he remained looking in your direction as he backed to the door you had been fighting over.

"Do sleep well." His long strides had brought him to the rooms entrance with no delay, you were still caught up with the fact that he had lifted you like a sack of potatoes, with one arm no less. "We will likely have to arrange the...trip tomorrow."

The honeymoon, that's right.

He said it in a way that sounded like, 'just to warn you' or 'you should know'. But all you could reply with was, "Right."

"Right." He echo's, turning to walk through the door, and looks to you once more. "Sleep well." And there's your name again, leaving his lips as though you are long time friends.

"You too."

But the door has been silently shut.

His touch lingers on your waist from where he had lifted you. Not in the way your fathers hand would linger after he drug you to and from meetings, not the way his fingers would remain painfully on your neck after he would steer you into conference rooms. But rather, in an almost ticklish way.

You shiver.

And run your hands over your new duvet.

When you had made up your childhood bed and left this morning, you had listened to your mothers cries, sure that last night would be the last time you would have the peace of your own bed. Your heart swelled with the knowledge that you had been wrong.

Your fingers traced the stitching on the comforter. Swung your legs from the mattress, and almost-almost grinned.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

tag list @longlivegojo @kitkatlover015 @l0v3rgirl-owo @smailaway (if your name is here but you didn’t get tagged. I think it’s either bc your blog is new/blank/empty or you need to check your privacy settings)

[muletia]

[tfp] optimus prime x human!reader

summary: you had to go on a business trip. optimus doesn't take it too well

cw: obsessed!optimus, hardcore pinning, angst, i wanted to practice writing dialogues and it shows lmao

word count: 1800

an: i want you guys to know that i am reading EVERY reblog and comment from you swirling my hair and kicking my legs like a schoolgirl

you are so real for that anon

When you, out of your own free will, expressed the desire to join him on patrol, Optimus was overjoyed. You rarely got the chance to be together, just the two of you, always consumed by work or saving the world. And although Optimus wouldn’t dare ask you outright to accompany him on patrols (because the last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable), he deeply longed to spend more time with you alone. He knew he was feeding only his own illusions, fueling the machinery of madness, but by this point, he couldn’t stop. Not when you sat comfortably on his seat, gazing at the views outside the window, visibly content with your outing together.

He wanted so badly for this to be your everyday reality. Maybe then he could finally find some relief from his fixation, maybe you would even save him.

"Hey," you started, and his entire attention focused on you. "Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while."

Oh.

Did your feelings match his? Did you feel affection for him as well? Had you noticed his suffering? Or maybe you wanted to reject him, once and for all, to make him understand that his passion was an illusion, that no matter how much he wanted it, the two of you could never be together — too incompatible, too different. That he had developed this coping mechanism, exhausted by the war.

But before Optimus could spiral further, you crushed his hopes.

"The company I work for is sending me on a business trip," you sighed, clearly dissatisfied with the news. "It’s supposed to take two weeks, but you never really know with these trips, especially since they’re sending me across the continent."

"I understand," he replied, his tone not betraying the turmoil within. "What does this business trip involve?"

"Oh, shoot, sorry! I should have explained that right away," you laughed casually as if you hadn’t just delivered news that shattered his spark. "Business trip is assigned by an employer for training sessions, conferences, exhibitions, and other boring stuff. Kind of like a mission, but without explosions, action, or danger."

It was good to hear that you’d be safe, though you would truly be safest only at the base, under his watchful optics.

Pessimistic, ugly thoughts churned in his processor. Of all the things he expected to hear from you, this wasn’t one of them. Suddenly, he feared being alone, feared his own dreams. Because he knew you wouldn’t be there to comfort him after a nightmare, and nothing else could bring him peace.

"I am sorry to hear we will not see each other for two weeks," he said, "but I am confident you will do exceptionally well on this assignment. You are dependable, unyielding. You can handle anything."

"Oh, thank you," you answered, a bit flustered. You hadn’t expected a compliment. "It just makes me sad to leave Jasper. I don’t say it often enough, but I have a wonderful time with all of you. With you."

"Likewise, [Name]. When are you leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow. Tomorrow after work, I’ll say goodbye to everyone else."

So soon. Too soon. He’d hoped you wouldn’t leave until next week, to at least give him time to mentally prepare for the separation, but you denied him that luxury. Not that any amount of time would have prepared him for this.

Slowly, subtly enough that you wouldn’t notice the change, he reduced his speed, prolonging your shared drive.

"I’m not sure I’ll have time to write," you warned. "Unfortunately, they’ve given me a really tight schedule. But! If I can, I’ll write to the kids. Oh, and expect some souvenirs — I’ll bring something back for you all."

"You do not need to spend your valuable time searching for trinkets. But if you insist, I will cherish anything you bring me."

"Aw, don’t worry—it’ll be no trouble." You waved your hand dismissively. "You do so much for me, for the kids, for the whole Earth without asking for anything in return. You deserve something nice."

"I do not protect your planet for glory or offerings."

"I know, I know. That’s very noble. And amazing. So many years, sticking firmly to your values."

He eagerly soaked up your praise, allowing himself, if only for a brief moment, to forget the world around him, to forget his duties, unfulfilled promises, fallen brothers and sisters. He’d never describe himself as 'amazing', nor did he believe the praise his own kind gave him about his greatness. But for you, he could believe it. If only for a moment, a few seconds, so that you’d leave on your mission thinking warmly of your time together and of him.

"Thank you, [Name]. Please know that I value your words tremendously."

"Oh," you blushed, "that’s nice to hear."

Embarrassed, you quickly changed the subject, unaware that Optimus was watching you closely, curious about your reaction. For now, he pushed thoughts of your departure to the back of his processor, wanting to fully enjoy your presence. You recommended songs from the country genre, one of his favorite discoveries on Earth, which he promised to listen to later. He knew well that this would lead to more daydreaming, imagining a future that would never be. Because no matter how hard he tried, his tomorrow would not be entwined with yours. His desires would forever remain mere fantasies born out of desperation, longing, and sorrow.

A week had passed since you left. In the lives of the Autobots, not much had changed because of your absence; they went on with their chaotic schedule. The kids, however, missed you. No more evenings spent helping them with their homework, working on your reports, playing games, or simply chatting. The worst part was that no one really knew what was going on with you. You rarely messaged, didn’t have time to talk, and when you did, it was just to say, "I’m alive, it’s boring, I’ll message you on Thursday." Life continued, despite how much Miko wished she could play games with you instead of doing her homework.

Everyone managed to adapt to your absence.

With one exception.

At first glance, it seemed like Optimus, the bot with whom you shared the closest bond, hadn’t been affected by such a drastic change. Nothing in his behavior indicated any longing. He didn’t express his opinion on the matter, didn’t ask, didn’t demand. As always, he buried his feelings deep within, playing the role of a diligent leader, hiding from everyone the nightmares running through his processor, now even more intense because of your absence.

He was withering, quietly and alone.

Until now, he had been content simply watching you. He had established a routine, unhealthy as it was, that kept him going. He knew that most of the time when he returned from patrol or a mission, you would be at the base. Even if you came every other or every third day, Optimus knew that eventually, you would show up. It gave him a sense of stability amidst the chaos surrounding him. But now? Maybe two weeks wasn’t a big challenge for you, but he was done after one.

Now, he wanted to be more than a passive observer. He craved physical contact, to hold you close, to feel your heartbeat against his metal. He wanted to know you were alive, to feel your pulse under his digit, to listen to its rhythm, to understand how your chest moved against his metal. He wanted to feel, taste, touch, enter.

He kept glancing at the spot on the couch where you usually sat with your laptop on your lap or spent time with the kids as if hoping that if he looked just one more time, you would materialize there. That everything would return to normal, that he wouldn’t suffer so much, that you would give him the daily dose of antidote he needed to function without plunging deeper into despair. But no matter how many times he looked, you weren’t there, and wouldn’t be for another week.

At some point, however, someone noticed their leader’s miserable mood.

"I can’t quite figure out what kind of bond you have with that woman," Ratchet said, pausing his work to look at Optimus. Before his friend could answer, he continued, "But she’ll be back soon. And whatever she’s doing, she’ll do it well. She’s tough."

"Thank you, old friend. I have no doubt in her abilities. But I would feel better if she were stationed closer to the base in case of a Decepticon attack."

"Mm-hmm," the medic scoffed. "Sure, that’s all it’s about."

Optimus had no response to that. He wasn’t surprised that Ratchet noticed his infatuation, but he would prefer that his friend not delve into the details of their relationship. At least, not yet. Not while Optimus himself was a wreck.

"Hey, hey! [Name] messaged!" Miko yelled.

The Autobot leader immediately approached the platform, finally abandoning his conversation with Ratchet, aware that it would only spark more suspicions. But he didn’t care anymore, not in such an important moment.

He stood directly behind Miko, with Bumblebee and Bulkhead beside him, equally curious to know what you had been up to over the past week.

"She sent photos, too! Look!"

Miko turned to show the messages to the others but paused when she noticed Optimus’s helm close to her.

“Whoa,” she whispered, surprised that out of all the bots, he was the one standing the closest. She swallowed, but her confidence quickly returned.

Holding her phone firmly, she displayed a close-up selfie of you. You were smiling, though the bags under your eyes betrayed that you were sleep-deprived, probably exhausted.

Optimus felt the accumulated stress, pain, and longing of the past week slowly dissipate. Everything was fine with you. You were alive, pushing forward with a smile on your face, happy to simply exist. Admiring your photo didn’t compare to seeing you in person, but it let him vent a little easier, granting him a brief respite from worry, gnawing at him from within. It was enough. For now. For a moment.

“She sends her regards to everyone,” Miko went on, “Oh, and she also asked Ratchet to take a break and mentioned she already bought a gift for Optimus and can’t wait to come back. Hey, I want a present, too!”

Optimus couldn't be certain if another week apart wouldn’t inflict even more damage on his processor and spark, or if longing would eventually consume him entirely. But he knew he was already lost, that you held sway over every aspect of his life. He was wrapped around your finger, tethered by a leash you didn’t even realize existed. And he didn’t mind one bit.

[aventurineswife]

hello~ I was hoping I could make a teensy (hopefully it stays teensy request XP) Dan Heng, Aventurine, Dr Ratio, Jing yuan, Jiaoqiu and AE!Sunday with a s/o or spouse who gets cold very easily but they remain quiet and dont complain abt it out loud to avoid being a bother XPc 🍮♠

Unspoken Warmth

Summary: Your partner notices your quiet endurance of the cold and offers warmth in their unique way, despite your reluctance to show weakness.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Dr. Ratio x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Fluff, Comfort, Quiet Intimacy, Cold Weather Care, Protective Characters, Emotional Support, Silent Love, Soft Moments

You never complained about the cold. Not once. The chill of the wind outside the Astral Express had crept into your bones, and while most would have found the drop in temperature unbearable, you kept your discomfort to yourself. Dan Heng, however, was not one to miss the subtle shiver that ran through your body as you sat near the windows, gazing out into the vast, starry void.

He had noticed it before. How you would curl into yourself just a little tighter when the cold crept in, how you would sit with your shoulders drawn in, silently enduring the icy air without a single word of complaint. It wasn’t like you to ask for anything—Dan Heng knew that much. He respected it, perhaps more than you realized.

But that didn’t mean he was blind to it.

One evening, as the train hummed steadily through the vastness of space, he sat beside you, his sharp gaze flicking over the space around you. It had gotten colder, the sort of bite in the air that left no room for doubt. Yet you remained still, your posture ever so slight in your discomfort.

Without saying anything, he stood up and moved toward the cabin's storage. You heard the faint rustle of fabric, and then he returned, holding a thick, dark cloak draped over his arm.

“This should help,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, as he carefully wrapped the cloak around your shoulders.

The warmth that radiated from the fabric immediately enveloped you, a small relief from the chill that had been gnawing at your skin. You opened your mouth to thank him but caught yourself. He was already back in his seat, his spear resting against the wall beside him. His demeanor hadn't shifted—stoic, calm, as always.

But then, you noticed the subtle change in his expression. His gaze, soft yet insistent, met yours for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t pity, but understanding. You weren’t the only one who carried silent burdens.

“I’ve got your back,” he added quietly, as though reading your thoughts.

And you knew, without needing to say a word, that he would always be there, silently offering warmth when you least expected it.

The cold had arrived swiftly, settling in with the smooth precision of a well-played hand in a game of cards. But unlike the calculated nature of your partner, this sudden chill seemed to have caught you off guard. Your body shivered slightly as the evening air settled over Aventurine’s apartment, the cold creeping into your bones.

You didn’t complain. You never did. Despite the discomfort of your quiet shivers, you simply curled your arms around yourself, hoping the warmth of your own body would be enough to stave off the cold.

But Aventurine—always observant, always attuned to the smallest details—had noticed. His sharp eyes flicked toward you, noting the way you hugged your arms tighter to your chest. He did not ask, he did not speak aloud, but within moments, you felt his presence beside you.

He draped his coat over your shoulders, the fur lining warm against your skin. You blinked in surprise, raising your head to meet his amused, yet tender, smile.

“Never thought I’d see someone like you let the cold win,” he teased gently, though his tone carried no malice.

You couldn’t help but smile in return, though you still said nothing. Aventurine’s smile deepened, as if he understood your reluctance to voice your discomfort.

“Stay warm, my dear.” he whispered, his hand brushing your hair back with a softness that felt almost too tender for the flamboyant strategist.

As he moved to sit down beside you, his cloak still wrapped around your shoulders, you leaned into him, letting the warmth from both his coat and his presence soothe the cold. No words were needed. With Aventurine, you had learned that sometimes, silence was the most profound way to express affection.

The cold was biting, a stark contrast to the usual warmth of the laboratory. You hadn’t said a word about it, of course. You never did. Your pride was too strong, your desire to not be a burden too ingrained in you. But that didn’t stop the creeping chill from seeping into your skin.

Ratio, ever perceptive despite his sharp and often dismissive nature, had noticed the subtle way your shoulders hunched as you worked alongside him. The shivering that danced along your arms hadn’t escaped his sharp eyes.

He did not comment. There was no question in his tone when he moved from the desk to the shelves, his fingers brushing over vials and medical instruments with precise ease. He returned a moment later with a heated compress, offering it to you without so much as a word.

“Place it here.” he instructed, gesturing to your hands.

You blinked at him, surprise momentarily breaking your usual calm demeanor. You hadn’t expected him to notice, much less to care.

Ratio’s eyes met yours—intense, unwavering, yet there was a flicker of something softer behind them. A quiet acknowledgment of your discomfort.

“It’s not weakness,” he added in a rare moment of tenderness. “Sometimes, even the strongest need a little help.”

You didn’t need to speak, but you gave him a small, grateful nod, the warmth from the compress beginning to seep into your body, making the cold feel a little less sharp.

It had become a routine. The cold would set in, and you would remain silent about it. You never asked for his attention, never begged for warmth, but Jing Yuan—calm, calculating, always two steps ahead—had noticed.

The evening had grown cold, and though you tried to remain composed, Jing Yuan’s sharp eyes caught the subtle way you tucked your arms around yourself, the faint shiver that ran through your form.

He didn’t speak a word at first, content to observe from a distance as you tried to maintain your stoic composure. But after a few moments, he stood, slowly walking toward you with the same deliberate pace he always maintained, his golden eyes softening with a quiet understanding.

Without asking, he wrapped a thick blanket around you, his hands brushing over your shoulders as he adjusted it for maximum comfort. His actions were practical, yet there was a gentleness in his touch that spoke volumes.

“You should have said something,” he murmured quietly, his voice carrying no reproach, only a subtle note of care.

You offered a faint smile, though you still didn’t speak, content to let the warmth of the blanket and his presence surround you. Jing Yuan simply nodded, his gaze distant but kind.

“I’m here,” he added softly, his usual authority giving way to something more personal. “Next time, let me know if you’re cold.”

And with that, you knew—without a word—that he would always be there to offer warmth, whether spoken or unspoken.

The cold came as it often did, unannounced and relentless. You tried to ignore it, as you always did, curling up with your thoughts and your work, pretending the biting chill didn’t bother you.

But Jiaoqiu, perceptive as always, saw through your act. His gentle eyes studied you from across the room as he prepared his alchemical concoctions, his hands steady and graceful. When he noticed the subtle tremble of your body, he moved toward you, his expression calm but his intent clear.

Without a word, he produced a thick, soft blanket from one of his cabinets and carefully draped it around your shoulders, ensuring you were warm but not overwhelmed.

“I know you don’t like to ask for help,” he said, his voice low and comforting, “but you don’t need to suffer in silence.”

You met his gaze, and for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hung between you. You hadn’t needed to say anything, yet Jiaoqiu knew exactly what you needed. The warmth from the blanket and his thoughtful gesture melted some of the cold, but it was the warmth of his care that truly made the difference.

And for the first time that day, you let yourself relax, allowing Jiaoqiu’s presence to be the healing you didn’t know you needed.

The cold had always been a silent companion. You never complained about it. You never showed weakness. It wasn’t that you didn’t mind the chill—it was simply a matter of pride. You would endure it silently.

But Sunday, ever the observant leader, had noticed. He saw the way your movements became just a bit stiffer, how your usual calm demeanor seemed to falter as the temperature dropped.

One evening, as you stood near the window of your shared quarters aboard the Astral Express, lost in thought, he approached without a word. You felt the weight of his presence before you heard his soft voice.

“You should’ve said something,” he murmured, his words carrying the authority of a leader, but with the gentleness of someone who truly cared.

Before you could respond, Sunday wrapped his long, elegant coat around you, pulling you gently into his embrace. The warmth of his body, combined with the softness of the fabric, melted the chill in your bones.

“You are not a burden,” he whispered, the quiet conviction in his tone breaking through your usual restraint. “I would have done this sooner if you had let me.”

For the first time, you didn’t feel the need to hide your discomfort. Sunday’s embrace, his warmth, was enough to make you forget the cold, not just around you, but inside as well.

[eu-nicola]

Topper's sister

summary: since you were a child you had been in love with Rafe even though he never saw you, he always saw you as his best friend's little sister and nothing else, until one night everything changed.

warnings: nothing

word counter: 4487

author's note: english is not my first language

Since you were a child, you had always been Topper's "little sister." You grew up surrounded by him and his friends, watching from the shadows as they lived their days with a carefree attitude that you, in your innocence, envied. Among them all, Rafe Cameron had been your beacon. A platonic love that had begun when you were barely ten years old and he was already an arrogant and charming teenager.

It was impossible not to notice Rafe. With his easy laugh, his hair messy from the wind, and that confidence that radiated as if the world belonged to him. Every time he came to your house, he would greet you with a quick knock on the door before entering without waiting for an answer, and he always gave you the same gesture: a distracted flutter in his hair, as if you were a pet he found cute.

"Hey, little one." That was his standard greeting. A casual smile, without stopping to look at you for more than a second.

It made you burn inside. Not with hate, but with frustration. To him, you had always been the girl Topper shared DNA with, nothing more.

But time had passed. You were sixteen now, and you were no longer that shy girl who watched from the stairs as the boys joked and drank in the living room. You had changed. Your eyes, once filled with naivety, now knew how to see beyond the surface. Your hair fell in neat waves, and your style had become refined. You knew that many of Topper’s friends looked at you differently. The pool boy last week, Kelce at the last party, even some who were more distant were starting to seek your attention.

Except Rafe.

He was still the only exception.

One summer afternoon was an especially hot day, and as usual, Topper had invited his friends over to spend the day at the pool. You were in the kitchen, looking for something cold to drink, when you heard the familiar voices from the patio. Rafe’s laughter was loud, and as an automatic reflex, you looked out the window. There he was, with his cocky grin, throwing a ball back and forth with Topper and Kelce.

You decided to join in. You were no longer the girl who hid; now you knew how to move in his world. You came out with a glass of lemonade in your hand and headed toward the group.

“Maintaining the pool again?” you commented with a hint of mockery.

Topper rolled his eyes, but it was Kelce who answered first, smiling in a way you had seen before.

“There’s always room for you.”

Rafe didn’t even bother to look at you. He kept his eyes on the ball, as if your presence wasn’t worthy of his attention. That indifference stung, but you refused to let him notice.

“Sure, Kelce. Because you’re always such a gentleman,” you replied with a wink, playing along with his flirtation.

You sat down in one of the nearby chairs, letting the sun warm your skin as you feigned disinterest. You knew the others were looking at you, but your eyes were focused only on Rafe. Despite everything, he was still the one who held your attention.

After a while, the dynamic changed. Topper and Kelce decided to get into the water, leaving Rafe alone by the table. Without thinking much, you stood up and walked over.

“Are you going to stand there like a guard or are you going to have fun?” you asked, taking a seat next to him.

Finally, Rafe looked at you. His blue eyes met yours for a brief moment, and for the first time in a long time, he seemed to notice something different. But his usual smile quickly returned.

“Someone has to keep order. I don’t trust those two.” He pointed at Topper and Kelce, who were fighting over a float.

You rolled your eyes, leaning a little closer to him.

“Always so responsible, Rafe? You surprise me.”

“And you’re always so curious, huh?”

There was a mocking tone in his voice, but also something else. Something that made you wonder if, after all these years, Rafe was starting to see you as more than just Topper’s little sister. But you shouldn’t get your hopes up; you knew Rafe Cameron and his world of dangerous games all too well.

The afternoon passed without any major problems. The boys joked around and competed in absurd games, like who could stay on the float the longest or who could do the best dive from the edge of the pool. You joined them at times, letting the laughter flow freely. You felt the gazes of Kelce and the other boys on you, but as always, you didn't care enough.

Even so, there was something different in the air. A subtle tension. At one point, as you were toweling off after a dip, Kelce approached with a playful grin.

“So… you’re going to the party tonight, right?” he asked, leaning slightly towards you.

“Sure,” you replied without hesitation.

“Perfect.” Kelce winked at you and walked away, but not before Rafe pushed him away with a light punch on the shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Rafe said with a dry laugh.

“Just being friendly,” Kelce replied with a crooked grin, knowing full well what he was doing.

You watched the interaction, trying to figure out if there was something more behind Rafe’s reaction, but he didn’t say anything else. He simply turned away and refocused on the game. Although his apparent indifference was still present, you couldn’t ignore the small spark you’d seen in his eyes.

As the sun began to set, everyone started packing up their things. The boys went home to get ready for the party, while you stayed a little longer by the pool. You enjoyed the moment of calm, letting the warm breeze caress your skin before heading inside.

In your room, you opened your closet, searching for the perfect outfit for the night. You knew the party was going to be big; the entire Outer Banks was talking about it. You wanted to stand out, not only because you knew a lot of eyes would be on you, but also because you wanted to provoke a specific reaction. You wanted him to see you.

You chose a tight, deep blue dress, which highlighted your eyes and hugged your figure in all the right places. You carefully applied your makeup, opting for a style that combined naturalness with a hint of boldness. Looking in the mirror, you knew you were ready.

You walked down the stairs just as the first guests began to arrive. The house was already filled with music and laughter. Topper, as always, was in his element, greeting everyone and making sure drinks were never in short supply.

Hours later the atmosphere was electric. The house was filled with young people dancing, drinking and chatting in every corner. You walked through the living room confidently, greeting a few acquaintances before heading out to the patio where most of them were congregating. There, under the dim lights hanging over the pool, you saw Rafe.

He was leaning against the railing, a glass in his hand and that carefree smile that seemed permanent on his face. He was talking to a group of guys, but even from a distance, you could notice how some girls tried to catch his attention. He, however, ignored them with an ease that you found frustrating and fascinating in equal parts.

You decided not to approach him right away. Instead, you moved through the party, letting others come to you. Kelce appeared almost instantly, offering you a drink and throwing out flattering comments that you accepted with a smile.

However, every time you turned your head, your eyes went back to find Rafe. You watched him move around, talking to Topper or just watching the crowd, but never coming close to you.

After a while, you felt somewhat suffocated by the crowd and decided to step out onto the back balcony for a moment. The music was muffled, and the fresh air was a relief. You leaned on the railing, enjoying the brief respite.

You hadn’t been there more than a few minutes when you heard footsteps behind you. You turned your head and, to your surprise, it was Rafe.

“Escaping the party?” he asked with that smile he seemed to have been practicing for years.

“Just taking a break.” You shrugged, trying to remain calm.

He walked over and leaned on the railing beside you. For the first time in a long time, you were alone with him, without the distraction of others.

“Kelce seems to be quite interested in you,” he commented casually, though there was something in his tone that made you raise an eyebrow.

“And that bothers you?” “You asked, challenging him with your gaze.

Rafe let out a low laugh, turning his head to you.

“Should I?”

You didn’t answer right away. There was a tension in the air, an energy that seemed to envelop the two of you. Finally, you decided that, this time, you weren’t going to be the first to give in.

“I guess not,” you said with a hint of sarcasm, before looking away towards the horizon.

The silence that followed was brief, but loaded with meaning.

“Maybe.” His reply was almost a whisper.

The tension on the balcony was almost unbearable, but you refused to be the one to give in. Without giving him time to respond or analyze his words further, you stepped away from the railing and left him there, with his thoughts. You weren’t going to let that little moment consume you, not when there was an entire party waiting for you.

You went back inside the house, and as soon as you walked through the door, someone handed you a glass. You accepted it without thinking much, feeling the alcohol begin to warm your veins. The music was louder, the lights dimmer, and the energy of the party enveloped you again.

Soon you found yourself in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by bodies moving to the beat of the music. It wasn't long before one of Topper's friends approached, a boy who had always tried to catch your attention. You knew that tonight he had his goal clear too, and it didn't bother you at all.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked you with a cheeky smile, already a few drinks in.

"Why not?" you answered, letting yourself be carried away by the music and the atmosphere.

He positioned himself close to you, his hands resting on your waist as you both followed the rhythm of the music. There wasn't a considerable space between you, and the closeness was enough to make other eyes fall on you, although you didn't care. At least, not until you felt a different presence at your side.

Suddenly, a strong hand rested on your arm, gently but firmly pulling you away from the boy you were dancing with. When you looked up, you met Rafe's eyes. His face was serious, and though his balance wasn’t perfect due to the alcohol, his gaze burned with an intensity you hadn’t seen before.

“Come on,” he said in a deep voice, almost inaudible over the music.

“What are you doing, Rafe?” you asked, surprised and confused, as he led you through the crowd.

“You shouldn’t be with him,” he replied, not even looking back.

You, your head clouded by the drinks you had consumed, could barely process what was happening. Before you knew it, you were in one of the rooms upstairs, away from the noise of the party.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, breaking free from his grip.

Rafe closed the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment. There was something different in his gaze, something beyond the alcohol.

“I don’t know…” he murmured.

The silence between you was heavy, but not uncomfortable. You moved closer, your heart pounding in your chest. There were so many emotions mixed together: frustration, desire, confusion. Rafe looked at you, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t seem to have all the answers.

So, without thinking about it any further, you took a step closer and kissed him. It was an impulsive kiss, filled with years of repressed emotions. At first, Rafe seemed surprised, but he quickly reciprocated.

The kiss intensified, and soon everything else faded away. There was no one else, no past or future, just that moment.

What happened next was a mix of desire and confusion. You were both drunk, and even though your thoughts tried to stay clear, your actions betrayed you. That night was the first time you were with a man, and it was with him, with Rafe, the person you had idealized for so long.

You didn't say anything about it, and you didn't afterward either. Rafe didn't ask you, nor did he seem to care. To him, it was just another night, a mistake caused by alcohol and closeness.

When it was all over, you stayed silent, staring at the ceiling as he quickly got dressed. Rafe wasn't the type to stick around, and you knew that even before he opened his mouth.

“This isn’t going to happen again,” he said, his voice hoarse and tired. “We were just drunk, that’s all.”

It hurt, but you didn’t show it. Instead, you shrugged, pretending you didn’t care.

“I know.”

He gave you one last look, like he was searching for something in your expression, but when he found nothing, he simply left, closing the door behind him.

You stood there for a few minutes, letting reality hit you. You had known something like this could happen, that once you were around Rafe, your feelings would complicate everything again. But you also knew you weren’t going to let it define you.

You stood up, fixed your dress, and walked out of the room, ready to face the rest of the night. Rafe might want to pretend nothing had happened, but you weren’t going to get caught up in that. If he wanted to forget about it, you would too.

You returned to the party, head held high and a confident smile. There were more drinks, more laughter, more glances. Kelce found you again, and this time, you didn't hesitate to accept his attention.

The days following the party were a whirlwind of emotions for you. Every time you saw Rafe, a knot formed in your stomach. However, he didn't seem affected at all. He acted as if that night had never happened, as if it had all been an unimportant blur.

You expected it, but it didn't hurt any less. You had spent years dreaming of a moment like this, imagining what it would be like if Rafe finally saw you as more than "Topper's little sister." And even though it had happened, the reality was very different from your fantasies.

Rafe was back to his old self: distant, cocky, focused on his own world. His interactions with you were sporadic and cordial, if anything. There wasn’t a single sign that he remembered what happened, let alone cared.

You, for your part, tried to stay strong. You knew you couldn’t let a single moment define your life, but that was easier said than done. Despite everything, you were still in love with him. Every time he walked into a room, your attention was automatically drawn to him, even if you tried hard to look away.

You spent more time with Topper’s friends, especially Kelce, who seemed determined to win your attention. Kelce was friendly and knew how to make you laugh, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never make you completely forget about Rafe.

At night, you found yourself replaying the moments from that night over and over in your mind. You remembered his hands on you, the warmth of his body, the intensity of his gaze. But every time those memories came up, you forced yourself to push them away. Rafe had been clear: it wasn’t going to happen again.

Everything was moving on, and it was impossible to avoid Rafe entirely. You often saw him around the house, chatting with Topper or relaxing by the pool. When you were around him, you tried to act natural, but each interaction was harder than you wanted to admit.

One day, while you were in the kitchen preparing something to eat, Rafe came in, reaching for a beer in the fridge. For a moment, you were alone, silence filling the space between you.

“Everything okay?” he asked casually, not looking at you as he opened the bottle.

“Yeah, everything okay,” you replied in a neutral tone, trying to sound nonchalant.

Rafe nodded and leaned against the counter, taking a sip of his drink. There were no more words between you, and after a few minutes, he simply walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone once again.

Those kinds of encounters became commonplace. Rafe was always polite, but it never went beyond a “hello” or an occasional question. It seemed like for him, nothing out of the ordinary had really happened.

You decided you couldn’t stay stuck in that cycle anymore. If Rafe could ignore what happened, then you could try too. You pushed yourself to focus on other things: hanging out with your friends, focusing on your own interests, even considering the idea of ​​starting something with someone new.

Yet every little bit of progress fell apart the moment you saw Rafe. There was something about him that always drew you back, as if your heart refused to accept what your mind already knew.

One afternoon, as you sat on the patio, watching the waves in the distance, you heard footsteps behind you. You turned your head and saw Rafe, walking with that nonchalance that always seemed to accompany him. He sat down on one of the nearby chairs, not saying anything at first.

“Thinking about something deep?” he finally asked, with a slight smile.

You didn’t answer right away. You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure.

“Maybe,” you finally said, without looking at him.

Rafe didn’t press. He stayed silent, sipping from his glass as you both stared at the horizon. For a moment, you almost seemed like friends, like there was nothing strange between you. But you knew it was just a passing illusion.

That was the problem with Rafe. He always managed to sneak into your life, into your thoughts, even when you tried to keep him out.

Days after trying to ignore him, there was another party but this time not at your house but at Rafe’s house. The music was pumping loudly, filling every corner of the house. The lights flickered to the beat of the bass, while the air was charged with the energy of bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. You stood in the center of the dance floor, lost in the music, letting a boy lead you confidently. He was attractive, and his smile had a mischievous touch that kept your thoughts away from Rafe, at least for a while.

“You’re a great dancer,” the boy told you, leaning close to your ear so you could hear him over the music.

You smiled, grateful for the compliment, although it didn’t affect you too much. All you wanted was to enjoy the night without complications, without thinking about what had happened days ago. But just when you thought you could finally relax, you felt a strong hand on your arm.

“That’s enough,” you heard Rafe’s voice, sharp and determined, as he pulled you away from the boy.

You turned quickly, coming face to face with him. His eyes, despite the slight glint of alcohol, were filled with an intensity you hadn’t seen in a long time. The boy you were dancing with raised his hands, taking a few steps back, clearly not wanting to confront Rafe.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, pulling away from his hold, furious at the interruption.

“What am I doing?” Rafe repeated, as if the answer was obvious. “What do you think you’re doing, dancing with him like that?”

You stared at him incredulously, your emotions swinging between surprise and anger.

“Excuse me? Since when do you care who I dance with?”

Rafe looked at you with his lips pressed together, his jaw tensing.

“I don’t care, but you don’t have to behave like that in front of everyone.”

“Behave like that?” you laughed bitterly. “Don’t tell me what to do, Rafe. You’re nobody to butt into my life.”

His face showed a hint of something, maybe surprise, maybe frustration. But he quickly hid it, taking a step back.

“You’re right,” he finally said, his tone cold and distant. “I’m nobody.”

With that, Rafe turned around and walked away, leaving you there, your heart pounding and a mix of emotions you couldn't control.

You stood in the center of the dance floor, watching him walk away. The music continued, people continued dancing, but to you everything seemed to have paused. His words echoed in your mind: I'm nobody.

You tried to regain your composure. You went back to where your friends were, but your mood was no longer the same. Although you pretended everything was fine, inside you the anger and confusion continued to grow.

Rafe had made his point clear: he didn't want anything serious, but he didn't seem to want you to be with someone else either. What right did he have to make a scene out of jealousy if you meant nothing to him?

You took a long drink from the drink someone offered you, determined to erase that moment from your mind.

The next morning the sun shone high in the sky as the group enjoyed the afternoon by Topper's pool. You were lying on a lounge chair, your sunglasses covering half your face, letting the heat tan your skin. You could hear the sound of the waves in the distance and the laughter of the boys drinking beers near the pool.

Rafe was there, of course, sitting next to Topper and Kelce. You tried not to look at him, concentrating on the book in your hands, even though you hadn’t read a single word since you sat down. Your tranquility was interrupted, however, when one of Topper’s friends, a boy named Mason, decided to approach.

“Enjoying the sun?” he asked with a smile, leaning in slightly so you could hear him.

You looked up over your sunglasses and smiled lightly at him.

“Yeah, it’s a nice day,” you replied in a relaxed tone.

Mason sat on the edge of your lounge chair, his presence much closer than you expected.

“I was thinking maybe we could take advantage of this nice day and go out on the jet ski later. What do you say?” he suggested, clearly interested in spending more time with you.

Before you could answer, you felt a shadow approaching. Rafe was now standing next to your lounge chair, his gaze fixed on Mason.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Mason?” Rafe asked with a tight smile, though his tone made it clear it wasn’t a friendly suggestion.

Mason looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t move immediately.

“I was just talking to her, man. Relax.”

“Well, talk from over there,” Rafe replied, pointing towards the group of guys by the pool.

You sat up, furious, and pushed your sunglasses aside to face him.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe?” you snapped, your voice filled with anger.

Rafe didn’t respond immediately, simply keeping his gaze fixed on Mason until he finally stood up and walked back to the group. Then, he turned his attention back to you.

“Can we talk?” he said in a tone that tried to be softer.

“No, we can’t.” You stood up from the lounge chair and grabbed your towel. Without waiting for an answer, you headed into the house, leaving Rafe standing by the pool.

You went up to your room, closed the door behind you, and dropped onto the bed, trying to calm yourself down. But it wasn’t more than a few minutes before the door slammed open. Rafe had walked in without even knocking, his face a mix of frustration and determination.

“What do you want now?” you asked, standing up to face him.

“I want to know what the hell you’re doing,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“What am I doing?” you repeated in disbelief. “I’m the one who should be asking you that! You were clear, Rafe. Our thing was just one night. I accepted it, remember? So why do you keep showing up every time someone else is paying attention to me?”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice lower.

That only made you angrier.

“Well, I do know that. You have no right to butt into my life, Rafe. No right to make me jealous when you yourself said it meant nothing.”

Rafe stayed silent, his eyes locked on yours. He knew you were right, but he couldn’t seem to find the words to respond. Instead, he took a step towards you, and before you could react, his lips were on yours.

You resisted at first, pushing him away slightly, still angry. But Rafe didn’t pull away, and after a second, the tension between you exploded. You gave in, kissing him back with the same intensity. His hands slid down your back, pulling you closer, as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. Rafe looked at you, his eyes darker now, filled with desire.

“We have to stop here,” he said quietly, though his hands were still firmly gripped by your hips. “If we don’t, I won’t be able to stop later.”

You stared at him, not pulling away.

“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, with a determination that surprised even yourself.

That was all it took. Rafe kissed you again, more urgently this time, as he led you toward the bed. You both knew you were crossing a line, but at that moment, neither of you seemed to care.

[v6quewrlds]

if ur comfortable, could u write tee or joe with a AKA girlfriend? love ur work 💗

had to respond to this immediately because yes of course i will bae <3

1908, ALPHA KAPPA ALPHA

A week ago, you had casually mentioned to Joe that you were inviting two of your sorority sisters to stay for the weekend. Joe, bless his heart, had insisted on coming along with you to pick them up. You two had never crossed paths at Ohio State during your time there, but he had heard enough stories to know your sorors were a force to be reckoned with.

The moment the sliding doors parted and your friends emerged, you knew you had nothing to worry about. Kia and Taylor, both equally as radiant as the day you met them, strutted out of the arrivals terminal. You practically leaped out of the car, your face lighting up with joy, and the three of you embraced in a reunion filled with squeals and laughter. The years hadn't changed you; you were still the inseparable trio from the Theta Chapter of Alpha Kappa Alpha, your bond as strong as ever.

Kia, a petite lawyer with glowing caramel skin and an infectious laugh, spotted Joe first. "Ain't that your man?" she exclaimed, pointing to the tall, visibly nervous figure as he leaned against the car. "Look at that color!" Your two friends giggled, noticing Joe's ill-fated fashion choice.

Taylor almost floated over to the car. "Joe," she called out, her voice carrying over the airport crowd, "we see you tryna rep!"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you followed Kia's gaze to Joe, who was indeed wearing a pink polo shirt. "Oh my god," you murmured to yourself, "I didn't even realize." You had told Joe to wear something that would make a good impression, but apparently, he had misunderstood your instructions.

Your friends couldn't contain their laughter as they approached the car. "Joe, honey," Taylor said, her voice thick with amusement, "are you gonna pledge?"

Joe looked down at his shirt, the realization dawned on him, and his cheeks flushed pinker than the fabric. Kia and Taylor couldn't hold it in any longer, bursting into laughter as Joe looked up, his blue eyes wide with embarrassment.

"Well," Kia managed through her giggles, "you're definitely supportive. And that's all we want for our girl."

You stepped in, placing a reassuring hand on Joe's shoulder. "It's okay, baby," you said, your voice warm with affection. "You look hot in pink."

Joe rolled his eyes, but his tension visibly eased. "Thanks," he mumbled shyly, his sarcasm not quite as sharp as usual. "I'll take your bags."

As he loaded their luggage into the trunk, your friends couldn't stop teasing him about his outfit. "You know, Joe," Kia said, winking, "we might just have to give you a little something for this. Maybe an honorary pin or something."

Joe chuckled, trying to play along. "Yeah, sure," he replied, "just be patient with me. I'm still learning the strolls."

As Kia and Taylor huddled into the backseat, you reached for Joe's hand, stopping him as he closed the trunk of the car. "Thank you," you said, your eyes full of genuine gratitude.

Joe's smile grew genuine, the awkwardness fading away. "Anything for you," he replied, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You leaned in to kiss him before sliding into the driver's seat.

[oceantornadoo]

where you’ve been assigned to working with john price on a report and the proximity is getting to you both…

(f!reader)

-

late nights pouring over reports in the base conference room with price. he tries to bring you coffee the second night and adjusts to black tea after watching the displeased twist of your lips. you start across the table, a respectful and professional distance, but by the third night, you’re shoulder to shoulder, peering over at each other’s screens silently. the information you’re reviewing is grave, life changing to the folks who live it, but you can’t help your laugh when john struggles to turn a pdf into a word document.

you give up on wearing business professional after the incident. the rip of your skirt as you jumped up from excitement, finally finding a breakthrough in your work. john’s eyes practically burned into your thigh, like the sight of your tights over newly bare skin offended him. you didn’t even notice until he pointed it out, swallowing thickly as he muttered “got a problem there, love.” before excusing himself to bring back more tea.

when you switched to wearing jeans, john started wondering if he had offended some sort of god in the past life. why was there so much bending involved in your work? bending over the table to find a report in the mess of papers, your ass practically wiggling in his face. sneaking past his shoulder so you can see if he’s made any progress, the glimpse of your thigh off the chair reminding him of what it would like if- never mind. he swore your perfume was laced into your clothes, a cloud of it remaining after you went home for the night, your familiar scent searing itself into the back of his brain.

“john?” your voice pulled him out of his trance of wondering how he’d gotten here. it had been a week of this proximity torture with no end in sight. “yeah?” your pen tapped the picture in front of you. “this guy’s copying your muttonchops.” snorting, john leaned over, staring hard at the suspect’s picture as he tried not to focus about being six inches from your lap. “nah, ‘s a different style. mine’s more grown out, his is jus’ a shadow.” you hummed thoughtfully. “didn’t realize there was so much discourse in the beard community. seems a bit confusing.” he laughed, that short bark that made you smile despite yourself.

“‘s not all that confusing. here, y’ can feel the difference.” he grabbed your hand and pulled it into his beard, manicured fingers diving into his facial hair. you scratched it on instinct and were rewarded with a low throaty groan and a fluttering of his eyelids. “so soft, john.” the normally serious captain seemed like putty in your hands as your fingers explored the line of his jaw. it was quiet for a long moment, john’s eyes closed as you took him in without his usual surly stare. “yeah, honey?” his eyes flicked open as you stopped your movement, thumb near the corner of his mouth. your mouth gaped open, the moment broken.

“fuck, i’ve made you uncomfortable.” john pulled away fast, your hand dropping his face as he moved farther and farther away. “i can ask the lieutenant to finish up ‘ere, should only take a week more.” he tried to get up from his seat but you were more determined, beating him to the punch with a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. “john, stop. it’s okay.” you’d never seen him like this: unsure. “didn’t mean to say what i said, love.” you shook your head vehemently. “it’s okay, i just…no one’s ever called me honey before. kinda thought it was a sitcom thing.”

he was doing the math, picking apart every word you said, every inflection of every letter. you could see it in his eyes, the realization that you weren’t uncomfortable. the change might have scared you if hadn’t been so damn attractive. his posture perfect again, thighs flexing as his hands, big calloused hands, laid relaxed against them. he wasn’t grinning but you saw his cheek pull up, the movement of the beard you’d just been touching. it was instantaneous; the captain was back.

“and?” he stood up, your hand still on his shoulder. “and…i don’t mind it.” he was forcing you to look up, a height difference between you that you’d never notice because you both were always sitting.

“c’mere, honey.” you stepped closer, your other arm wrapping around his other shoulder. those hands wrapped around your waist and dipped lower to your upper thighs. he picked you with ease, all protests of your weight dying on your tongue as you let out a squeal. john sat you on the conference table, pushing reports and laptops out of the way to make space for his meal. “fuck, ‘ve been wantin’ you on this table for a week now.” he rubbed his hands up and down your thighs, tracing the denim of your pants. “and these jeans.” you frowned. “you don’t like my jeans?” he shook his head, thumbs exploring your waistline, tucking under your shirt to meet bare skin. “i love ‘em, darling. want t’ see you in them everyday.” he popped the top button then looked up at you for permission. you nodded, lying back on your forearms, restraining your hips from canting.

he chuckled at your confidence, unzipping you then sliding down the denim from your legs and off, along with your shoes. maybe it had been a form of manifestation or delusion, but either way you had worn your favorite pair of lacy black underwear. john seemed to appreciative, growling at the sight as his fingers brushed over your clothed pussy. “were you expectin’ someone t’ see these?” you grinned. “maybe i was hoping.” he brushed over your entrance and your hips chased the feeling, riding up to meet his fingers. “someone’s eager.” he didn’t let you reply, pressing his thumb over your entrance, rubbing up and down around your clit as wetness pooled in your underwear. you whined at his teasing, a coil building low in your stomach. “john…” he dipped his thumb under the fabric of your underwear, tracing the slickness of your slit. “hm, honey?” his low tone sent a rush of warmth into your body, a combination of domesticity and restraint. “want you, please.” he was playing down, putting his thumb inside you but knowing the angle was all wrong, it barely brushing your entrance. “want me where?” he finally pulled down your underwear, leaning his body over you, putting you face to face. “want your fingers inside me.”

john captured your lips with his own, pushing a thick middle finger into you as he pressed his thumb to your clit. you moaned loudly, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in further. “so wet f’ me, baby. you been wantin’ this?” you nodded eagerly, shutting him up with another kiss. he pumped his finger in and out as he circled patterns on your clit, the feeling of it overwhelming. you were so wet and hot, this big strong man panting into your mouth as he made you feel so good. your nipples scratched the inside of your bra as your cunt clenched around his finger. he added a second one, the fullness of it almost overwhelming. “john, i’m gonna…” he gave you another rough kiss. john pulled you closer using those fingers inside of your messy cunt, thumb pressing hard on your clit. it was so possessive and dirty that you could feel the start of your orgasm. “come f’ me, darling. go’on.” you let go, clenching hard around him. he kept going unless you went limp, finally removing his fingers with a pop. his other arm was holding you up as he tasted you on his fingers. “sweet like honey.” you rolled your eyes at his cheesiness. “you’re so full of shit.” he kissed you again, short and loving. “‘m not lyin’.” another kiss, this one to your forehead. “you wanna stay here tonight? ‘s already late.” you squirmed at the realization you were half naked in a conference room, your colleagues fingers dripping with your wetness as he stood fully clothed, his cock straining against his pants. “is that weird? or too fast? i don’t even know what you want or what i want-“ he kissed you again, this time gruff, like a captain. “jus’ come home with me, honey. ill handle the rest.” and to that, you nodded.

[throwaway-things]

In The Silence : part 2

The case had been brutal, the kind that clings to the mind long after it’s over, weighing heavily on everyone’s spirits. It was close to midnight, and you sat alone in the hotel bar nursing a drink, the dim lighting casting shadows across the room. You had tried to sleep, but rest wouldn’t come—not when you knew Spencer was just down the hall, oblivious to the heartbreak he had caused.

You sighed, the memory of his gentle rejection still fresh, still raw. Weeks had passed since that conversation, and you’d done everything possible to focus on work and distance yourself, to bury the ache of his words and the hollow emptiness they left. Yet every time you looked at him, you felt it all over again. It was as though every shared glance, every professional exchange, only served to remind you of what you could never have.

“Can’t sleep either?” A soft voice broke the silence, and you turned to find Spencer standing a few feet away. His face was drawn, exhaustion settling into the delicate lines around his eyes. He gave a tentative smile, one that you struggled to return.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess tonight’s one of those nights.”

He took a seat next to you, and for a moment, the silence between you grew heavy, thick with unspoken words. You could feel his eyes on you, as if he were trying to read your thoughts. If he noticed the shadows under your eyes, the quiet resignation in your gaze, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply ordered a coffee, his presence warm and familiar despite the awkwardness that still lingered.

You wanted to leave, to save yourself the agony of sitting so close to him, of pretending that everything was okay. But you couldn’t move. Maybe it was the tiredness, or maybe it was that last shred of hope that refused to die, that somehow being near him would fill the emptiness inside you.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Are you… holding up alright?” The question was so soft it almost got lost in the quiet murmur of the bar. There was genuine concern in his eyes, but it only made things harder.

“I’m fine,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “It’s just… the case, I guess. And everything else.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “I understand. These things… they can weigh on you.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look away from him. The last thing you wanted was for him to see through the thin walls you had built, to notice the tremble in your hands or the way your voice wavered with barely restrained emotion.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice cracking. “It just… sometimes, it feels like too much.”

Spencer shifted closer, his presence a silent comfort. “You know, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You clenched your fists under the table, the words coming out before you could stop them. “But what if I am alone?”

The bitterness in your tone surprised even you, and you immediately regretted it. But Spencer was watching you, his gaze intent, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

“Do you really feel that way?” he asked quietly, his voice gentle.

You swallowed, unable to meet his eyes. “Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I try, it doesn’t change anything. Like I’m… invisible.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of your confession hanging between you. You could feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them back, refusing to break in front of him. Not again.

Spencer’s hand rested on the table, inches from yours. For a brief, reckless moment, you thought he might reach for you, offer some comfort. But he stayed where he was, his expression somber, his gaze full of understanding that somehow only deepened the ache in your chest.

“You’re not invisible,” he murmured, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “Not to me.”

The words were gentle, sincere, and they cut deeper than anything else. Because for all his kindness, for all the comfort his presence provided, it didn’t change the fact that he could never feel the same way. He saw you, but he didn’t love you. And that knowledge was a hollow echo that would haunt you long after this night was over.

You looked down, your voice barely a whisper. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? Not when it’s… not the same.”

Spencer’s face fell, his eyes clouded with a sadness that mirrored your own. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he simply looked at you, the weight of your unrequited feelings settling between you like a chasm that couldn’t be crossed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, and those two words shattered what little composure you had left.

You nodded, your heart breaking all over again. “I know,” you replied, voice shaking.

The silence stretched on, the unspoken truth hanging in the air, painful and unyielding. There was nothing left to say, nothing that could ease the hurt or make things right. And as you sat there, alone in the quiet hum of the bar, you realized that some wounds couldn’t be healed with words. Some things were simply meant to be carried, no matter how heavy the weight.

Without another word, you stood, your heart aching with every step as you left Spencer behind, the echo of his apology following you into the empty night.

I’m so glad you guys enjoyed the first part! This one is a bit shorter, but part 3 is coming soon!

[lialuvsaven]

Happy Birthday, Aventurine!!

“Aventurine always tries not to remember. He's never synced the Sigonian calendar system to check the date in trailblaze calendar, never makes the mistake of dwelling on the memories surrounding this day— even when he's too drunk to remember his own name. Done everything possible to not acknowledge it; because this day feels like nothing but a curse to him.

Unfortunately, Jade has now ensured that he never gets to forget his birthday, again.”

Pairing: Aventurine x reader

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Comfort in the end to compensate for everything else ❤️ Reader is not physically present in the fic (they're not dead it's ok)

wc: 3.3k

Aventurine was abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door just as the sun began to slant westward.

With a sigh, he puts down the pen and glances at the wall clock. The hands on the parchment-shaped monstrosity read 1 pm, but his eyes are drawn back to the purple tongue protruding from its massively extended mouth. Seriously, where does Stelle find these items? "An ugly, purple parchment shaped wall clock that looks like it's ready to eat people"— isn't something most people would think to give him, to say the least. But that's the thing—it was Stelle.

She claimed to have found it during one of her "excavations." And even though Miss March 7th did her best to keep her friend from going into further details, stepping on Stelle's toes right in front of him and giving her a sidelong glance, as if he wouldn't notice, he could tell what kind of "excavations" would turn up something like this. Not like he minds the origins of this gift, however. Gifts from friends are few and far to come by, especially ones who actually tolerate him. Not to mention, Stelle likely sincerely believes that it's a cool gift, which is why it has replaced the diamond-embedded wall clock on his wall.

His musings are interrupted by a second knock, which, like the first one, reverberates once around the room before fading away in embarrassment. "Come in." He announces, reclining back in his seat and looking at the door with expectation in his eyes. It was not uncommon for his secretary to appear randomly in his office, constantly fussing over yet another minor issue. He believed it was her; at least, his itinerary showed he didn't have any guest visits today. Maybe it was time to replace assistants—the new hire is clearly not on the same wavelength as him. But he'd only recently had Topaz yell at him for changing staff so frequently; he'd prefer not to tell her that her choice was horribly disappointing just yet.

With a tiny bag bearing a brand he is all too acquainted with, the secretary enters the office. She keeps her gaze fixed on the floor the entire time, hence doesn't notice when her supervisor raises an eyebrow at the sight of his favorite jewelry brand. "Sir," she says in a low, somewhat flat voice, akin to that of a news reporter. "Earlier, a staff of Madam Jade stopped by. You have a present."

A grin appears on Aventurine's face, followed by a joyful chuckle. With how busy work has been lately, he'd almost forgotten when he asked Jade for a pink diamond, as has Jade apparently, seeing how long it's taken for her to send this. His request was a joke, of course, only meant to irritate Topaz. But he wasn't surprised either; Jade always takes good care of her weaponry. "Ahhh, no wonder!" He chirps and presses his palms together. "She must've finally found some generosity in her heart, hm?" He muses, and his assistant can only stand there stoically. He waves her off as she places the bag on his table and departs with an unnecessary low bow, never looking at his eyes once. As always.

When the secretary has left the room, he opens the bag, humming as he removes the box and gift card. Jade's handwriting is distinctive: prim and precise cursive that resembles a font.

"Happy birthday, Aventurine. This jewel would suit you far better than the pink diamond you asked for, don't you think?" — Jade

Kakavasha freezes. His birthday, she says, but she'd need to align the standard calendar system to the Sigonian one to find that out. She sent him a…..….a gift? For his birthday? 

Is this a fucking joke?

The box reveals a chunk of corundum. Raw, uncut, pink and blue hues all over. Shades way too close to his eyes, and it doesn't take a gemologist to tell that Jade had done her searching thoroughly to obtain this. A jewel the color of his eyes, the color of Avgin eyes, neatly wrapped in a box for….to send ..what sort of message, exactly? Oh Avgin, never forget who you were before I found you—unpolished and undeserving. forget your name, but never your roots.  

The note is crumpled and thrown in the trashcan, while the corundum and its box are hastily and carelessly pushed back into the bag. Really, so typical of Jade, he scoffs as he tosses the godforsaken bag into a random drawer, never to be seen again. 

Kakavasha— no, Aventurine always tries not to remember. He's never synced the Sigonian calendar system to check the date in trailblaze calendar, never makes the mistake of dwelling on the memories surrounding this day— even when he's too drunk to remember his own name. Done everything possible to not acknowledge it; because this day feels like nothing but a curse to him.

Unfortunately, Jade has now ensured that he never gets to forget, again. 

In any case, Aventurine concludes that it is not good for him to worry about this too much. Yes, he can just forget about the corundum. Yes, he is able to forget how it resembled Avgin eyes. Yes, he can also forget that Jade most likely sent this to "keep him in check" following the stunt he did in Penacony. But it was a mistake on his part to not see something coming. She had done this before, and it would not be the last time. He smiles at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, composed, shrewd, and calculated. Since a mirror has the freedom of choice, it does not return his smile.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

By the time the car comes to a stop in front of his house, Aventurine is exhausted. His chauffeur unlocks the door for him, and he makes his way to the elevator. Yet he's interrupted again— of course, because it's a cursed day, and Aventurine has to restrain himself from scowling at the gateman, who stands in front of him wearing an anxious expression. "Sir, your friend had visited earlier to drop off something."

He raises an eyebrow and is about to inquire when he notices the bag the man is carrying. Without saying anything further, he simply takes the bag. You are the only one who'd own a dumb clockie bag and the only one who'd ever drop things off at his place.

When he steps in, his three catcakes meow loudly to greet him, and feels somewhat grateful for it. Today was just too exhausting, after all. He understands what this is about, based on the fact that you always give him gifts in person. Why, of all days, would you consider dropping it off today? And with no advanced notice- completely unlike you. How annoying, did Jade really have to do this too? He's never disclosed his birthday to you, so you probably coerced her into telling you, and she was glad to oblige, given you are of value to her.

Aventurine doesn't realize he's been standing in the kitchen for a long time until Spade begins massaging its fluffy body on his legs. He is surrounded by his three catcakes, who are all staring up at him expectantly. The message is crystal clear: We Want Food. He moves swiftly to get their food bowls, chuckling to himself before setting your lunchbox on the counter, sort of as an afterthought. At least they'll be able to go to bed well fed tonight. 

After serving them dinner, he leaves the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine, hoping to spend the remainder of the evening crashing on the couch. He can just leave everything else for tomorrow. The benefit of drinking is that it can temporarily impair your ability to sense emotions. He only needs a short term fix, after all. Come tomorrow, he'll take hangover pills, and walk out of this house as Aventurine of the stratagems again— undoubtedly.

He turns on a random B-grade movie, prepared to drink the night away. And he does precisely that—he pushes down thoughts of how his childhood friends, whose features now misty in his memories, would react if they were to see him. With another shot, he pushes down recollections of his mother's cooking—the special meals for the Kakava—and his birthday. Another to accept the now-blurry face of his sister in his memory as the only proof of her existence. Another to forget the clay dolls she'd made for him, on the last birthday kakavasha got to celebrate, that were broken when he had to run for his life. And one more shot, and another, till he's forgotten everything; till he's numb and emotionless.

Feeling empty and hollow is far worse than anything else, and being unable to cry isn't as pleasant as he thought it'd be. But in his lavish home, where gold abounds in every nook and cranny, he has little reason for tears. Money may not be able to buy him happiness, as he is well aware, but it certainly does spare him from ugly tears unfit for his visage. Maybe that's why he hasn't cried in a while, or perhaps he has simply lost his soul somewhere along the way. He stays on the couch till 3 am, accompanied by his pets. He pretends not to see the troubled looks they shoot at him, whispered words passed between them that are clearly about him. By the time he decides to rest for the night, he is fatigued, sluggish, and barely keeping it together.

When he gets up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, Ace makes a protesting noise before promptly shutting up. Catcakes are smart creatures, and they understand him better than most individuals in his life (or maybe the difference lies in care) His throat is dry, and ice cold water from the freezer provides enormous relief. However, the respite is taken away from him by the crackling lightning, loud as a whip, pulling out memories up to the forefront of his mind again. Of the lightning without the rain, of Sigonia-IV. The drumming of the thunder is largely hidden by the concrete walls, so it isn't as hard on the ear—but it aches a lot more than it did before. Aventurine sneers to himself, dismissing the idea as ludicrous. As if.

The second time the thunder sizzles, Aventurine has to take a sharp breath and grip the countertop to steady himself. It sounds like playing dead in the bleeding streams of Sigonia-IV, like the booming cackle of the mocking thunder. Had he been an insolent child, just a little more doubtful than he already was, he'd believe it was Mama Fenge herself laughing at her so called "blessed child". The thunder sounds similar, but it's not the same. No, because this is still Aventurine and he's still here and those are someone else's memories, forgotten and buried in sand.

Aventurine sighs.

Drinking too much has never done any good to him.

Just as he is ready to leave the kitchen, he notices the lunchbox sitting the counter out of the corner of his eye. Oh, right. He hadn't even touched it. A distraction doesn't seem bad now, though. If he wants to fabricate a plausible lie about eating the food, he would at least need to know what kind of food you sent. If the mental image of your frown after discovering he never even looked at what you sent is what gives him the final push , he would never admit it.

The lunchbox has a plains bear cub logo: you've always been a sucker for cute things. He sets aside the little note attached for later this time, preferring to taste the dinner first. It looks like you chose to make him some kind of soup. Insulated lunchboxes are a blessing— because it's surely been well over half a day since you made it, yet it's still warm. While the presentation is relatively simple, it smells strangely comforting— effect of some potion? He's heard of those, but they're usually used for sick patients, no? Other than that, this is the first homemade meal he's having in a….while. Not that it matters. Aventurine isn't picky, and while the leafy greens are unfamiliar to him, he believes he can handle at least a tablespoon.

Even the largest avalanche can be triggered by the smallest of things. Just one spoonful, and yet it's enough to make his world stop.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

The dry, broken soil scraped against his bare feet, producing little clouds of dust in its wake. His strides were light and rapid, nearly tripping over himself with excitement and giddiness. Just a little more, and he'll reach the finish line. Even the Sun's typical glare felt kind today; warm and tender against his tanned skin. Jumping over the homemade hurdles, he reaches the finish line far ahead of his friends. They protest and pout, and he taunts them with the biggest smile on his face. The soles of his feet feel slightly sore from running barefoot, but Kakavasha wouldn't risk destroying his only pair of shoes for a game. 

When he hears his sister's voice calling for him, he rushes to embrace her and buries his face in her apron. His mother once told him that the Avgins all possess lovely voices, but Kakavasha believes his sister's is the best, especially when she laughs.

"And when will you listen to me and stop running around in the middle of the day, hm?" She pinches his nose and uses her apron to wipe the dirt off his face. Kakavasha beams at her with no regrets, proudly displaying the gap between his teeth. Once kakavasha had said his goodbyes to his friends, they walk hand in hand towards their tent.

There, his mother welcomes them with a warm embrace that smells like creosote bush and desert rain. “My darling," she coos, putting his small hands in her larger ones, rough from labour. "I remember you promised to be on time for lunch last time?" He grins cheekily, vowing not to do it again. (He's a repeat offender, but he knows that his mother and sister can't stay upset at him for long.)

His mother laughs, and tells him to tidy up before eating. Kakavasha's tummy is grumbling by the time he returns, and he finds the mats his sister laid down to sit on. The two siblings sit next to each other, chatting and giggling as they wait for their mother. She serves them a pot of hot soup with nettle leaves and lentils, just the way Kakavasha prefers it. He's overjoyed; quickly finishing his prayers before digging in. Kakavasha is a growing boy, and that's proved again when he finishes his bowl before his family.

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The soup she'd served him back then wasn't anything lavish; just a simple soup with local herbs and nettle leaves in a broth that smelt so uniquely of hers. His mama may have had a knack for cooking, but due to a lack of opportunities and resources, she never got to demonstrate her abilities. Compared to that, your food is much finer, and while excellent, it lacks the warmth of his mother's hands.  

Nevertheless, he can't resist taking another spoonful and quickly putting it in his mouth because the familiarity is so, so palpable. He recalls that his sister wanted him to eat better, so she gave him half of her portion after he finished his. His mother then gave his sister half of her portion, as they are Both growing children. All of a sudden, the bickering, the laughs, and their voices are as plain as day in his mind. He can't fully recall the glitter in his sister's eyes or the dimple on his mother's cheek, but it's clearer than any other memory he had of them, that's for sure. 

Aventurine can't stop crying, even if he wants to. Trying to halt the choking sobbing is fruitless, as is trying to figure out what's going on. He picks up the little message with shaking hands, hoping—praying—that it will help. You'll make it make sense. Somehow.

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“Dear Aventurine, I hope you have a wonderful birthday!!!!”  

Written in thin, flowing, rounded letters that are noticeably cleaner than your actual handwriting. You undoubtedly put a lot of effort into each letter you wrote. Aventurine was correct in assuming you found out his birthday through Jade, as you have written it here. "Buying a gift for you seems…a little perfunctory," you said, "so I've settled with cooking you something myself."

"And if the dish tastes familiar (which I hope it does) then yes, you've guessed it right— it's a traditional Avgin dish."

The perfumed ink is thicker here, a few ink blots from where you've likely paused to think, go over each sentence in your head before writing them down.

You mention finding the Avgin dishes by reading some kind of research paper on Sigonian culture and food, but Aventurine isn't sure he can believe that. You wrote, "I was fortunate enough," yet chance alone wouldn't get you something like that. Sure, maybe some doctoral candidate was crazy enough to choose a dead planet and its deader tribes to write about, but finding that paper would be too difficult. The biggest issue, however, is that Aventurine believes this dish should not and cannot exist. The stinging nettle leaves his mother used are no longer available, and while he didn't know much about cooking at the time, he was aware that all of the spices he knew were almost extinct. He's looked enough to know.

"I'll be honest, I had some trouble locating the ingredients for it and had to swap the majority of them because I couldn't find them. I really wanted to bring back a familiar feeling, even if it tastes very different from how you remember it. Plus, it's the thought that counts, right?"

In contrast to the light-hearted language, your writing is slightly wobbly and darker here, and Aventurine wonders if you realise your emotions seep through every single one of your actions, laid bare for the world to see.

Noting the disappearance of their owner, curious, the catcakes peep into the kitchen are immediately alarmed to see their owner sitting on the counter stool, sobbing and clutching a box. Spade, unsure of what to do, nuzzles it's head on Aventurine's leg, while the others meow in an attempt to calm him down. Aventurine hasn't sobbed in a long time—he can't remember how to anymore. His body shakes with each ragged and broken sob, sounding shattered and damaged, but he can't stop.

"I hope it brings you fond memories" is what you wrote down, but are you aware of the full impact of what you did for him? Most likely not. Aventurine cherishes all of his memories, including the unpleasant ones: as long as it involves his family. His misery knows no bounds, but he's only had a few years with his sister, and even fewer with his mother. So even the saddest memories are never forgotten, so he can preserve as much of them as possible. They live through his memories, after all. 

Even when plain, his mother's meals provided him with more warmth than anything else back then. To feel that warmth decades later is a blessing he can't repay— but a blessing nonetheless. He doesn't have many memories like this one either, gentle and happy, contrary to the endless memories of struggling. He remembers their love so vividly right now, feels it so strongly, alongside yours— that he has no choice but to revel in it.

(Come tomorrow , when he's sober, puffy-eyed from crying and not as vulnerable, he'll have trouble figuring your reasoning. But for now, he'll be fine. Tonight, he'll go to sleep feeling loved. Tonight, his pets will cuddle him to sleep. Tonight, he'll dream of a Sigonia Only he knows.)

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A/N: I'm honestly still so embarrassed about this bc I have an idea but can't execute it like I want to and 🫠🫠 As always, comments and reblogs are really appreciated!! Thank you for reading <3

[4linos]

through every pitch

mlb!seungmin x gn!reader

synopsis: even though it's your husband's most important game of the season, you can see that he's attempting to disguise an injury.

wc: 1964 (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

The stadium is blazing with the cheering crowd at the bottom of the eighth inning, and Seungmin is feeling the pressure of the moment. The spectators' eyes and his teammates' pressure are all on him in this game, which might determine the division title and where he needs to prove himself. The little stiffness in his delivery, the tension in his shoulder, the way his expression hardens as he adjusts his grip on the ball—you can see it. You watch from your seat, heart in your throat, as he stands on the mound, composed, concentrated.

The pitch is off. His usual precision is missing. There has been a slight but noticeable change in technique, and his slider and fastball both have a hitch now. You see it. He sees it. However, he continues. His eyes widen against the pain, his jaw gritted, and he throws again. He wants no one to know and doesn't want to reveal it. No, not yet. Not with that much at stake. He's a vital part of the team. The coach is watching him closely, fans are yelling his name, and his teammates are waiting for the sign that the win is impending. As he grits his teeth and fights through the pain, Seungmin is aware that they depend on him to achieve this, and the pressure is unbearable.

The noise of the crowd, the pressure of everyone's eyes on him, and the expectation all keep him going even though his body is screaming at him. While the crowd screams when he strikes out the hitter to close the eighth, Seungmin isn't feeling the exhilaration of the victory. His arm burns with every movement, and his muscles tremble from the pain as his body gives way under the pressure. As you wait for him in the locker room, your anxiousness gets worse by the moment. You've seen the symptoms: his tight jaw, his tendency to favor one arm during the game, and the way he massaged at his shoulder in between throws. He has hardly spoken to you since the game, and his eyes have a cold, distant expression as he enters the room, sweat still dripping from his brow. Again, he is concealing it. disguising the weight of it all, the suffering, and the exhaustion. You get up from where you were seated and say, "Seungmin," trying not to seem overly anxious, but there is no denying the worry in your voice. “Are you okay?” He's already taking off his jersey, and although his face is unreadable, his hand is clearly shaking. You can tell he's attempting to hide it by the way he holds his arm rigidly and the way he grimaces when he takes has to do any movement. His voice is flat when he says, "I'm fine," but the words sound hollow. He avoids looking at you. "No, you're not," you respond as you approach him, trying to maintain your composure while your voice cracks a little. "Please, Seungmin. Out there, you were hurting. I saw it. Talk to me, please. He remains motionless and looks at the floor for a minute without answering. You can see it then—the way his hand is shaking, the way his entire body is rigid from the strain of maintaining the façade—that his breathing is shallow and strained. For a short period of time the barriers he has been carefully building during the day crumble, and you witness Seungmin's vulnerability and rawness. The individual who is human, just like the rest of us.

And then, the dam breaks.

Before you can reach out to him, he collapses, falling to his knees in front of you as his shoulders tremble with a soft sob. His face is buried in his hands, and he is sobbing in ways you have never heard him do before. A man who is completely exhausted and defeated by the weight of it all has taken the place of the strong, unflappable man who had just pitched through one of the most significant games of his career. "I could not...” His words muffled in his hands, he chokes out, "I couldn't let them down," in between sobbing. "I had to get it done. Everyone was depending on me—the coach, the team, and all of the fans.”

Your heart shatters when you kneel in front of him and take his shaking hands, gently removing them from his face while looking into his tear-filled eyes. “You didn't let anyone down, Seungmin. You didn't have to carry it alone, but you pushed through for all of us.” He holds his breath and shakes his head, seemingly unable to fully comprehend what you're saying. "I'm... "I'm so exhausted," he mumbles, his voice hardly audible. “My arm… it’s killing me. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t show them. I had to be strong for everyone else.” As you reach out to embrace him, tears stream from your own eyes. Holding him close, you feel his breath catch in the stillness of the room as you press his head against your chest. As you brush your fingers through his hair, you murmur quietly, "You don't have to be strong all the time." "You don't need to bear all of this alone. You are allowed to fall apart, take a break, and seek help. You just hold him for a long time as the cries gradually stop. Although you both know that it will take time for the physical aching in his shoulder to go away, the emotional stress and pressure he has been carrying for so long starts to lessen under your touch.

A little embarrassed but not enough to conceal his vulnerability from you, he pushes back and wipes his eyes. His voice is scratchy as he whispers, "I'm sorry." "I just didn't want you to see me in this way." You gently push his wet hair away from his forehead and smile. "You don't need to say sorry. Seungmin, I'm here. I'm always here for you. The weight of the world he had been carrying finally starts to decrease as he puts his head on your shoulder because, for the first time in a long time, he is letting himself rely on someone else. And it's okay. You’re both okay.

—

Something changed between you and Seungmin after that night. In a way that was both real and beautiful, the dam that had held so much of his vulnerability, so much of his anxiety and dread, started to break. Gradually, he began to depend more on you. Not only after the most significant events in his career, but also during the quiet, everyday times when he felt he could no longer bear the burden alone, he would open up to you.

It started with small things.

You could see how his eyes would stay on you a bit longer than normal after a difficult game, while he was still recovering from the disappointment of a poor performance. It was a subtle request for something you didn't have to ask for. Watching him jog off the field with a gentle smile on your face, you would be in the stands waiting for him. He would say, "Hey," in a weak, sluggish voice. His face was filled with fatigue as he stood there for a while, taking long breaths as if he was still struggling to regain his breath after the game.

With a soft yet strong tone, you would comment, "I know it wasn't perfect." But, Seungmin, you gave it your all. You always do. And it would occur at that point. He would whisper, "I don't know if I did enough," and then briefly look down before looking back at you. "I thought I had disappointed everyone. I should have maintained my composure more or thrown that one pitch better. I always want to get better, but sometimes it feels like I'm failing."

You’d reach for him, a hand on his shoulder, or on his cheek, grounding him. "You’re not failing. No one’s perfect, Seungmin. I’m proud of you, every time you step out there. And you don’t have to be perfect for me. Just you… just you is enough." He would stare at you, letting your words settle over him like a warm blanket, and in the silence that followed, you knew what was happening. He was opening up, bit by bit, allowing the worries he’d carried for so long to spill out, trusting you to hold them, even if just for a moment. It became more common after tough games—when he felt like he was walking off the field a little heavier, or when he’d missed a crucial strike. He’d sit with you, just the two of you, long after the stadium had emptied, talking quietly about his fears, his regrets. He never tried to hide it anymore.

One evening, after a particularly rough game, Seungmin collapsed onto the couch, his shoulders slumped in defeat. You could feel the tension in him, the unease, even before he spoke. The game had been a tough loss, and you knew it wasn’t just the defeat on his mind but everything that came with it—the expectations, the pressure, the fear of not living up to it all.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this sometimes,” he admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper. He wasn’t asking for sympathy, just someone to listen. “Every time I step on that mound, I feel like I’m carrying the weight of everyone’s hopes. The coach, the team, the fans… they all expect me to be this perfect pitcher. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m enough for them.” As you sat next to him, you stared into his eyes and softly squeezed his hand. With a stern yet gentle tone, you said, "Seungmin, you're more than enough." "You don't have to live up to everyone else's standards. You don't need to be perfect for your coach, your teammates, or even the fans. Because you *are* you, you are enough. And no matter what, I'm here with you. A slow breath escaped him, and you could see it, the relief that he wasn’t carrying it alone anymore, the exhaustion lifting just a little. With his fingers tightening around yours, he said, "I'm really lucky to have you." "To be honest, I don't think I could survive these games without you."

You smiled, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “You don’t have to make it through alone, Seungmin. We’re in this together. Whatever comes, we face it as a team.”

Over time, these moments became more frequent—him pulling you aside after a tough game, confiding in you, showing a side of him that was rarely seen by anyone else. The strength he had on the field was matched only by the strength you both built together off of it. And as his teammate’s expectations, the coach’s strategies, and the media’s scrutiny continued to press in on him, Seungmin began to realize something he hadn’t before: It’s okay to need support. And that it didn’t make him any less of a man, any less of a pitcher, to admit that he needed someone to lean on.

And it was always obvious when he came to you: regardless of how many games were won or lost, you were his base, the spot he could always go to feel safe. You made sure he never felt like he had to confront those struggles alone since he had grown to trust you with the weight of his anxieties and to let you in during his periods of uncertainty. He realized that he only needed to be himself to be liked, not be flawless, through every pitch and every difficult game. And he might be just that in your arms.

—

nini’s notes 111224

hey ⚾️. i hope you enjoy my 2nd full fic 🫣 i love seoul series first pitch seungmin BTW

(feedback is always appreciated.. 😘)

asks are open if you have a question, concern, or request!

-🎀

[seoulstorms]

I LIKE ME BETTER WHEN IM WITH YOU

NICHOLAS CHAVEZ X SINGER!READER

a/n: hope u enjoy this one, it kinda came to me outta nowhere. lmk thoughts!!

word count: 2085

TO SAY you and Nicholas clicked immediately would be a understatement. The first time you’d spoken to him, you were in the lobby at the Golden Globes awards, both being nominees. Nicholas was up for his recent movie and you for that movie’s song you did that soared through the charts immediately after the movie premiered. Your fanbase had since almost tripled in size as had Nicholas’ fame. Both being thrown into fame seemingly overnight, you had something in common.

The internet had fallen in love with you and Nicholas as a pair after the awards show, a picture of the two of you blowing up on social media. You’d agreed to meet up for coffee a week after the awards, and paparazzi had bombarded you both suddenly, albeit their job, getting many pictures. It was you and him walking together, both smiling. The media had started saying you were dating, speculating a romantic beginning.

Neither of you had made any moves or spoken about the rumours, keeping it more or less ‘professional’ and strictly a ‘co-star friendship’. There was the small lingering glances, the light touches that lasted just a second longer than usual, the late night calls and giggles in either apartments during hangouts.

A few weeks after the Golden Globes, you and the actors of the movie went out to celebrate the success, enjoying the dimly lit restaurant. You sat a few seats across from Nicholas, caught mid conversation with one of the actresses towards the end of the night. Although you were distracted, Nicholas still caught your attention throughout the night and seemingly you’d consumed his, a stolen glance every few minutes.

Nicholas glances at you again, studying your facial features. He’s never seen you in this light before, face slightly flushed from the alcohol and giggling at jokes being made. Seeing you like this made Nicholas relax, content with being near you. He was definitely catching himself feeling a certain way about you, a way he’s never felt about anyone before. He was suddenly envious of everyone who knew you better than he did, wanting the same for himself.

The other actors chat with each other and laugh, but that wasn’t the case for Nicholas. He found his eyes constantly drifting back over to you. He had seen you as just a friend, someone he could goof around with or ask for advice at silly o’clock in the morning, but something’s changed. The longer he looks at you, the more he starts to fall.

About an hour later, everyone is getting ready to leave. You’re struggling to get your coat on while giggling, the flush on your cheeks more red as you hum.

Nicholas notices that you’re struggling, the alcohol blurring your vision slightly and making it difficult to keep your balance.

“Let me help you with that"

He says as he grabs your coat and carefully puts it on you for you, smiling to himself at your clumsiness.

Finding yourself acting like a teenage girl, you laugh a little and button your coat up, tucking your hair loosely behind your ear as you pick up your bag.

“oh thank you Nic”

He nods in response, gently placing a hand on your lower back and guiding you towards the exit. It sent a shiver down your spine and butterflies to your stomach, his light touch igniting a flame you didn’t know existed.

“Let me walk you to your car, I’ll drive you home. Don’t trust your clumsy ass to get yourself home safely”

He chuckled at his own words, shaking his head at you trying to protest against his offer.

“Nic, ‘m fine im not that tipsy”

You huffed out and tried to usher him away, failing as he picked up your bag and walked you out the door, waving goodbye to his costars.

The air was cold, biting at your skin as you pulled Nicholas to your car to avoid the coldness. You gave him your keys and rushed to the passengers seat, putting your seatbelt on and sighing at how it was somehow colder in your car than outside.

“You’re definitely more than tipsy. I’ve never seen you so giggly”

Nic says, keeping his eyes on the road as he pulls out and turns the heating on. He glances at you, noticing your eyes are already closing as you lull to sleep.

“I’ve never seen you stare so much in one evening”

He looks at you in shock for a second that you can still sense him staring from behind your closed eyes. He’s stunned you know he’s been staring. He coughs and sighs a little, focusing on the road ahead as he replies with a hint of nerves in his voice.

“What? No I haven’t..”

“mhm.. Micaela told me”

Your words slow as I relax, humming softly.

“ ‘nd I saw you looking”

He blushes a little and keeps his eyes on the road, embarrassed that you knew he was looking. He tries to play it cool and responds, resting his free hand on the clutch.

“Ah, of course she did..”

He glances over at you, seeing you relax against the window. It’s silent for a little bit before Nicholas finally speaks up.

“You tired?”

“mhm.. not a lot just dizzy”

You hum and glance over at him, shutting your eyes again once he nods.

“Of course you’re dizzy..”

Nicholas looks over at you before you’d notice, focusing back on the road

“You drank quite a bit tonight..”

“shhhh just drive”

Dismissing him, you laugh slightly and sigh contentedly as you fall into sleep, the warmth of the car inviting you to rest. It’s not long before you’re asleep, leaving Nicholas to his thoughts while driving the rest of the way.

It was small things like that night that made you realise; you were head over heels for Nicholas and you hadn’t even gotten the chance to contemplate it before he was off in California for filming. You lived in New York, having a studio nearby to your apartment for recording songs. Unimportant though, you were currently in London for a performance for a few weeks.

Despite your distance, you and Nicholas still spoke daily on the phone, often facetiming him while doing mundane tasks or rehearsing. He would go over his lines or read his script with you, laughing as you’d make fun of his silly lines.

He’d agreed to visit you and come to one of your shows, your final one that was meant to be the biggest one yet. It was in a week, so Nicholas would be able to get a few days off filming as they’d film other scenes. You got him the perfect space, telling him to visit you backstage after.

Come the time of the performance, you saw Nic front row as he beamed up at you with pride, singing along to almost all of your songs. Between your setlist, you took a break to interact with the audience, taking about 15 minutes of just talking to fans, laughing and trying to acknowledge all of the younger ones who’d attended, elated that your fan base was ranged so much.

While speaking to a fan front row, she’d asked about Nicholas, saying she noticed he was there and laughing as she raised her eyebrows asking if he was here as anyone special.

You’d laughed it off, telling them he was there for support and shrugging as you walked to him, waving at him and saying hello.

The night was over in a flash, each song and choreography flowing into the next, until it ended with an upbeat song, slowing to a close as you descended into the trap room below stage.

Nicholas was quick to make his way backstage, creeping up on you in a hallway and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, squeezing you. Catching you off guard, you yelped and laughed as you recognised it was Nic.

“Nic oh my god you scared me”

You turned around and hugged him, happy to see him. He laughed softly at your reaction, resting his hand on the side of your waist, lifting his other hand and gently running his fingers through your hair.

“You look incredible…as always”

“thank you.. I feel ugh tho, that performance was kinda tough”

He gives you a sympathetic look, noticing how tired you looked. He lets his hand fall back to his side, his eyes on yours.

“Yeah, I can tell that it was. And you still killed it like a badass as always”

You led him back into your dressing room, sighing as you close the door and it’s quiet

“should we go out or something?”

You walk to your dresser and put your phone down, taking off the heavier parts of your outfit.

He leans against the wall near the door, his eyes landing on your outfit and then wandering along your body without realizing as he spoke.

“We can..if you don’t mind a few paparazzi being around”

Nicholas sighs, knowing it was going to happen anyway.

“Yeah they’ve been on my ass after every show.. maybe we can go out in the evening or something, or you can come over I don’t mind”

You bite the inside of your cheek and pack stuff back into your bag to take home, contemplating if Nic should just come over and you could order takeout.

He watches you pack your belongings for a moment before he speaks again, gazing at you from the sofa.

“I’ll come over. I’d rather not be harassed by the press right now, they’ve been hounding my ass enough already”

“Figures.. you know I’ve been meaning to finish that new show of yours, then I started touring and I don’t wanna watch it in the background.. it’s good y’know I’m impressed”

You turn back to him briefly before turning back around and opening a few drawers, looking around for something.

Nicholas smiles again, crossing his arms as he watches you look through your drawers.

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended. I know how busy you get when you’re on tour”

He speaks with a slight laugh, stepping away from the wall and walking over to you, curious as to what you’re looking for.

“Whatcha lookin for, babe?”

“erm.. just- my.. god where the hell..”

You tut and sigh turning around, fumbling with small random items on your dresser.

“….my keys”

Nicholas laughs slightly as he gets up, moving things around and helping you look.

You turn back around, opening the bottom drawer and sighing, taking out your keys and putting them in your bag with a grin.

“’babe’?, ‘s why people think we’re dating, Nic”

He rolls his eyes playfully and smiles back, stepping closer to you.

“People have thought that long before I called you babe”

He purred back with a tease in his voice, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him, now standing inches away from you. As he watches you closely, still holding your hips, he pulls you even closer, eyes flicking down to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

“But who says they’re wrong? Who says there isn’t any truth to the rumors?”

Nic spoke quietly, his voice slightly deep and his breath fanning on your lips.

The mood in the moment sent a buzz through your veins, humming as your arms draped over his shoulders.

“maybe, are we dating?”

His smirk only grows as you speak, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. He looks at you with a slight intense gaze, leaning his head to whisper in your ear.

“I don’t know…are we?”

He whispers in your ear and pulls you closer to him, your body now flush against his.

“mhm.. maybe”

Nicholas hums and wraps his arms around your waist, enjoying how you felt against him.

“Just maybe?”

Now whispering against your neck, his lips hover over your skin. He chuckles and moves his head, now pressing his lips against your neck and placing a soft kiss on your skin. He kisses your neck slowly, his lips then moving up to your jaw, trailing his kisses along you and finding the skin underneath your ear, knowing it was sensitive. A soft exhale escapes your lips, tilting your head as you rest in Nicholas’ arms, content with his company. He smiled as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple, humming as you relaxed into his hug.

Maybe ‘just friends’ wasn’t a title either of you wanted to share.

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

out of my league | pedri gonzalez

🎓 synopsis: You got into college hoping to reinvent yourself, to leave the “loser” label behind. But months in and nothing’s changed – then you see him. Pedri González, the guy who couldn’t be more out of your reach. You’re sure he’ll never notice you, but maybe, just maybe, you two have more in common than you realized. And maybe, just maybe, he’s been looking your way too. tags: self-doubt, nerd and jock trope, love triangle, you're not like other girls, mutual pining. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 3.8k words) | (and, yes, i made i playlist for a one shot, here you go)

part 1

You walk into the lecture hall, shifting your weight from foot to foot, clutching your bag strap tightly. Students swarm in around you, talking, familiar voices calling out to each other, laughter echoing off the walls. You scan the seats, looking for an empty spot – but, more importantly, looking for an empty spot where it might be easy to casually say hi to someone, where you might manage to start up a conversation without feeling like you’re forcing it.

No luck. Everyone else seems to have a seat next to someone they know, pairs and small groups filling up rows, bags and books claiming seats before you get a chance to. Finally, you slip into a seat near the back, opening your notebook and hoping that, if nothing else, maybe the professor will start early and save you from the heavy silence between you and everyone else around.

Class begins, and you make yourself busy with notes, trying to ignore how easily the others settle in. You catch part of the conversations: plans to go out, complaining about an exam, and one girl a few seats over talking about her internship in a confident voice that makes you feel smaller somehow. 

It’s silly, childish even, to still be waiting for something to change, still half-hoping someone might come along and say, “Hey, you look like you’re new here,” or “We’re grabbing coffee after this, wanna join?” But you know better – things like that won’t happen for you. So, after class, you head to the café down the street, at least there you can sit alone in peace.

As you order your coffee, you try to shake off the familiar feeling of disappointment, reminding yourself that college isn’t some high school movie where everything magically falls into place. It’ll come with time, you tell yourself.

You take your coffee to a small table near the window, trying to focus on the hum of conversation around you rather than your own thoughts. Then, out of nowhere, you notice him.

Pedri.

You’ve seen him before, of course. His face practically wallpapered half the university’s Instagram page. Pedri González, the football prodigy, popular on campus with that effortless charm. Today, he’s leaning against a counter, his order in hand, scrolling through his phone. He’s so close you almost look away instinctively, but something keeps your eyes on him – maybe the way he seems so at ease, so comfortable in a way you can’t seem to find for yourself.

And just as you think that, he glances up, catching your eye. A flicker of recognition crosses his face, and for a split second, you swear there’s something like a smile directed right at you.

You suddenly hear a voice from behind – high-pitched, bubbly, and unmistakably familiar. Melanie, his influencer girlfriend with the flawless face and perfect body, skips up to Pedri with such an enthusiasm that it makes your stomach twist.

“Pedri!” she squeals, throwing her arms around his neck. He looks a bit startled at first, but then his expression softens, and he wraps an arm around her, shifting his coffee to avoid spilling it. “I’m holding coffee,” he laughs, his voice low and easy. “Calm down.”

She pouts, tugging at his sleeve in an exaggerated, cutesy way, her voice taking on a pitch that gets on your nerves. “You didn’t wait for me!” she says, drawing out the words with a look of playful hurt. Her expression is almost too perfect, like she’s used to performing for an audience – and for all you know, she might be.

Pedri just shakes his head, still smiling. “Alright, alright, next time I’ll wait,” he says, clearly charmed. That gentle look in his eyes makes your heart sink. Here he is, so warm and patient with her, someone who seems worlds apart from you.

You look down at your coffee, suddenly feeling invisible again. You decide to make your way to the door, head down, hoping to slip out of the café without a second look from anyone. It shouldn't be too difficult. But in your haste, your bag catches on the edge of a chair, and you feel a sting as something sharp nicks your finger. You wince, glancing at the tiny cut forming on the tip of your finger, and that’s when you hear her voice again.

“Oh my god, are you okay, honey?” Melanie’s voice rings out, unexpectedly dripping with concern. You look up, realizing that she’s talking to you.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, yes,” you stammer, raising your hand to show her the barely-there cut. “It was just… a tiny cut. Really, it’s nothing. But thanks for asking.”

Pedri’s face shifts from curious to concerned as he sets his coffee down and digs around in his pocket. “Hey, hey,” he says as he pulls out a small band-aid and holds it up with a smile. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

He comes closer and carefully grabs your injured finger. His hands are warm, and he’s so close that you can smell the faint hint of his cologne. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. You try not to make eye contact, so you look up at Melanie instead – only to find her lips pressed into a tight line, her eyes narrowed. She looks absolutely furious.

You pull your hand back as soon as he finishes, tucking it away like it’s something you shouldn’t have shared. Your heart is pounding, and for reasons you can’t quite understand, you feel a knot of nerves in your stomach.

“Umm, thanks,” you say, glancing from Pedri to Melanie and back again. “I… yeah, okay. Well, bye then.”

Without waiting for either of them to respond, you spin on your heel and head for the door, practically stumbling over yourself in your rush to leave. 

part 2

It happens one afternoon when you’re at the library, tucked away in a corner, lost in your notes. You’re not really expecting anything – it’s just a quiet day like any other. You’ve been at it for hours, and it’s one of those days where everything feels like it’s blurring together – but you need to keep going. Finals are coming up, and organic chemistry isn’t about to let you off easy.

In front of you, a group of students has taken up a whole table, their textbooks and notebooks sprawled across the surface. You’re aware of a little rustling, some light laughter, then whispers that rise just enough for you to catch a few words.

“Just ask her!” one of them says, and you notice a nudge from one person to the next, like a gentle push to do something. You ignore it, but then, after a pause, you hear a voice close by.

“Hey.”

You glance up, slightly startled, and there’s Alexia standing next to you. You recognize her from thermodynamics – she’s that person who always seems to understand things when the rest of you is lost. You didn’t think she’d remember you, let alone approach you.

“Oh, hi,” you manage, trying not to sound as surprised as you feel.

“We’re, uh, actually about to grab lunch,” she says, gesturing to the group sitting around the table. “And… well, we were wondering if you wanted to come with us?”

You look over and realize that the rest of the group is watching with interest. 

“Oh… sure, that sounds nice,” you say.

The next thing you know, you’re sitting in a little restaurant, the sound of salsa music filling the air and the table scattered with plates of tacos, chips, and guacamole. You’re squeezing around a table just big enough for the six of you.

“So, did anyone actually get the last question on the problem set?” Diego asks, looking around the table.

“Don’t even talk to me about that one,” Ana groans, reaching for a chip. “They’re just trying to mess with us. Like, sure, a totally realistic scenario in the real world, right?”

Arthur smirks, shaking his head. “Weak. I got it. Want me to explain?”

“Oh, please, Mr. I-Got-It-On-The-Fifth-Try,” Andrés scoffs. “Don’t act like you didn’t guess half of it.”

Laughter rises around the table, and you catch Alexia rolling her eyes at Arthur. “He totally guessed,” she whispers, leaning in, and you smile, realizing you’re laughing too, genuinely. There’s no awkwardness, no need to carefully plan out every word.

Then Alexia groans beside you, rolling her eyes. "Ugh, the most annoying people on campus just walked in."

You follow her gaze and spot Pedri and his friends entering the restaurant, laughing loudly and drawing attention, moving with confidence.

"Oh, do you mean the most famous?" Ana teases, which sets off a laughter around the table. They’re clearly all in on the joke, sharing knowing glances.

You feel your cheeks warm, trying to hide that you're blushing. Just a few hours ago, the thought of being in that group had felt like the ultimate goal, some idealized version of what college life should be. You’d thought everything would change, that you’d somehow become a different person overnight. Now, you look at them again, at their loud voices and carefree attitude, and something about it feels... less shiny. Less like what you actually need.

This time, he doesn’t look at you. Pedri and his friends settle at a table on the other side of the restaurant. It’s strange – you’re both here, sharing the same space, yet you might as well be in different worlds.

For the first time, it doesn’t bother you. There’s a quiet satisfaction in knowing that you don’t need to be over there, part of his world, to feel like you belong. You turn back to your own table, the conversation picks up right where it left off, and you dive back in, laughing along, feeling more settled than you ever imagined you would.

part 3

You’re standing in Ana and Alexia’s tiny dorm room, surrounded by piles of clothes, makeup scattered across every available surface. Alexia’s leaning in close, brushing eyeshadow onto your eyelids while Ana adjusts the straps of her dress on your shoulders. The room feels so cramped, and your pulse is racing – this party is supposed to be huge, half the campus will be there, and just thinking about it makes you feel like you’re looking down the edge of a cliff. Your palms are clammy, and every now and then, you catch yourself wondering if maybe you should back out.

When Alexia pulls away to get a good look, you finally muster up the courage to ask, "Do I look... pretty?" The words come out quieter than you intended.

Alexia squints at you, considering. "What? Yeah, of course! Maybe…” She leans closer, tapping her chin, “maybe just take your glasses off."

Ana reaches over, carefully slipping them off, and both of them stare at you. Your heart skips a beat. Why did they pause like that? Why haven’t they said anything?

“Actually, you know what,” Ana says, laughing as she slides your glasses back on. “Let’s keep them on.”

Your stomach drops, and you immediately start overthinking. Does that mean you look… weird without them? That the glasses are hiding something? You’re seconds away from spiraling when Ana laughs again, picking up on your panic.

“No, no, it’s not that! Really!” she says, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I just think the glasses suit you. They make you look like… you, you know?”

You take a breath, looking at yourself in the mirror. “Sometimes, I feel like people don’t even look at my face,” you say quietly, almost more to yourself than to them. “Like… am I ugly or something? Just be honest.”

Alexia shakes her head, leaning in with a smirk. “The problem is not that you’re ugly. Because listen – you’re not.” She tries to keep a straight face but can’t hold back a grin. “It’s just… you have this really scary resting face. Honestly, it took us months to gather up the courage to talk to you. You looked like a total psycho!”

Your jaw drops, and then Ana starts giggling, and before you know it, all three of you are laughing so hard you’re practically gasping for air.

By the time you and your friends arrive, the place is buzzing – every corner packed with groups chatting, laughing, flirting, leaning close in half-drunken conversations, snapping selfies that will likely look more like a blur tomorrow. It's surreal, looking out over the room and recognizing faces – people you've seen day after day in the library or sitting across from you in classes.

You glance over at Alexia, who’s already chatting with Ana, while Diego and Andrés are joking around, nudging each other, making it look like they’ve been friends for years. It feels good – safe, even – knowing you're with people who know your quirks and still want you here.

For a second, you catch sight of Pedri and his friends across the room. They’re their own universe, laughing, leaning back casually against the wall, looking like they know everyone and everything.

The music grows louder, bass pulsing through the floor, and after a few songs and a couple of drinks, the air feels thick, almost stifling. You slip out onto the balcony, breathing in the cool night air, grateful for the silence.

A few moments later, you hear footsteps. When you turn, Pedri is standing there, leaning against the doorframe with that familiar half-smile.

“Hey! Finger-cut girl! Escaping too?” he says, nodding back toward the chaos inside.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, needed a break. It’s… intense in there.”

He steps forward, looking out over the city lights beyond. “It’s kind of crazy, all this,” he says, gesturing toward the noise and chaos inside. “Sometimes I just want to get away for a while, you know?”

You blink, caught off guard by the depth of his words. You’re both a bit tipsy, sure, but it doesn’t feel like enough to explain why he’s opening up like this to you. It’s almost… intentional.

You want to keep the conversation going, to say something meaningful back. Tonight, you’re really trying to be friendly, trying to bridge that gap that always feels so hard to cross. But it’s not easy for you. It’s like something physically tightens in your chest whenever you’re around people – every word feels like you’re tiptoeing on the edge of saying too much.

Still, you take a breath, gathering the nerve to open up, even if it’s just a little. ��I get it,” you say, surprised at how steady your voice sounds. “Sometimes it feels like everything’s moving too fast, and you’re just… stuck, trying to catch up.”

He looks at you like he’s really hearing what you’re saying. His expression softens, and the usual cockiness in his eyes is replaced with something quieter.

He agrees, “Exactly.”

For a moment, you both stand there, the noise and music from inside a distant hum. Then he leans on the railing beside you.

“You look different tonight,” he says, his voice lower, almost as if he’s sharing a secret. “Good different.”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide how much his words make you blush. “It’s just makeup and a nice dress.”

He shakes his head, his eyes still on you. “No, it’s more than that. You look… happy.”

You’re not sure how to respond, caught between laughing it off and letting his words sink in. You look up, meeting his gaze, and suddenly the closeness between you feels electric. His eyes flicker from your face to your lips, and for a heartbeat, you’re frozen, feeling that rush of anticipation.

There’s a pause as you both just look at each other, and in the dim light, you notice something unexpected – he’s actually nervous. The way he glances down at his hands, how he shifts slightly, like he’s unsure of himself.

Your heartbeat picks up as he leans in, his breath warm against your cheek. When his lips finally meet yours, it’s gentle at first, tentative, like he’s testing the waters, waiting to see if you’ll pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you let yourself sink into it.

Just as you’re starting to forget where you are, his hand slides down your back, fingers trailing lower, and it’s like a switch flips. You pull back, reality rushing back in as you catch your breath, and he looks at you, confused.

You look down, noticing your lipstick, or, well, Alexia’s lipstick smudged on his lips, “You have a girlfriend,” you say, your voice a mix of anger and disbelief. “Why would you do this?”

He hesitates. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

“Since when?”

“Uhmm… listen, we’re about to break up. Any day now. I’m just trying to find the right time.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, stepping back.

He sighs, like he knows how this sounds. “She kisses other guys too, it’s fine, we have an open relationship.”

You fold your arms, skeptical. “Okay… maybe start with that next time. I still don’t feel like I can trust you, and I’m pretty sure she hates me. Either way, I don’t want any drama.”

Pedri laughs, trying to look nonchalant. “Drama? Me? I’m the chillest. There’s no drama with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You just told me you’re in the middle of breaking up, and I don’t even know what that means.”

He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Okay, okay, I get it. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, I like thinking,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended. “You should try it. It’s really good – it lowers your chances of hurting people.”

Pedri opens his mouth, maybe to defend himself, but instead, he just nods, an apology in his eyes. And though you can see that part of him wants to win you over, there’s a quiet recognition there too. He knows he messed up. The music shifts, someone calls your name, and before either of you can say anything more, you turn and walk back into the noise, leaving him standing there.

part 4

It’s a random Tuesday when you find yourself in a situation straight out of a cheap comedy. You’re just minding your business, walking back to your dorm with an armful of snacks you impulsively bought after a long day of exams. But right as you turn the corner of the hallway, your foot catches on a loose bit of carpet. In an effort to keep from falling, you stumble forward, dropping your snacks everywhere – chips and candy scattering across the floor like confetti.

As you scramble to gather everything, trying not to laugh at your own clumsiness, you realize you’re not alone. Just around the corner, you hear voices. You freeze, quickly recognizing one of them as Pedri’s. And the other... Melanie.

You lean down, staying out of sight and pretending to reach for a stray bag of chips, hoping to avoid drawing attention. But as their conversation grows louder, your curiosity gets the best of you.

“You don’t understand,” Melanie’s voice is strained, dripping with frustration. “We have something big, something real. We’re building a future here!”

Pedri sighs, his tone more tired than angry. “Be honest with me – are you even still in love with me?”

There’s a beat of silence, followed by her dismissive laugh. “This is bigger than some little crush, Pedri. We have stability. What kind of future do you have with her? You two have absolutely nothing in common!”

You bite your lip, cheeks heating up. Could they be talking about you? You’d get up and leave if you didn’t feel like you’d definitely be noticed now. You’re basically a hostage in your own hallway.

Pedri’s voice grows firmer. “This isn’t about her. It’s about us, Mel.”

She scoffs, and you can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “You two aren’t going to last a month. Just wait. You’ll come crawling back to me.”

At that, she storms off, heels clicking sharply. Pedri steps out from behind the corner a moment later and catches sight of you sitting there, wide-eyed and completely flustered, with a bag of chips crushed in your hand. There’s a split second of mutual shock before he bursts out laughing.

“Oh god,” you mumble, utterly mortified as you scramble to stand. “I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping. I… I was just… my snacks…”

Pedri grins, shaking his head. “You know, I think this might be the best thing that’s happened all day.”

He holds out his hand to help you up. “Need a hand with that?”

You take his hand, still flustered but grateful. As he helps you gather up the rest of your snacks, you both start walking down the hallway toward your dorm room. It feels easy – surprisingly comfortable, considering the circumstances. The small talk flows without much effort, and Pedri seems genuinely happy to be talking to you.

“So, what’s your course again?” he asks, glancing over at you with that warm smile that makes you a little nervous.

“I’m studying chemical engineering,” you say, trying to sound confident, even though you’re still a bit flustered from your earlier clumsiness. 

Pedri raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Oh, so you’re smart, smart, huh?” he says with a grin. “I didn’t take you for a genius.”

You laugh, a bit shy but glad he’s not being too serious. “Well, I’m smart in the sense that I know how to memorize a bunch of formulas. I wouldn’t call it genius-level.”

He chuckles, clearly impressed. “I don’t know. Sounds pretty smart to me.”

You shrug, glancing at the floor. “Well, I know, it sounds super boring, but I kind of like it. I guess I’m just really into figuring out how stuff works.”

Pedri looks amused. “So you’re, like, a chemical wizard, huh?”

“Something like that,” you joke, trying to downplay it.

"So..." Pedri seems to want to start a serious conversation, looking at you with a slightly hesitant expression. "About what you heard... and about the kiss..."

You immediately shake your head, feeling your heart race. "We don't have to talk about any of it. Really."

Pedri pauses, confusion flickering on his face, as if he’s hurt by your response. "Are you sure?"

You look at him, trying to keep a straight face. "I have social anxiety."

He stares at you for a moment. "You seem fine talking to me."

You sigh dramatically, though you can’t quite hide the smile tugging at your lips. "I'm freaking out inside, trust me."

"That's okay," he says, his tone softening. "Alright, then maybe we can talk about other stuff? Maybe I can walk you to your room again some other times? What about that?"

You think for a second, still a little unsure but feeling the warmth of his easy-going demeanor. "Umm... yeah. Other stuff sounds nice. Walking sounds... okay."

Pedri raises an eyebrow, clearly teasing now but with a playful glint in his eye. "Can you handle walking and talking?"

You pause for a beat, then nod with a little more confidence than you actually feel. "I can handle!"

[ethereal555]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY.

angst x jobe bellingham.

You’ve never seen Jobe act this way before. We had just finished our dinner at Hakkasan which started off lovely; you'd both missed each other to bits. It started when Jobe expressed his confusion about the amount our waiter spoke to me, the way in which he spoke and looked at me and definetly didnt like the fact I was slighly enthusiatic in return when the mans questions regarding my profession. And no matter how many times i'd tell Jobe, that 'it's common decency' it fell upon deaf ears every time.

In situations such as these which occured often, he'd be a baby about it and whine about how all the men we come across were always infactuated with me and how it wasn't fair because I am his and his only. Or he'd tell me to be more blunt and harsh in my rejections. At least he was communicating with me..

But this time, it was an intense silence on the way back home, a silence that left your mind unsettled.

-

You both made your way back to his black Audi. Your gaze frequently shifting from the side profile and then to the floor as you internally prepared yourself to rectify this issue before it got out of hand.

Your gaze landed on Jobe again only to see his sharp jawline prominent due to the extent of which he was tensing it. Tensed hard enough to break glass. You also noticed his walking pace quickening by the second, another telling sign of the volcanic eruption brewing within him.

“J, you’re going too fast can you hold my hand please?” you whined. You knew he wasn’t in the mood for that and definitely had other things on his mind but he did it anyway reaching his long arm back and in doing so not sparing me a glance. Your rolled your eyes, hard.

You latched onto his hand making your way back to the car at a decent speed this time. Thank God.

Everytime you both were at a social event, there would always be an odd circunstance that occurs leaving one of you jealous, disheartened or upset. Jobe was the usual culprit; you had told your man for what felt like the uptenneth times that you were an attractive girl, men were bound to stop and stare and wink and do whatever they desired and the same applied to him. But you also told him, there would never be any reciprocation from your side; which you expected him to trust. Simply saying thank you to compliments would suffice. Just common decency that you'd been taught growing up- it wasn't going to change. It baffled you as you'd never given him any slack throughout your 3 year relationship about any of the thousands of fangirls that were overbearring and desperate around him. You trusted him, and you were secure.

This time, you think it hit harder for him because it was supposed to be an especially romantic date; as you both had been apart for 5 months in different countries for work purposes - so you did sympathize slightly.

You halt in your tracks, consequently making Jobe's walking stop. He looks back at you, unimpressed. You smile at him sweetly, leaning up to kiss his mouth. 'Please don't be mad at me. Baby, I've missed you so much and I want us spend quality time tonight. I really enjoyed dinner and I want to enjoy.. you later.' you whine as you pepper wet kisses over his jawline and neck. Hoping he'd leave this atttitude in the resturant and not bring it home with us.

You see his adam's apple move up and down, he beckons with his head 'Get in the car, Tee', pushing at your waist.

You both get to the car, and to your surprise he doesn’t open the door for you, like he usually does. He goes straight to the drivers seat and sits.

You scoff entering from your side of the car, slamming it shut once you were in.

“Listen Jobe. Bellingham. Don’t let your jealousy get you fucked up. I don’t give a toss if you're pissed , especially because of how stupid it is. You’re still my man. So act right.” You scold mushing his head with your index and middle finger.

He moves his head away from your hands.

“Stop - don’t touch meh or ya walking home, crazy girl”

“Get the lad in 'er to rush over and open the door for ya, and 'em lads you like to entertain. Desperate” He said gesturing towards the waiter who was now serving some guests who were seated outside.

You look at him dumbfounded. Mouth wide open.

'I could.. Jobe.. i could spit on your right now, how dare you..?'.

'Try it' he dares, an inferno arising in his chest.

“Y-You're really upset because I was being a decent human being. You’re a child you know that right? and you're fucking childish and immature and direspectful as fuck” you spat.

“That’s great actually - fucking brilliant - because I’d rather be a child than be a fucking flirt that hasn’t a self aware bone in their body” he humours, driving out of the parking lot.

It felt like your heart dropped.

“A flirt? When did I flirt?” I questioned hysterically. I understand Jobe was jealous , and had those tendencies, but to say I was entertaining another man was absurd and not in my character.

You start to shake your feet, attempting to distract yourself from this recongizable feeling. The heat you felt rising from your chest racing toward your throat, your cheeks burning and your eyes stinging. No, you thought, I'm not giving him the satisfaction.

'Stop the car', you cry. Struggling to get your phone our of your back, that was placed by your feet and underneath the dashboard.

Your voice betraying you.

'N-now, Jobe, I can't anymore' you shake your head continously.

'Ya can't do what?", his face softeneing for this first time as he briefly turns to look at you. He pulls into a side road and removes his seatbelt turning to face you. Rubbing his hands over his face as if I was the one stressing him out.

You chuckle bitterly 'that's the only thing you've listened to, this whole ride', your vision and your thoughts become blurry so you carefully remove the accumulated tears from your eyes as you try and call an uber, not wanting to pull any of your clusters out.

Jobe cradles your face when his left hand, you react as if his hand was a bowl of scorthching hot oil.

'If ya must ya can call the uber later, just look at me'.

You knew he hated to see you cry, that was his kryptonite, no matter how bad the arguement is.

His right had catches your other cheek until he has encaptured the entirety of your face within his palms. He stares, looking deep into your eyes, for what felt like minutes. maybe searching for words to say, accountability maybe.. you anticipated an apology ..

“Ya do this all the time me love.."

'what jobe, what i do?' you croak

'ya cry when I tell ya the truth, baby, ya know I don’t lie', he pecks the corner of your lips.

You break away and look at him through your now damp lash clusters and teary eyes.

my man my man my mf man

'make up your mind' - chris brown inspo kinda

i hate a nigga that doesnt take accountability btw.

[rainbowloveletters]

Jeremy and Micah: A Love Story of Unconditional Acceptance

The bustling city streets were alive with activity as the lunch hour rush began. Jeremy, a tall and muscular man in his early thirties, strode confidently through the crowded sidewalks, his broad shoulders pushing through the throngs of people. As he turned a corner, his eyes locked onto a petite figure huddled against the cold wind. The man was short, likely barely over 5 feet tall, with delicate features and an ethereal beauty. Jeremy felt an instant pull, as if drawn by an unseen force.

"Excuse me," Jeremy called out, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. "Are you alright?"

The smaller man looked up, startled green eyes meeting Jeremy's warm brown ones. A pink flush crept up his cheeks as he took in Jeremy's chiseled good looks and broad, well-built frame. "Y-yes, I'm fine, thank you," he stammered, his soft voice barely audible over the city din.

Jeremy smiled, a charming dimple appearing in his cheek. "I'm Jeremy. Jeremy Thompson. And you are...?"

"I'm Micah," the pretty man replied shyly, averting his gaze. "Micah Avery."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Micah." Jeremy extended a large, work-roughened hand. Micah hesitated briefly before placing his own tiny one in Jeremy's grasp. A spark of electricity seemed to pass between them at the touch.

As they shook hands, Jeremy couldn't help but notice how small and fragile Micah appeared, so delicate compared to his own rugged build. An overwhelming urge to protect and shelter this lovely creature washed over him. He vowed then and there to keep Micah safe from any and all harm.

They continued to chat, discovering a shared love of indie music, art house cinema, and gourmet cooking. The noise and chill of the city faded away as they lost themselves in conversation. Micah found himself drawn to Jeremy's kind, genuine nature, and the way he listened with such rapt attention. Jeremy, in turn, was captivated by Micah's sweet shyness and unique blend of innocence and quiet strength.

"Listen Micah," Jeremy finally said, glancing down at his watch, "I'd love to continue this conversation. Any chance I could take you out for coffee? Or maybe dinner sometime?"

Micah's heart leapt at the invitation. "I'd like that," he replied, a hopeful smile breaking across his face. "Very much so."

They exchanged numbers, reluctantly parting ways, both feeling a profound sense of loss when no longer in each other's presence. Jeremy watched Micah walk away, his eyes tracing the graceful line of the smaller man's back. He knew, with unshakable certainty, that he wanted to spend every moment he could with this extraordinary being.

In the weeks and months that followed, Jeremy and Micah's relationship blossomed into a deep, abiding love. They spent every spare moment together, exploring the city hand-in-hand, their heads bent close in intimate conversation. Micah found himself opening up to Jeremy in ways he never had with anyone before, drawn to the other man's patient understanding and steadfast support.

For his part, Jeremy was amazed by Micah's resilience and creativity in the face of adversity. Despite the hardships and challenges life had thrown at him, Micah radiated a gentle strength, facing each day with courage and grace. Jeremy felt fiercely protective of this brave, beautiful soul, an all-encompassing need to safeguard Micah's happiness burning in his chest.

Their love grew, changing from a smoldering ember to a raging inferno. They began to envision a future together, dreams of a shared home, perhaps even a family. But navigating the complexities of a same-sex relationship, especially one so fraught with disparities in size and strength, was not without its obstacles.

Micah found himself often overwhelmed by his own need to be protected, a deep-seated fear that Jeremy would one day leave him behind like so many others had. He clung to the taller man with a desperate urgency, as if trying to physically merge their two bodies into one. Jeremy could only hold Micah close, murmuring words of love and devotion, his own heart breaking at the thought of ever causing this precious being pain.

Still, their love remained steadfast, a shining beacon to light their way. They learned to communicate openly, working through each challenge as it arose. And as the months deepened into years, their bond grew stronger still, an unbreakable thread weaving their lives into an exquisite tapestry.

After a few months of tying the knot with the man of his dream, Micah began to feel a curious flutter in his belly. At first, he dismissed it as mere nerves, but as the feeling persisted, growing in strength and frequency, he knew something was amiss. With trembling hands, he took a pregnancy test, hardly daring to breathe as he waited for the results.

Jeremy found him a short time later, curled in a ball on the bathroom floor, tears streaming down his face. "What is it, love?" he asked, sinking to his knees and gathering Micah into his arms. "What's wrong?"

"I'm...I'm pregnant," Micah whispered brokenly, his voice rough with emotion.

A stunned silence fell between them. Male pregnancy, while not unheard of, remained a rare and wondrous occurrence. Jeremy cradled Micah's face in his hands, brushing away the smaller man's tears with the pads of his thumbs.

"My God, Micah," he breathed, awe and wonder suffusing his voice. "We're going to be parents. Our family, growing together in the most beautiful way."

Micah laughed through his tears,joy and love bubbling up inside him. They held each other fiercely, marveling at the life growing inside Micah's belly, a tangible manifestation of their love.

As the months progressed, Micah blossomed, his stomach swelling with their child. Jeremy was a constant presence, massaging Micah's aching back, preparing nutritious meals, and whispering devotion to his growing bump. He marveled at the changes in Micah's body, awed by the strength and beauty of the life-growing process.

Jeremy's eyes adored his husband Micah's swollen belly, gently caressing the smooth, tight skin stretched over their growing child. "You look so beautiful today, love," he murmured, nuzzling into Micah's neck.

Micah giggled and pushed against Jeremy's muscular chest. "You're just saying that because you love me."

"Of course I love you, silly." Jeremy kissed up Micah's jawline. "I want you so badly right now."

"You're insatiable." Micah rolled his eyes playfully. "I'm hugely pregnant, in case you haven't noticed."

"I noticed. I want you even more because of it. The way you glow..." Jeremy cupped Micah's face tenderly. "The way your skin glows, how your breasts and belly swell...your body is so ripe and alluring."

Micah shivered, his eyes darkening with lust. Despite his pregnancy, he still desired Jeremy just as much. More, even. "Then take me," he breathed.

Jeremy scooped Micah into his strong arms and carried him to their bedroom. He undressed Micah carefully, reverently, kissing every inch of exposed flesh. Micah gasped and writhed under Jeremy's skilled touches.

"You're so sexy...I want to worship you," Jeremy husked. He kissed down Micah's chest, paying homage to the changes in his body before arriving at Micah's heavy, sensitive nipples. Micah cried out at the first touch of Jeremy's mouth.

Micah let out a breathy moan, his hands threading through Jeremy's hair. "I need you, Jer," he whimpered. "Please...make love to me."

Jeremy's heart raced as he carefully helped Micah to his side. He stroked the curve of Micah's hip, trailing his fingers up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. "I'll be so gentle with you, babe. I'd never want to hurt you or the baby."

When his fingers found Micah's most intimate place, slick with arousal, Jeremy groaned at the heated response. He circled Micah's opening with the pad of his finger, then gently pressed inside. Slowly, so very slowly, he worked a second finger in alongside the first, crooking just so.

"Ah! Yes, Jer!" Micah keened, rocking back onto Jeremy's hand. His passage fluttered and clenched, more eager than usual in his pregnant state.

Soon Micah was panting and gasping, babbling pleas for more. Jeremy moved over him, carefully lowering his weight onto Micah's smaller frame. He lined himself up and pushed in with deliberate slowness, giving Micah time to adjust to the stretch of his thick length.

They moved together, their lovemaking intense but unhurried, savoring every slide of skin on skin, every brush of lips, every hitched breath and needy moan. Jeremy hit that special spot inside Micah again and again, determined to bring his husband to a peak of pleasure like no other.

The moonlight filtering through the curtains illuminated the couple as they moved together in a passionate rhythm, their bodies slick with sweat. Jeremy's powerful muscles rippled beneath his skin as he thrust deep into his husband Micah's tight heat.

"Ohhh Jeremy! Yes, just like that!" Micah moaned, his back arching off the bed. The small, cute twink with the rounded baby bump couldn't get enough of his protective husband's thick cock stretching him open.

"Fuck, you're so hot and tight, baby," Jeremy growled, gripping Micah's hips. He snapped his wide hips harder, burying himself balls-deep into Micah's needy hole with every powerful thrust. The bed creaked and shook, the headboard slamming against the wall.

Jeremy's strong, muscular form enveloped Micah's petite, cute body as he gently thrust into his husband. Micah let out a gasp of pleasure, his short frame trembling with ecstasy. Suddenly, something caught Jeremy's eye - a small bead of opaque liquid forming on Micah's nipple. Puzzled, Jeremy pulled back to get a better look. To his utter shock, a thin stream of milky fluid began to dribble from Micah's pink bud.

Micah followed his gaze and blushed deeply, covering his chest. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't know that would happen," he stammered shyly.

But rather than be repulsed, Jeremy felt a rush of desire at the sight of his husband's leaking nipples. His cock throbbed harder inside Micah's tight heat. The knowledge that Micah was pregnant with his child, that their lovemaking had created new life, only made Jeremy want him more.

"It's beautiful," Jeremy breathed reverently, leaning down to lap at the pearly drops with his tongue. Micah mewled and arched into the touch, his body responding eagerly.

Jeremy gazed up at Micah with adoring eyes as he suckled, relishing the sweet taste of his husband's milk. This was a profound moment of intimacy and love, their bond growing even deeper. He never wanted it to end.

Micah's dick rubbed deliciously against Jeremy's abs as he pounded into him. "Mmm, I'm gonna cum!" the pregnant twink whimpered, his body trembling on the verge of release. Suddenly, Micah's swollen, sensitive nipples started to leak milk, droplets of warm liquid trickling down his chest and pooling on his skin. The combination of sensations sent Micah over the edge and he cried out, spilling his release between them.

The sight of Micah coming undone, his body glistening with sweat and lactation, was too much for Jeremy. With a grunt, the well-built man buried himself to the hilt inside his husband's fluttering hole and exploded, flooding Micah's insides with his hot seed. They clung to each other, shuddering and gasping through the aftershocks of their intense orgasms.

"Aww, baby, you're looking so beautiful," Jeremy cooed over his pregnant husband, Micah. The couple were lounging on their bed after a recent steamy romp in the sheets.

Micah giggled, his cheeks flushed pink. "You're such a charmer, I swear." He playfully swatted Jeremy's chiseled chest.

Jeremy grinned, pulling Micah into his strong arms. "What can I say? Pregnancy agrees with you. Makes your ass look even better, if that's possible." He gave Micah's plump rear an appreciative squeeze.

Micah stuck his tongue out at Jeremy in mock annoyance, but his eyes sparkled with affection and desire. "Lay off, you perv. I'm carrying our child here."

"And what a sexy mama you are," Jeremy teased, running his fingers reverently over the swell of Micah's belly. He leaned down, pressing loving kisses across the stretched skin. "You've never looked more gorgeous to me, baby."

Micah sighed happily, melting into Jeremy's tender ministrations. "You always know just what to say..."

Jeremy smirked as he felt Micah's body tense beneath him. "What's wrong, baby? You okay?" He cupped Micah's face, studying it with concern.

"I...I think my water just broke," Micah said, sounding shocked. A liquid gush spread beneath them on the sheets.

"Micah! Are you in labor?" Jeremy's eyes widened. He hadn't expected this to happen so soon or so suddenly.

"I...I think so," Micah breathed, voice pitching higher. "It hurts, Jer..."

But Micah was already off the bed, waddling to the bathroom. Jeremy followed close behind, ready to catch him if he slipped. Micah made it to the bathroom just in time before his contractions started up in earnest.

"Oh god, Jeremy... I'm s-sorry!" Micah blubbered through tears of pain and embarrassment. "I've ruined the bed!"

Jeremy knelt down and held Micah's face in his hands, his expression one of pure love and adoration. "You haven't ruined anything, sweetheart. This is just part of it. You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you."

He helped Micah get cleaned up and into a bathrobe.

"Shh, I've got you. I've got you, baby." Jeremy soothed, shifted to cradle Micah in his arms. "What do I need to do? What can I do to help?"

"Get me the birthing plan!" Micah demanded through gritted teeth. "And the hospital bag! We have to head to the hospital!"

Jeremy nodded, heart pounding. "Right, right." He scrambled off the bed, grabbing the emergency bag they'd packed ages ago. He retrieved the folder of papers too before hurrying back to Micah's side.

"Okay, let's get you dressed and to the car," he said, scanning the instructions quickly. "I'm going to carry you, 'kay? Nice and slow."

Micah nodded weakly, breathing hard through contractions. Jeremy carefully hoisted him into his arms, muscles straining with the effort. He hated seeing Micah in pain like this.

With Micah clutched tightly to his chest, Jeremy carefully navigated out to the car, gingerly getting them both buckled in. He drove as quickly but safely as possible to the hospital, wincing every time Micah cried out.

"I know, I know... Almost there, baby, just hang on..." Jeremy soothed, reaching over to squeeze Micah's hand.

Thankfully, they soon arrived. Jeremy pulled up to the ER entrance and came around to scoop up Micah. "I'm here, I'm here! My husband's in labor!" he called out frantically to the orderlies rushing to meet them with a wheelchair.

Jeremy paced nervously in the hospital waiting room, his muscular frame practically vibrating with barely contained anxiety as he awaited news of his husband Micah's labour progress. The cute, twink-like man had been through so much already, and Jeremy just wanted him and their baby to be safe.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a nurse emerged and gave Jeremy a reassuring smile. "You can come back now, Mr. Thompson. Micah is asking for you."

Relief flooded through him and Jeremy hurried after the nurse, his heart pounding. He stepped into the delivery room and immediately went to Micah's side, taking his tiny hand in his own much larger one. "Hey baby, I'm here now. What do you need?"

Micah managed a weak but grateful smile up at his hulking husband. "Just having you here is enough," he said breathlessly between contractions.

The medical staff bustled around them, monitoring machines beeping and whirring. A nurse gently helped remove Micah's hospital gown, leaving him completely exposed and vulnerable on the labour bed. Jeremy's protective instincts flared and he resisted the urge to cover his husband, knowing it was necessary for the birth.

The staff then carefully placed wires and sensors on Micah's naked body, attaching them to the monitoring machines. Micah trembled, looking small and fragile as the cold metal touched his bare skin, but Jeremy just squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"I love you so much," Jeremy murmured, catching Micah's dark eyes. "You're doing so great, baby. I'm so proud of you."

Micah whimpered and clung to Jeremy's hand as another intense contraction hit, his small body arching on the bed. Beads of sweat slicked his alabaster skin under the lights of the machines.

Jeremy watched the monitors anxiously, seeing Micah's vitals spiking. "Is he okay?" he asked the closest nurse sharply.

"Yes, sir, perfectly normal for this stage of labour," she replied calmly. "Baby's coming along great too. Not much longer now..."

"Push!" the doctor instructed, and with a guttural cry, Micah bore down, his petite body working to bring their child into the world...

As Jeremy holds Micah's hand tightly, he gazes at his husband's face, etched in pain but also determination. The doctor had warned them that Micah's small stature may make natural childbirth difficult, but Micah was adamant about avoiding a C-section if possible.

"I've got you, baby. You're doing so well," Jeremy coos reassuringly, his large hand engulfing Micah's tiny one. He stands protectively over his husband's petite frame, his strong, muscular build a stark contrast to Micah's delicate features.

Micah grits his teeth as another contraction rips through him. "I don't know if I can do this, Jeremy," he whimpers, sweat glistening on his brow. "It hurts so much."

"Shh, I know it does, sweetheart. But you're the strongest person I know. Our little one is almost here, I can feel it." Jeremy gently wipes the damp hair from Micah's forehead, peppering his face with soft kisses.

The doctor, a kind older woman with a warm smile, steps in. "Micah, you're doing great. The baby is crowning. A few more pushes and you'll be holding your child in your arms."

Micah nods weakly, mustering the last of his energy. "Okay, I can do this." He takes a deep breath and bears down hard as another contraction hits.

"That's it, Micah! Keep going," the doctor urges.

With a final, guttural cry, Micah pushes, his body straining with the effort. Then, suddenly, the room erupts in the most beautiful sound Jeremy has ever heard - the piercing wail of their newborn child.

"It's a boy!" the doctor exclaims joyfully, placing the squirming, perfect infant on Micah's heaving chest. "Congratulations, you two. He's absolutely perfect."

Tears streaming down his face, Jeremy leans down and presses a reverent kiss to his son's downy head. "Hello, little man," he whispers hoarsely. "Welcome to the world."

Micah cradles their child close, his exhausted face alight with wonder and love. "We did it, Jeremy," he breathes. "We made a miracle."

Safe in the haven of their husband's embrace, their family now complete, the new fathers bask in the euphoria of this momentous day - the day their hearts grew impossibly bigger, the day their lives changed forever.

The sun shone gently through the hospital window, illuminating the scene before me. My husband Micah lay on the bed, his short, twink frame looking absolutely ravishing in his thin hospital gown. The swell of his belly had reduced significantly after giving birth to our beautiful baby boy, but I could still see the stretch marks - battle scars he bore with pride.

I, Jeremy, stood by the window, admiring my husband's beauty from afar. At 6'2", I towered over Micah's 5'6" frame, and I loved every bit of it. He was my cute little boywife, and I would do anything to keep him safe and happy.

I walked over to the bed, my well-built physique moving with a quiet confidence. Micah looked up at me, his pretty face lighting up with a smile. "Hey, handsome," he cooed, his voice still a little hoarse from all the screaming he did during labor.

"Hey, baby," I replied, leaning down to press a tender kiss on his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than expected," Micah chuckled, his hand reaching out to rest on my rock-hard abs. "I just want to go home and snuggle with our little one."

"We'll get there soon, love. The doctor said we can go home in a day or two, once you're feeling up to it."

Micah pouted cutely, and I couldn't resist giving him another kiss, this time on the lips. He tasted like hospital disinfectant and my favorite lip balm, a heady combination that never failed to turn me on.

Our kiss deepened, Micah's tongue sliding against mine with a needy whimper. I groaned into his mouth, my hands roaming over his slim body, tracing the dip of his waist and the flare of his hips.

"Need you," Micah mumbled against my lips, his fingers digging into my biceps. "Need you so bad, Jer."

I knew exactly what he meant. It had been weeks since we last made love, what with the pregnancy and the birth and all the chaos in between. But now, in this private hospital room, with our baby safely in the nursery and the door locked and bolted, I could finally give my husband what he craved.

I stripped off my clothes with quick, efficient movements, my thick cock springing free and already half-hard. Micah's eyes went wide and hungry, his own erection tenting the thin fabric of his gown.

I pushed the gown up and off, revealing Micah's creamy skin and pert nipples. I latched onto one, sucking and nibbling until he was writhing beneath me, his slim legs spreading wide in invitation.

I reached for the lube we'd stashed under the mattress, slicking up my fingers before pressing one against Micah's fluttering hole. He hissed and shuddered, but kept pushing back onto my finger, desperate to be filled.

I worked him open with practiced ease, adding a second and then a third finger until Micah was mewling and clenching around me. Only then did I line up my cock and push in, slowly and gently, letting him adjust to the stretch.

"Fuck," Micah whimpered, his hands scrabbling at my shoulders. "You're so big, Jer. Feels so good."

I smiled down at him, my hips starting to move in a slow, deep rhythm. "You take me so well, baby. Such a good boy for me."

Micah's response was to wrap his legs around my waist and urge me deeper, his heels digging into the small of my back. I complied, snapping my hips harder, faster, the obscene sound of skin on skin filling the room.

The headboard creaked as I fucked into Micah with abandon, sweat beading on my brow and dripping down onto his chest. Micah was a mess beneath me, his face twisted with pleasure, his cock weeping and untouched between his legs.

"Touch yourself," I grunted, reaching down to stroke Micah's thigh. "Want to watch you come undone for me."

Micah didn't hesitate, his slender hand wrapping around his dripping cock and starting to stroke in time with my thrusts. His mouth fell open, his pretty face slack with bliss as he chased his release.

I could feel my own climax building at the base of my spine, my balls drawing up tight and my thrusts becoming erratic. "Gonna cum," I rasped, my fingers digging into Micah's hips hard enough to bruise. "Cum with me, Micah. Now."

Micah keened, his cock pulsing in his grip as he spurted all over his chest and stomach. The sensation of his walls clenching around me was too much, and with a hoarse cry, I buried myself deep and came, painting Micah's insides with my seed.

I collapsed on top of him, both of us panting and trembling with the aftershocks. Micah's arms came up to wrap around my neck, holding me close as we both came down.

"I love you," Micah murmured, nuzzling into my neck. "Love you so much, Jeremy."

"I love you too, baby," I replied, pressing a kiss to his temple. "More than anything."

We laid there for a while longer, just enjoying each other's closeness. But eventually, I knew I had to clean us up before the doctors came back to check on Micah.

I slipped out of him with a quiet groan, both of us hissing at the sensitivity. I grabbed some tissues and gently wiped Micah down, tossing the used wipes in the bin.

Just as I was pulling the blankets back up to cover Micah's naked body, we heard a knock at the door. "Just a minute!" I called out, quickly pulling on my clothes and unlocking the door.

The nurse who walked in looked relieved to see Micah looking so well, but I could see the hint of curiosity in her eyes. I just smiled blandly and helped her check Micah over, ignoring the knowing look she shot me when she saw the love bite blooming on Micah's neck.

But I didn't care what she thought. All that mattered was that my husband was happy and healthy, and that our family was complete. And as I watched Micah drift off to sleep with a sated smile on his face, I knew that I would do anything to keep him safe and satisfied.

Even if that meant sneaking into his hospital room for a little TLC. As long as Micah was happy, I was happy. And that was all that mattered.

[joe-fuckingtwice-toye]

the guy was sitting opposite and then decided “i'm sitting too far from my crush” and moved

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Seeing the same people who perpetuated or sent vicious misogynistic hate to Hannah Schmitz, as well as disgusting racist abuse towards Yuki and Alex because of FUCKING CONSPIRACY THEORIES and those who just straight up ignored it, now up in arms regarding whatever the fuck is going on between the FIA and the wolffs is beginning to piss me off. Because now that it's not someone red bull affiliated involved, it's somehow now unacceptable.

[nezuscribe]

part one

ok imagine it’s one of those nights that you’re down at the dining hall eating dinner, unsure if you should say something to your supposed husband, gojo.

it’s been a couple of weeks that you’ve started eating together, and you’re not sure what spurred his change of heart.

you talk a lot when it’s awkward or when you’re trying to fill a silence and so you let it slip that it was never supposed to be him you married.

“what?” he said, his fork raised midair as you blink owlishly at his confusion.

“what?” you parrot back, taking a sip of some wine as his bright blue eyes stare back intently at yours. he’s so pretty that it’s unfair.

“what do you mean?” he leans forward a bit, his fingers locking in front of him, “who else would you have married?”

your tongue clicks against the roof of your moth as you shrug in embarrassment, laughing uncomfortably. your mother (though she hates it when you call her that, not wanting to be associated with the bastard daughter her husband, your father, brought back all those years ago) would be livid if she heard of your slip up.

“oh, nothing, um, i don’t even know what i was talking about,” you chuckle lowly, moving some peas around on your plate.

you can still feel his burning stare on the side of your head, knowing that he won’t stop until you tell him.

“it’s nothing, really,” you mutter, glancing up to look at him, “but before this proposal came i was supposed to marry this other…man,” you wince thinking of the man who initially proposed to you, his slimy smile, the way he looked at you like nothing more than a vessel to carry his heir.

“who?” gojo presses, not noticing the way his jaw was clenching or subconsciously looking at the gold ring around your finger, one he haphazardly picked, but now wonders what it would look like if another man wed you.

why is he so jealous?

he already knows the answer, the time he heard you crying to your maid seated into his memory. he’s not sure why he wants you to say it, why he even wants to hear it.

you swallow thickly, heat rising to your cheeks as you glance over at gojo.

“naoya…naoya zenin? i dont know if you’ve heard-”

“i know naoya,” gojo said curtly, watching the way you cringed at his tone.

a heavy beat of silence washed over the two of you.

“are you happy you didn’t marry him?” gojo asks suddenly, poking at this question that’s been suffocating him for nearly a month.

you tilt your head slightly, your eyes piercing his, squinting as you try to gauge what he’s feeling at the moment. he notices that you do that a lot, especially with him.

“are you happy you married me?” you counter, and watch as a his eyes shift, darkening for a second as he glances away from you.

happy? he’s not sure. he’s rarely been truly happy in his life, everything he’s done has had a purpose, even this marriage served a purpose, but he’s more than glad you didn’t marry that zenin.

but he takes too long to answer, watching the small sad smile that overtakes your face, confirming the thoughts you’ve been riddled with since you married him.

you excuse yourself for the night.

gojo stays in his seat, twirling his ring around his finger.

fuck.