#unspoken affection

[aventurineswife]

Hello, if your requests are still open, could you write a headcanon for WuWa about how the character would react upon discovering they are in love with someone?

“I don’t want to be your friend, I want to be your lover”

Tags: Calcharo x Reader, Jiyan x Reader, Xiangli Yao x Reader, Emotional Conflict, Unspoken Affection, Subtle Romance, Vulnerability and Growth, Self-Discovery and Emotional Conflict.

Warnings: Slow Burn Romance, Emotional Turmoil, Internal Struggles with Feelings, Intense Confessions, Conflicted Feelings.

A/N: since they were technically the same requests, i decided to write them in one 🧍‍♀️💖

At first, he would be in denial, refusing to acknowledge any romantic feelings due to his hardened nature.

He would become increasingly protective of the person, though he hides it under the guise of pragmatism.

His stoic exterior would crack only in private moments, when he’s alone and unable to control his thoughts.

Calcharo would likely struggle to express his emotions verbally, instead showing affection through actions, like keeping them safe or providing for them.

If he were to admit his feelings, it would likely come as a quiet, yet intense confession, showing a rare vulnerability.

Initially, he would be unaware of his feelings, focusing too much on his duties and responsibilities.

Upon realization, he’d struggle with the conflict between his sense of duty and the emotions that might distract him.

Jiyan would act subtly, trying to care for the person in small, unnoticed ways (like ensuring they have everything they need).

He’d probably feel conflicted about showing affection, as his public persona is stoic and reserved.

Eventually, he’d admit his feelings in a soft but sincere manner, looking for reassurance that his feelings won't make him less capable as a leader.

Xiangli would analyze his feelings intellectually at first, possibly trying to rationalize them before fully acknowledging them.

His internal conflict would stem from his need for emotional connection versus his focus on his scientific endeavors.

He’d express his feelings through acts of kindness or deep, philosophical conversations, preferring to show affection subtly.

The realization would likely come to him during a quiet moment, possibly while reflecting on his relationship with his father and his own desires.

Xiangli might feel hesitant to openly admit his feelings, unsure how they would fit into his carefully controlled world, but if he did, it would be a thoughtful, perhaps even tentative confession.

Sorry, this is short... My brain isn't braining 🧍‍♀️💔

[ydsurluvhsm]

♡ sakura & ino: the connection they never acknowledged ♡

why was this bond never explored more deeply??? (╥﹏╥) sakura and ino had the perfect dynamic—rivals, yes, but also something so much more. the tension between them was so obvious and SO sapphic, it hurts.

like, sakura was always comparing herself to ino, trying to be better, but ino? ino was the one who saw her. she understood her in ways no one else did. (｡•́︿•̀｡) their bond was so special, yet the show just let it go to waste. why?

seriously, their rivalry had the perfect blend of longing and unspoken affection. ✨💖 it was begging to turn into something more, something soft and beautiful. yet instead of that, we got... sasuke??? (｀へ´) seriously?

i will forever believe sakura belonged with ino, not sasuke. (｡•́︿•̀｡) it’s the truth, fight me. this missed opportunity is one of the greatest heartbreaks of naruto. but i'll keep on shipping them forever, no matter what.

[wecanresthere]

The ice jingled against the glass, your straw probing the shards in search of the last drops of your drink. You pushed the glass away from you, watching it slide gently across the table. You settled back against the booth, surveying the busy bar. The faces were a blur, your fourth drink of the night beginning to catch up with you but you’d know his face when you found it. If you found it. He only said he’d try and swing by, it wasn’t a promise. You leaned into the conversation next to you, half listening, laughing along where it fit. 

When you had decided to distract yourself with another drink, one appeared in front of you as if conjured from the thought. The condensation dripped down the glass and the familiar scent hit you. You took a second to breathe him in, the cologne reserved for evenings and nights out. It lived next to his regular aftershave on the glass shelf in his bathroom, above his blue toothbrush. The booth dipped as he sat down, arm reaching behind you to rest along the back. 

“You know my order?” You looked up at him, his head already turned to you. 

“Of course I do.” He nudged your shoulder with his own before looking away. More people had gathered around the booth and the bar seemed to have shrunk, bodies filling every gap. Your body relaxed with the comfort of him against you, even if it was small. Even if you couldn’t acknowledge it. The night stretched on, it was easier to get swept up in conversation but the occasional touch of his fingers against your bare shoulder brought you back. Your skin prickled and your heart ached every time. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, too scared of someone seeing, too scared of knowing the look on your own face would give you away. You settled for watching his hand on the table in front of you, gently wrapped around the whiskey tumbler. 

You gave a gentle push of your thigh against his. Testing. He laughed at a joke, his head thrown back. You laughed along and when no one was looking took the chance to truly look at him. You felt his laughter throughout your whole body. He caught your eye for what was likely a millisecond but it felt like an eternity. You’d taught yourself to cut every look short. They were the small things that were easy to linger and you felt the rip inside you each time you had to look away. 

He reshuffled when his laughter subsided, running both his hands through his hair. Then like fire you felt it, his hand on your thigh. Your stomach knotted with the rise of adrenaline and alcohol and you longed for the quiet comfort of him. You wished the heat on your leg would catch, a roaring fire engulfing you both into a place you didn’t have to hide. 

[critterbitter]

Thinking about pokemon teams helping coparent… ahh.

Masterpost for more of my shenanigans!

[lukadarkwater]

"My throne is wondrous and eternal as am I."

"Always were."

[stimtfil]

sangihun yuri my sangihun yuri.....

lyrics of the song on the last two pics↑

[polaris-thehunter]

LMAO TWILIGHT PLEASE HIS FACE IS KILLING ME

but seriously though we all know how twilight could have replaced anya at the start with a ‘smarter’ child, or he could have forced anya to study the way he initially did, but now he just somehow… accepts anya the way she is LOL and just trying his best to let her enjoy school AND at the same time just trying his best keeping Operation Strix afloat haha

[youandthemountains]

new theory: they stopped dressing McCoy up for away missions because deforest kelley looked too good in the costumes and they had to work around shatner getting jealous

[f-misc]

bucky placing proud, and clearly full of affection and love, but easily read as platonic, kisses to the side of sam's head, forehead, cheek, on different occasions; different battles fought, different milestones accomplished, hurdles overcome. in moments of joy, in sharing his wins, triumph and jubilation.

then it happens in less-grand moments, and it becomes a softer gesture. not flung from huge energies and emotion, but from a gentle pride, a gentle happiness. a gentle love. slower and lingering. and it gets harder to imagine any platonic ideation behind it.

[aventurineswife]

Feel free to ignore if it's already been done before :P

Sunday, Aventurine, Ratio, Jiaoqiu and Dan Heng with artist reader who secretly dreams him a lot and plans to keep it a secret forever but OH NO! 😱😱 The sketchbook somehow fell into his hands‼️‼️

Beyond the Paper

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Quiet Admiration, Introspection, Secret Affections, Artist!Reader, Emotional Tension, Unspoken Feelings, Subtle Romance, Guilt and Understanding, Vulnerability, Forbidden Attraction (?).

Warnings: Mild Embarrassment, Subtle Angst, Vulnerability, Emotional Confusion, Quiet Tension, Unrequited Feelings (?).

The Astral Express hummed gently as it glided through the cosmos, its crew scattered across the various compartments, each with their own quiet thoughts. Sunday, as usual, was deep in contemplation, his wings fluttering faintly as he wandered through the hallway. His gaze was fixed on the swirling lights outside the train, but his mind was elsewhere.

You had been following him for days, subtly sketching him from afar whenever the opportunity arose. You had grown fond of him, but never dared to express it. Your admiration was captured in every stroke of your pencil—his serene demeanor, his ethereal features, the way his wings fluttered ever so slightly when he thought no one was watching.

But it wasn’t just admiration that you felt. There was a quiet longing in your sketches—a longing you knew you could never voice. Sunday, the quiet, distant figure, who seemed to drift like a celestial being, was out of reach. His complexities, his quiet sadness, only added to the allure.

Today, as you sat in the corner of the crew lounge, sketching him as he spoke with Welt, your heart raced. You never expected to be caught, and yet, as you turned your attention back to your sketchbook, you realized it was no longer in your hands.

Sunday stood before you, the delicate golden halo behind his head softly shimmering. The edges of his wings shifted nervously as his eyes—those eyes that had often watched you with a mixture of quiet concern and introspection—now studied the pages of your sketchbook.

The silence was thick with tension. Your heart dropped to your stomach.

“I… didn’t mean for you to see that,” you stammered, quickly rising to your feet. But Sunday simply stared at the drawings, a faint flicker of understanding crossing his face.

“I see,” he said, his voice as gentle as always, yet laced with something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

His gaze lingered on the pages before he met your eyes. There was no judgment in his expression, just a quiet reflection, as if he had understood something about you without you having to speak a word.

“You see the world differently than most,” he continued, lowering the sketchbook slightly. “Your art… it tells a story, not just of what is, but what could be.”

You swallowed hard, unsure whether to explain, or to let the moment pass. His presence, always so serene, now felt different. Closer, perhaps. But still, distant.

“I… I never meant to make you uncomfortable,” you managed.

Sunday tilted his head slightly, his wings shifting in that familiar, almost nervous way. “I am not uncomfortable,” he said softly. “It’s just... I suppose I never considered how others might see me.”

You felt your cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and relief. Your heart thumped erratically, but his gaze remained steady, reassuring in a way you didn’t understand.

“I’ll… I’ll keep it a secret, if you want,” you said quietly, feeling the need to offer something in return, even if your words didn’t make much sense. “It’s just that… I… I think you’re someone who carries so much weight in silence. And I wanted to understand that.”

Sunday looked at you for a long moment, and then his gaze softened. “You do understand,” he said, his voice almost too quiet to hear. "More than most. Thank you."

With that, he gently returned the sketchbook, his fingers brushing against yours briefly, before stepping back. His wings fluttered softly as he gave you one last look, then turned to leave.

For the first time since you had met him, Sunday’s gaze lingered on you in a way that was not distant—but thoughtful.

The room was dark, save for the soft glow of the overhead lights. Aventurine leaned against a table, his eyes scanning the faces of those around him, all unsuspecting of the game he was about to play. His confident, charismatic smile played on his lips, a mask for the tumultuous thoughts beneath.

You had always been a quiet observer, taking in his every move, every word, as if they held the key to some mystery that you desperately needed to understand. You didn’t let on how much you admired him—how you found the sharpness of his mind, the fluidity of his movements, the way he approached every situation as a calculated gamble, utterly captivating.

And yet, in the privacy of your quarters, you sketched him in secret. Your pencil danced across the paper, capturing his essence—the tilt of his head, the playful glint in his eyes, the way his fingers drummed against a surface when he was thinking. You never let anyone see your sketches, not even him. These were your secrets, your silent musings.

But fate had other plans.

One evening, as you walked through the halls, your sketchbook slipped from your hands, its pages fluttering open as it hit the ground with a soft thud. You cursed under your breath and rushed to retrieve it, but before you could, a voice interrupted you.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Aventurine’s voice was smooth, laced with amusement, as he crouched down, picking up the sketchbook with casual ease.

You froze, heart hammering in your chest. There was no escape now. The damage had been done. As he flipped through the pages, you could see the smirk slowly forming on his lips.

“You really do know how to capture a person,” he said, his tone teasing but not unkind. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, catching the subtle flush that had crept up your neck. “This is... unexpected.”

You could barely form words. “I—I’m sorry, Aventurine. I never meant for you to see that. Please don’t—”

“Don’t what?” He interrupted, leaning in a little closer, his expression unreadable. “What do you think I’ll do? Tell everyone? Embarrass you?”

Your throat tightened. You weren’t sure what would happen next. Would he mock you? Dismiss you?

Instead, he gave you a playful smile, that same enigmatic grin that you had come to associate with him. “You know, I think this is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

He closed the sketchbook with a snap and handed it back to you, his fingers brushing yours in a fleeting moment that sent a jolt through you.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said quietly, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place. “But I’ll be watching you, artist. I’m curious to see where this gamble takes us.”

Ratio stood in the middle of his study, surrounded by ancient tomes and manuscripts. His wavy hair fell around his face as he adjusted the alabaster sculpture perched atop his head. He was deep in thought, as always, when he heard a faint sound—the soft rustling of paper. His eyes narrowed, immediately recognizing the faintest shift in the room.

You had been here for hours, working quietly in the corner, sketching the scene before you. It was something you had done countless times: capturing the brilliance of Dr. Ratio, his intense intellect and passion for knowledge.

But today, you had drawn more than just his exterior. The sketch on the page revealed something deeper, something you had never meant to show anyone—an intimate portrayal of him, not as the brilliant scholar, but as a man who carried the weight of his own expectations.

Just as you finished the sketch, the sound of footsteps approached. Ratio turned, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling clarity.

“What is this?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with something else, something more pressing. He had noticed the sketchbook before you had a chance to hide it, his keen intellect immediately seeing the significance of what you had drawn.

You felt the blood drain from your face, your hands trembling as you looked up at him. "I—It’s nothing. Just a... a study."

He arched an eyebrow, stepping closer. His gaze softened for a moment as he flipped through the pages, the faintest flicker of intrigue crossing his face.

“Interesting,” he said, his voice becoming more contemplative. “You see more than just knowledge in me, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer immediately, unsure how to respond to the unexpected intensity in his voice. “I… I didn’t mean for you to see it. It’s just a sketch. It’s nothing important.”

Ratio paused, his expression unreadable as he placed the sketchbook down on the table. His fingers lingered over the pages for a long moment, his usual confidence momentarily tempered by something deeper.

“You have a unique way of looking at things,” he said finally, his voice softer than you had expected. “I suppose... I must admit, I find it intriguing.”

You blinked in surprise. “You do?”

He gave you a small, knowing smile. “Yes. But be warned, artist—your view of me is... uncomfortably accurate. The question is, do you truly wish to understand what lies beneath?”

For a moment, you could only stare at him, heart racing in your chest. What had started as a harmless admiration had now turned into something far more complex. But you weren’t ready to pull away—not yet.

You'd always been careful, meticulous. Your sketchbook was a treasure trove of quiet thoughts, rendered in careful lines and strokes. Most of your sketches were of abstract ideas, fleeting emotions, or tranquil scenes from your travels on the Astral Express. But there was one, a recurring subject: Dan Heng.

You never intended for it to become such an obsession, but his quiet, stoic presence had captured your imagination. You’d sketch him in moments of solitude, capturing the subtle way his eyes would dart from side to side or how his movements always exuded quiet confidence. But that was just it: it was a secret. A dream, captured only on paper. Something you swore you’d keep to yourself, tucked away in the safety of your sketchbook.

However, fate had different plans. The evening had been typical, the usual hum of conversation filling the train's lounge as you sat quietly, your sketchbook open in your lap. Dan Heng, ever distant, had drifted over to the window, deep in thought. You couldn't help but glance at him, your pencil moving on its own, capturing the serenity he exuded.

Suddenly, your sketchbook slipped from your grasp, falling open to the page you’d worked on just that afternoon—a sketch of Dan Heng, his profile deep in concentration, his eyes drawn in soft detail. You cursed under your breath as you scrambled to pick it up. But it was too late.

Dan Heng had already noticed.

“Is something wrong?” His voice was calm, but there was a slight edge to it as he stared at the open page, his expression unreadable.

Your heart dropped. The sketchbook felt heavier than it ever had before.

"I... uh, no. It's nothing," you stammered, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "It’s just a drawing. Of... just an idea."

But Dan Heng didn’t say anything, simply flipping through a few more pages, his brows furrowing slightly as he studied your work. There was a long silence, and you felt the world around you freeze, waiting for him to speak.

He finally glanced up at you, and for a brief moment, you thought he might ask questions, or worse, tease you. Instead, he closed the book gently and handed it back to you with a quiet, unreadable gaze.

"...It's a good sketch," he said, his tone as neutral as ever.

You blinked, unsure if you had imagined the faintest trace of something else in his words—something that seemed almost like understanding.

"Thanks," you whispered, taking the sketchbook back from him. You couldn’t meet his eyes, your heart still racing.

And as he turned away, returning to his usual spot by the window, you couldn’t help but wonder: had he seen through you? Or had he just offered you an unexpected kindness, one that didn’t quite make sense?

Either way, one thing was certain: your secret was no longer yours alone.

[pebbles-scatter]

Cavendish looks at Dakota and thinks "is anyone gonna grab that guy or am i gonna have to" and then doesnt wait for an answer

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

🐈‍⬛ CAT TOOK MY TONGUE A Blacksite Literature™ Scrolltrap Poem (You ever pray for a word and still stay silent?)

—

She asked about me. Not to me. About me.

And I wasn’t there, but he was. And I asked him what she said.

“What did she say exactly, man?” “Did she look serious?” “Did she… smile?”

He gave me some version of it. But it was never the full sentence. And I never believed it.

Because I wanted to hear it from her. With her voice. With her mouth. With her breath.

And yet… when I see her — I just smile. Say something stupid. Immature.

Nothing that sounds like who I am. Nothing that sounds like what I actually feel.

Cat got my tongue.

I open the door for her just to hear her say “thank you.” And when she does… it’s almost enough.

But not really.

Cat got my tongue.

I’m a man of few words. But even the ones I do have — won’t come out right when she’s near.

I can’t find the verbal keys to her heart.

Can’t even find the ones to a half-decent joke.

A coward? Maybe.

But worse than that — my body agrees. My blood pressure shifts. My shoulders curl. My throat locks.

The cat took my tongue a long time ago. And she’s curled up with it in her paws, sleeping soundly somewhere behind my ribs.

I don’t even know what I’d say if she gave it back.

Would I thank her? Would I scream? Would I tell her she haunted every half-sentence I couldn’t finish?

I don’t know.

I can’t say.

Cat got my tongue. </div>

If you’ve ever felt that lump in your throat when they looked your way but didn’t speak… Reblog. Like if your whole chest clenched reading this. Follow @the-most-humble-blog for more scrolltrap cadence, unspoken confessions, and the kind of poems that whisper things you never told anyone.

[kariachi]

Just cannot forget that the show had a whole romantic subplot about Kevin being interested in Gwen but not up to making a move and just, never bothered with why. The issue at play was never actually addressed. Instead we just get a steady stream of Kevin not making a move despite his interest, while Gwen pushes him to make a move, and then Gwen finagles a move out of him and the show just, carries on like there was never something keeping him from making a proper move in the first place.

The closest we get is in the third season of AF, where we get a nice look at his mental health issues including some nasty self-worth issues, but even then the focus is less on 'wow Kevin is having A Time and this shows us some things about his character' and more as 'and here's how his response to his situation is affecting Gwen'.

Even in the fandom I've seen it treated more like a case of Kevin being whiny and selfish over nothing, like it didn't lead to him teaming up with Darkstar- something the heroes only ever do otherwise when in desperate need of help dealing with an actual and immediate threat to life.

Just, if you're going to base your drama around something, at least actually fucking resolve or acknowledge the cause of the issue, rather than just brushing it under the rug once you're bored with it.

[elitadream]

What do you think Mario’s reaction would be if he did know everything that Luigi saw him as, more then just his big brother but everything you described Luigi sees when he looks at Mario. I bet he’d probably burst into tears from joy 🥹

Oh, the feels... 🥺💖

I can imagine this happening in a moment where Mario would previously have risked his life (again) to save him and wouldn't know why Luigi is so distraught by the gesture; failing to realize that he hurt himself in the process and almost died.

Luigi would tell him, as the emotions would seize his throat and make it hard to speak. The words would leave him brokenly in a sudden avowal, raw and wavering with honesty, and it would be then that Mario would finally understand. All the admiration, hopefulness and fear- all the love and devotion he has always felt for his little brother, reflected right back at him in those deep blue eyes... He would see it now, with stunning and dazzling clarity.

That he means more to Luigi than he'll ever know or be able to comprehend.

The realization would hit Mario with the force of a tidal wave, and he would reach out to fiercely hold his brother as they would cry together, their remorsefulness mingling with the mutual relief and heartfelt contentment that they've always found in no one but each other. 💗🌄

[oftheriverseine]

As a lover of ambiguous relationships in media, Carmen Sandiego is literally my bread and butter. The creator basically went on record saying if you want to see [a certain dynamic] it’s there, and I love that so so much. So much room for (a)romantic interpretation of relationships, and idk. They’re just all written so well.

[chaotic-on-main]

if y'all like a sign of affection and attack on titan, hoo boy do I have a 100k fic for you 😌