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rafecameronssl4t · 6 months ago

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One Big Misunderstanding || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Tensions rise when an innocent comment about a missing bracelet sows doubt between you and Rafe, sparking suspicions of infidelity.

Warnings: ANGST GALORE

Word count: 2,711

A/n: inspired by the perfect couple on Netflix 😛

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

The sunlight streamed through the grand floor-to-ceiling windows of the drawing room, casting a warm glow on the pristine marble floors. You sat perched on one of the luxurious cream sofas, a curated array of diamond necklaces sprawled elegantly across the glass coffee table before you.

Across from you, Eloise, your private jewellery consultant, adjusted her notepad, a professional yet friendly smile playing on her lips. “Madeline, sweetie, no touching, please,” you gently reminded, catching your daughter’s small hands as they reached out eagerly for the sparkling treasures.

Her curious blue eyes, so much like Rafe’s, widened in innocent protest before she giggled, retreating to your lap with a playful pout. Eloise chuckled softly, waving at Madeline. “Someone has quite the eye for jewels already,” she teased, her gaze fond as Madeline shyly buried her face into the folds of your dress.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing Madeline’s hair back as your fingers glided over the dazzling collection. “I don’t think it’ll be too long before she’ll be in my position,” You softly say. The newest designs shimmered under the light, each more stunning than the last. “They’re all exquisite,” you sighed, lifting a delicate piece encrusted with diamonds.

“But I think I’ll take this one, and…” Your eyes roamed over the display again, settling on another necklace with an intricate design. “This.” “Excellent choices, Mrs. Cameron,” Eloise praised, jotting down notes in her leather-bound book. Her tone brimmed with approval, and her smile didn’t waver as she looked up.

Madeline squirmed in your lap, reaching up to tug at the simple necklace you were already wearing. You adjusted her gently, holding her small hands to keep them still. Eloise glanced up from her notes. “Did you like the bracelet Mr. Cameron gave you?” Her tone was casual, but her words made you pause. “Bracelet?” you echoed, your brow furrowing.

Your voice held a slight edge of confusion as you looked at her. “The gold bangle with the pavé diamonds,” she elaborated, glancing up with a look of delight. “Rafe spent so much time picking it out for you.” Her enthusiasm was almost contagious as she beamed. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, your mind racing.

You had no idea what she was talking about. A heavy silence lingered for a moment, and you felt the weight of Eloise’s expectant gaze. “Oh! The bracelet!” you quickly feigned recognition, a forced smile stretching across your face. “Yes, of course. It’s lovely—he knows me so well.” Your voice sounded light, but your heart sank as the lie left your lips.

Eloise didn’t seem to notice. She rose gracefully, tucking her notebook under her arm. “Well, I’ll be on my way. I’ll see you next month, Mrs. Cameron,” she said cheerfully, giving you a polite nod before heading toward the door. You stayed seated, your posture still and tense as Madeline babbled happily on your lap.

The silence of the room closed in around you once Eloise left, leaving you to wrestle with your thoughts. Rafe had bought you a bracelet? Why hadn’t he given it to you himself? Had he left it somewhere, expecting you to find it? Or had it been an afterthought, something he had no time—or desire—to present personally?

The questions swirled in your mind as you absentmindedly stroked Madeline’s hair, your gaze fixed on the glittering necklaces on the table. As much as you tried to push it aside, the confusion, and a small pang of hurt, lingered.

Later that night, you sat before your vanity, the familiar routine of your skincare ritual grounding you in a semblance of normalcy. The soft hum of the bathroom light and the gentle swish of creams and serums felt like a small act of defiance against the questions that kept circling in your mind. The bracelet. Rafe’s strange omission of it.

The way Eloise had mentioned it so casually, as though it was something you should’ve known. You brushed the thoughts aside, telling yourself you were overreacting, but they lingered, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. The bedroom door creaked open behind you, and without turning, you saw Rafe in the reflection of your mirror.

Still in his suit, looking as polished and untouchable as ever. You didn’t acknowledge him, continuing with your skincare, your movements slow and deliberate. “Busy day?” you asked, your voice flat, more out of routine than affection. His response was distant, lost on you as you remained absorbed in your own thoughts, the quiet hum of your routine enveloping you.

The bracelet. “How was the jewelry showing?” he asked, his voice still detached, but something in his tone caught your attention. You glanced up at him briefly through the mirror. His eyes were on you, studying you with a faint trace of curiosity. “It was good,” you mumbled, your focus wavering again.

Rafe’s brow furrowed as he watched you, sensing the lack of the usual excitement you carried after these showings. His fingers paused at the buttons of his shirt as he tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. “Did you… pick anything you liked?” he asked, his tone slower now, as if he was gauging your mood, sensing something was off.

“Yeah, I did,” you replied, your voice empty, devoid of any real emotion. Before he could continue, you stood up abruptly, tightening the robe around your body more than necessary. The familiar movement felt like a barrier, an armour you could slip into. “I’ll just make myself some tea,” you said, the words sounding rehearsed, like you were already running from the questions.

You didn’t spare him another glance as you walked past him, leaving the room without another word. You descended the stairs mechanically, but instead of following the usual route to the kitchen, your feet took you in the opposite direction, towards Rafe’s office. Your heart pounded as you approached the oak door, glancing over your shoulder to ensure no one was watching.

Slowly, you pushed the door open, the room still and quiet in its untouched state. The room was a sharp contrast to the chaos in your mind. Your eyes darted to his desk, and instinctively, you moved toward it. You knew Rafe kept everything meticulously in order, and his drawers were always locked. But tonight, your curiosity outweighed your caution.

You pulled open the first drawer, then the second. It was the third one that caught your attention. As your fingers sifted through papers, your eyes landed on a familiar logo—the jewelry shop. Your pulse quickened as you pulled it free, finding a receipt tucked between papers. The words on the page seemed to mock you as you read, Rafe Cameron, the date, and the item listed: Nature Bangle, Pavé, priced at $18,000.

A photo of the bracelet accompanied the receipt. The image burned itself into your mind—elegant, delicate, and undeniably expensive. Your breath caught in your throat, and your mind spun. You quickly shoved the receipt back into the drawer, snapping it closed. The weight of what you’d seen was suffocating, the overwhelming question taking shape in your mind.

Was Rafe cheating on you? The thought gnawed at you, its edge cutting deep. You had been with him long enough to believe that something like this wouldn’t happen. But the pieces didn’t fit. Rafe had always been… Rafe. He wasn’t the type to hide things, or at least, you never thought he was.

The doubts began to creep in, unsettling your thoughts, but before they could settle into a clear conclusion, you stood up from the desk and made your way out of the office.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. You sat on the plush sofa, coffee in hand, its warmth grounding you as you watched Leo and Madeline play on the rug before you. Their laughter filled the room, a soothing balm to the unease still simmering from the night before.

The sound of Rafe’s footsteps descending the staircase pulled your focus, and soon enough, he rounded the corner into the living room, his presence unmistakable in the tailored suit that hugged his frame. Despite the domestic setting, he still exuded the same composed, businesslike energy he carried everywhere.

“Jordan told me your schedule was clear for today,” you remarked, your voice calm but inquisitive as you tracked his movements. “Hm?” Rafe hummed in response, crouching slightly to press a kiss to the top of both Leo’s and Madeline’s heads. The gesture was effortless, automatic, and yet it made your chest tighten—a cruel contradiction to the doubts swirling in your mind.

“I said, Jordan told me your schedule is clear today,” you repeated, watching him carefully as he straightened, his gaze finally meeting yours. A small, almost nonchalant smile tugged at his lips. “Last-minute meeting, that’s all,” he replied smoothly, brushing off the question as if it were of little consequence. His tone was casual, but it didn’t sit right with you.

You cocked an eyebrow, your expression neutral but sharp enough to suggest you weren’t entirely convinced. “I’ll be back before three,” he added quickly, as though the reassurance might settle you. Without waiting for a response, he stepped closer, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek. The gesture was familiar, practiced, and yet it felt hollow.

You remained still, your eyes fixed straight ahead, your coffee cooling in your hand as his cologne lingered in the air. “Drive safe,” you murmured, your voice even but distant. You didn’t look at him as he pulled away and adjusted his cufflinks. The sound of his footsteps retreated, leaving a subtle void in the room once he was gone.

The door to your bedroom creaked open, and Rafe stepped in, his movements deliberate but calm. Your eyes lifted from your phone, following him briefly before drifting back to the glowing screen in your hand. “They’re asleep,” he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with exhaustion. You hummed in acknowledgment, barely lifting your gaze as he moved toward his side of the bed, shrugging off his jacket and placing it neatly on the chair by the window.

Rafe climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He leaned back against the headboard, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt and letting out a quiet sigh. The silence between you felt heavy, the kind of quiet that wasn’t comfortable but wasn’t quite confrontational either. You placed your phone down on the nightstand, your fingers brushing its edge before folding neatly in your lap.

The glow of the bedside lamp softened the room, but it did little to ease the tension you felt knotting in your chest. “Are you cheating on me?” The words left your lips before you could stop them, your voice sharp yet trembling, slicing through the quiet. “What?” Rafe’s hand froze, his body stiffening as he turned to look at you, his tone laced with shock and disbelief. His brows furrowed deeply, searching your face for an explanation.

“Are you cheating on me?” you repeated, softer this time, the vulnerability in your voice stark against the tension building in the room. His lips parted, words stuttering for a moment before he finally asked, “What are you talking about?” You sat up straighter, folding your arms as you exhaled shakily. “The bracelet, Rafe.” The words were laced with hurt as your eyes locked onto his, watching the colour drain from his face.

His expression shifted—confusion, then understanding, and finally a look that you couldn’t quite place. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes began to water, the emotional floodgates breaking against your will. “Eloise mentioned it. She said you spent so much time picking it out, but I never got it, Rafe,” your voice cracked slightly. “So, where is it? Who is it for?”

Rafe ran a hand down his face, the exhaustion in his eyes now replaced with something akin to guilt—but not the kind you feared. He pushed himself up against the headboard, facing you fully. “It’s not what you think,” he said firmly, his voice low, almost pleading, but it did little to ease the storm brewing inside you. “Then explain,” you demanded, your voice trembling with a potent mix of anger and sorrow.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, hot and relentless, and you swiped at them quickly, unwilling to appear completely undone. But your composure was already fractured, and Rafe could see it in your glistening eyes and the slight quiver of your lip. His silence was unbearable. The hesitation hanging between you wasn’t just a pause—it was an admission, a crack that threatened to shatter everything you’d built together.

It cut deeper than words ever could, leaving a hollow ache in your chest. “Explain,” you repeated, your voice firmer now, laced with urgency. “For the sake of our children, for our marriage, Rafe. Tell me what I’m supposed to believe right now.” He ran a hand over his face, his usual confidence, his composed exterior, seemed to falter under your gaze. For once, Rafe Cameron looked unsteady.

“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” he muttered, his voice low. You blinked, your breath catching. “What wasn’t meant to be like this? Stop talking in circles and just tell me.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt your chest tighten with the weight of your fears. Rafe exhaled sharply, finally looking up at you. His eyes locked onto yours, their usual sharpness softened by something unfamiliar—regret, perhaps.

“The bracelet,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, “was supposed to be a surprise. For you.” Your brows furrowed as you tried to process his words, your heart racing. “What?” He leaned back on the headboard, his hands clasped together. "It’s… for our anniversary. I wanted to give it to you then. I even had it engraved.” His voice wavered, and he shook his head.

“I thought I was doing something thoughtful, but I should’ve just given it to you right away. I didn’t think it would—” He stopped, the weight of your reaction sinking in. You stared at him, your mind reeling. His explanation had knocked the wind out of you, leaving you unsure whether to feel relief or frustration. “You… were planning to give it to me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” He looked at you earnestly, his expression softening. “I didn’t realise it would make you question everything. That’s on me. I’m sorry.” Your tears slowed, but the tension in your chest lingered. “Why didn’t you just tell me that when I asked? Why make me feel like I was losing my mind?” Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I thought you’d laugh at me, or brush it off as something meaningless.

You don’t exactly make it easy to do… sentimental gestures.” His voice wasn’t accusatory, but it held a hint of frustration. You exhaled slowly, processing his words. The weight of your accusation settled heavily on your shoulders, mixing shame with residual doubt. “You should’ve told me,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “And you should’ve trusted me,” he countered gently, his tone not harsh but pointed.

“We can’t keep doing this—assuming the worst about each other.” You looked away, your throat tight as his words sank in. Perhaps he was right, but the wounds of mistrust weren’t so easily healed. “I just… I don’t want to be a fool,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “Not for you, not for anyone.” Rafe turned his head, his hand reaching over before settling on your knee. “You’re not a fool,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

“You’re my wife. And I know I don’t always get it right, but I need you to believe that I’m trying.” You met his gaze, searching for any flicker of insincerity but finding none. His blue eyes held yours, unwavering, and for the first time that night, you felt the tension in your chest begin to ease. “I’ll believe it,” you whispered, the words tentative but genuine.

"But you have to meet me halfway, Rafe. No more secrets. No more hesitation.” He nodded, his grip on your knees tightening briefly in silent agreement. “Deal.”

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leclerc-hs · 1 year ago

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73 Questions with Mrs. Leclerc - cl16

pairing: husband!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you do a 73 questions interview with Vogue OR charles can't help but third wheel your interview warnings: none??? just cute fluff basically, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 2.1k author's note: I actually got a request by someone to do this and thought it was such a CUTE idea and concept. I obviously didn't do ALL 73 questions cause that would've taken forever. But thought this was a cute little piece to do. I hope you enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think don't be shy !! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE DELICATE FOLDS of the pale pink sundress fluttered like petals in a gentle breeze, framing your figure with a soft, ethereal elegance. As the front door yielded to the push, the fabric danced around your legs, caressing the tender skin of your thighs with a whisper of touch. Your radiant smile illuminated the scene, a beacon of joy amidst the fluttering fabric and nervous flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey!” The male voice chimed brightly, his tone cheerful as a songbird greeting the dawn, echoing through the air with an infectious energy that mirrored your own bright smile.

“Hey!” You respond with effervescent warmth, your smile stretching across your face like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. With a graceful gesture, you swing the door open wider, revealing the inviting warmth of your home’s foyer. The soft light spills in, casting a golden glow over the polished floors and elegant furnishing. The first thing to notice is the giant painting of a Ferrari Formula One car, hung high above the entry way table.

“Look who we have here! It’s Mrs. Leclerc!” A delicate blush warms your cheeks, a subtle reminder of the tender affection that tingles within you whenever you’re addressed as such. Though you and Charles have been together for many years, your marriage has infused your relationship with a fresh sense of intimacy and closeness. And despite that it’s been almost five years, the title of “wife” feels forever new and unfamiliar.

“On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“I would say 8, so I’m super excited!” With a gentle click, you shut the front door behind you, enveloping the foyer in a tranquility as you made your way down the hallway to the kitchen. Along the way, you stooped to pick up a scattering of children’s toys that lay scattered like confetti on the polished wooden floors, offering a quick apology for the perceived “mess.” However, you couldn’t help but inwardly smile at the orchestrated chaos around you. While the house was meticulously maintained by the cleaning company before the video shoot, every detail was carefully curated to strike the perfect balance between lived-in warmth and elegance, ensuring a setting that felt both inviting and authentic to you and the viewers.

“Any reason for that?”

In the heart of the home lies a kitchen adorned with a stunning green cabinet motif. The cabinets, painted in a rich emerald hue, exude an air of sophistication and charm, perfectly complemented by gleaming brass hardware. Sunlight filters through the vast array of windows, casting a warm glow over the polished marble countertops.

“You mean other than the fact that the kids go back to school soon?” You and the interviewer let out a soft laugh as you made your way behind the kitchen island, opening the fridge in a smooth motion to pull out a water bottle. “Want one?”

“No, but thanks though!” His voice is light-hearted.

As the fridge door remains open, a tantalizing glimpse is offered to the audience of its well-stocked interior. A colorful array of fresh produce fills the shelves, showing an abundance of vibrant fruits and crisp vegetables. Among the healthy offerings, assortment of juice boxes catches the eye, adding a playful touch to the wholesome scene.

“That’s a lot of juice boxes you have in there.” He makes a comment, it’s not a question, but you take it as one.

“Two kids and a husband,” You start, your tone light and casual before lowering your voice into a conspiratorial whisper for the camera, “who practically is also a kid, results in a lot of juice boxes.” With a playful wink directed at the lens, you punctuate the statement, adding a touch of humor to the scene. Setting the water bottle down on the expansive kitchen counter, you resume your easy demeanor, effortlessly blending candor and charm for your audience.

“Hey!” Your head shoots over, the camera seamlessly following your gaze to where Charles, your husband,sits on the floor of the living room, two of your kids, aged two and three, beside him with an abundance of toys strewn about. “I heard that!” Charles retorts with mock offense, a playful grin lighting up his face as he joins in the banter.

The living room exudes a chic sophistication with a distinct Formula One flair. Charcoal-gray walls provide a sleek backdrop, accentuating the mounted flat-screen television. A striking statement piece dominates one corner—a display of artwork showcasing all of the racetracks Charles has conquered – infusing the room with a sense of triumph and energy. A plush white sofa, adorned with an array of vibrant red pillows, invites relaxation and style. Across the room, a sizable shelf proudly showcases a collection of racing helmets, some belonging to Charles and others gathered over time, adding a personal touch to the space. Below the television, was a long console table that was adorned in various plants and photos of your family. You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced at them.

With a casual wave of your hand, you dismiss Charles’s playful interruption, maintaining your position at the kitchen island as the camera refocuses on you. The gesture carries an air of affectionate familiarity, a gentle reminder of the dynamic energy that permeates your bustling household.

“If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?”

“Definitely Austin Butler.” You answer almost immediately, no hesitance in your voice.

“Hey!” Charles’s playful yelp echoes through the room once more, accompanied by the joyful laughter of your children. One nestled in his lap, the other engrossed in a picture book, their presence adding warmth and vitality to the room. You share a knowing smile with Charles, the affectionate banter a familiar melody to your family life.

The laughter of the interviewer joins the playful exchange. The camera effortlessly captures the dynamic interaction between all of you with ease.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Restez en dehors de ça.” Stay out of this!

“Arrête de faire semblant de vouloir faire l’amour avec quelqu’un d’autre que moi!” Stop pretending you want to make love with anybody but me!

With a mischievous gleam in your eye, you turn back to the camera, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Can I change my answer?” You inquire, injecting a hint of playful anticipation into your tone.

“Sure,” the interviewer replies.

“You’re supposed to say no,” You quip with a chuckle.

“Oh, um no?”

With a playful pout, you glance over at Charles who is already staring at the interaction. A smile adorned on his face like he is in complete awe of you, regardless of what you are saying. “Sorry honey!” You wave your hand around. “Answers are final!”

Leaving the kitchen behind, you make your way towards the backyard, where the promise of relaxation and leisure awaits. Stepping through the door, you’re greeted by the sight of a large pool shimmering under the sunlight, its crystal-clear waters beckoning for a refreshing dip. Surrounding the pool, lounge chairs are strategically place, some on the pool’s ledge, inciting you to bask in the sun while enjoying the cool water. A wide arrangement of pool floaties from unicorns to racecars litter the pool as well.

It’s a breathtaking sight: a vast expanse of bright blue skies stretching overhead, adorned with barely a wisp of cloud in sight. The warm rays of sun dance upon your skin. With a stylish flourish, you slip on a pair of your favorite Ray-Bans, a subtle nod to your husband’s sunglass collection.

“Vintage or new?”

You ponder for a moment as you stand in the backyard, a breeze blowing your hair behind your shoulders. “Depends, but definitely vintage.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Aisle, although Charles likes to take the aisle more.”

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“Wait, do my children count as two of the three?”

“Up to you.”

“Okay, so my two children. And my lip gloss.” You laugh, pausing for effect. “Kidding! My two kids, and my lip gloss…” You pause, jokingly. “And my husband of course.” The light-hearted remark reflects the joyful chaos of humor and love in your life. “He’s really the sweetest man. I’m so lucky.”

The glass door slides open with a whisper, and into the frame steps Charles, his presence incessant. With a carefree demeanor, he approaches you clad in a pair of baggy jeans and a plain white t-shirt that stretched at the seams from his muscles. He presses soft kisses to your cheeks, the stubble of his own rubbing against your smooth skin, his love evident in each tender kiss.

“Désolé,” Sorry. He apologizes before pecking another kiss to your cheek. “Tellement ambrassable.” Just so kissable. He places one more on your cheek, your face bright red from the camera’s catching all of this.

“Looks like he can’t be far from you for very long.”

Charles looks at the camera, a glint in his eye with a large smile, like he was the happiest man on earth, and nothing could dampen his spirits. Especially with you nearby. “Est-ce que tu la vois?” Do you see her?

The interviewer, unaware of Charles’s words, simply nods in response behind the camera lens, acknowledging the affection in his tone. Later translations will reveal the depth of Charles’s words no doubt. Elle est tellement belle. Bien sûr, je ne peux pas rester loin longtemps.” She’s so beautiful. Of course, I can’t stay far long.

Your face is bright red as Charles remains at your side.

“Where are the kids?”

“Put them down for a nap!” Charles answers, his arm slung over your shoulder as he leans on you comfortably.

As the interviewer continues the questionnaire, Charles can’t resist interjecting with playful remarks and comments on almost every question. His spontaneous interruptions add an element of humor and spontaneity to the video, turning what could have been a standard interview into an entertaining and engaging exchange.

“How do you define beauty?” “My wife.” “Charles, the questions are for me!”

"What do you love most about your body?" "That's an easy one...I think her--" Charles begins, but you swat his chest and cut him off. "I love my arms. Not because they're that nice but they give me the ability to hold my children." Charles clicks his tongue, hating that you even implied something about yourself as 'not that nice'.

"Least favorite color?" "Red." Charles lets out a large gasp with a string of phrases in French, clearly hurt by your response. "It's a joke, mon amour!" "How did you know you were in love?" You look at Charles then, his eyes already on you, a soft smile pulling on both of your lips. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with him. Probably when I realized I would rather be awake in the middle of the night, since he was traveling so much, just to talk to him for even a few minutes, instead of going to sleep." Charles plays with the ends of your hair, twirling the ends around his fingers as he chimes in. "We've known each other for so long. But, when I first met her, it was like meeting someone I've known my entire life. There was no awkward silences between us. We just clicked."

“Diamonds or pearls?” “Pearls.” “Mon chou, don’t lie.” “I’m not!” “The diamond on your finger says otherwise!”

“If you made a documentary, what would it be about?” “Charles’ brain. I seriously question what goes on in there sometimes.” “Hey! It’s only you…” You raise your eyebrows at him, like he’s a liar. “And racing.” “Definitely racing.”

“If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Charles smirks deeply, like he knows something the world doesn’t, the interviewer picks up on it. “Wait, you have a tattoo? Can we see it?”

“No! It’s for me only.”

You playfully swat at Charles’ chest, a playful blush coloring your cheeks as you both wander throughout the house, showcasing its beautiful décor. Despite your embarrassment at Charles’ antics, you can’t help but be thankful for him easing your nerves. You weren’t one for the public eye, normally. So, when you agreed to this interview it came out as quite a surprise.

“Okay final question of the day.”

You both stand by the front door, the interviewer on the front step outside of the home.

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Definitely ki—” You don’t get to finish your answer as Charles’ fingers grasp onto your neck, his fingers sprawled along your jawline as well, and tugs your face into his. He shuts the door as soon as his tongue slips into your mouth.

It’s a few seconds before you push him off you. “You’re unbelievable!”

A giant smile spreads across his face as he looks down at you. “Only for you, mon chou!”

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zarameraki · 1 year ago

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♡₊˚☀️・₊✧ 𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶'𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 & 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 ♡₊˚☀️・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 he's obsessed to the max 𖥔 ceo x baker 𖥔 grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 she talks a lot x he listens a lot 𖥔 spoils the literal shit out of you 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content in vague details 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 super soft nanami 𖥔 close proximity 𖥔 he loves kissing the fuck out of you

: ̗̀➛ words: 7.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: you guys are so sweet for supporting my toji fanfic which is why i wanted to write another and this time its about my husband, the father of our children, the man who deserves every beautiful thing in this world. if you enjoy my work, please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy!

Nanami Kento entered your bakery at exactly six o' clock.

You carefully observed the moments he dedicated to perusing the array of pastries, the vibrant mountain of macaroons, and the freshly baked, warm casse-croûte that you unfailingly prepared for him when he clocked out. There was a tender quality to his countenance, noticeable in the slight release of tension between his brows as the soft, buttery flakes dissolved on his tongue in your presence. Without fail, he consistently left a generous tip in your travel jar, dedicated to a solo trip to Malaysia.

"Did you know they've got this thing about not wearing yellow in Malaysia?" you mentioned during your initial meeting, eyeing the distinctive black-dotted tie worn by the stoic salaryman. "Well, not that your tie would get you in trouble; it's not entirely yellow. In fact, I think it's perfect as it is, just like your hair, which also has a touch of yellow.”

Please cut your tongue off.

Anticipating a polite nod and perhaps a slightly regretful five-dollar tip left in the jar, you were taken aback when he queried, “Why is that?”

“Oh, uh . . . a bunch of protesters wore the color during a demand for their prime minister to step down," you stumbled, feeling a twinge of embarrassment for veering off into an unintentional crash course. Dropping trivia about Malaysia wasn't exactly the same as flirting. "So, it's kind of become a symbolism for protest and, well, threat. I read it in a book once. I don't know if it's a legitimate law, though."

“Do you like reading?” he asked, still interested in conversing with you. “Most people would Google information.”

“I like reading. It’s easier to retain information that way.”

Nanami acknowledged your gesture with a nod of gratitude as he accepted the casse-croûte and exited your bakery. Anticipating that he might not return due to his reserved nature and your awkward attempts at compliment-flirting, you were surprised to find that he was, in fact, full of surprises.

Nanami became a regular visitor. Day after day, for the past year, he arrived at precisely six o' clock. He continued his routine, whether he purchased a box of pastries, a pair of bagged bread loaves, or simply a casse-croûte and a small cup of milk coffee. You always prepared his order five minutes ahead of time, just in case you were occupied with other customers.

"Enjoy!" you chirped, casting a warm smile at the customer you just served as the bakery slowly emptied, leaving only Nanami browsing the delightful array of small cakes. "Good evening, Mr. Nanami!"

Nanami raised his head in your direction. "Good evening." He finally settled on the black forest cake from the open freezer and brought it to the counter.

"Special occasion?" you inquired as you rang him out, sneakily not charging him for the casse-croûte and coffee. There was a special occasion of your own that you were eager to share, hanging from the tip of your tongue.

"An intern's birthday."

"Sounds fun!" You had been saving up for your birthday present since summer, and Nanami had played a significant role. "When's your birthday?"

"July third."

Your eyes widened with surprise. "No way! Mine is July sixth. We’re summer babies."

“Happy belated birthday,” he said, fishing for his wallet, gaze barely meeting yours.

"Same to you." Offering the sandwich and coffee, you extended them towards him. "Consider it a belated birthday treat."

Nanami’s brows crinkled. “I cannot accept.”

"Why not? It's a gift." You slid the items closer with a subtle nudge, leaving him little room to refuse. "And you've given me a priceless gift, Mr. Nanami." Your eyes hinted at the tip jar's location, which now lay empty.

“Were you robbed?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“What—? No! Oh my god. You’re so funny.” A chuckle escaped behind your fist, and he observed you momentarily before glancing away. "I'm heading to Malaysia next week!"

Nanami gave a subtle nod. Although his lack of a more animated response disappointed you, you understood that shortness was his nature. "Congratulations.”

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami. Your generous tips really made a difference. They covered half of our trip.”

“Our? It’s not a solo trip?”

You let out a little nervous laugh. Should you really be telling Nanami about your crippling love life? Would he even be interested? Well, he seemed to listen carefully when you talk. Maybe he wouldn’t care, but you really needed someone to talk to about this. Unfortunately, all your friends were too busy with their marriages to care.

“Well?” Nanami prompted.

"Right, sorry. It's just—I've actually been seeing someone. Funny enough, we met in a Facebook group for solo travelers. He lives in a nearby town.”

Unexpectedly, Nanami's first question caught you off guard. "Can you trust him?" His concern surfaced, causing you to pause. "I'm only asking because you met this man online. You can't trust strangers on the internet."

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami, but I’m capable enough to know about stranger danger," you said with a funny smile, dismissing his parental concern. "Besides, we’ve gone on a few dates over the past month."

Nanami's frown remained intact. "Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you paying for him, too?"

"Yes."

“Why?” Nanami asked, firmly placing his palms on the counter, making it clear he wasn't leaving until he was convinced you wouldn't get in trouble during your Malaysian adventure.

"What do you mean 'why'?"

His mouth opened but then closed into a thin line, his forehead lines deepening. "It’s not my place to tell you what’s right and what isn’t—"

"Yes, you’re right about that," you interrupted.

"—but this is bordering on recklessness. You cannot use your trip’s money to pay for a man you’ve known for a mere month. Why is he even in the traveler’s group if he cannot afford to pay for himself?"

"Mr. Nan—"

"You are being scammed."

Your teeth clenched together. You rarely got impatient. Years in the hospitality industry and dealing with misogynistic tenants didn't break you. Even setting up your bakery and almost draining your savings didn't dim your optimism.

But getting scolded by someone who barely spoke more than five sentences to you in a whole year of being a regular? That's pushing it.

He didn't know you or Toji, the guy you're seeing. He didn’t understand how much you appreciated him accompanying you. So what if you covered his share of the trip expenses? Toji promised to pay you back, and he's been paying the bills for your dates. They might not be fancy, but it's the gesture that matters.

Sure, Nanami chipped in some money, and you're thankful for that. But he has no right to question you. Other people also contributed to your travel fund; it's not like he single-handedly financed the whole trip. You appreciated his support, but he was not in a position to lecture you.

With a sigh, you managed to contain your frustration and said, "Have a great rest of your night, Mr. Nanami.”

Nanami's frustration was palpable as he stood firm, his gaze piercing through the windows of your soul. “I suggest you take my advice into serious consideration. It would greatly upset me if you had the chance to visit one of your favorite countries taken from you.”

You didn't bother watching him go. Instead, your discovery awaited you at the counter—the money for the coffee and casse-croûte lay there, accompanied by a crumpled yellow note that had slipped to the floor. Moving around the counter, you picked it up and smoothed out its wrinkles.

What greeted you was your own name scrawled across the sticky note, repeated around fifty times, the letters overlapping in a chaotic dance. Some were hastily scratched out, while others were executed with perfect cursive precision. You didn’t know what to make of it.

During your confusion, a new customer walked in. Quickly, you pocketed the note, focused on carrying on with your day despite the lingering frustration that Nanami's cryptic message had left in its wake.

Toji never showed up.

You waited for him for two agonizing hours, extending the torture even more after your flight had taken off. It dawned on you that he likely didn't bother getting a ticket. He probably pocketed the money you sent him and vanished into thin air. Every attempt to reach him failed miserably—your calls were forwarded, and the fifth one hammered the heartbreaking truth that he had blocked your number. To compound your misery, you sent him a string of text messages that refused to deliver your pain. You didn't even know where he lived, as your encounters were always in the obscure locations of your budgeted dates.

The thought of reporting him to the police crossed your mind, accusing him of theft, but the lack of photographic evidence left you helpless. To make matters worse, he hated taking pictures, and you were uncertain if the name he provided was even real. All that remained was a flicker of hope that you might cross paths with the bastard and unleash your pent-up rage with a hard kick to his dick.

With a heavy heart, you gathered your strength, brushed away the tears until not a single trace remained on your lashes, and lugged your suitcase and carry-on outside the airport, hoping to hail a cab.

The idea of facing the upcoming days at work felt agonizing, goading you to spend them in the isolation of your shabby apartment. You were engrossed in a depressing routine—microwaved dinners, aimless hours on the couch, and a marathon of old cable TV shows.

As hunger struck again, you contemplated your options. Baking seemed like a possibility, but motivation had abandoned you. Pasta could be an option, but the lack of noodles and tomato sauce made it impractical. So, you settled for the one thing that required no ingredients: crying.

At least that was free.

Despite the inner turmoil, you mustered the strength to shoulder your overcoat, sporting your fleece pajamas printed with candy canes and well-worn second-hand boots.

The short walk to the corner store felt longer than usual, the biting cold making you clutch your threadbare coat tighter. Your teeth chattered in protest as you entered, and the rush of warm air was a momentary relief against the chill. Fingers numb, you mindlessly reached for familiar comfort snacks—chips, chocolate milk, anything to dull the ache.

A hand much larger than yours beat you to the last packet of croissants.

“Ah, sorry.” You let it go. “All yours—” You choked as you looked up, and up, at Nanami staring at you wide-eyed, his hazel eyes flickering at a rapid speed as if he were hallucinating your presence. Your face flushed with embarrassment, and the weight of the past five days crammed upon you—his uncanny prediction, your own naivety, and the sting of being swindled. “Mr. Nanami . . . ”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in—”

“Good night.”

With a dismissive shake of your head, you left the basket on the counter, mumbled a quick apology, and retreated back into the biting cold.

You’ve faced tons of humiliating moments—slipping in front of customers, your purse strap getting snagged in a door and dragging you back, and that one unforgettable instance when a little boy labeled your eyebrows as caterpillars in front of a line of onlookers. Yet, none of those incidents could hold a candle to the awkwardness of bumping into the very man who had warned you about the ill-fated choice of paying for a stranger's trip—stranger now—when it was supposed to be your trip.

You felt a firm grip on your wrist, making your restless pacing suddenly stop.

Startled, you turned around to find a pair of expressionless hazel eyes and a slightly out-of-breath figure. Now is not the time to ogle Mr. Nanami’s broad shoulders, you idiot!

Releasing your wrist, he handed over a white, plastic bag. With a raised eyebrow, you peered inside to inspect its contents. It held everything from your shopping basket, including the last packet of croissants. Even more unexpected, he had paid for it all.

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” you assured, your eyes already scanning for the nearest ATM, just in case you forgot. "But for now." You pulled out the packaged croissants and extended them toward him. Your body was shaking, not because of November but because of how you were scammed after being forewarned by Nanami. “Please. Take it.”

He took your small hand in both of his, the warmth immediately melting the tension in your body. “So cold.”

A soft giggle escaped you at the obvious observation, and you placed your free hand on top of his. "So warm." Sniffling, tears welled up in your eyes. "You know what else is warm? The sun. And it's yellow. It's so yellow."

“Factually speaking, it is white.”

You wiped an arm across your nose. “What?”

“The sun. It’s white. It’s only yellow in children's books.”

You weren't about to argue with the guy who vindicated your slip-ups. Still, given the circumstances, you wished he'd soften the bluntness and let you bask in the illusion that the sun was a simple shade of yellow.

"I've always loved the color yellow," you mumbled. "Maybe getting scammed was a blessing. I'd probably get fined for wearing yellow otherwise. I couldn't afford to mess up on my trip. Besides, it all depends on the shade, right? Imagine how many fines I'd rack up just testing which shade of yellow suits me—"

Nanami tugged you close, capturing your lips with his.

A sharp intake of breath filled your lungs, eyes widening in surprise. Instinctively, your hands pushed him away, fingers grazing your tingling lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t—Don’t worry. About it.” You tucked your lips in and tasted chocolate and mint—two of your favorite combinations. Nanami always seemed like the kind of man who would hate both flavors independently and dependently. “You’re okay. I mean—You’re okay in general. You’re not okay with kissing. You’re probably great, I’m sure.” Your tongue traced the curve of your lower lip, and Nanami’s eyes followed the motion. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

You walked up to him, grabbed the lapels of his coat, and tugged him down a notch, your lips colliding with his.

Nanami's touch was calculated, his hand sailing onto your cheek, feeding warmth to your cold ear before vanishing into the labyrinth of your hair. Simultaneously, the other serpentined to the small of your back, his magnetic energy drawing you snugly against his chest. His warm tongue delicately swept across your lower lip, an unspoken cue that encouraged you to part your lips in response.

Nanami deepened the kiss, your tongues stroking against one another feverishly as if it were your last kiss. Who knows? Maybe it could’ve been. But the way he kissed with such desperation, releasing soft moans, not allowing you a moment to catch your breath, made you think that maybe this was just the start.

And you kissed him back just as needy.

If your hands slightly released their hold on his lapels, you'd gently cup the sides of his neck, rising on your tiptoes. And if your calves protested, you'd draw him down, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers entwining in his pale, golden locks. The taste of mint chocolate lingered on your lips, and a smile curved on your mouth as he stole a quick peck, pulling back just to gaze into your eyes for a moment before kissing you again.

You’re not sure how long you two stood and kissed there. Nanami was the one who always took the lead, savoring the taste of your pink, tender tongue, kissing your chilly cheeks and dewy eyes. The desire for each other made it hard to break away, yet the need for a breath of air was undeniable.

Finally, you decided to be the one to step back, signalling the end of your first kiss with him.

Your bottom lip tingled as you pulled it in, jaw aching from the infectious smile that had taken over your face. You couldn't help stealing glances at the tall man before you, who returned your gaze with a soft, almost imperceptible grin. Yet, in his eyes, under the gentle glow of the streetlight, you could see the excitement and joy of kissing you, twinkling brightly.

“I'm gonna—”

“I should—”

Both of you sighed; you with a soft chuckle, and him with a discreet throat-clearing.

“I've already missed quite a few workdays,” you said. “Gotta earn that dough if I want to make next month’s rent.” Nanami didn’t quite catch your bakery pun, but he nodded in agreement.

“Right,” you murmured, subtly veering to the side, putting on a little show as you started to walk away. You admitted it—you were a hopeless romantic. You secretly hoped for him to steal a kiss on your cheek and watch until you safely disappeared around the corner. “I’m off now.”

“Goodnight,” Nanami replied, subtly licking his lips for the sixteenth time. Yes, you were keeping count.

“Night-night.”

Nanami strolled down his end of the sidewalk. You followed suit, turning down your street.

Luck had only sometimes been on your side when it came to men and their romantic gestures. Oh well. At least you experienced a passionate kiss from one of your favorite customers. Asking for more seemed a bit too much—

A hand gently pressed against your back, and as you turned, it gracefully curved around your waist, drawing you in. Nanami caught your gasp and kissed you with an urgency that doubled, holding onto you as if his life depended on it, lifting you off your toes. Three sweet pecks later, he released you, both of your faces flushed.

"Get home safely," he whispered, walking away without a second glance.

That night, you couldn't help but giggle into your mascara-stained pillow.

The morning after, you were a whirlwind of joy and light, twirling through the bakery with trays of freshly baked pastries, replenishing boxes and take-out essentials. You greeted customers with an extra dose of sweetness, and to top it off, you even handed out a tray of delectable chocolate jam cookies. And you wore a yellow bow in your hair.

The oven beeped as the casse-croûtes finished baking, signaling their readiness for Nanami's arrival in just five minutes. You took special care in preparing his milk coffee, indulging in a quiet chuckle at your undeniable favoritism. Though the neighborhood bakery wasn't bustling with a large customer base, your attention was solely dedicated to him—your only regular as everyone else buzzed in the distant city an hour away.

With his coffee prepared and two casse-croûtes packed, you added a chocolate-mint cookie to the bag. Then, you decided to rearrange the shelves of gift baskets to pass the time.

Setting up the ladder, you ascended the shaky steps until you were eye to eye with the fifth shelf. Heights were never your forte, which, in hindsight, was another reason why flying to Malaysia was out of the question. The more you thought about being scammed, the more your heart wrenched from your lost trip. You’d again brought out your tip jar and prayed the odds were in your favor. Hell, maybe you’d ask Nanami to join you if you decided to take your relationship to the next level.

As you secured the bow on the basket, your gaze landed on the clock—6:30 p.m., and Nanami was a no-show.

Anxiety surged through you in an instant.

Did he leave you hanging? Maybe that kiss was a turnoff, and he chose to disappear rather than be upfront about finding you too overwhelming. Did your breath smell bad? Were you a terrible kisser? Or, worse, did something happen to him?

A torrent of worries flooded your mind, breaking through like a burst dam. Each imagined scenario seemed more nightmarish than the last, causing your head to spin. Recent events, like Toji's betrayal, fueled this self-doubt, made you question your intuition. While Nanami was clearly wealthy, consistently tipping a twenty each day, you found yourself questioning whether he had plans to use you for something else. As if that weren't enough, doubts crept in about your appearance and your optimistic, extroverted personality.

It started to make sense, didn't it? Nanami led a tranquil life, sticking to a routine of work and home, while you were a whirlwind of spontaneity—constantly buzzing with new ideas and discussions, unable to sit still or resist laughter at the silliest jokes. Everything seemed to fascinate you, yet nothing appeared to faze him. How could you have been so naive to entertain the thought—

“Good evening.”

“Ah!” you yelped at the sudden baritone intruding into your thoughts. Your foot, betrayed by the unexpected intrusion, lost its balance on the step. Your arms flailed in a desperate attempt to find stability as you teetered backward, the impending hazard of a severe concussion and potential spinal cord injury looming.

But just as you were prepared to shake hands with God, Nanami's powerful arms swooped in at the last possible moment. With a secure hold, he cradled you in a bridal style, and you clung to him like a shaking puppy, arms looped around his neck.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his breath slightly labored.

You gingerly peeled one eye open to peek at him. His expression was one of calm disorientation; eyebrows knit together while his lips maintained a straight, tight line.

"Yes," you whispered, soothed by his timely intervention.

Nanami steadied you back onto your feet but maintained a firm grip on your elbows. “Look at me.” As you did, he inspected each eye closely while keeping his hand steady on your left cheek. He checked below your jaw, down to your dusty palms, which he cleaned with his silk handkerchief. He also patted down your tousled hair. "Are you sure you're okay?"

“Mm-hmm.” You could cry from how gentle he was with you. “A-Are you okay?”

“I am now.” He took a composed breath and effortlessly retrieved his suitcase from the floor, brushing off invisible dust. “I apologize for being late. My . . . car broke down.”

"What? Oh my god! Do you need me to give you my mechanic's number? I promise he's not as bad as the Google reviews say. He's actually quite a sweet man. And he gives me a friends and family discount because my father was close with him." You beamed, and Nanami squinted his eyes as if the brightness of your smile momentarily blinded him, but he tried his best to reciprocate.

“Do your parents live here?”

You shook your head. “They passed away a while ago.”

“I apologize.”

"Don't be." You quickly switched subjects by fluttering towards the counter to pick up his items. “Tell me how your coffee tastes.” You turned around, adding, “I switched to a new brand of milk—”

Nanami pressed his lips against yours, momentarily freezing you. His seamless transition afterward could have fooled an onlooker into thinking you'd been married for years. "Thank you.” He took a sip and nodded thoughtfully. “It’s great. Everything you make is great.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sudden shyness enveloping you. From the kiss? The compliment? Him? You didn’t know at all. “Do you still need me to give you the mechanic’s number?”

“It’s all right. I had it fixed. Minor battery issue, that’s all.”

“Ah, okay. See, that’s why I prefer to walk.”

Nanami glanced elsewhere, nodding. “Then, would you like to walk with me after you’ve closed?”

“Oh.” A subtle flicker of surprise crossed your features. Nonchalantly, you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before smiling warmly. “Of course, yes. I’d love to go on a walk with you. Where are we going? There are lots of cafés in a nearby shopping district. I know all the best places to take you to.” A grave thought struck you just then. “Oh, actually. Hmm.”

Curious, he tilted his head down, meeting your worried gaze. "What is it?"

"Well," you began, your thoughts taking a cautious turn, "you probably have a set time to be home unless you live nearby. In that case, we could spend the entire evening strolling around. Only if you're interested, of course."

Nanami’s lips twitched. “I live nearby.”

“Where?” You weren’t ashamed to have been so upfront. It was more of a precautionary measure.

And he didn't seem bothered, quickly revealing the familiar neighborhood you instantly recognized. It was a fifteen-minute walk from your own place.

"May I step out momentarily to make a call?" Nanami asked, pulling out his phone. It was the latest model you noticed—one that came out last week and mocked your own that was five versions older. “It will be quick.”

“By all means.” You had to fix your hair and make-up anyway.

Nanami nodded and exited the shop, leaving you to flee behind the counter. As you crouched down to check yourself in the small mirror tucked away in the lower drawer, you couldn't help but feel a warmth on your face from the unexpected collapse, the sweet, brief kiss, and his impeccable navy blue suit decorated with yellow cufflinks. Maybe a café was too casual for him; a restaurant might have been a more suitable choice. An expensive choice. However, you were adamant about not letting Nanami cover the entire cost.

Upon his return, five minutes later, you both settled at one of the three round tables in your bakery (he even pulled out your chair for you). Sipping on your coffees and enjoying the casse-croûtes and chocolate pastries, the conversation seemed somewhat one-sided. Yet, Nanami's aloof demeanor never made you feel inferior for dominating the dialogue. He listened to every word and vowel with his undivided attention, nodding alongside and adding in short sentences when he could relate to your childhood shenanigans.

"Wait," he interrupted, causing you to halt in your tracks. The sun cast a warm glow on his face, making his eyes narrow into slits, but God did he look handsome. He extended his hand and brushed a thumb near your lips, discovering a small chocolate smudge. Swiftly, he licked it clean and tidied up the area around your lips with a napkin. "Beautiful."

“What?”

Nanami was a deer in headlights. He sunk his head, beating himself up from murmuring his thoughts aloud—at least, that’s what you concluded. "You look beautiful," he declared with more assurance, his gaze on your face. "You are beautiful, Y/N."

Oh, my.

Your heart was going to claw itself out of your chest. You could cook an egg on your face from how heated it had gotten. In fact, you were burning hotter than the sun, which continuously made him squint and blink. “Thank you.”

He nodded twice, finishing the remnants of his coffee. Rising, he disposed of the cups and wrappers in the garbage bin, then extended a hand to help you stand. "I'll wait outside while you close up."

At a lightning pace, you ensured that everything in the bakery was safely unplugged and shut off. Grabbing your purse, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror, adjusting your face and hair. Stepping outside, you meticulously locked the door and gates.

Without a word, Nanami entwined his fingers with yours, causing you to smile like an idiot at him. He maintained a straight, vigilant gaze, seemingly unresponsive as you wrapped yourself around his arm. A subtle smirk tugged at your lips when you felt his muscles flex.

You walked for hours, café-hopping and trying pastries, baked goods, and sweet drinks. Every time Nanami attempted to cover the expenses with his cash, you scolded him, insisting that since you had suggested the place, you should be the one to pay. It was a rule you had read about online, and all your friends stuck to it religiously. The thought of Nanami spending his hard-earned money on your interests made you feel incredibly guilty.

As a matter of fact, you were feeling guilty about tons of things. He told you he worked at an investment firm, which meant it was a nine-to-five, likely sporting a migraine he kept hidden, and now he was being dragged around the shopping district by you, forced to listen to you because he was a man who didn’t complain, wouldn’t complain, and long, story short, you wanted to die.

“Kento,” you muttered, removing your hand from his, goosebumps rippling on your skin.

“Yes, darling?”

Your chest felt like it was being clenched in a fist. “I'm . . . I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For making you do all this. For making you pay for everything. For dragging you around when you're probably on the verge of exhaustion." Avoiding his gaze, you fixed your eyes on the concrete beneath you. “I know I can be too much sometimes—well, all the time.” A self-deprecating chuckle escaped your lips. "Exes in my past relationships have made it clear. I get overly excited easily, crave attention like one needs oxygen, trust people too easily to the point of getting scammed, and, well, I don't bring anything particularly special to the table. I'm sorry, Kento. Maybe it's best if we just stay friends?”

Nanami’s soft fingers lifted your chin up. Your words absolutely shattered his face, leaving you to feel worse than before. His lips were parted into a frown, his brows were scrunched up, brown irises flickering like he couldn’t believe you said that. This was the most reaction he had given you in the year that you’ve known him.

“No,” he said.

You blinked the tears gathered at your waterline. “No?”

“No.” Nanami took a calming breath, closing his eyes. His forehead gently pressed against yours. “Please, let me be selfish for this once. For you. I can’t let you go—I won’t let you go."

"Kento—"

"I want to do this, Y/N. I want to pay for everything. I want you to drag me around because I’ll never be too tired for you.” Nanami drew back and cradled your sobbing face in his large hands. “I know I fail to show it, darling, but I love your excitement. I love paying attention to every detail of you because you’ve become my oxygen source. You’re a good, kindhearted woman, and anyone would be lucky to be seen by you. And you don’t have to bring anything to the table because there isn’t one dividing us, keeping us lengths apart.” His lips brushed your forehead, imprinting his words into your mind. "I want us to be more than just friends. I want us to be best friends. Lovers. In this life and the ones that follow."

You could explode.

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, seeking support as if the ground beneath you was about to crumble. Yet, you knew he would catch you, just as before. He was so real, embracing you wholly, both of you breathing in each other's scents to confirm a human like this could exist. How grateful you were he stumbled into your bakery that one rainy night, and how grateful he was that you offered him free coffee and a casse-croûte while he was freezing and trembling. His presence brought life to your bakery, gave you something to look forward to when you were at your lowest, and you gave him . . . everything. You were his everything since the first day.

As the shared silence lingered, Nanami's phone shattered the moment, its noisy ring cutting through the haze. You instinctively stepped back, but he clung to your hand as if afraid you might slip away.

Never, Nanami Kento. You’re stuck with me.

When he took out his phone, you caught a glimpse of the contact name: Satoru (assistant).

Before you could process the fact Nanami had an assistant, he swiped right. “Yeah?”

The voice on the other end resonated with loud cheerfulness in the quiet alleyway. Nanami half-rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Leave it there. I’ll be there when I want to.”

The assistant chuckled and sang his goodbye, the cheerful tone abruptly cutting off as Nanami ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Do all stockbrokers have assistants?”

He tilted his head. “I’m not a stockbroker.”

“Oh? I’m sorry. I assumed because you worked at an investment firm.”

“Yes, I was a stockbroker.” He nodded, warming your hand in his, then casually added, “But I own a firm now.”

Your brows hit your hairline. “That’s amazing!”

“Thank you. We have several locations around the country. Kento Investments. Have you heard of it?”

Heard of it? You were a client some time ago when you were starting your bakery. All you encountered were glowing reviews about their ethical practices, a refreshing leave from the scheming ways of most investment firms that had previously taken advantage of you. It stood out as the industry leader in your research, and the team was lovely in guiding you through the process, so much so that you even invited them to your grand opening.

"Ah, you have." Nanami grinned, gently tilting your chin upward and closing your gaping mouth. "Therefore, my darling, don't feel guilty about me covering the expenses. I'm quite secure in my position to support both of us for centuries."

All you could manage was a disbelieving chuckle as you rested your forehead against his chest. Taking it as an invitation, he embraced you, crowning you with kisses.

Lifting your head, you said, "There's something I want to get for you."

"What is it?"

Hand-in-hand, you pulled him back toward the bustling district, the sound of his deep laughter echoing in the air. Your own laughter naturally joined in.

As you strolled past a vendor selling accessories, your attention was drawn to an item you had briefly noticed earlier in your walk. Although you planned to purchase it the following day and surprise him in the afternoon, tonight felt like the perfect moment.

Politely approaching the elderly vendor, you asked, "Could I please try those on?" He handed you a pair of round sunglasses with a green tint to the lenses. Standing on your toes, you carefully placed the glasses on Nanami's nose, adjusting them to sit perfectly on the bridge. The sides of the spectacles featured a stylish steampunk design that complemented his narrow, sharp features. "Handsome.”

"I'll take it.” Nanami reached for his wallet. However, you were one step ahead, swiftly bringing out the spare change you had set aside in your coat pocket. You had already calculated the price, ready to outsmart him in this little game of charity.

“Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you said to the shop vendor, ignoring Nanami’s stare.

“Y/N.”

“Yes, darling?" You looped around his arm and began your stroll down the sidewalk. “Oh, come on. Let me be selfish and treat you once in a while.” You cut off his protests with a kiss.

He surrendered instantly.

Over the next four weeks, you didn’t realize how quickly you’d become comfortable with Nanami. Like clockwork, he would arrive at your bakery, patiently occupying a table until your duties with customers or decorating displays finished. Now resembling a vibrant florist shop, the bakery owed its transformation to Nanami's thoughtful gestures—bouquets of flowers in every shade of yellow, orange, and white became an amusing routine. As you arranged them in vases, you would burst into fits of giggles like a maniac.

You and him were like a Venn diagram, overlapping in unexpected places. He enjoyed non-fiction, classics, and history books; you immersed yourself in the world of romance and mystery novels. TV nights were a compromise between his love for documentaries and your penchant for anything sappy on Netflix, occasionally spicing things up with a true-crime documentary. His fascination with astronomy met your fixation with astrology, and surprisingly, he didn't scoff when you read the lines on his palms. Instead, he appreciated it just as much as you cherished his nightly photos of the moon and his ability to name the stars above.

At least, you were both Team Cats.

Nanami introduced you to his friends, including his quirky assistant Gojo, who had a habit of shamelessly flirting with you, seemingly just to get under Nanami's skin. However, your boyfriend was secure enough not to let it bother him. Yet, a trace of possessiveness would emerge during sex—when the two of you were entwined in bed, bodies bared and bathed in the aftermath of shared sweat.

Exiting the restaurant after a delightful dinner date, Nanami turned to you and suggested, "I'd like to invite you to my home tonight."

Finally, you thought, resisting the urge to dip your toes into the topic of visiting his home, especially considering he had been a frequent guest at yours.

The fact that he lived nearby had always puzzled you; he mentioned it casually yet never extended an invitation for a simple coffee or a chat on his welcome mat. Weekends saw him working from your living room, staying overnight, but on weekdays, he'd only spend a brief hour or two with you before heading home, a practice that seemed counterintuitive given his closeness. Despite the confusion, you hesitated to jeopardize your relationship by fishing too deeply.

So far, Nanami hadn't given you any reason to doubt him.

"Are you sure?" you asked cautiously.

"Absolutely, darling.” Nanami took your hand and planted a small kiss on the back of it. "I apologize for the delay. I've been having it . . ." He casually flicked up his sunglasses that had slipped. ". . . renovated."

“Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I’d love to!”

Nanami nodded and leaned down to kiss your cheek. “Thank you for being so patient. I know it was eating you alive. You're not exactly the master of hiding your emotions.” He gave you a small smile and kissed your cheek again.

You responded with a smile that crinkled your nose. "Just a bit anxious, that's all."

"Understandable.” He guided you toward his neighbourhood, exchanging a warm smile as you nestled against his arm. Observing the goosebumps on your skin and the faint shivers, he realized you had forgotten your cardigan. Without hesitation, he removed his blazer and draped it around your shoulders, helping you slip your arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up.

You took a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant scent from the collars. "You always smell so good."

Nanami bent down, kissing the side of your neck right above your racing pulse. "As do you," he murmured against your skin. "Always."

“Gosh, you're so flirty,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his midsection and burying your face in his chest.

“Come on now.”

You walked for another ten minutes, taking a five-minute pit stop to pet a stray cat before stopping in front of a towering residence building. It was one of those extravagant ones boasting a fountain in the lobby and a vigilant security guard who greeted Nanami with a two-finger salute.

Hand on your back, Nanami guided you toward the elevator with mirrors on all sides.

He exuded an air of sophistication in his neatly rolled-up black dress shirt, complemented by beige pants. His pale, blond hair was slicked back, a Rolex clasped his wrist, and veins corded his well-defined forearms. The sunglasses you had given him rested atop his head.

As Nanami caught your eyes on the reflective surfaces, a sudden blush warmed your cheeks. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, fingers idly playing with the golden butterfly bracelet he had given you on the night he asked you to be his girlfriend. “I was just . . . God, you’re so beautiful. Sometimes, I think I’m dreaming of you. And I don’t want to wake up from it.”

Nanami released his grip on your hand, wrapping his arm around your waist. He tilted your chin upward and planted a lecherous kiss on your lips. As you stumbled backward, your back met the cool surface of a mirror, and you clung to his biceps. He continued kissing your jaw and nibbling at your neck.

“Ken—Wait, there’s a camera!”

“I own the building.”

Without allowing you to react, he kissed you fervently, his hands framing your face and his knee pressing between your legs. Your hips ground against the muscled surface, creating a heated friction that drew a moan from him.

The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival, but Nanami was undeterred. He refused to break the kiss. Lifting you effortlessly, he cradled you with a single forearm beneath your backside and your arms encircling his neck. Laughter echoed as you entered directly into the main corridor of his penthouse.

“Your front door is an elevator?” You marveled with an open jaw.

“Yes, it seems so.”

Oh, how you loved his monotonous replies.

Nanami gently placed you onto the expansive white surface of his couch, smoothly moving over your body to continue.

“I knew you were a clean freak,” you said between his kisses, “but your penthouse looks like it was bought this morning.”

“Two weeks ago.” He kisses down your neck, sideways toward your left shoulder. “That’s why I waited to invite you. Gojo was having the place decorated. I've installed a library for you, too. We can go book-shopping this weekend.”

"Wait, what?" You pushed him back by his chest, incredulous. "Hold on, hold on, hold on. You mean to tell me you moved in just two weeks ago?"

"Yes," he answered, tilting his head slightly perplexedly. "When you asked about my residence, I panicked and couldn't come up with a proper answer, fearing you might decline my invitation for a walk. So, I bought this building from the previous owner on the spot. There are also commercial benefits. Quite a strategic move, if you ask me." With that, Nanami resumed his attention, focusing on kissing your collarbones and skillfully lowering your dress, exposing your chest to him.

But you were still stuck on the subject like a pesky fruit fly. “But you don’t live here?”

“I don’t.” His mouth brushed over the mound of your left breast. “I live in Shibuya.”

“Shibuya? Kento, that’s an hour and a half away!"

"Hmm." He glanced up, mouth sucking at your nipple.

"You've been faithfully coming to my city every single day, all the way from Shibuya, for a whole year? You've been burning all that gas just to be with me?"

He broke away to say, "Gojo drives me occasionally," and switched to your right breast.

"Nanami Kento, are you out of your mind?"

Finally, he released you and sighed. "I fail to see the issue here." He appeared so innocent, with his moist lips, tousled hair, and a crumpled dress shirt.

You hurriedly sat up, readjusting your dress, which seemed to displease him. "I'm at a loss for words." Your gaze caught the weariness etched on his face, the bags under his eyes, the slow, heavy blinks signaling his desperate need for sleep. "You haven't actually been living here, have you?"

Upon hearing that, Nanami let out a weary sigh. "I do it when I'm too drained to make the drive back on weekdays."

As the details of his schedule fell into place, you flinched inwardly. He would rise at the crack of dawn, dedicate endless hours to handling clients at the office, and then endure a lengthy drive to your city, only to spend his evenings with you before leaving around midnight to return to Shibuya. The only time he would stay overnight at your place was on Saturdays, and he would depart early on Sundays for work. And all this time, you had believed he had an office in your city.

Oh, God.

You loved him.

You loved him so much.

Tears welled up in your eyes at the realization of just how much he loved you. The man had gone so far as to purchase an entire building in your city just to be closer to you. He showered you with affection at every opportunity, devoted his alone time to you with undivided attention and mind-blowing orgasms, and his bank transactions were probably dedicated to you.

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” you whispered.

“Neither did I the night when we met.” Nanami’s words always had a comforting effect on you. He gently pulled you onto his lap, and you curled up like a fetus, planting a kiss on his cheekbone. “I’ve loved you for a very long time, Y/N. I love . . . God, I love you so much. I didn't realize I was capable of feeling this much love for another human until I met you. It was all locked up inside me, and you held the key all along, darling." Leaning forward, he smoothly swept his blazer and delved into the pocket, revealing a small yellow box. With trembling hands, you accepted it and opened it to find a petite, golden key inside. “Our front door is an elevator.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“Move in with me.”

“Kento—”

“I know. I know it's quite early to discuss this, and I want to give you the space and time to consider it. As you mentioned, your lease ends next month, and I'll officially be transitioning to remote work with a few business trips every other week. It would mean a lot to me if you decided to join me on those trips." He gently placed the key in your hand, kissing your fist. "I'm scheduled to travel to Malaysia next month."

Overpowered with emotion, you choked out a sob and immediately lunged at him with a hug, causing both of you to stumble backward as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He loved you. He wanted you to move in with him. He wanted to travel with you, starting with Malaysia. Suddenly, the tips he left in your jar took on a deeper significance, backing the idea that you weren't meant to journey alone, why you weren’t meant to go with that swindling bastard. As Nanami's gestures of kindness and service became increasingly evident, your tears welled up, choking him in a tight embrace that eventually had him laughing.

Last November, Nanami Kento had stepped into your small bakery, raindrops clinging to him, unknowingly marking his permanent presence in your life.

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philtstone · 4 months ago

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baffled by ppl who assume gus is not “smart” just bc he’s not operating at 12 mach speed raw garlic adhd disaster intelligence lmao. putting aside the fact that he passed his formal gifted kid test in middle school (bc those things are never true markers of capacity) he’s more than competent at both inductive and deductive reasoning with minimal to no formal training, has extensive hobby and professional knowledge of a wide array of scientific and technically specific topics, and can keep up with mr 12 mach speed raw garlic adhd disaster intelligence with very little effort. like. what is the bar for smartness here???? he never realized his true academic/career potential because hes a neurotic loser, not because he isnt brilliant. every character on psych is a neurotic loser with underrealized potential. he’s in great company and their collective need to self actualize is in fact the whole point

#there’s this one post tumblr keeps recommending to me and i shrimply do not understand it #put some respect on my mans name!!#phil.txt #psych #burton guster #in general ppl do not appreciate or understand gus enough but [meme voice] you know why

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justsleepybeans · 2 months ago

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𝗩𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮 𝗧𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

Adam Warlock x Fem!Reader(Y/n)

Story Notes: Reader is half-celestial, half-human. Adam is irrevocably obsessed. Yearning!!

Author Notes: I love Adam too much NOT to write about him. Bro needs to be buffed in MR tho. I listened to this while writing and proofreading! Def recommend for reading! Ambience Vid <-Link

Word Count: 7,746

—☆ KNOWHERE

The Kree were relentless but too cocky for their own good. You had just finished destroying the last fleet, their mission being to wipe out the existence of the harmless Utarians. You would've rather been at your favorite club in Contraxia but happened to be flying by when you saw the chaos. Peter had called in the middle of it all, his voice cutting out multiple times.

"Well, I think it would be nice if you joined us! It was your favorite holiday back on Earth, wasn't it?" he had asked with far too much enthusiasm for your liking. Halloween. Of course, he would know, considering you had shared that fact with him when you were "abducted" by Yondu and his crew off Earth, which was around the time you had found out you weren't just human.

Since then, Peter had been like a brother, except when he flirted horrendously with you in your mid-teens, which obviously didn't work out. Even though you didn't see each other much anymore, not after the Guardians formed, you two would still pick each other's favorite holidays and celebrate, his being Christmas, and yours? Halloween.

"(Y/n!)," Peter calls out your name as he walks towards you. Behind him is Gamora, and at her side, Mantis. However, there was someone else trailing behind them. A…golden man? You have seen many species in these galaxies, but none like him.

"Hi, Peter. Gamora. Mantis." you greet them all politely, giving an awkward little wave. The golden man steps forward, though he doesn't extend his hand. He stands there, closer now, and his chest is just a little more puffed out.

"I am Adam Warlock. We have not met."

"Clearly, we haven't. I'm-"

“(Y/n), yes. Peter spoke of you. He described you in precise detail." You look at Peter, giving him that 'the hell did you say about me' look. He puts his hands up in defense and promises it's nothing bad.

After a short debriefing between you and the girls, the four of you head into the center of Knowhere, where the Guardians live, and most things happen. The place seemed disjointed, colorful, and highly diverse amongst its citizens. Though, what you notice the most is the vast array of mismatched Halloween decorations. There were children of all kinds going around and ringing doorbells, knocking on doors, and then receiving some interesting-looking treats.

"So, you brought Halloween to Knowhere.", you say to Peter as you watch two kids fight over some tentacle-looking thing.

"Ah yeah, you know. It'd be nice to bring the culture. Plus, a way of getting to see you for once."

You smile at that, a feeling of admiration for Peter's thoughtfulness. However, all this Halloween stuff has you thinking of one thing. "Twizzlers?"

Peter raises his hand as if to stop you from speaking further. "Already done. When we went to Earth, we picked up plenty of candy and took loads of decorations."

"Wait…you took all of this? Peter, you can't just do that."

Peter shrugs, brushing your scolding off. "I'm just borrowing it."

—☆ FIRST SECOND ENCOUNTER

You've settled in your room, one of the many in the complex where the Guardians and others live. While laying down clothes you'd wear tonight for the "Halloween Party", you hear a soft knock on your door, followed by a slightly familiar deep voice.

"It's Adam."

The Warlock. Or Adam, so he's called, a name you'd find out he adopted. It suits him, you think. Setting down a pair of tights on the bed, you open the door. You're almost his height, so you don't have to look up much, though up close, you notice his eyes more. They're not exactly white, but a pale yellow, maybe light gold. The lack of pupils and complete coloring in his sclera should be unsettling, but you find it oddly...comforting.

"Hi. Adam. Do you need anything?"

“(Y/n)…I am...deeply attracted to you. I am certain I've felt a pull the moment you reached this galaxy. Then, when you came here, it became stronger than ever before. That's when I confirmed that it had to be you. It's a magnetism, and I cannot stay away longer. Allow me to court you."

Oh. Well…that is very direct.

“Oh…I…” You were left without words for a moment because how does one even respond to that from someone they met this morning? Was he sure that it was you? He's being ridiculous, you think, but the thought of entertaining this, whatever this is, was ever so tempting.

"I sense hesitation."

You shift your weight to your right side and tilt your head curiously. "Right, well, I did just meet you."

"Yes, I am aware."

You huff, somewhat annoyed but also amused. "Listen…whatever it is that you're feeling…I don't feel that. "

"Surely you must. I feel your celestial energy practically radiating off-"

"How do you know that." you interrupt him. He gives you a look that could only be described as confusion.

"I sense it. I am a cosmic being, (Y/n)."

"You're technically human," you argue.

"Perhaps—but I am far from any human. I was created with cosmic power," Adam takes a step closer, his eyes boring into yours like a hawk. "Allow me to court you."

"Stop saying that…feels like I'm in the Medieval times."

"Medieval times?"

Of course, he wouldn't know about that. "Nevermind. Just… that's now how things work, okay? Listen, I gotta start preparing for Peter's Halloween thing, so…"

"Right. Yes. The party. Very well, (Y/n). I hope you have time to…think about what I said."

"Mhm. I'll see you around."

With that, Adam gives you a slight nod, then walks off, his posture slightly less upright than usual. You watch him as he walks off and think to yourself, what if you say yes? What's the worst that could happen? A cosmic and celestial being coming together…surely nothing bad.

—☆ THE PARTY

You weren't wearing a costume.

Being invited on the day of a Halloween party, which doesn't even align with Earth's Halloween, would make it pretty damn hard to prepare a costume. Currently, it's October 28th on Earth, but close enough, right?

You carry a variety of clothes on your ship for all occasions, but not for a Halloween party. With a sigh, you smooth down the side of your red dress as you step into the center hall of one of the many buildings in Knowhere. This one was on the outskirts of the city and had a bar. The color of your dress matches your tights, deep and blood-warm, clinging like a second skin. It was the most Halloween-esque thing you could pull out.

The music was a mixture of strange tunes you hadn't heard before and some Earth songs you assumed came from Peter's tapes. You remember sharing an earbud with him and listening shoulder to shoulder on Yondu's ship. The crowds buzzed with sugar highs and very spiked drinks, beings of all kinds dancing without much rhythm, and the decorations glowed a little too bright for your liking as if a Spirit Halloween had blown up.

You scanned the place, finding Peter almost instantly, dual-wielding candy bowls and passing out the sweets while talking about famous horror movie slashers, who the citizens of Knowhere believed to be real people from how they were reacting. Mantis waved dramatically across the way, her cute buggy eyes locked on yours. Gamora was trying to keep Peter from falling on his ass, while Rocket was nowhere to be found, most likely on his usual antics with Groot. Drax seemed asleep, his head on the bar countertop, surrounded by a handful of empty bottles. And then—

There he was.

Adam.

Leaning against the wall like he had been carved there—perfect human and all. You may have turned down his advances, but you couldn't deny that he is, in fact, attractive. His expression is unreadable, as usual, and you notice he has no costume. He was still looking at you like he did earlier as if you were the only thing in this galaxy worth orbiting.

You reached for the table beside you, grabbed the nearest drink — bright neon green, fizzing, definitely alcoholic — and pretended not to notice him.

Didn't work.

He was already moving before you could take a second sip, golden eyes fixed, posture straight like he'd been waiting for a cue. He stopped in front of you. Too close, you think. Not close enough, you feel.

"(Y/n)," he said, voice low and smooth, "You didn't dress up."

"Neither did you."

"I didn't need to." Of course, he didn't.

You take another sip, eyes on him now. "You're staring."

"Perhaps I am."

There's a pause, though not awkward, but electric. Adam wasn't hiding it — the way he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every minuscule detail, though he never did hide it in the first place. Not once. It should've been unsettling, but somehow, it wasn't.

"You look..." He pauses, eyes trailing down your length, slow and deliberate. "Dangerous."

"Oh." You couldn't help the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

Then, his voice quiet, as if he didn't want the crowd to hear, "Are you avoiding me, (Y/n)?"

After what happened earlier? Oh, you should've been, but no, you weren't...at least, not intentionally. Taking a deep breath, you look around before speaking up. "I'm gonna...go see how Peter's holding up."

You drifted, dancing near the edges of groups, getting pulled into half-hearted conversations with half-sober Ravagers and aliens in glittery face paint. But Adam was always there—watching without pressing, standing just far enough to give you space. Your drink was gone now, traded for a lollypop someone shoved into your hand with a slurred "Happy Humanween." Humanween? You didn't eat it, preferring your promised Twizzlers, which were nowhere to be seen. Instead, you rolled the stick between your fingers and your mind elsewhere. Still aware of him.

Then Peter—bless his drunk, clumsy soul—came barreling in out of nowhere, arms wide and voice loud, a bottle in one hand, and absolutely no concept of personal space, as usual.

"(Y/n)!" he called like he hadn't seen you some hours ago. His shoulder caught yours mid-spin, not hard, but enough to send you slightly off balance, your heel catching on the edge of the floor panel.

You were falling—until you weren't.

A hand wrapped around your upper arm, firm and warmer than others. Another gently caught your waist, steady and grounding.

Adam.

The contact wasn't much. Two hands, a beat of closeness, but it was enough. Too much.

It felt like something clicked, as if a thread snapped into place between your body and his, humming. Loud. Burning. Almost overbearing. You inhaled, chest still against his as you blinked at him, confused—for the first time— not by him, but by you.

Because you felt it. Whatever he had been talking about outside your room, all that talk of a magnetic pull, cosmic alignment—you felt it now, you think. It hit you fast and bright, like a fucking supernova, and far too much all at once.

You moved back quickly. Not dramatically. Okay...maybe a bit dramatic, but it was enough to break the contact. Adam's hands dropped, and though it wasn't visible, the imprint stayed. You could feel it.

"I—Peter's drunk," you used as an excuse to leave.

Adam's expression didn't change. But something in his eyes did. Softer. Knowing. He didn't have to say I told you so. He didn't even say anything at all.

He didn't have to because he knows you felt it. And worse? You know it, too.

Still—you wouldn't admit it. Not out loud. Not to him.

So you straightened your dress, fixed your hair like nothing happened, and pretended your heart wasn't beating inside your throat.

Adam said nothing, simply watching you with that same quiet hunger.

—☆ SUPERNOVA (5 Months Later)

It wasn't supposed to go this way. The mission was simple enough—answer the distress call of the Valturians and help out in whatever way was needed. You decided to tag along with the Guardians to help after Rocket bugged you about being a valuable asset. He also tried convincing you to join the Guardians, which you refused, and he may have tried to buy off your ship.

Though, you really wish you hadn't come.

Multiple fleets of the Kree appeared—a species you didn't exactly hate but were very annoyed with. However, a massive ship came out of hyperspace this time along with the fleet, sitting just above the atmosphere of Valtur. A loud voice boomed from the ship, practically shaking the ground.

"I hoped you would come, (Y/n). My men have been watching you. You didn't think that your destruction upon my fleet the other day would result in no punishment, did you?"

It was Al-Null—the leader who had stepped up to replace Ronan, The Accuser.

"I guess that's what happens when your cowardly ass ain't there with your men. I mean, come on, did you watch from your little jerk-off corner? Because listen, if you get off on that stuff, I'd say you need some therapy, buddy." The insult was very Peter-coded, showing just how much time you spent around him when you were with Yondu.

"You dare? You, the great mistake. Your father was the coward, and spineless to fall for some weak, pathetic excuse for an incubator. She died giving birth to something which was never meant to be. And you? You killed her. Since the day you were born you have caused nothing but chaos..."

The smile slowly fades off your face. And then, there's silence. At least, you think there is, but apparently, Al-Null kept going on and on. You couldn't hear him. You couldn't hear anything but your heart beating with such intensity that it felt like your head would explode.

Peter tenses up, having seen the degree of your powers firsthand. Gamora's hand hovers over her blaster inside her holster, though not exactly for the Kree. She knows what you can do because Peter told her before, but she also knows that a blaster won't stop you. Not even close.

The rage builds within you like a supernova waiting to burst. Your vision begins to blur at the edges, turning red with fury. You can feel your celestial power surging through your veins, threatening to overflow. Your feet lift off the ground as energy crackles around you.

"(Y/n)," Adam's voice cuts through the haze, steady and grounding. "Look at me."

But you can't. All you see is the massive Kree ship and all you hear are Al-Null's words about your mother echoing in your mind. The power builds, your hands glowing with energy as you prepare to unleash devastation upon the fleet.

"She is losing control," Mantis whispers, her antennae quivering with anxiety.

Peter steps forward cautiously. "(Y/n), hey, don't listen to that blue asshole—"

With a scream, you take off up into space, a colorful aura of hot energy trailing behind you like a flying torch.

The first ship explodes before anyone can react, pieces of metal and screaming Kree soldiers tumbling through the void of space. You're a blazing comet, your celestial power unleashed in its rawest form. Another blast from your hands tears through a second vessel, then a third.

"By the stars," Drax murmurs, watching the destruction from below.

Adam doesn't hesitate. He launches himself upward, his own golden energy propelling him toward you. He can feel your pain, your rage—a hurricane of emotions that threatens to consume not just the Kree fleet but yourself.

In space, surrounded by debris and fire, you hover before Al-Null's command ship, hands raised to obliterate it. Your body pulses with celestial light, eyes glowing with power no half-human should possess. You don’t remember what happened next, but you do remember that it was cold, and quiet, your body floating without any constraints of gravity.

—☆ TETHER

When you awake, it's not in the vacuum of space or surrounded by the wreckage of Kree ships. You're in a dimly lit room, lying on something soft. Your body feels heavy, drained of the celestial energy that had threatened to tear you apart.

"She's awake," Mantis says softly from somewhere nearby.

You try to sit up, but a gentle hand presses against your shoulder. "Don't," Adam says, his voice closer than you expected. "Your body needs time to recover."

As your vision clears, you see him sitting beside you, his expression unreadable yet somehow concerned. Behind him, Peter paces nervously while Gamora watches from the doorway.

"What happened?" Your voice is hoarse, barely audible.

"You nearly destroyed an entire Kree armada," Gamora answers matter-of-factly.

"Cool…," you manage to utter, your voice barely more than a whisper, strained and fragile.

Peter takes a tentative step toward you, his face etched with concern. "You should sleep. Al-Null escaped, but most of his fleet is scattered across three sectors."

"Doesn't matter," you mutter, attempting to push yourself up again. "He's still out there. He’s still—"

"You need recovery time," Gamora interjects firmly. "Even celestials have limits."

Adam's gaze hasn't left your face since you awoke, his golden eyes tracking every expression that crosses your features. There's something different in the way he's looking at you now—not hungry, but... protective. Soft.

"We'll check on the Valturians," Rocket announces, already heading for the door. "Make sure they ain't got more surprises waitin'."

"I am Groot," comes the agreeable response.

Peter hesitates, clearly torn between going off with the Guardians and staying to watch you. He comes to the decision to go off with them, but, Adam stays, much to your slight annoyance. You had planned to just sneak off when they were all gone.

"We'll be back soon," Peter says with a final concerned glance. "Just... stay put, okay?"

You nod halfheartedly, waiting for the door to slide shut behind the Guardians before immediately throwing your legs over the side of the bed. Your body feels surprisingly good—the celestial half of you working overtime to repair the damage.

"Where do you think you're going?" Adam's voice is calm but firm as he steps between you and the door.

"To finish what I started," you reply, standing up straight. "Al-Null is still out there."

"No." The single word carries the weight of a thousand. Adam doesn't raise his voice, but his eyes shine with intensity.

"Move, Adam. This isn't your fight."

He steps closer, golden skin catching the dim light. "You nearly burned yourself out. Even with your healing abilities, that level of power expenditure—“

“I said move.”

He stays put, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes now harder—firm and demanding. “No. You’re not leaving.”

A surge of anger rushes through you. Who does he think he is to tell you what you can and cannot do? The energy within you flickers to life again, not as powerful as before, but enough to make the air around you thick with tension.

"Get out of my way," you hiss, taking a step forward. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, a faint glow emanating from beneath your skin.

Adam doesn't budge. Instead, he moves closer, his own cosmic energy rising to meet yours. The space between you becomes charged, golden tendrils of his power weaving with the aura of yours.

"I will not let you destroy yourself," he says, voice dropping lower. "Your recklessness will be your undoing."

"My 'recklessness' is none of your concern!" You shove against his chest, but he barely moves. His body is warm and solid against your palms, and the contact sends a jolt through your system, like it did months ago at the Halloween party. You hadn't come into physical contact with him since that day.

"Get out of my way," you snarl, shoving harder this time, your energy flaring. The room's lights flicker as your power pulses outward.

Adam's hand suddenly catches your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "Enough." His voice has dropped an octave, resonating with authority.

"Let go of me!" You wrench your arm, but he holds fast, pulling you closer until your bodies are nearly flush against each other. The air between you crackles with energy—yours wild and chaotic, his controlled but equally potent.

"You're not thinking clearly," he says, his face now inches from yours. "Your emotions are clouding your mind. Don't be rash."

You’d come to regret what you do next, but a small part of you wouldn't, and never will. You emit a sudden wave of energy, sending Adam flying back against the wall, hitting it hard enough to leave a small crack. “I told you to move.”

You make a beeline for the door, your mind focused on one thing. Al-Null.

You barely make it two steps before a golden blur moves with inhuman speed. Adam is suddenly before you, his eyes blazing with an intensity you've never seen from him. In one fluid motion, he grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pushing you back against the wall with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

"No," he growls, pinning you there with his body. His hands move to capture your wrists, holding them firmly against the wall on either side of your head. "You will listen to me."

Your celestial energy surges in response to the threat, but Adam's power counters it immediately, creating a cocoon of golden light that seems to dampen your abilities. You struggle against his grip, but his strength matches yours in your weakened state.

"Let me go!" you snarl, thrashing against his hold.

Adam leans closer, his face mere inches from yours. "You would risk your life for revenge," he says, his voice dangerously low. "I cannot allow that."

Something shifts in his eyes—a decision made—and suddenly his grip tightens. You feel it then, a strange sensation like a thread being pulled from deep within your chest, connecting to him. His eyes glow brighter, the golden light intensifying as he presses his forehead against yours.

"If you won't listen to reason," he whispers, "then feel what I feel."

A wave of foreign emotion crashes into you—concern so deep it borders on anguish, fear so primal it makes your heart race, and beneath it all, a devotion so absolute it takes your breath away. These aren't your feelings. They're his.

"What are you doing to me?" you gasp, trembling under the weight of his emotions pouring into you.

"A soul bond."

Your body suddenly feels weak as the wave of emotions crash over you. Was this everything he felt? All this time? All of this, and yet he always managed to seem like everything was under control—the complete opposite of you. You somewhat tried to snap out of it, feelings of anger still there. “Stop…I don’t understand..,” you breathe, your resistance weakening as the soul bond takes hold.

His golden eyes bore into yours, pupils dilated with something primal. "I've tethered us together," he murmurs., "Now you'll understand."

The connection between you pulses like a living thing, and suddenly your senses are heightened, every point where his body touches yours sending electric currents through your skin. Your anger dissolves into something else entirely—a mixture of pain and longing that mirrors his own.

"I can feel everything you feel," Adam whispers, his grip on your wrists loosening but not releasing. "Your rage, your pain...”

You gasp as his emotions flood through you—possessiveness, need, and a desperate yearning that makes your knees weak. The bond amplifies everything, creating a feedback loop of sensation between you, as if trying to take away, or rather, distract your anger.

Adam's eyes narrow, something dark and primal flickering across his face. In one fluid motion, he spins you around, your chest now pressed against the wall, his body flush against your back. The heat of him radiates through your clothes, his breathing heavy against your ear.

His arm snakes around, fingers splaying across your throat before moving upward to grasp your face, thumb and fingers gently digging into your cheeks as he tilts your head back against his shoulder.

"Do you remember what I asked of you?" he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "When I came to your door?" His grip on your face is firm but careful, holding you in place as if you might slip away. "I asked to court you."

You don't answer—can't answer with his fingers pressing into your cheeks, but your true feelings become clear through the soul bond.

"You truly feel it now," he breathes, the words vibrating against your skin. "The connection that's been there since I first sensed you across this galaxy. My mate."

"Mate? What are you—"

But Adam doesn't explain, doesn't pause to clarify. He captures your mouth with his own before you can finish, your body still sandwiched between him and the cold wall, though his higher-than-average body temperature provided the perfect warmth. The kiss was far from gentle, instead full of possession and need.

His hand drifts from your face to your throat, not squeezing too hard but maintaining enough pressure to hold you in place. His other hand slips beneath your top, his palm pressed flat against your stomach to pull you closer as his lips roughly claim yours. Eventually, he parts them, leaving behind a thin thread of mixed saliva lingering between your lips before it breaks.

"I've been waiting," he murmurs softly by your ear, "ever since I first sensed you." His hand moves lower, dangerously near your clothed core, then his fingers travel over the delicate fabric of your panties before venturing further down to explore the damp spot beneath.

"Adam," you gasp as his fingers confidently press against your mound.

"Is this the effect I have on you?"

You bite back a moan as his digits locate the side seam of the soft fabric and tug it aside just enough to expose you.

“You don't need to voice it. I already know,” he whispers, gently running his fingers through your slick folds, tracing a line up to your clit before pressing down, testing your reaction.

"Oh—" you sigh, tensing as a jolt shoots through your nerves. While you have touched yourself before, the connection between your souls amplifies everything. You barely have time to register how different this feels as his fingers begin with light, deliberate strokes before progressing into slow, circular motions. "Adam…"

To your mixed frustration and arousal, he withdraws his hand from your pants, instead grabbing your hip firmly, leaving your core softly pulsating, getting wetter by the second.

"You're coming with me."

—☆ COCOON

His room is simple yet filled with lush green plants that fill the space with warmth and a welcoming energy—every scent in the room reminiscent of him, intensified by the soul bond.

His hands stay on your hips as he gently guides you against the wall by his bed. Leaning in close, his lips brush behind your ear while his nose caresses your skin as he takes in your scent. “I need you to smell more like…me.”

Smirking against his tousled blonde hair, you tease, “You take me to your room and yet you don’t put me on your bed,” while he continues to nuzzle, savoring every nuance.

His tongue flicks behind your ear before traveling down to your neck, sending shivers that ripple between your thighs. “I know,” he murmurs against your skin.

You shudder at the moist trail of his tongue, surprised by how soft it feels despite his synthetic nature. “You’re like a damn cat…”

“I’m not exactly sure what a cat is, (Y/n),” he replies, as his hands slide from your hips to your ribcage. With large, steady hands, he lifts you off the floor. “But if that’s how they behave, maybe I am.”

His bed is firm—a perfect match for him if not entirely for you—and he settles on his side behind you, drawing your body close so you blend together. One of his arms wraps around your neck gently, while his hand travels along your collarbone, down to your chest. His fingers brush over your hardened nipple through the fabric of your top, pinching it lightly with curious care.

“Hmm,” he purrs, shifting from a soft pinch to cradling your breast with a gentle squeeze. Meanwhile, his other hand glides briefly across your stomach before returning to your growing center. “You’re... so soft.”

His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties again, finding you wet and wanting. The bond between you heightens every sensation—you feel his touch as deeply as he feels the effect it has on you. “And here, too,” he murmurs, slowly gliding his fingers up and down, deliberately teasing the wet heat of your folds before lightly rubbing your clit.

A quiet moan fills the room as his fingers pick up pace, each rhythmic movement sending waves of pleasure through you. He shifts slightly, partly laying over you, pressing his hardness against your ass even as his hand continues its exploration. His warm, erratic breath against your neck reveals his own mounting desire. “I want you to feel what I feel,” he whispers with raw intensity.

The energy between you builds as Adam’s presence seems to fill the space. Moving his hand lower, he pushes two long fingers inside you, meeting no resistance as you arch your hips toward him.

“Adam—” you breathe, but your voice falters as he curls upward, finding that soft spot inside and pressing with precise intensity.

A rush comes over you, skin tingling like pins and needles, your muscles tightening around his fingers. Your breath catches in sharp cries as they curl again, fucking you with a steady rhythm until you feel yourself cumming around them.

He doesn’t stop. Even as your body shudders with aftershocks, his fingers remain, now moving slowly and tenderly as they explore each reaction. “So responsive,” he murmurs against your neck, withdrawing his hand to taste you. “Your taste,” he breathes, as if it were the most precious flavor.

Before you can reply, Adam moves with fluid precision down your body until his shoulders rest between your legs. His hands press firmly on your thighs, gently spreading you open. “I need more.”

His golden eyes lock onto yours—seeing you wet, flushed, and completely exposed. He leans in, his breath sending shivers through your already sensitive core. Then his mouth latches onto you, warmth and urgency igniting every nerve as his tongue replaces his fingers.

“Oh fuck—Adam,” you gasp, the sound airy in the heavy room.

He doesn’t pause or hesitate. His focus is complete, consuming. The bond magnifies everything—the texture of his tongue as it works its way inside you, pushing deeper before flicking up around your clit with steady precision. The friction sends waves through your body, overwhelming and perfect all at once.

You writhe beneath him, gasping as his grip tightens on your thighs to keep you still. The tension coils inside you, rising so fast it steals your breath and turns it into ragged cries.

Even as you cry out, he doesn’t relent. Your body tenses again, but he keeps going like he needs every last drop of you.

“Adam,” you plead softly.

His response is a low, vibrating hum that sends tremors through you. He shifts his hold on your thighs, flipping you onto your stomach and lifting your hips with sure guidance. The change makes you gasp as his hands spread you open. You squirm beneath him, desperate for more than just his mouth.

Holding you there, exposed and needy, he commands softly, “Be good.”

His mouth resumes its work with unwavering hunger, the wet heat of his tongue driving you wild as his hand lands with a quick, light smack on your ass. The sharp sensation makes you catch your breath, your body jolting in surprise.

“Adam,” you gasp again, his name melting into a moan as he soothes the sting with his palm before delivering another firm, playful slap—adding to the building intensity inside you.

“That…was for earlier,” he whispers against your slick heat before plunging his tongue back inside. His hands keep your hips steady while he devours you from behind, each movement pushing you closer to a place you have never reached. His hand slips between your legs, his fingers exploring until they find you wet and swollen, then push inside again, moving with a rhythm that matches his tongue.

The intensity builds impossibly as he takes you higher, pushing beyond any limit you’ve ever known. The motions of his mouth and fingers combine into a perfect storm of sensation that leaves you breathless, gasping for something you can’t name.

“Too much,” you choke out, barely audible amid the overwhelming rush. But it isn’t too much—it’s exactly what you need.

A tidal wave of pleasure surges through you, larger than anything you’ve ever known. And then—

You’re cumming—and, you’re squirting. A lot.

He pulls back slightly, watching with fascination as you ride the aftershocks. Breath ragged, you search for words—but Adam shifts again, his movements deliberate as he climbs up your body, slowing down until you find yourself pressed against his chest.

“Turn around,” he murmurs darkly in your ear, his hands guiding your hips until you face him, breathless and ready.

His mouth meets yours once more with an urgent, unapologetic kiss. His hands are everywhere—one tangling in your hair to tilt your head back for deeper access, another sliding down your back while one more grabs your ass, pulling you against the hard outline of his suit. His need is clear, insistent as he rolls his hips with growing urgency.

You feel his hardness, the bond amplifying every touch until your pulse races and you grind against him. The friction makes you gasp into his kiss, and he swallows your sounds with matching hunger.

Breaking the kiss, he watches you with a look of pure possession, as if he’s claiming every part of you, before his fingers trace gently across your lips. “I need to know,” he murmurs softly, “every part of you.”

With a subtle insistence, he guides your lips to his fingers, letting you taste him. You hum softly against his skin as your tongue meets his touch, exploring deeper.

His eyes darken at the feeling, a new fascination taking over. The slick warmth of your mouth wraps around him, and he pushes further than expected—just a little too far—brushing the back of your throat.

You gag slightly, eyes wide as the small sound echoes between you. He seems to enjoy it—more than he probably should—and a dark thrill pulses through him, leaving both of you breathless with need. He pushes further, feeling the wet, flexible tissue, earning another soft gag from you, to which he groans in satisfaction.

His fingers slip from your mouth, leaving you flushed and gasping. “I want all of you,” he murmurs, voice low and claiming. “Everywhere.”

With sudden speed, he rolls onto his back and pulls you up to straddle him, your thighs spread beside his waist. His hands hold your hips firmly, positioning you as if he’s certain this is where you belong.

The thin fabric of his suit does little to hide the hard length pressed against you. He rocks upward so you can feel the full weight of his desire. You can barely breathe as he holds you there, his eyes burning into yours with a look that leaves no doubt—you’re his.

“Take it off,” he orders softly.

You’ve never seen him so raw and demanding.

His fingers dig into your hips, guiding the movement as you press against him. You’re flushed and breathless, the urgency in his touch mirrored by your own desire.

Somewhere along the way, he had stripped you of all your clothes. It was only right to return the favor. Your hands tremble until they reach the seam of his suit, peeling it away to reveal the hard, eager length straining between his thighs. The sight was…ethereal. It was thick, very thick, and just the perfect length for you. The base matched his golden skin, while the color fades to a lighter gold towards the tip.

Lifting you slightly, he positions you above him with confidence that quickens your pulse. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance, slick already from his earlier efforts. He doesn’t push inside—not yet—but the pressure is enough to leave you trembling.

“I want you,” he growls, his voice rough with need. “I want you now.”

There’s no question about who’s in charge—and you realize just how much you crave him. With a firm grip on your hips, he lifts you just enough to let the head tease your entrance before slowly letting you sink down. It’s both intense and teasing, filling you inch by inch until he’s deep inside.

“Ohh fuck…big…you’re so…”

Not ready to give up control, his hands still guide your hips as you ride him slowly at first, adjusting to the fullness and heat inside. The rhythm is gentle, allowing each shared sensation to build with the bond linking you.

You tilt your head back with a moan, your body arching as his movements stretch you perfectly. Even now, every pulse sends waves of pleasure through both of you.

Then it becomes too much for him to hold back.

The primal need takes over. His grip tightens and he starts thrusting harder, faster—a force that makes you cry out.

His hands leave your hips, gliding up your back to pull you closer against him. Your chests meet, and he wraps his arms around you, locking you in place as he drives into you with raw, unrestrained force.

Every thrust sends shockwaves of sensation, each movement deep and deliberate, claiming you again and again.

Adam’s breath is hot against your neck, ragged with desire as he thrusts relentlessly. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the space, accompanied by his low growls and your breathless cries.

“Is that good? You like this? Tell me you do.”

“Y-Yes, I—,” Clinging tightly to him, your fingers dig into his shoulders as he fucks you harder in response.

“Good,” he breathes against your skin, a single word full of possession.

A soft glow begins to shine behind your eyes, resembling the colors of your celestial aura, reflecting in his burning gaze. The sight sends a shiver through him, and his eyes blaze with soft gold as he watches you unravel in his embrace.

The room grows thick with heat and tension, your bodies slick with sweat. His grip tightens even more, drawing you closer until there’s no space left.

“Fuck—Adam!” You cry out as the friction builds impossibly high, pushing you both to the edge.

The rush of sensation becomes overwhelming—you could feel everything he felt on top of how his cock rammed inside you over and over. Then, in an explosion of pleasure, you’re cumming.

A surge of energy courses through every nerve as your body convulses, releasing all at once. You tremble, barely coherent, while Adam’s mouth remains on you, savoring all of you.

He pulls back slightly, watching with fascination as you ride the aftershocks. The bond between you amplifies everything, until it feels like every sensation is doubled. His steady hold keeps you grounded as your body trembles against him.

Catching your breath, you try to find words, but Adam moves with quick precision, turning you over onto your back, still inside of you.

He's relentless now, determined and unyielding as he pins you beneath him, fucking you with raw intensity, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, the sounds filling the room. The shift leaves you gasping, unable to find words.

With a deep groan, he moves faster, harder—a force of nature that leaves you breathless. His hands seize your wrists again, pinning them above your head with firm control.

“You’re mine,” he breathes fiercely, his eyes wild with hunger.

You can barely respond as each thrust sends shockwaves through you, building into a storm of shared sensation that fills every inch of space.

“Adam,” you gasp, barely coherent as white-hot pleasure takes over.

With a primal growl, he drives into you one last time—deep and claiming. Then he cums so hard that it leaves him trembling above you. A low groan escapes his lips as he fills you completely, the hot temperature of his cum rushing through your pussy.

He keeps moving, his hips rocking with focused intent like he wants to fill you until there’s no space left. “So much,” he whispers in awe, voice low and rough. “Take all of it.”

You feel him emptying into you—again and again—each pulse deliberate and consuming. The sensation is overwhelming, a flood that leaves you gasping.

He slows but doesn't stop, his thrusts shallow and steady, aiming right at your g-spot as his release seems endless. His lips brush your ear, murmuring with soft insistence that makes your heart race. “I’ll fill you with everything,” he breathes, the words wrapping around you like a promise. “Make you mine completely.”

The bond amplifies each word, every sensation, until it takes over your body entirely. Breathless and overwhelmed, you arch against him as the feeling builds again.

“Oh—fuck!” Another orgasm rushes through you in waves of overwhelming release. Your body tightens around him, leaving you breathless and shaking beneath him.

Adam holds you still, his primal need unrelenting as he fills you with consuming warmth. He groans, low and satisfied, whispering your name like a claim.

Seconds feel like minutes that stretch into forever, until he slows to a stop, body tense and trembling above you.

Then he pulls out, finally, his thick cum spilling from you. But Adam’s fingers are already there, picking up whatever he could, which was leaking out from your used hole from the sheer volume of it all.

Oh—

His brows knit with focus as though a sudden new fascination overtakes him. His thick seed leaks past his fingers even as they slide in and out, faster now, until wet sounds fill the room and your breath catches ragged in your throat.

You gasp, knowing what he's trying to do—and embarrassed despite yourself after what happened earlier. The sight of it had entranced him too much. Again? Really?

“Wait—,” you plead, your hands already moving to try and stop him.

Adam shifts up and his hand catches your face, firm and commanding. He holds you there, keeping your eyes locked on his as he watches each reaction, intent and consuming. His fingers never slow, relentless as they push deeper, stretching and filling you with everything he has.

“Let me,” he whispers.

You writhe beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch and the steady pressure inside you. The bond amplifies each sensation until it feels like too much. You’re already so close again—and Adam knows it.

A dark thrill pulses through him as he picks up speed, driving into you with raw precision. He wants to see you cum again like you did—a crying, squirting mess. And judging by that look in his eyes, he doesn’t plan on stopping there.

"Be good," he breathes, his grip tightening on your face.

Your pulse races as his fingers pistoned into you with building force, reaching deeper than before. "You're gonna...make me cum..." You can barely breathe, the relentless rhythm pushing you higher until—

You cum again, a flood of sensation and warmth erupting in a way that leaves you gasping for air. This time it's even more intense, your body releasing with such force that you feel it everywhere. An almost transparent, milky liquid rushes past his hand in hot, uncontrollable waves, soaking him completely. Your eyes roll back as the bond flares bright behind them. "Fucking hell—Adam!" you cry out, voice breaking with each surge of pleasure.

Adam watches in awe, golden eyes wide as he sees you unravel beneath him. His breath catches at the sight of your wetness spilling over his fingers, dripping onto the sheets with each convulsion of your body.

He grows harder still at the sight—the pressure so intense that it pushes him over.

“(Y/n)—” The word escapes his lips in a low groan as he cums hard and untouched, white hot ropes spilling across your stomach.

He continues fucking you with his fingers, his touch relentless despite his own release. The pleasure is overwhelming, eventually your body shaking with aftershocks. Only then does he slow, watching as the last tremors rock through you.

Breathless and exhausted, you collapse against the sheets, your skin damp and flushed. Adam pulls his hand away finally, fingers glistening wet as he traces them up your stomach before bringing them to his lips.

He tastes you slowly, deliberately—his gaze locked on yours with a look of pure possession. You can feel the effect it has on him as though it were your own.

The bond still flares bright between you, every shared sensation magnified until it feels like there’s no boundary left. For the first time, you understand what it means to belong completely to someone—and have them belong entirely to you.

You draw in a ragged breath while your body shudders beneath him. “You’re insane,” you murmur softly against his lips.

Adam's mouth curves into a slight, breathless grin. He shifts onto his side next to you, pulling your body close and keeping it there. “Then you are, too.”

Knowing you’re not going anywhere now, Adam’s arms wrap around you with an unyielding grip. His breath is warm against your skin as he nuzzles against you, his need to mark with scent strong. He seems content to have you so close, to feel every inch of you pressed against him in the quiet aftermath.

You draw a deep breath, letting your senses adjust to the new reality between you. It feels different now—right. Like something that was missing has finally clicked into place.

Don’t be rash 🤚🏼

#adam warlock #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x fem!reader #adam warlock x y/n #marvel rivals fic #adam warlock smut #adam warlock x you

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tuesdayiminlove · 6 months ago

Text

i don't wanna look at anything else (now that i saw you) PART 1/3

where you’re just trying to make it through the day, and jamie thinks you’re his girlfriend (jamie tartt x fem!reader)

AN: hello i started this blog to post all of my writings that have been piling up! this has been sitting on my laptop for awhile, and i decided to post the first part to see how things go! lmk ur thoughts! btw this is not proofread oops

word count: 6k+

You think that the highlight of your day might be tending to your garden.

It started as a bit of a de-stressing-after-your-job hobby. At first, you found joy in coming home and taking time to water the flower beds at the front of your home, faithfully tending to them with the sole purpose of making the exterior of the house pretty for passerbyers. That soon turned into your father helping you install a window box at your bedroom window, so you can wake up to the site of blooming Zinnias. You meticulously started planting more flowers in your yard, and soon the vegetable garden (a neighborhood favorite).

Mrs. Dunphy from two houses down was the first person who inquired on the abundance of your radishes and carrots. Never one to turn down a request, you began to give her a generous amount of the vegetables you’ve grown. And she’s just too sweet of a woman, sometimes you will pick the best of your abundance to give.

And once word got around the street that you were giving away free, fresh vegetables, more people came running. Mr. Taylor suddenly was wondering about any spare tomatoes for the sandwiches and salads he makes when his grandkids visit. Stevie likes to snack on cucumbers, and she’s one of the very few people you know around the block your age, so of course you’re gonna chop a few when she comes over to watch shitty reality TV with you (and pack a few for her to take home, of course).

Your garden has become something to connect you with other members of your neighborhood in Richmond, thus making it a passion project of sorts. As well as a productive pastime—that might as well be a second job. You try to keep it a secret, but you’ve begun to talk to your plants. That one tip about how talking to plants is good for their health is pretty famous, right?

You’re quietly humming to the acoustic radio station you have playing on your speaker, meticulously chopping up onions for your soup. You like the recipe you're doing—it’s creamy and rich and you have most of the ingredients in either your cupboards, or your garden.

It’s one of those days where you’re off work early, and just looking forward to a day to yourself. It’s not abnormal for Stevie to come ringing the doorbell whenever she sees fit, but it’s a day where you know she’s going to be gone late for work. So unless you decide to call up one of your other friends, or maybe your parents, it’s just you. And you’d like to go that way: you’ve been waiting for a bit of a self-care day. Nothing can cure your stress like warm soup, some music, and the comfort of your home.

You open your fridge, spotting the array of tomatoes before picking one to use. Though, nearly immediately, your mind wanders off to something. Your eyes instinctually glance out your kitchen window at the house next-door, seeing it empty of the typical car.

A new neighbor had moved in recently next-door, and usually he’d be home by now. . . Is it weird that you know that? Maybe it’s a bit creepy. But, if you’re completely honest, you’re a bit hyper-aware of this neighbor. If it isn’t his status in England, it’s his wonderful personality. And if it isn’t his wonderful personality, it is the fact that he might be one of the most beautiful and fit people that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You remember the first time you met Jamie.

“You need help?”

Your shoulder jolted slightly, and you nearly dropped the soiled crate of peonies from your arms. It’s hard to startle you, mostly because you think you’re pretty hyper aware of your surroundings. You can easily spot the footsteps of Mr. and Mrs. Michelin, as well as their boisterous voices.

The voice that spoke, however, did not sound like a couple in their early-60s. You hadn't even heard the footsteps.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you there.”

You angled your hip around, adjusting the crate in your hands in a way that doesn’t hurt your fingers.

Immediately, it was easy to recognize that the man is Jamie Tartt: not only the man who had recently moved in next door, but also the known striker for Richmond’s own Premier League club. It’d be easy to mistake him for a regular guy, though, if his pajama pants and jumper couldn’t make him look any more average. His hair parts evenly down the center with concerned brows raised up to nearly the hairline.

“Are you okay?” Jamie asked, seeming to mistake your quiet observation of him as you still being scared as balls.

You huffed a laugh. “I’m sorry. You just startled me.”

“That’s my fault—no need to apologize.” He waits another beat before adding, “I’m Jamie. I just moved in next door. I kinda… saw you when I just walked out. Thought to introduce myself.”

You grin. “Trying to be on everyone’s good side?”

He returned your grin, looking less tense now that you had reciprocated the conversation. “‘Never had much of a good one to begin with in neighborhoods. I’m trying to change that.”

There was a beat of silence before you said your name, feeling surprisingly awkward in this situation. You’re by no means a social butterfly, but it’s hard to startle you—especially on your own home property. Every conversation approached to you has always been reciprocated evenly by you. If Mrs. Michelin from down the street wanted to tell a story of the old diner she owned, you did your work quietly while listening, chiming in when necessary. If Stephen from down the block wanted to stop by for tea and gossip (which you’ve never been into the gossip part of it), you sip your tea nonchalantly and ask engaging questions that won’t entirely give away your true opinion on the matter: Mr. Barnaby is rude? What makes you think that?

But for some reason, in the presence of your new neighbor, you found yourself quite speechless. Maybe it’s because Jamie is basically a celebrity. You had no doubt that he had millions of followers on every platform he ran—and the paps love him (she sees it on the news and papers).

That’s probably why.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, smiling. “Welcome! Everyone around here is pretty nice, but you can make those conclusions yourself when they inevitably pay you a visit.”

“Is it a tight-knit group around here?” he asked with a smile.

You nodded. “Quite. A lot of them come over sometimes to get veggies, and they seem to know about each other’s lives well.”

His smile turned into a full-grown grin. Immediately, you were desperate to know which words you said elicited that smile, so that you could say the same thing over and over again.

“You sell veggies?”

You shook your head. “I just grow them for everyone!”

In the next few minutes, you’re setting an arrangement to give Jamie a crate of carrots for his morning smoothies. You hide the giddiness you felt from the possibilities of seeing him again.

You’re placing onions into a pot on the stove, mind now away from your neighbor’s whereabouts, when your phone rings. You toss the chopped onions into the sizzling pot before picking up your phone and placing it between your ear and shoulder.

“Hello?” you say cheerily. It’s been a decent day and you’re about to make your favorite dish, so you’re in a good mood. You balance the phone in between your ear and shoulder and you go back to tend to your uncut tomato.

A lady on the other end—in a voice that seems quite familiar, but you’re still unsure of—says your name questioningly, in an almost frantic manner that has you furrowing your brows.

Placing your cutting knife down, you wipe your hand on a rag before holding your phone directly to your ear for more support. “Yes?”

“Um—I’m sorry, I don’t quite know how to deliver this news to you, especially since we’ve never spoken before… which surprises quite a bit…” the woman’s voice on the other line trails off, leaving you more confused. Setting your knife down, you lean a bit closer to the phone. “But, Jamie’s in the hospital. He’s hit his head.”

Jamie? Your next-door neighbor Jamie? Premier League Jamie? The one you were just thinking about? “Tartt?”

“Yes,” the woman replies, “I’m so sorry.”

You don’t know why the woman is apologizing to you. Jamie’s the one who’s hit his head! It’s still confusing as to why you’re the person who received the call, but concern immediately seeps into your bones at the thought of someone so lovely not being alright.

“No, no. I-It’s okay. Is he alright?”

“He’s got a concussion. It’s quite bad, but not horrible. I’m sure the doctor can explain what’s wrong better than I can. Do you think you can come right now? He’s been asking for you nonstop.”

You frown confusingly. “Me? Are you sure?” You and Jamie are far from strangers, and maybe more than just acquaintances. Sometimes you give the man carrots, that’s basically friend status. But you both are definitely not close enough for him to ask for you after being concussed. He should be asking for a parent, or a relative, or just anyone who is much closer than you are to him.

The woman on the other end giggles. “I’m quite sure. He’s been yapping nonstop to see you—gave us your number and everything! I know this isn’t an ideal circumstance for his friends to meet you, but we really are a bit excited and curious to put a face to the name.”

What the hell has Jamie said about you?

“So,” the lady says on the phone, reminding you that she’s there, “are you able to come?”

You stare at the pot boiling on your stove.

“Send me the address.”

—

The second your eyes meet Jamie’s, his eyes soften until a smile goes over his face. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry…” your voice trails off, unsure of how to go about talking to him. Your body has barely entered the room in full, but the attention goes to you immediately. You feel the need to give a justified response for why your arrival has been so delayed (you didn’t even know this was happening until barely half an hour ago!). “I was cooking when I got the call, it all happened so suddenly. Are you alright?”

The smile remains on his face. “Perfect now that you’re here.”

There’s a pause in the room. All eyes seem to be on you as you stare back in shock at Jamie's words. A quick glance around the room reveals that everyone is awaiting your next response with surprised, curious eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown, trying to ignore how your heart lurches at Jamie’s words. A sentence like that seems like something you would conjure up in the back of your mind during times you’d like to fantasize about Jamie. You try to push those thoughts aside, because he’s nothing more than your neighbor—possibly friend. A double meaning has to be coming from the sentence, and all you have to do is act cool so that no one will know how affected you are by this. “Am I supposed to be bringing him back to his home?”

The nurse looks down at his clipboard. “You’re his neighbor, correct? You know his address?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you should be fit to bring him home. Unless, you think it’ll be more reliable for someone else to? I know all of this must be stressful.”

You quickly shake your head. “Not stressful at all. I’m just trying to grasp why I was called here.” Surely Jamie had a family member to ring up, or even one of the people currently in the room, who seem to care about him very much. You walk closer to Jamie’s bedside to see if there are any damages to his face that you might’ve not been able to see from afar. Your heart beats at a less-rapid pace when you see that physically, he looks fine. He catches your eye with a smile as you look down at him.

Ted Lasso speaks up. You never thought you’d see him in the flesh, just a person on your television that you see when you eat dinner alone. “Well, Jamie here has been hassling us to see his lady since he’s been up. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name! ‘Been a long hour of wonderin’.”

Before you can even retort, like how you didn’t even know Jamie had a girlfriend (like why would you be here if Jamie wants to see his girlfriend—your heart sinks lightly at the thought, but it seems all too selfish to care about that when Jamie’s in a worrying predicament), the blonde girl speaks up.

“You know, I will say that I was mad hurt when I found out Jamie has a girlfriend and didn’t even tell us.”

Yeah, you think. He didn’t tell you, either.

A tall man grunts from beside her. “How long have you lot been going out, anyway?”

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes wide.

Jamie’s voice cuts through the room, “For Christ’s fucking sake, can you all stop bombarding her with questions?” He reaches out a small distance to grab your hand and pull you closer to his bedside, your hip now resting against the bed. “It’s fucking annoying.”

Your mind freezes. You look down at your joint hands, then back to his face.

Surely this has to be some mistake. Jamie is telling everyone that you’re his girlfriend. You can’t tell if he’s joking or not; if this is some sort of bit he wants to play on the very many people in this room that care about his well being. The only time you’ve gotten even close to touching Jamie was whenever his fingers would brush against yours to pick up a crate of carrots. You don’t even know what the inside of his house looks like! There are many facts about him that—though, you would like to know—you don’t know at all. And now he’s gone and told everybody that you’re dating!

The only thing you do know, is that you and Jamie have now got five pairs of eyes on you.

And they all think that you’re in a relationship.

“Jamie…” you say, tip-toeing through your next words to make sure you don’t say something that will put him into shock. “How hard did you hit your head?” His hand remains firmly in your own.

He pouts, turning to a man who’s sitting on a chair in the corner. He’s pouting guiltily, still in his Richmond kit with dirt on his knee pads.

“Pretty fucking hard,” the man mumbles. His fingers are fidgeting, and you recognize him as Richmond’s captain—Isaac.

The nurse standing by you nods. “Essentially,” he says, shrugging.

“Like—extremely hard?”

The nurse sighs. “I’m surprised it’s just a concussion. But nothing seems to be truly wrong; the X-rays would’ve shown.”

(Clearly something more than a concussion must have happened for Jamie to believe that you’re his girlfriend!)

“Are there any medications, protocol that we should be aware of, Nurse?” Ted chimes in, leaning closer to the center of the room.

“Recommended actions will be included in his discharge papers. I would say wait a day or two before taking any pain medication. Avoid bright lights, like the telly or your phone. I suggest wearing sunglasses outdoors—though I don’t think that’d be any different than usual. Other than that, I think you will heal just fine. But until then, it looks like your girlfriend has to be your nurse for a bit.”

You choke up again at the mention of that term, a dry cough riding up your throat. Eyes snap towards you, concern immediately filling each iris.

“Love,” says Jamie, voice in clear pain over his misinterpretation of your emotions. “I’m going to be okay. I always get better. You know that.”

No, you wanted to say, I don’t know that. You wanted to close your eyes and count to ten—meditate maybe, and think of your next moves. You wanted to be back home, stirring broth in a pot instead of getting tangled up in a fiasco that you’re ill-equipped for.

Unfortunately, none of those are an option for you. And, as you look at Jamie in his hospital gown, your heart constricts. Something plucks a small melody on your heartstrings as you stare into his glazed and hopeful eyes. Hopeful for you.

You try to give your best smile. One that says, it’s going to be okay. If you worry, it’s clear Jamie will worry. It’s obvious by his expression that his sole focus at the moment is you.

You’re not sure how convincing the smile is. You feel like a fraud, pretending to be something for Jamie that you’re clearly not. You’re far from being his girlfriend, or even someone Jamie could fancy if his head hadn’t been so fucked up.

But maybe, though, the smile is convincing enough: his face is elated at your positive acknowledgement towards him.

“Fucking gross.”

Your body snaps around, yet again acutely aware of the presence of multiple bodies around you, all looking at you and Jamie the same: confusion mixed with wonder (or disgust). It’s clear, though, that the voice had come from Roy Kent himself.

(He’s known for these things, you guess.)

Frowning, you turn back to Jamie.

“Oi,” snaps Jamie, eyes shifting gloweringly to Roy. “She hasn’t got a clue of your attitude yet. Pipe down.”

Not wanting to upset Roy Kent, you shake your head vigorously. “Don't even worry. I’m just a little caught off guard at the moment.” You clear your throat, “Um… do you suppose I can speak to the doctor quickly?”

“Doctor!” says Ted loud and eccentrically, no doubt in hopes that his obnoxious manner would lighten the mood. “Let her see the doctor!”

“Get the fucking doctor here!” says Keeley to the nurse, who merely sputters in return.

“I-I’ll fetch her right now.”

It only takes a minute for a woman to peek her head through the door. “I heard I am needed.”

Roy groans, and she smirks at him like they both know something that not many get.

“Jamie’s lovely lady wants to have a word with you,” says Ted with a grin when you take a beat too long to reply for yourself.

She turns her head to you, and you nod.

“Yes,” you say. Prying your hand gently from Jamie’s, you follow the doctor. “I’ll be back,” you add softly.

Once the door is closed behind you two, a large and panicked breath releases from your lips. You finally get to feel how clammy your hands have gotten. “Listen, Doctor…” you look at her quizzically.

“—Doctor O’Sullivan,” she says.

“O’Sullivan. Thank you.: You breathe in. “I’m not very sure how to say this, but I’m really fucking confused at the moment. Kind of freaking out confused.”

The woman in front of you doesn’t hesitate to place a comforting hand on your elbow. “Is everything alright? Roy had said you were Jamie’s girlfriend; I know how hard this could be on—“

“--That’s the problem!” you can’t help but interrupt, eyes wide and frantic with worry. “I’m not Jamie’s girlfriend. I’m just his neighbor! I’m not sure how him banging his head led me to believe otherwise, but—but I don’t know what to do.”

The doctor stares back at you, mouth agape.

“Yeah,” you sympathize, nodding your head. “I know.”

Her mouth opens and closes repeatedly. “Um,” she begins, “out of all things you could’ve said… I wasn’t expecting that to come out of your mouth.”

You nod frantically, your voice going down to a worried whisper. “Is his head—like—okay? I’m worried that if he’s remembering stuff that isn’t true, then something may be very wrong with his brain, or whatever part he hit.”

Dr. O’Sullivan sighs, looking down at her clipboard before jotting something down. “Memory loss… things like that tend to happen with the concussion he has. I would be far more concerned if the X-rays showed any trauma, but he truly does seem to be fine. My guess is his memory will come back—maybe slowly, but it will certainly recollect.”

“But do I tell him now?” you ask, in a minor panic. If someone this morning had told you that your neighbor (the one you have been minorly crushing on, mind you) would suffer from a concussion that rendered him thinking you two are in an established relationship… well, you probably wouldn’t know what to say in that situation. But this certainly hadn’t even been in your mind for unexpected things that could possibly happen.

“My recommendation right now would be no; don’t startle him. His concussion has only just occurred, and it’s best not to confuse him even more. The first and most important goal is to get him back home to rest. Just check in on your comfortability as you go through this, okay? I’ll give you my personal cell, in case you have any dire questions.” She writes down her number on a piece of paper before ripping it off and handing it to you.

You neatly tuck it into your pocket, nervously smiling at her. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she replies with a more assured smile compared to yours. She rubs your shoulder comfortingly. “I mean it when I say reach out. This will be difficult to navigate.”

You nod, giving her one last look before you re-enter the room apprehensively. It’s quiet when the door creeks and all eyes are on you, as if wanting to observe your next move. In the array of eyes, Jamie is looking at you with an expectant look, a large smile on his lips as you fidget with the rings on your finger awkwardly. You want to run out of the room, but you remember Dr. O’Sullivan’s words: Don't startle him.

“Jamie,” your voice is hoarse. The entire group leans a little closer at the sound of your voice, awaiting your next words. You clear your throat. “I’m very worried about you.”

His smile dims. “I’m sorry,” he says guiltily, “I should’ve been more careful.”

Everyone else in shock by his quick admission to his wrongdoings, Isaac stands up suddenly. “It’s my fault, bruv. Your girl should be mad at me.” He bows his head ashamedly. “I’m so sorry.”

You frown, shaking. “I think everyone in the room can agree that none of this is intentional.” You look around the room for confirmation. “Right?”

“Jamie’s lady is right!” says Ted. And then, “—wait, does me referring to you at Jamie’s lady dehumanize you? I apologize on my behalf. You are your own woman!”

That manages a small laugh from you. It’s clear Ted’s good-naturedness isn’t just a personality created in the papers. “I’m feeling perfectly humanized, thank you. I don’t blame anyone, I’m just glad you’re okay, Jamie. But I’m very worried. You don’t … seem the best.” You think that we are dating, when all I do is give you fresh veggies. “I want you to get better.” I want you to get your own memories back, because this fabrication in your head is extremely, medically concerning. “But it could be worse!” you add at the end. You could’ve forgotten your own identity, so there’s that!

The room is silent.

“I don’t know about y’all,” begins Ted. “But I’m lovin’ the element of concern with added positivity! You’re right, it could’ve been worse! Jamie could be dead.”

“Too much, Ted,” says Rebecca softly.

Roy grunts. “I thought that was a wonderful, brief visual.”

Jamie’s nose scrunches up in disgust. “What the fuck, man?”

The older man grunts, angrier. “I said brief.”

You can’t tell if his comments are a joke or not.

Jamie, appearing to sense your uncomfortableness, is quick to reply, “Oi! What did I say about her not knowing your fucking attitude?”

“It’s okay!” you squeak, not wanting to create more problems in the room. “Let’s focus on getting you home first.” Don't startle him. You need to ease Jamie into any shocks that he might face. You don’t know if there’s anything else Jamie might have misconstrued due to his concussion. For all you know, the poor guy might forget another giant aspect of his life. He needs to rest. “Did you lot by chance take his car here?”

Keeley nods quickly. “I drove it from the stadium. It’s parked out front.”

“Perfect,” you say, turning back to the man of the hour. “Jamie, is it okay if she drives it back to yours?”

“As long as I get to ride with you.”

Your heart rate strikes at his reply. This is something that is going to take time to get used to. “Good with me. Let’s get you home.”

The arrangement to take him home is simple enough, maybe even the easiest thing you have had to face since arriving. Jamie had already signed his discharge papers, and was free to walk on his own. He manages to look normal enough, but it’s a unanimous agreement for him to not drive on his own. Keeley is off to drive Jamie’s car back to his place, already knowing his new address. He bids goodbye to the rest of the group, and they offer their own forms of condolences (Roy’s is just a grunt).

“It’s a pleasure meeting you!” says Ted. “You’re gonna have to stop by Nelson Road sometime. You know, introduce you to the rest of the team.”

You fight a frown, because you shouldn’t. You probably won’t. But, hating to be rude to Ted, you reciprocate his hospitality with a warm smile. “I appreciate that. It was wonderful to meet everyone, even in these circumstances. I’m glad that Jamie is in the right hands.”

Ted nods solemnly. “Always. Now, go take care of that son of a gun!”

—

“Don't ever think I’ve ever been in your car before,” mumbles Jamie sadly. You’ve never been in my car. Or my home. Nor have I ever been to yours.

You fight the thoughts running through your head, about to comment on his dejectedness, when you remember what Dr. O’Sullivan had said about Jamie avoiding sunlight. “Wait!” You open your glove compartment, shuffling through the various coins and junk inside until you find what you’ve been looking for.

The sunglasses may not be what Jamie prefers. They belong to your younger cousin, Jolie. Sometimes you’re tasked with picking her up from school when your aunts can’t. Along with the task of picking her up and babysitting the six-year-old for a few hours, you often find things that she had left behind, or forgotten. You keep the hot pink cat-eye sunglasses for whenever she’s in your car and wants to put them on (they make her feel older). They may be a little small on Jamie, but you don’t care. His concussion is going to be treated attentively on your watch, whether he is okay with that or not. It’s the least you feel that you can do, considering roleplaying as his girlfriend isn’t exactly ideal.

“Here you are!” you happily exclaim, unfolding the sunglasses, putting them on by yourself before he can get a chance to protest.

The thing is, you truly don’t know what Jamie is like. You’ve had multiple interactions, but all so surface-level that it’s hard to tell if it’s a front he’s put up or not. For all you know—and for what you expect—he’ll take the sunglasses off and question why he has to wear that pair (toxic masculinity, and all that bullshit that you’re accustomed to from men).

To your surprise, he doesn’t even make a move to adjust them. Instead, he moves the rearview mirror to get a better look at himself. You giggle lightly as he moves his face around to observe his look.

The sound makes him smile. “I look good. These mine now?”

You scoff. “They’re Jolie's, don't even think about it,” you reply starkly, not even thinking about the fact that he doesn’t know who Jolie is.

For Jamie, however, that appears to be the first thing he thinks about. Because there’s a moment-long pause, and it feels very thick, before he replies, “Jolie?”

“Oh—my cousin,” you say plainly. You begin to pull out of your spot, checking your side mirror to see if any cars are coming by.

You might’ve been driving for a minute, silently. You aren’t sure what to say because, again, this is not the type of interaction with Jamie that you’re used to. Besides, you figure that maybe the silence will be good since Jamie has spent god-knows how long in absolute worry and chaos. Your mind goes back to the soup on your stove. You had turned the heat off, and placed the lid on your pot to finish when you get home.

Jamie is the first to break the silence. He says your name slowly, almost embarrassingly.

You furrow your brows at his tone, giving him a quick glance before laying your eyes back on the road. “Yes? Is everything alright?”

“Am I—“ he clears his throat, “Am I supposed to know about Jolie? Have we spoken about her before? I just don’t remember anything about her.”

You’re in shock for a moment, not expecting that question to come from him.

You realize, at this moment, the weight of Jamie’s concussion. Not only is it going to be physically taxing for him to avoid doing certain things until he’s better, but the mental toll of feeling like he doesn’t remember things will also certainly pain him. He thinks that the two of you are together—meaning he expects himself to know aspects about your life that you two had never discussed before.

Not only is Jamie a blank slate to you, but you are to him.

The only problem is he thinks that the blank slate is wrong.

“I’ve never spoken of her before, Jamie,” you say softly.

You hear him exhale.

“You don’t need to worry about forgetting, okay?” you add. “If I’m very concerned by anything you don’t seem to remember, I’ll be sure to tell you. And I’m sure everyone at work will do the same, as well.” You take a left turn, following the GPS on your phone back to your neighborhood.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m here to support you. Patiently.”

A less-tense silence fills the car for the remainder of the drive. Jamie has his head leaning against the passenger window. You don’t need to see under the glasses to know that his eyes are shut, likely to gain as much rest as possible.

When you finally arrive back at your neighboring homes, Keeley is already sitting on the steps that lead to Jamie’s door, his car parked perfectly in his usual spot.

After parking as close to Jamie's home as possible (you’ll fix your spot later), you move to open his passenger door, but he gets out by himself. He places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you off the edge of the street and onto the sidewalk.

Keeley smiles softly at the pair in front of her, extending her hands to give you Jamie’s set of keys. “Hey, guys!”

You smile back, quietly using the keys she just handed you to unlock Jamie’s front door while the two converse behind you on his current state. She worriedly asks him how his head feels, to which Jamie gives a very detailed explanation on how it feels like a giant is squeezing around his head with a pressure that can pop his brains out.

“Gross,” mumbles Keeley. “Please go to bed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Jamie, “that’s what everyone’s telling me. Thanks for bringing me car, I appreciate it.”

“Of course. My payment requirement is—sorry to jam it—get some fucking rest.” She stands by the doorway as you and Jamie enter his house. “Roy’s a couple of minutes away. I’m gonna wait out here and contemplate stealing those peonies from that house down there.”

You pause. “… That’s my place.”

“Oh shit! My bad, babe. I promise I wasn’t going to do anything.”

You laugh. “Please, go ahead if you would like. I’ve been told it’s practically a forest.”

She laughs. “Maybe next time. Stay safe, yeah?” She’s walking down the steps as you both bid her a goodbye.

You smile up at Jamie as he guides you further down his hallway, and into the kitchen. He immediately goes into his fridge to pull out some water, chugging it down.

You stand in your spot awkwardly, watching as Jamie pulls the sunglasses further up when his head finally levels from drinking. “...Um, if you don’t need anything else, do you think you’ll be fine on your own?” you ask. You feel better now that Jamie is in the comfort of his own home. “I had food on the stove, and wanted to finish it up. I’ll have a bowl for you as well, if you’d like.” You already make a plan in your head to put it in an isolated thermos to leave on his doorstep so that he can still access it and have his alone time.

“But you’ll be back, right?”

Your brows furrow. “Do you want me to come back?”

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the thing he’s most sure of.

You smile. “Then I’ll be back,” you reply, mind scrapping the doorstep plan. “With creamy vegetable soup.”

“Fuck yeah,” he says. He closes the fridge and makes his way to you.

You don’t know what you’re expecting… maybe a hug at most.

But your eyes shoot up as Jamie leans down, his lips puckering slightly as his face inches closer to yours.

You instinctively place your hand on his chest, quickly stopping him from going any further. “Woah, wait.”

Jamie pulls back further immediately, his brows furrowing from above the pink sunglasses he wears. If this were any other situation, you’d find his look comical.

“What’s wrong, love?” he says so sweetly that you may feel sick, if the nickname isn’t enough to nearly make you faint. He places a hand on your shoulder, rubbing softly.

You try your best to conjure up words for this situation, as well as trying to concentrate on the conversation instead of the soft ministrations on your shoulder. “It’s just—we’re moving too fast. You’re moving too fast.”

“Huh?” replies Jamie quizzically, “Do we not… kiss?” When your eyes hold more panic, he makes the conclusion for himself. “So, we’re dating and we’ve never kissed? Am I a fucking idiot?” The last part is mostly to himself, and you backtrack immediately, rewiring your brain into thinking of a half decent explanation.

“I mean… I don’t know. I just feel bad,” you say. “You have a concussion and don’t remember some things. I don’t want to overwhelm you, and make you do things that you might regret.”

Jamie frowns. “Why would I regret kissing you?”

You wince, making the edges of his lips turn down even more.

He looks as if he’s been punched in the gut. “...Would it make you uncomfortable? If I kissed you?”

“It—“ you think about it for a moment. You don’t think kissing Jamie would make you uncomfortable at all. It is something you fantasize about, but only when you’re alone. And not under these circumstances. So, you reply truthfully, “I think it would,” because you just can’t find it in you to physically reciprocate affection that was never properly established in the first place.

“Is it because I don’t remember our first kiss?”

There never was one. “… Yeah.”

Jamie looks off before nodding. “Okay. I’ll do everything in my power to remember,” he says surely.

Well, shit. It’s going to be very hard for Jamie to try and remember something that never even happened. You wonder now if you should just alleviate the guilt right now, and break the truth to him: you have never dated, nor even kissed once. Maybe the interactions you’ve had with him when handing over a batch of carrots seemed delusionally romantic in your mind, that’s not how it went at all.

There’s a feeling in you that makes you want to take care of Jamie and make sure that he’s okay. The thought of abandoning him now feels almost cruel, he clearly trusts you enough to keep you around.

Normally, this would be no issue.

But with what you know, a heavy weight fills your chest.

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso imagine

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pangur-and-grim · 4 months ago

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oh yay that's so nice! I think I hid it due to embarrassment, but I'll bring it back now:

CHAPTER ONE

Anna Stewart is changeling. Anna is not a human being.

In the first month of its life, the wrinkled infant produced by Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, with fists bunched and face red from crying, was taken from its bassinet and cradled in long, thin arms. If the Stewarts, sleeping in an adjacent bed, noticed anything, it would’ve been sleep-fogged relief at the sudden quiet. Birch-white hands left Anna in its place. Those same hands dressed it in clothing stripped from the infant. The pink rabbit onesie hung baggy on the changeling – perhaps the earliest indicator that human society would be a poor fit.

It did not cry. It did not complain. It simply stared with bright, alert eyes, and waited, its mouth puckered in ravenous anticipation.

The Stewarts did not notice the change, not at first, although within the week Mrs. Stewart had switched to formula.

And how could they notice? The changeling’s appearance had been shaped for them. Its teeth filed, its skin smoothed, its limbs condensed into uselessness. Throughout the years as it grew, its form strained at these boundaries, aching for expression, but the cocoon of humanity remained rigid about it. The changeling stayed a Stewart.

It grew up. It went to high school. It got into none of the colleges that Mrs. Stewart helped it apply to. It lost multiple jobs in a row, due to some inexact quality that it could not correct in itself, but that made dogs bark and humans curl their lip. It turned 22, with no money, and no driver’s licence, having failed to gain distance from its childhood bedroom.

And now it woke up.

Mrs. Stewart had friends over. Their high-pitched laughter pierced the morning quiet and invaded the warm nest of it bedding. It tried, futilely, to submerge back into dreaming, but another laugh sounded – a braying AHHhahahaha!

It gave up and kicked its way out of twisted blankets and pillows.

The changeling staggered to the bathroom to perform it morning routines. It practiced a smile, showing only the upper teeth, not the lower. Then it walked out, wishing only to slip past the crowd, and grab whatever food it could from the kitchen counter.

Immediate failure – its carefully lowered foot drew a creak from the top step, and the humans turned as one. It froze, pinned like an insect by their stares.

“What is that on your face?” called Mrs. Stewart, too loudly. As though it did not descend the stairs each day slathered in lotion. Its delicate skin, better suited for the humidity of the Other World, did not agree with indoor heating.

“Moisturizer. You know this,” it said, in its own performance. “I do this every winter.” It scanned the faces of the guests, to see how they’d take that information – that its mother had pretended not to know! That Mrs. Stewart had taken a stance against her own (supposed) child!

“Might want to rub it in,” said one of the women, and another laughed.

“You should rub it in,” said Mrs. Stewart. “Really, Anna”

The guests, gathered around a coffee table in an array of plush seating, exchanged glances with wrinkled foreheads and twitching lips. With a sigh, it plodded back up the stairs. The lotion leant more moisture if it packed on thick and left to sit – and why not do so, in its own house?

The betrayal also stung. All it had was its mother.

Mr. Stewart was not a factor.

He was, after all, the reason for its presence here. A deal made, a child promised – and wouldn’t you know, the cheap patch of land he had purchased churned out a fascinating amount of oil.

But he hadn’t been able to live with the child that had supplanted his own. In a moment of drunken anger (directed not toward the changeling, but at her fled spouse) Mrs. Stewart had ranted.

“He couldn’t stop talking about your ‘black bird eyes,’ or how you never smile, or how you can’t put on weight” – pausing, Mrs. Stewarts’ eyes had glinted with a malice that had it bracing its shoulders – “he even suggested giving you up for adoption. Can you imagine? His own flesh and blood?”

Except that it wasn’t his flesh and blood.

It had simply done its best approximation of a smile, nodded vigorously between her exclamations, and said, “What a bastard!” which seemed to satisfy, or at least amuse her.

It never had the courage to ask if her feelings would change, if a link of blood did not, in fact, connect them. If it were simply a child raised by a mother, and not one born from her. If it would still, in that case, be an acceptable burden, or if she would snarl at all her wasted energy and finally cast it off.

The changeling lay in bed with these thoughts. A tear slid down its cheek and was absorbed into its thick coating of lotion.

“You are spiralling,” it said to itself, sternly. “You are self-indulging in negativity.” Likely exacerbated by its empty stomach. It always ate with a speed that hinged on desperation, though this translated not to fat, but to wiry muscles that wrapped its arms and legs. This might grant grace to another, but the changeling had the jerky, sudden movements of a lizard.

It rubbed at eyes itchy with tears. Venturing downstairs in this state was not an option. Instead, it dressed for the outside world (wiping its face clean, and combing its long, lank hair) and opened its bedroom window. It stepped out onto the branches of a hybrid poplar, whose growth it had encouraged for this exact purpose. The young tree bowed under its weight, but the changeling whispered encouragement, and it held.

In summer, it grew sunflowers along this side of the house. They obscured windows with their yellow petals and granted privacy for its excursions. By early winter, these blackened and drooped and rotted. The changeling moved with great care, ducking beneath the corpses of sunflowers to avoid attracting gazes from the living room. Easily done; the guests seemed consumed by one another, enraptured by each other’s wit and company. Which baffled it, as on the few occasions it had joined them, when it was younger and smaller and possibly cuter, they had proved to be such dull conversationalists that it had bit the inside of its cheek to blood, and very nearly been moved to rage.

Now it scampered down the curve of the ravine that its family home sat at the edge of. The frost that coated their shorn grass melted under the warmth of its bare feet. If it had left through the front door, Mrs. Stewart would have yelled at it to wear shoes, and almost certainly socks as well.

The trees greeted the changeling as they always did; with sways and creaks, and releases of chemicals that teased the bare skin of its face and hands. It replied, as it always did, with boundless affection.

“I love you, I love you,” it said, ducking beneath outstretched branches, and bounding over roots. “Thank you, thank you!”

Slipping into the other world could be done in any forest, but it was particularly easy in the changeling’s ravine. All one must do is ask the trees, please, please can you shudder a hole in reality through which I might slip like a rabbit disappearing into its labyrinthian warren, and the trees say “okay!” and do just that. Ask this of them a hundred times, and then a thousand, and they will intuit your forward progress, and shiver up a hole before a request can leave your throat.

And sometimes, horribly, if a tree is particularly friendly and obliging, they’ll extend that favour to anyone who passes.

This is what it found on that morning.

It shrugged happily through a ripple in space and felt the cold winter slip away, the only evidence of it being the frost-nipped redness of its fingers and toes. It was about to merrily skip to its planted orchard, for a morning feast of its own succulent harvest, when it saw the footprints.

Or boot prints, rather, as these sole-blind fools had constrained themselves with footwear.

“Who the fuck…?” It said, and then put a finger to its mouth to gnaw at, anxiously. Don’t Spiral, Anna!

Most likely, the idiot tree that had opened the way for these intruders would repeat its trick if they wandered back along the same path. But would they think to? To duck under the same branch, touch a hand on the same trunk, all of them at once? For the changeling could see three trails of disturbance.

Boot prints pushed deep into the soft soil, advertising the passage of someone large and heavy. And there, a patch of moss scraped at by a hand. The height of the finger rakes implied someone smaller in statue. And the third – oh, it did not like the third at all. The third left a massacre in their wake, broken branches, plucked leaves, thrown stones, kicks and scores in the earth. Someone deeply under-stimulated, certainly, but also someone who failed to heed or appreciate the chemical screams of vegetation.

It sighed. If this third individual caused sufficient offence, the trees might turn peevish and refuse to open the way back, even if they perfectly retraced their steps. This left the trio doomed to their fate.

“Curse my gentle nature,” it said, and growled out its annoyance, before going through the breathing exercises prescribed by its therapist. It could never tell if they actually did anything physiologically, or if they simply provided a distraction, but regardless, it worked to soothe them at least one out of every three times.

That done, it sighed in a performance that the trees lacked the capacity to appreciate, and started off down the very obvious, very messy trail, to save three unconsenting humans from getting trapped in a better world.

#I'm going to attempt to finish this by May. and it will continue to be a very poorly disguised metaphor for autism

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sweetsbfreex · 1 month ago

Text

out of bounds

summary: Bucky can't imagine life without you.

pairing: Thunderbolts!BF!Bucky x Superhero!reader

wc: 1876

A YEAR AGO

“What about Indian?” You grunt, raising your knee to collide with your opposition's head. He sways at the move before you grab your throwing knives aiming for his chest.

“No baby, we had that—“ Bucky throws two punches, “We had that two nights in a row this week.”

“You weren’t complaining then.”

“I just can’t say no to you now can I?” He smiles charmingly before sending another agent flying across the room.

“Okayy,” you sing, trying hard to ignore how attractive that was, “Italian? You like Mr. Catteano’s ravioli.”

“Is that what you want?” He walks closer to you.

“I think so? Oh wait,” you swing around him, throwing stars at the running agent. One in each leg and another right in the throat, but it misses.

“That was cute,” Bucky smirks. “Something distracting you sweetheart.”

“No I’m perfectly fine,” you huff. Launching yourself in the air before sending a breath stopping kick to his chest.

You look around the room to see everyone on the ground, “I think we’re good here.”

Bucky places a finger to his ear, “Walker? Are we all finished here?”

“All clear, Yelena has the sphere, you both can head to the quinjet.”

“Understood.”

Bucky steps beside you, drapes an arm over your shoulder, and steers you both towards the exit.

“How about Caribbean?” You propose excitedly, you guys haven’t had that in a while.

“Oh yes, let’s do that. Will you place the order on the way there?”

“Yes,” you go to push back a piece of Bucky’s hair when you notice you’re missing something. “Shit. My bracelet. I think I dropped it in there.”

You go before he can say a word, running back in as he walks after you. He hated to say it but these missions really did take it out of him.

“Doll, Would you hate me if I said I might actually be craving Indian?”

“James..”

It doesn’t even take a syllable for Bucky to detect the whimper in your voice.

“Y/n!”

In the room, he’s met with you stood against the man from earlier.

“Hey!” He dashes to you as quick as he can watching you struggle against the man’s restraint.

“An eye for an eye.” The agent seethes.

“No!”

Without a thought Bucky grabs the gun from his holster. It’s 2 shots to his head and two bodies hit the floor.

He’s by your side in an instant, one hand cradles the back of your head from the icy, hard floor. The other goes to his earpiece.

“Walker! Yelena! I need medics to the console room. Now!”

“Heard.” Comes through Walker's voice.

“What’s going on?” Yelena asks, running towards the room.

“Y/n— fuck!” He hates this. “Y/n’s been stabbed, hurry!”

It looks critical and feels even worse as you gasp in air. It stung but at the same time you could barely even feel the twisted bruise in your chest.

“James,” you whimper. “Fuck, this hurts,” you cry.

“It’s okay,” he hushes you, his thumb rubbing over your temple. His free hand presses into your bruise. “You’re gonna be okay.”

—

A YEAR LATER

Bucky did not want this party. He would rather stay in bed and watch television. But no one would take no for an answer. Not Sam, not Yelena, and especially not you.

The tower is decorated with all of his favorite things, and as endearing as it was he was not in the mood for any kind of festivities. He turns 108, so what.

He shrugs his jacket on and a spritz of his favorite scent: Chanel Eau Fraîche and another spritz of his cologne.

He sighs, grabbing his door handle and not even within five seconds of him walking out he’s faced with an array of overly cheerful faces.

“Happy Birthday!” Is cheered and the sound of a noisemaker fills the tower.

Shuri, Fury, and Peter even came out for the occasion. Yelena walks over with glittery blue eyes.

“Happy Birthday Bucky,” she smiles, placing a party hat with the words birthday boy sprawled on it.

Sam stands beside her with a cake in hand. “Happy birthday, bud.” He claps him on the shoulder and at the same time everyone springs into the happy birthday song. They all cheer at the end when he blows his candles out.

“Haha” Alexi laughs his deep grumble, picking Bucky up off the ground, “Happy birthday, you know, you are like brother to me. May your life be filled with many, many well wishes.” He kisses Bucky on the cheek.

“Dad!” Yelena groans.

Bucky just smiles and says a thank you.

“How about a shot!” Joaquin whoos in holding the special asgardian concoction to Bucky.

“To Bucky!” Everyone cheers.

…

Fuck. Bucky can barely think straight. But he was in desperate need of a breather from everything. He doesn’t know how many fake smiles, laughs, and interest he could give to them. It was just all too much.

“Y/n..” he walks away from everyone until he hits the end of the hallway. It’s dark and almost quiet. Everyone else is an echo as he slides down until he’s sat with his back against the wall. His head hangs between his knees.

“Bucky,” he swears he hears your sweet voice like a whisper in his ears.

“I need you,” he finally breaks. He’s been dreading this day ever since you passed. Birthdays were a special thing to you, and you made sure Bucky got to revel in the same feeling. He never cared about birthdays until he met you. Until you surprised him with a homemade cake in bed and a party of his favorite people later in the night. At those parties, you stuck by him like glue. Always by his side teasingly calling him ‘birthday boy’ until midnight struck.

That’s when he officially started looking forward to birthdays. And now you’re gone. But your clothes are still in his closet, your perfume still sits on his dresser, your shoes are in the exact same spot you threw them in that day, he still keeps your pillow beside his. He refused to move anything out no matter what his therapist said.

—

A YEAR AGO

“Bucky!” Yelena finally makes it through the threshold faced with Bucky and you on the floor. Bucky’s kneed against you, his forehead connected to your shoulder and an arm splayed across your body to hold your hand. His body heaves while yours lies still. “Bucky?”

“She’s gone.” He doesn’t move when he declares this, his voice steady and doleful. “She’s gone..” he lifts his head, red rimmed eyes looking into Yelena’s green ones.

She walks over slowly to the two, placing a knee on the floor as she looks you over trying to keep herself together for Bucky’s sake. Gently, she places her hands to close your still eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she speaks softly.

Bucky looks at your face one more time. His nose has pinkened and his chin trembles. He looks at the red eyeliner you put on this morning to match with Yelena, the lips that would never speak those soft, endearing pet names again. He looks at you and realizes there’s no way he could live without you. There’s no life if you're not by his side.

He’s been through hell and back, but he’s not sure if he can overcome this.

—

A YEAR LATER

“Please come back,” Bucky cries.

He’s a defined mess. A grieving mess. His hair has grown out to what it used to be. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was fighting, and if he wasn’t fighting, he was drinking the day away.

“Hey Buck.”

“Bucky,” Yelena and Sam are each by his side, he feels her hands against his cheeks lifting his head.

It’s crowded in the hallway as everyone looks on concerned.

“I need her Sam, I can’t do this without her.” He goes on drunkenly.

“Hey, you can feel this for as long as you want, but y/n would’ve wanted you to celebrate with family.” Sam says.

“Bob!” Bucky calls, disregarding everything and everyone, he holds his hand out. “Please, I need to see her. I can’t…” he begs inconsolably.

“What?” Yelena whips her head around, “I thought we stopped that, you let him go back in there?”

“I— He wouldn’t let me say no, I’m sorry.”

She huffs before turning to Bucky, “Bucky we talked about this, it isn’t good for you. Y/n wouldn’t want you to cope like this.”

It wasn’t a great memory, living that same day. But it wasn’t always terrible. He likes the beginning: getting to see you kickass so confidently. He loves getting to see the smile on your face that day and the love in your eyes when he teases you.

God, He misses you more than anything.

“Please Bob, please. Just this one time. I need to see her. She should've been here today.”

It takes a second before Bob speaks up, “I uhh, I’ve been working on something. A more positive side of the void.”

“Bob..” Yelena speaks with uncertainty.

“I can do this,” Bob says and clasps Bucky’s hand.

…

“The hell is going on,” Bucky looks around to see his bedroom, but he’s in the same outfit. It’s not the console room like it usually is.

“Bucky?”

His heart drops because it couldn’t be possible, not in this way at least.

“Y/n?” he turns and it’s you. He chuckles to himself when he sees you dressed in his henley. Your fresh out the shower with your hair in two plaits. “It’s you?”

“It’s me.” You answer.

After that, he rushes you. You're in his buff arms in seconds and your feet are off the ground. He places his head in the crook of your neck.

“I miss you,” he breathes out. “This has been the hardest year of my life.”

“I love you so much,” Y/n whispers and pulls away, her hands frame his face. “I love you and I want you to try and be happy, yeah?”

There's a beat of silence.

“Bucky?”

“I don’t wanna talk about that right now,” He states.

“That’s okay,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you that day. This should’ve never happened, not with me standing right there.”

Your arms are sat on his shoulders and one hand carts itself through the nape of his head. He hasn’t felt that sensation in days, he could shudder at the familiar feeling.

“You were there for me everyday we were together. There is no one else I could’ve imagined spending the rest of my life with,” you smile up at him.

He sniffles at your words.

…

On the other side everyone watches Bucky’s relaxed face.

“What did you do?” Yelena asks Bob.

“I’ve been working on a positive spin on uhh “the void”. It’s the same but a more structured positive memory.

“Whatever it is seems to be working.” Sam chimes in.

Sam had never seen Bucky so low before and that was saying something. Something in him shifted after losing Y/n. He thinks about the day of the funeral and how empty and sunken Bucky looked. He just hopes whatever this was what would help a little.

I hope you enjoyed this story, please don't forget to reblog and comment thoughts if you did <33

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