#I don't know a thing about her but I already love her

[woso-dreamzzz]

If You Were My Little Girl II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Things are looking up

Alexia watches from the stands.

They're mostly empty, like almost all Barcelona B matches.

Women's football has only really started picking up steam recently but only at the top flight. The lower level leagues are still having a bit of a popularity issue.

But Alexia, for once, finds that she doesn't mind.

Because it means she can sit practically alone in the stands as she watches the home match.

A notepad sits on her lap, a pen tapping against the pages thoughtfully as she watches.

Barcelona B are good and Alexia has never expected anything different. She's seen the system at work many times as La Masia churns out players like Aitana and Pina and Jana, and more recently Vicky and Martina.

There's a reason so many clubs wants La Masia products.

They're all good players but even now, Alexia can tell a great player when she sees one.

You rise up among the crowd in the box and slam the ball into the goal, the net rippling with the force of the shot.

The best part, Alexia thinks, is that you didn't even need a moment to control the ball, hitting it in on the volley and grinning as your teammates practically dogpile you.

A hattrick in ten minutes is impressive in any league and Alexia makes another note in her notebook, humming softly to herself.

She rises out of her seat at the end of the match, disappearing into the building and out the doors.

It takes another half an hour for you to appear again, hair damp and an old crew neck sweater that Alexia's pretty sure is Alba's being tugged over your head.

You slip into the passenger seat, throwing your bag into the backseat and Alexia pulls your head down to press a kiss against the side of it.

You smile shyly at her as she offers up the fries she'd bought for a job well done.

"You did good, kid," She says," Very impressive."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. But I think we're going to work on evading slide tackles next," Alexia says as she drives off," We're trying to keep those ankles of yours intact, alright? I'm going to need them this season."

You roll your eyes and Alexia clicks her tongue.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," She says," I've got a good feeling about that meeting later in the week. A great feeling, actually. You should have one too."

"I'm managing expectations."

Alexia looks at you fondly. "Well, we'll see which one of us is right in a few days."

She lets you choose the music in the car, like she always does when you've scored a goal and you pull up to the apartment a lot quicker than you want to seeing as you're in the middle of singing along to your favourite song but, still, you drag yourself out of the car and up the stairs.

"How was the match?" Olga asks as she greets Alexia with a kiss on the lips.

"She did very well," Alexia brags," A hattrick within the first ten minutes and another goal in injury time."

"Exciting," Olga says indulgently as Alexia grins, already giving her running commentary of everything that happened during the match.

You escape though, hurrying to raid the cupboards before Alexia finally comes to her senses and tries to stop you 'spoiling' your dinner.

You don't know if there's any way to thank Alexia for what she's done for you.

Just three months ago, you were convinced that you were going to quit. You had no passion for the game, no hope of what your future was going to be but now all of that had changed.

You had direction. You had a manager. You had new boots and a place to live that wasn't a group home and support and love and everything seemed to be coming together for you.

A toe pokes you in the leg.

"Move."

"Alexia says that if you're trying to nap on her sofa again then I don't have to move," You tell Alba, who huffs and pokes you with her toe again," She also says that you have your own apartment and should stop mooching of us."

"But Olga's a better cook than me," Alba complains and you roll your eyes.

"Aren't you an adult? Even I can cook."

"Yeah but it's not like you could mooch off your sist-"

Alba falls silent quickly and you pretend to not notice what she was going to say for both hers and your own sakes.

The topic of your sister is kind of off limits when you're in the room. It's not completely banned because Alexia's still Jenni's national teammate but she's not really spoken about if you're in the room.

Alba's face flashes with terror for a moment so you pretend you don't notice her slip up ever though it sends a bolt of lightning into your stomach, a deep pit forming there.

It works for the most part, everyone in the house pretending Jenni isn't who she is to you, pretending that she's just Alexia's teammate and not her friend and ex, pretending that Alexia fostering you isn't her walking on a tight rope because Jenni doesn't know.

All Jenni knows is that you didn't quit when she told you to.

Jenni doesn't know that you live with Alexia. Jenni doesn't know anything. You doubt she even thinks about you when she's got a life far away in Mexico.

She lives there, far away from you and your life here in Barcelona.

She lives there and her presence is hardly ever mentioned around you.

Life is good at Alexia and Olga's house. Life is even good at training, though you could do without the smug little smirk Alexia has on her face when she picks you up.

"You already knew!" You accuse her, waving a finger in her face.

"Knew?" She asks, lips curl up in what can only be described as pure smugness," Knew what?"

"Right, who told you? Go on. Who was it?"

Alexia grins. "You do realise I am the captain? Any time they're looking to bring someone in, they ask me my opinion."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah and I'm sure you gave it."

"You're a good player. A great player," Alexia says," All I did was tell them what they already know."

You look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. You want to be mad at her, to yell at her for keeping this from you. Maybe even yell at her for promising to the staff something you're not but you know she hasn't done that.

If she thought you weren't ready, she would have told them that.

But Alexia didn't. She didn't tell them to let you have a bit more time with the B team. She didn't tell them that you don't quite have what it takes.

"Thanks."

Alexia smiles at you as she drives home, a comfortable silence enveloping you both until your hand is on the door handle.

You stop.

"When I open this door, there's going to be a party, isn't there?"

"I may have told Olga...who told Mami...who told Alba...who told the rest of the family..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Possibly..."

"And there's no getting out of this?"

Alexia ruffles your hair, a soft kiss being pressed to the side of your head. "They're here to celebrate you."

You suck in a breath, just ready to turn the handle when the sound of the lift doors opening chimes down the corridor.

Both you and Alexia turn your heads towards.

It's just a fleeting second.

Just a moment.

But your good mood plummets as the door opens.

Alexia's hand tightens on your shoulder, pushing you slightly behind her and putting herself between you and the elevator.

Between you and Jenni.

[mayullla]

Title: His Dream Wife

Character(s): Richard (Original character / Original work)

Synopsis: He always wanted a perfect family, but life never gave him what he wanted. Instead, he was blackmailed into marrying a gold digger. But after seeing you for the first time the wife of his friend all he could think of was you. So don't mind him when he was given the option to swap his wife's consciousness with yours he took that chance immediately.

Warnings/tags: Yandere Dilf x meek reader, yandere pov, general yandere themes, body swap between reader and Yandere's wife, cheating (not done by reader), arranged, baby trapping, Yandere wants that traditional wife and lifestyle. Word count: 4.2k (Please tell me if I miss anything!)

Note: I just finished reading the webtoon "Marry My Husband," so you can probably see many small ideas taken from it in this story!

Ever since he was young, Richard had fantasies and dreams of a perfect family. He always loved the idea of someone relying on him just as much as he would on them, and someone who would love him exclusively and trust him completely. Maybe that was why he liked wolves, having been told back then that those animals would mate for life. He liked that. He wanted that. Friends were nice there is nothing wrong with that. But there is something about a family that he wanted. Maybe it was because he was jealous back then of how affectionate his grandparents were between each other, while his parents were far from that.

That was what he wanted and well maybe he started to want a little more the older he got. He wanted what his grandparents had, he wanted what the movies had… he wanted what his fantasies had. He loved the idea of a family, coming back from work to an affectionate housewife with her tummy big inside a second or third child while holding the first. The idea of kisses between each other, while his lover irrupts in giggles, playfully pushing him back telling him that he should not let the food turn cold or let the kids see them.

Someone he could spoil and give everything to while she relied on him and his money. He would work hard every day just for her and the kids, to give them the home they deserve. She would give back by cooking and cleaning the house, anybody knows that those things are hard work and everything takes time. But she would do it for the both of them, for him. 

Yet he wasn't able to attain that dream. He wasn't allowed to have it. He attracted the attention of a viel woman, who had used any and every blackmail to tie him down to her. He was a manager at a big company already quickly climbing up but also came from a rich family, he unwantedly got the attention of a woman who was greedy for money and something handsome. 

And her own manager was ripe for the picking.

She did many things but somehow he was able to avoid many of them however that could only go on for so long. She was cunning, too smart for her own good. He didn't know how she did it, it made him furious at what she did waking up in a hotel with her right beside him. He had no memories of the night yet she did when she told everyone that she had his baby a month later.

Everyone was frantic, his parents especially who cared so much about their appearance and reputation than anything else. While he hated them for the lack of love or care only forcing him to their whims to get a word above their acquaintances and rivals. The idea of him their own son mudding their name with the fact that he got someone pregnant without marriage made them furious. They wanted him to marry her immediately and he had no choice not when they held his job, reputation, and life above him not when that woman too did the same with her connections and people behind the scenes. It was idiotic that he fell into her hands like this, no matter what he did she did not let go and sank her claws deep into his skin.

Richard wanted to know if this child was his, but there was no time when everybody demanded his and that woman didn't give him a chance to check. Only to cry after the marriage that the child from miscarriage due to stress from his selfishness. Many blamed him even though he knew that she was lying this whole time but no matter what he said her crocodile tears worked far better than any explanation.

He was furious, angered by everything that happened but he wasn't allowed to do anything he wasn't allowed to break up with her. His life, everything that he worked for had turned to nothing by this woman. She could care less about love or something genuine and only cared about his money, demanding that he give her money to go shopping to buy expensive brand items and clothing while also going to parties and bars with her friends coming back home late leaving only a mess with how drunk she was.

Some days she would not come home at all and he assumed that she was with another man, as he didn't give in to her sexual demands even if they were husband and wife. At this point, the idea of touching her body even her hand disgusted him.

He thought he lost everything, he felt hopeless when he could not break up with that woman who made sure that he could not have a divorce without destroying his reputation and paying her a huge amount of cash. She was insane.

Rather than be with her he would rather drown in his work in his office. The house smelled like her strong perfume that could only make his head hurt the moment he took one whiff of it even though that woman wasn't even in the house having already left to head to the next new bar that opened up in the city.

That was his life, he genuinely thought that this was his ending, a story that didn't end so well, yet unable to change anything with knives around his neck daring him to move. But in the end, nothing is concrete, sometimes all it takes is helping an old lady who just so happens to be a fortune teller. 

Typing away at his computer late at night in his office as he looked at the time, his thoughts could not help but let his thoughts drift for a moment. Richard closed his eyes slightly burning from looking at the laptop for too long. Leaning his chair, he pulled his tie down a little as he thought about this afternoon when he helped out a poor fortune teller the old woman after picking some stuff up at the market, who looked to be in her 80s stuck outside homeless and struggling to open her shop. As she had dropped something that had rolled towards him he picked it up and gave it to the old lady. He didn't know what moved him to help her. But as a present, he had gotten a small viel.

"Thank you for your help. You are quite the hard worker." The old woman said, sitting on the chair when everything was finally set up. She looked at him with a sly smile on her face. The old woman he later realized had a way of speaking, that wasn't normal. Weird yet at the same time sharp... too sharp. “Too bad you are stuck with such a mean spirit woman. How you handle such a woman for so long now… I am impressed.” Sharp as in she knew too much than he would have liked for a stranger to know.

"Buahahaha, don't worry boy this would be the last you would ever hear from me after this." The old woman laughed at his stiff glare. He didn't know how she did it but she seemed to know a lot about his relationship with his wife and the trouble that he was in yet at the same time she had a knack for poking at his sore spots. 

Before Richard could think about calling the police she suddenly pulled out a vial inside containing a blue liquid, "You help me with my little trouble so I want to give you a little something, that could help you with your own little trouble. Besides, I couldn't resist helping someone in need.” 

“A little swap potion, let your wife and your sweetheart drink it and they will swap at the start of the next day. The lil spell would wear off in a month but if there is nothing to return to… well then that means nothing could even happen. Dont yah think so boy? Haha!” He took the vial from the lady, thinking about throwing it when she was nowhere in sight. The creepy grin didn't match her so-called kind action, but she was not finished with talking.

“You better move fast my boy, that woman will make sure you will be dead before a year. It is very easy to hide evidence with a car crash.”

After that, it was difficult to throw the thin vial. Part of him could not drop the liquid into the bin, so he stored it on his office desk, locked but with a key, along with other important documents and such.

"Richard!! Why did you not show up at the dinner party?! Do you know how much embarrassment you have caused me?" his wife screamed. He couldn't help but groan in annoyance the moment he walked through the entrance. It was too early in the morning for such screaming, but she just continued on and on: "And why are you here now?!! It is the next day!? Explain yourself!"

"I don't need to explain myself to you at all." Walking past his wife who was glaring daggers at him. The more he learned about his wife the more he realized that she was similar to his parents, cared only about reputation, and was selfish putting themselves first before anything else. Hypocrites. "I had to finish up some work so I stayed at my office. I needed to finish all the file work before the meeting." Unlike a certain someone who would come home the next day afternoon after being in someone else's arms. 

Walking into his own home, he could not recognize it... everything was thrown about and trashed everywhere. Expensive decorations on the floor and shattered. Sofa and pillows ripped letting cotton spill from them. Walls wet and dirty with glass cups, and pots of plants shattered on the floor. Looking at everything he kept his anger internally holding everything in as he continued to walk towards his office and bedroom locked with a key.

This wasn't the first time this happened, he had found out that there was no use to teaching someone who saw no reason to change her ways. He just needs to call in some cleaners, replace the things that broke and that was it.

Heading to his home office to place his bag on the table he suddenly received a text on his phone. Pulling out the device to check who it was while the woman continued to scream at him.

"That doesn't explain why you didn't tell me you couldn't join the dinner!" It was because she wouldn't listen, no matter what. If he had told her, she would have either demanded that he come or screamed at him—first on the phone, then again when he got home. "Answer your phone when I call! Are you even listening to me?!"

He knew of the calls and messages. She had been calling non-stop and texting for an hour since he didn't come to her friends' dinner. He just didn't care to answer and left it on mute to let him focus on his work. Looking at the sender he couldn't help but sigh.

"Hey, I am talking to you!" Her shrill screaming was mind-numbing as he got his clothes unable to stand her voice and would rather change elsewhere. "RICHARD!!!"

He quickly left the house and got into his car, ignoring the high-heeled shoe that was thrown at him—missing as it landed. Starting the engine, he drove off, tuning out her shouts.

It was past midnight, and he was alone on the road. No one else was in sight. As he waited at a red light, he pulled out his phone to check a message. It was from a "friend" he had made at university, inviting him to dinner the next day. The guy had always been friendly—or at least tried to be. He had the personality of a know-it-all, and while he didn’t care for him much, it seemed the guy had once considered them friends. That was until money and popularity got to his head.

The guy knew a lot and had multiple connections and friends, he was the one who helped him find a cleaner will to keep silent about everything that happened in the house after the housemaid quit due to his wife assuming that he and the maid had done something sexual in the bedroom. The woman was crying as her hair had been pulled and her face slapped by his wife.

He also had seen the lust in that friend's eyes whenever he looked at her. Even after the guy was married for over a year he still looked at another wife with lust, it was disgusting to Richard that his friend would do such a thing but as the guy had helped him with a few of his troubles he didn't just cut him away.

The message was an invite for a double date. Having just left his house and his furious wife behind (not that he would ever take her anywhere unless absolutely forced), he tried to decline, saying that his wife was a bit "busy."

[Dude, dont worry about it and just come then.]

[Won't it be awkward for your wife?]

[It doesn't matter she would just say that it is fine either way.]

[Don't leave me here with her. You have already talked with her either way it is not a problem anymore. ]

From what he remembered it seemed that it was an arranged marriage between the two. Something that was decided by their parents for the benefit of their companies. The guy absolutely hated the fact that he was pushed into this marriage and had nothing good to say about his wife but that was a goody two shoes and boring. "She lacks the wildness that I am looking for." The guy said he was drinking in a bar one time having called him to express his frustrations after an official meeting with her. "She probably doesn't know anything except how to clean dishes.”

"I would not leave the house with a babe like yours. How do you keep everything in your pants?" The guy asked too drunk from all the alcohol to be careful with his words. "You might like my fiance a lot with your uptight attitude and lack of fun. Maybe we should switch wives later. Hey, wanna wife swap one time? It would be fun~~."

He had ignored the very obvious lust in the guy’s eyes, choosing not to address it and instead steer the conversation elsewhere. In the end, between hiccups, the guy told him he’d introduce him to his future wife and insisted that he should come to the wedding.

A few days later, with the invitation in hand, he attended the wedding. There, he saw the guy’s wife—and he was absolutely floored.

It was just a moment. A fleeting glimpse. He caught sight of her for only a second, walking toward his friend across the hall. Through the open door of the bride's room, he saw her, and he froze.

She was stunning.

He could not believe that a woman like you would become the wife of the guy. He wanted to take a step back to see you again, yet when his wife called him he was forced to start walking again not wanting to cause a scene due to her fickle pride. 

After all, he could see you again on the walkway when the wedding starts.

But he didn't want to leave either way.

Seated on the husband's side as the music stopped hinting to the guest that it was about to start soon. He watched as his friend walked the aisle, knowing but not commenting on the dirty slutish look his wife was giving to the guy looking at him up and down and waiting for you to show up.

You arrived soon after, dressed elegantly and sophisticated holding bouquets of flowers. He noticed how pretty you were, your walk and movements were elegant and soft, a far cry to his wife who walked to call the men's attention dressed a little too revealing for the formal occasion.

Would he have married a woman like you if this wench hadn’t come to destroy his life? Would he have married you if your parents and your friend’s family hadn’t forced the two of you into it? If this wasn’t some kind of mask, and this really was you, he wouldn’t have any complaints about being stuck with you. In fact, he would have demanded it—forced it, if he could. But that wasn’t how life turned out... You were not his.

The wedding soon came to an end and that was it. Legally you were tied to his friend while he was already stuck with his own problems. It wasn't fair. He just couldn't let it go as he stayed in his seat even after the end of the wedding speech as everybody started to leave to eat and dance. While his wife went to meet up with the groom he stayed where he was just thinking.

How surprised he was that he ended up meeting you so soon.

The guy had invited him to dinner a few times and he quickly understood that it was to have someone else in the group after the guy was forced by his parents to take you out a few times. But that didn't matter to him when he was finally able to talk to you, to chat with you.

When he reached the restaurant, the guy stood up after a small conversation, stating that he needed to run to the bathroom, take a call, or use some other excuse he had up his sleeve. He left the table for as long as possible only to come back near the end with maybe a lipstick on his shirt or something. And if Richard’s wife was there, the guy would start subtlety flirting with his wife, uncaring if he or his own wife was there, not that the woman herself cared.

He pitied you, as you kept on your smile even when your eyes swirled with an understanding of your place, yet at the same time, you were still so hurt. You were silent for the most part keeping to yourself.

You and he become rather close but not really, it was a kind of comradery of your situations or that was what he would like to think. Whenever you and him were left alone, rather than keep the awkward air around he would start to talk to you.

You were a little flustered at first but slowly you started to get used to talking with him. Chatting amicably as if enjoying the conversation between you and him. He also did enjoy conversing with you. No heavy topics, it wasn't business or anything to do with work but stuff like traveling, hobbies, and favorite food. The things that you would like to do if you only had the time or chance to do them. 

You weren't loud but you were delicate, gentle, and easy to fluster too. You were polite and careful with your words but also curious asking him many questions when he talks about his own stories. You would keep all your attention on him, even if he noticed you didn't seem maybe that interested in a topic or two.

There was one time he went to your apartment, an invitation from your husband who invited him and his wife. Your place was in a high-end apartment probably paid by the family, with decorations that were chic and modern but there was also a homely feeling to the place, cleaned and cared for with love, unlike his messed up house. The smell of the house was similar to that of a fragrant laundry detergent instead of strong perfume. Just for a moment, he realized that you were the one who did all this when he saw you coming out from the kitchen unwrapping the apron you were wearing.

Just for a moment you gave him an actual vision of a home, a vision of what he wanted so much and could have had yet was taken away from him. You gave him a vision of what it would be like to have a wife who cares so much. 

He could not help but crumble and fall.

He started to crave for you, the more he chatted with you the more he fell every night he fantasized about you in his arms. He wished... he craved for you so much that he thought he started having delusions that you were his. At night, he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing you clearly in the darkness.

But you just had to break everything, you just had to slam a hammer to his dreams and fantasies just like everyone else.

"I'm sorry," you said, a sorrowful smile on your lips. "I know my husband is using you to get out of our date. I apologize for taking up your time when you're so busy. Please, I’ll make sure this doesn't happen again. You don’t have to come every time he asks you to. I’m sure you’re busy too."

Why...? Why did you say that? He thought you knew that he already understood. He thought you knew that it didn’t bother him at all—especially when you both always had such enjoyable conversations. Why did you apologize? Why would you tell him to stop coming? Why were you pushing him away?

Your eyes looked at him in sorry and guilt and it clicked you were scared you were so scared that something wrong might happen. Because in the end, you were loyal, loyal to a man who didn't even love you.

It made him livid. 

Even if you thought you knew more than he did, he was the one who knew more. He knew well what your husband does on nights that he isn't home, where he goes, and what he does there. In Richard’s own house, he could hear the sounds of two people with familiar voices thinking they were alone. 

His wife and your husband.

You didn't know that, while you probably knew that he partied every day you seemed to have hope that he didn't have the audacity to lay in bed with another married woman much less the wife of his own friend. He didn't care who that guy lay with, but it made him irritated that a guy like him had you.

That appointment ended up awkward. Too awkward as both of you waited for your husband to arrive. The guy knew something was up the moment he arrived but seemed to choose not to say anything having enough tack not to right at that moment when he usually didn't.

Looking at the message again he sighed declining the invite again even when the guy tried to put up a fuss. It was just that he could not face you right now, not when you made it clear that all you felt towards him was guilt.

If only it was you... if only he had found you first if that woman didn't chain herself to him using blackmail and connections.

If he could just swap his wife with you he would have been happier... he would have the life he wished he had and he would spoil you with all his love and time. While you would wait oh so lovingly for him while cooking and cleaning while he worked to bring the money to keep you happy materially. He would be a better husband than your own and he already knew that you would be a far more better wife than his own.

But you just had to draw that line. That line of law and morality.

Watching the road as he drove, he could not help but let annoyance fester him at this whole situation till he saw a poster pass by him. Purple with a familiar design that he saw just this morning. Something to do with a certain fortune teller who knew a little too much and who gave him a small vial.

Truthfully he didn't believe in such things, but part of him had become so desperate that he just could not think straight. He was desperate and he knew that the old woman knew that and was laughing at him for it.

"Here yah go. This is a little something that would have cost a shit ton but I am gonna give it to you for free." The old woman cackled, she was having way too much fun knowing his situation. "If you plan to add this to a drink don't worry about the colour at all."

He didn't believe in such things. But there was a whisper in his mind a little spell in his brain that told him that this would work. That there was something different about that mad woman who probably lived only in entertainment.

His hand moved before he could even think about it, accepting the dinner invitation as he finally reached his office. It was supposed to be closed, but a few employees were pulling an all-nighter, so the building wasn't locked. In his mind, all he could think about was the life he once dreamed of—the life that had been taken away from him. All he wanted was a life with you, and that thing—that vial—would be the answer to all his problems.

[sukurarose92]

Okay, a friend of mine said "obi-wan about Anakin" and it gave me several silly ideas so i'm gonna share them. Insert random headcanons about Anakin and his catch-it-eat-it diet below the line.

I'm just imagining Anakin opening cabinets, getting down on the floor and searching. Army crawling to look under tables and cabinets, pausing to sniff once in a while.

"Its around here somewhere... i just know it"

"Did you lose something?"

"No. There's an ant in here"

"Oh?... did you see it?"

"No. I can smell it. Its taunting me"

"You can.... smell the ant?" -there is a moment of silence "AHA!" "Oh. oh no. Anakin please don-- oh stars"

It's too late. Anakin has already put it in his mouth. This ties into coming from a planet where food is a little more scarce. He was raised where if you can catch it, you eat it. and obi-wan's reaction implies that he knew it was coming. which led me to headcanon number 2. This is not a new occurrence. You ever imagine the other jedi masters watching this mid-twenties fresh baby faced knight trying to wrestle a small reptile from the grubby hands of feral desert child? Because i have.

Anakin is upset because he caught it to eat it and obi is trying to convince him that there is plenty of food in the cafeteria, please do not eat that.

Perhaps, an 11 year Anakin running by with pudgy stuffed cheeks, obi-wan hot on his heels, shouting frantically "WHAT IS IN YOUR MOUTH?!"

Hearing from another room "SPIT THAT OUT THIS INSTANT! YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE THAT'S BEEN!" Followed by the sounds of a scuffle, which is certainly Knight Kenobi trying to wrestle Anakin's mouth open like an unruly dog with a wrapper, attempting to get it out of him mouth. then a sharp yelp "you BIT me?!" if it's small enough to fit in his mouth, it's going in. Bugs. Lizards. if he catches a small rodent he'll cook it first. but he'll eat it.

Headcanon number 3. Obi-wan is utterly devestated when he discovers that Ahsoka will also eat small critters.

Anakin spots a bug and stares at it, moving to stalk and it sets Ahsoka off. Next thing you know, her pupils have turned to slits and she's fallen into step, stalking alongside him. It doesn't matter who catches it first, Anakin gives it to Ahsoka because he's a good Master.

"here. i had one earlier. you can have this one"

"thanks master!"

Obi-wan is making an utterly despaired sound in the background.

"oh. i'm sorry master obi-wan. did you want that?"

"oh no, snips. obi-wan's a picky eater. he doesn't eat bugs"

"force have mercy. there's two of them"

Next headcanon. fuck naming them. there's too much going on here.

Obi-wan has no spice tolerance, which is a huge issue considering that he spent years hiding out on Tattooine where EVERYTHING is spicy, including the meats. This means that he has to find alternative means of getting his nutrients.

This ends up being a diet comprised of desert grasses, roots, mushrooms, legumes, and insects.

he's scooping out the insides of a giant millipede while staring into the distance, disassociating through dinner. He spends so many meals half to tears because "Anakin would've loved this" -- both the mean and watching Obi-wan suffer through eating bugs.

Next headconnon.

Anakin is a little shit.

that's not a new idea, you say. i know. that part is canon. hear me out though.

Freshly Knighted Anakin taunting Obi-wan with his own nuggets of wisdom

"a varied diet is paramount for a healthy body, master. it's important~" and he's holding up a grasshopper.

"no, thank you, anakin. there is plenty of nutritional value to the temple made meals. i'm quite alright."

"but master. i caught this just for you."

"that's very kind but i simply couldn't" Obi-wan is not very fond of bugs to begin with but he's less fond of them when Anakin decides he wants to chase him with them. "no! stop that!"

"c'mon master, eat it!"

"stop that, you menace!!! anakin no!"

obi-wan afterwards is bent over, hands on his knees after force running around the temple with Anakin chasing him. He's gasping for breath.

And then Anakin just approaches, still holding the bug and Obi-wan has clearly hit his limit of what he's willing to put up with and Anakin grins before popping it in his mouth.

"look at that, master. my force running has gotten better. i can keep up with you now~" 😇

"we-- *gasp* should've left you on Tattooine-- *wheeze* where we found you, you brat" *various dying sounds*

"but ya didn't~❤️"

Obi-wan is ready to kick his ass.

I doubt that it's the only time this has happened. Which brings me to my final points. The addition of Yoda to this horrible shit show.

Anakin's bug buddies, Ahsoka, and Yoda.

We have Anakin chasing Obi-wan once more with a different insect. This happens to be a bad time to be wandering the halls. Obi-wan head to do a, rather graceful, flip to avoid taking out Masters Yoda and Plo Koon while on the run. Anakin is close behind and he barely has time for more than a shouted apology.

Anakin has his bug held high and is excitedly telling his master that "this one is crunchy. you'll like it!" with a little too much glee.

Yoda watches Anakin pass by. takes a deep breath and uses a long frog-like tongue to snatch the bug right out of anakin's hands.

"running in the hallways, against the rules, it is." ☺️

anakin, who knew his master wouldn't eat it and had planned to have it himself when he was done tormenting obi. -- "😟 my bug"

Yoda is, fondly, referred to as "Master Steal your lunch" by Anakin the next time he sees him. Yoda, seeming to sense his error, and enjoying being a menace as much as Anakin, even if it's kept under wraps for the most part, sees an opportunity to ruin someone's day.

He snatches a fly from midair with his tongue and then wipes it off on his robes before offering it to Anakin, well aware it had his saliva on it, as a replacement for his pilfered snack.

There room is draped in horrified silence.

obi-wan is nearly in tears

"oh, merciful force. Anakin, i beg you... don't... "

Anakin seems to have a silent conversation via eyes before he smiles pleasantly, takes the fly, thanks the master so very pleasantly, and just pops it in his mouth, to the unending despair of his master.

Obi-wan has his head in his hands, mortified by this nonsense.

"please, Master Yoda, i beg you, don't encourage him"

imagine if your boyfriend was like I can smell an ant. and started tracking

[nemisuki]

Good Soup

Fantasy AU | In a world of whimsical wonders and magic, the only thing you're curious about is why the blonde suddenly got shy at a simple goodnight. The language barrier between them is what keeps them closer. 

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, no angst, aged up, mutual feelings, split pov, language barriers, bkg learning english, silly bestie kirishima included, love confessions gone wrong, oneshot, bkg is a softie, 2.1k word count

"Go on! You can do it!"

An encouraging smile forms on her face. Her hands clasping together as she practically jumps up and down from mere excitement that he finally agreed to her request. 

Her eyes are completely on him, not wanting to look away. 

It takes a moment for Bakugo to register her words. Attempting to recall what she's been teaching him. 

He assumes she's saying something encouraging, given that bright smile of hers.

He can't believe he's doing this. If it was anyone else he wouldn't even be attempting this shit. But one look at her excited expression made his mind think otherwise.

Plus she's been bothering him about this for weeks now. 

Under his breath, he grumbles a handful of curses in his native language, courtesy of his tribe. He switches his weight onto the other foot, crossing his arms over his chest.

She is quick to notice his sudden fidgeting. A sign of discomposure.

But she thinks it's charming. So she'll keep it to herself.

Y/N takes a step forward in his direction, softening her eyes at the sight of him. Realizing she may have unknowingly put too much pressure on him, "Oh I'm sorry! You don't have too, if you don't want to-"

"N-ɳαɱҽ.... αɾҽ... Bαƙυɠσ Kαƚʂυƙι...."

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Her heart hastens at the sound of his deep voice. His slow and hesitant words echoing in her ear. The foreign accent made her skin tingle with bliss.

After his words, she lets a few giggles escape her lips. Not directed at him, but because the way he avoids eye contact was simply adorable.

She can tell he tried his best.

"Almost!" she says while gently taking a hold of his hand. His body tensing as she makes physical contact.

His eyes darted back and forth between her hand and delicate eyes. She speaks gradually to correct his wording, "my name.... is.... bakugo katsuki.”

She nods in his direction for him to try again.

The sensation of her much smaller hand holding his, the warmth of it, gives him an odd sense of tranquility.

How stupid.

"M-Mყ ɳαɱҽ ιʂ Bαƙυɠσ Kαƚʂυƙι"

"Yes! You did it!"

She squeals with delight. Having to restrain herself from pulling him into a hug. Knowing he'll probably shove her off not a moment after.

So instead she simply squeezes his hand. Honestly a bit shocked he hasn't pulled away yet-

Without warning, she can feel his fingers slowly intertwine with her own. Causing a shiver to go up her spine. 

What is he...

"Gσσԃ.... ɠσσԃ ɱσɾɳιɳɠ"

Huh?

Y/N stares at the blonde, now perplexed at his words. He must've picked it up from their travels together. But does he know what it means? It's not morning but night time.

She tilts her head and lets out a small laugh. How refreshing.

"Hm? Did you mean goodnight?"

The tips of his ears quickly turn red as he hears her laughter.

“Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ" he says, tightening his grip on her hand. Looking into her eyes, now a bit more sincere with his words.

"Ah- you're going to sleep already? I suppose you do sleep early" she hums while nodding in his direction.

"Goodnight Bakugo!"

She's about to pull away yet his grip on her doesn't lessen. His eyes slightly widening at her words.

The blush from his ears immediately spreads across his cheeks in a light dust of pink.

"G-Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ Bαƙυɠσ?" he mumbles to her in slight disbelief.

"Huh? Uh- yeah... Goodnight Bakugo" she says now bewildered by his reaction.

He doesn't move for a few seconds but then his own eyes soften. Completely catching her off guard.

She's never seen such a calm look on his face. And she didn’t know how she lived up til now without seeing it. 

Y/N watches as he pulls his hand away from hers. Now feeling cold without the physical contact. Her fingers twitch, wanting to feel that warmth again.

He takes a hold of the red necklace that's resting along his collarbone. Tugging it off and draping it over her head instead. Lifting her hair so it could sit perfectly around her neck.

She can feel her cheeks warm up at the gesture, "what- your giving this necklace to me? But it's yours" she says, looking down at the red pendants hanging off the black string.

"ʏ/ռ Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ"

His hand lifts up to gently touch her flushed cheek. Only making her more bashful by the minute. 

What's up with him?

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

The next morning was quite chaotic.

Y/N emerges from their tent, still feeling drained from her sleep. They’ve been traveling a lot recently and haven’t had the chance to rest up properly. 

She steps over to the campfire, joining Bakugo and Kirishima for some breakfast. Seems like the blonde is cooking some soup. 

"Hi you two" she says, yawning and attempting to rub her eyes awake.

She didn’t even have the time to sit down when-

"Y/N?! Why are you wearing Bakugos necklace?!" Kirishima quickly whispers to her, looking baffled and sending a suspicious look her way. 

Kirishima was completely fluent in the English language unlike Bakugo. Apparently when dragon kind are mere fledglings, they're especially quick to pick up multiple languages.

Hence this left Kirishima to be the translator for the trio. 

The duo found Y/N a few months ago, a rogue traveler who enjoyed exploring the world. She practically clung to the two after they helped her take out some bandits, who previously attempted to steal her rare items such as unicorn hair and some potions. 

She grew fond of the duo and decided to tag along ever since. At first Bakugo was completely against the idea. But the red haired dragon took a quick liking to her. So against Bakugos will, Kirishima allowed her to join them.

And so they’ve been traveling together since then. Exploring the world and taking on quests for gold. 

For now they needed rest, so they set up a little camp for a few days. 

"Huh? Oh this!" her hand gently traced over the variety of red beads. A sheepish smile sneaked on her face as she recalled yesterday's events, "Bakugo gave it to me last night when you went out to collect more firewood.”

The blonde ignores the whispered chatter behind him, continuing to stir the pot of soup around. Well not like he could understand what they are saying anyways. 

Meanwhile, Kirishima practically jumps out of his seat from her words. Looking at Y/N as if she had two heads.

"Kirishima? What's wrong?"

"You're telling me Bakugo willingly gave that to you?! Did he tell you anything else?!"

"Uh- well... he just told me goodnight is all"

"Goodnight?"

But before she could respond, Bakugo was already walking towards them. Holding two bowls of warm soup and handing one to Kirishima. 

His head then turns to look at Y/N, holding the other out to her. He seems to be in thought, trying to recall the right words to say, "...ԋι... ʂσυρ... ϝσɾ ყσυ?"

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

"Good Morning Bakugo! Ah thank you so much" she takes the warm bowl and looks back up at him. Feeling her body tingle with joy. A warm smile displayed across her face. 

Kirishima's eyes are practically bulging out of his sockets as he looks between the two. Having a sudden realization.

He quickly looks in Bakugos direction and starts speaking in their native tongue. 

"BαƙυႦɾσ! Aɾҽ ყσυ ƚɯσ σϝϝιƈιαʅ?!"

The blonde's mood suddenly switches as he stares at Kirishima. Immediately soured at the dragons words, "Tƈԋ ɳσɳҽ σϝ ყσυɾ ԃαɱɳ Ⴆυʂιɳҽʂʂ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

"Hσʅყ ƈɾαρ ყσυ αɾҽ! Yσυ ɠαʋҽ ԋҽɾ ყσυɾ ɳҽƈƙʅαƈҽ αɳԃ ιƚʂ ƚɾαԃιƚισɳ ιɳ ყσυɾ ƚɾιႦҽ ƚσ ɠιʋҽ ιƚ ƚσ ყσυɾ σɳҽ ƚɾυҽ ʅσʋҽ! Cσɳɠɾαƚʂ ɱαɳ!" he shines an excited grin and pats Bakugos back encouragingly. His wings fluttered involuntarily with pure delight.

"Hαɳԃʂ σϝϝ ԃαɱɳ ιƚ!" Bakugo yells back, trying to shove his hand away. Followed by a couple of empty threats directed at the red head. 

After a few seconds, confusion suddenly dawns on Kirishima. He takes a peek back at Y/N who is sitting down on a log calmly eating her soup. Already used to the twos bickering so much that it doesn't faze her. 

"Wαιƚ, ԋσɯ ԃιԃ ყσυ ƚɯσ ҽʋҽɳ ƈσɳϝҽʂʂ? Dιԃ ყσυ ƚҽʅʅ ԋҽɾ ιɳ Eɳɠʅιʂԋ?"

"Lιƙҽ I ʂαιԃ Ⴆҽϝσɾҽ! Nσɳҽ σϝ ყσυɾ Ⴆυʂιɳҽʂʂ!"

"Aɯ ƈ'ɱσɳ BαƙυႦɾσ! I'ɱ ƈυɾισυʂ!"

The blonde lets out an annoyed sigh. Knowing Kirishima won't stop his pestering anytime soon unless he answers. So reluctantly he speaks in a quiet grumble, "I ʂαιԃ.... goodnight ƚσ ԋҽɾ"

A moment of silence passes between the two. 

Kirishima tries processing his words but he furrows his brows completely lost, "Uԋ σƙαყ? Sσ ɯԋҽɳ ԃιԃ ყσυ ƈσɳϝҽʂʂ ƚσ ԋҽɾ?"

"Hαԋ? I ʝυʂƚ ƚσʅԃ ყσυ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

"Wαιƚ- ɯԋαƚ?! Nυ υԋ!"

"I ƚσʅԃ ԋҽɾ goodnight! Aɳԃ ʂԋҽ ʂαιԃ ιƚ Ⴆαƈƙ!"

"Hσʅԃ σɳ, ԋσʅԃ σɳ! BαƙυႦɾσ! Wԋαƚ ԃσ ყσυ ƚԋιɳƙ goodnight ɱҽαɳʂ?"

"Eԋ? Wԋαƚ ƚყρҽ σϝ ϙυҽʂƚισɳ ιʂ ƚԋαƚ! Iƚ ɱҽαɳʂ I ʅσʋҽ ყσυ ιɳ ҽɳɠʅιʂԋ!"

Kirishima couldn't believe what he was hearing. From Bakugo out of all people. 

The dragon practically bursts into a fit of laughter. Holding his stomach and wiping tears from his eyes that started to form at this revelation.

Bakugo stares at him baffled then a look of embarrassment forms on his face,"ԃσɳ'ƚ ƚҽʅʅ ɱҽ-"

"D-Dυԃҽ! Goodnight ԃσҽʂɳ'ƚ ɱҽαɳ I ʅσʋҽ ყσυ ιɳ ҽɳɠʅιʂԋ!" Kirishima manages to say in between his relentless giggles.

"Mρԋ-" Bakugo quickly turns around to hide his face. He couldn't believe it. But it makes sense now, last night's look of confusion on her face.

The way she went straight to the tent after he gave her the necklace. He just assumed she was just as shy as he was. 

"Hey what are you two talking about?" Y/N says walking in their direction with a look of interest in her eyes. 

"Nothing, just Bakugo thinking he confessed-"

At the sound of his voice, the blonde spins around and slaps the back of Kirishima's head. Not understanding much but knowing he's up to no good. Making the dragon stop mid sentence to whine and rub his scalp.

Bakugo eyes travel to Y/N, more specifically the necklace around her neck. His necklace. 

He huffs and points at the piece of jewelry. Then proceeds to open his hand at her. Asking for it back silently.

He waits, expecting her to hand it back. 

The blonde was beyond embarrassed that she didn't understand his motivates yesterday. Thankfully she seemed oblivious to it all. 

In his tribe, it's tradition for males to pass on their necklaces to their lover, signifying eternal devotion and trust. Yet the two weren't official after all like he originally thought. 

He'll just give it to her another time. When he learns how to properly confess.

But then all his thoughts pause when he sees Y/N pouting and shaking her head no. Holding the necklace closer to her body so he can't snatch it away.

"I want to keep it please" she says softly to him, hearing her own heartbeat in her ears from the nerves. She doesn't know why he wants it back, but she feels closer to him this way. It's the first thing he's ever given her.

Kirishima being the third wheel, quickly translates to Bakugo with a sly grin.

Bakugo listens then lets out a sigh of defeat. Waving his hand dismissively to her, allowing Y/N to keep it. She smiles brightly and nods towards him, “thank you bakugo!” 

He grunts in response and walks away to serve himself a bowl of soup. Or perhaps to hide the flushed look on his face. 

One day he'll learn how to confess. Maybe he’ll ask Kirishima for some help later on. 

What a pain.

But little did the blonde know.

Y/N was already planning to ask Kirishima the same thing. Trying to learn Bakugos native language in hopes of confessing her feelings. 

Kirishima could only bite back his tongue to hide his knowing smile. Looking at the oblivious pair as they all eat breakfast around the campfire.

Though he couldn't help but to let out a small chuckle at the sheer coincidence of it all.

"Hm? What's so funny Kirishima?"

He dismissively waves his hands at Y/N's comment and smirks, "nothing at all, just realized I forgot to say goodnight to you yesterday" he says, holding back a laugh as Bakugos head snaps in his direction. 

The blonde sends Kirishima a deadly glare. Standing up to teach him a lesson. Seems Bakugo reached his daily limit of the redheads teasing, "Yσυɾ ԃҽαԃ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

That's how Kirishima ends up hiding behind her as Bakugo stomps towards the two. Leaving poor Y/N as a human shield.

She still has no idea what's going on but laughs alongside Kirishima as the three chase each other around the campfire. 

What a good day…. and night?

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ     ⎯⎯ ✦

A/N ||| This fanfic was inspired by a Fantasy Bakugo x Reader piece I read a LONGGGG time ago on Wattpad. When I was younger, I was obsessed with this fic as a newbie reader & mha fan. Unfortunately it never had a proper ending, as it's incomplete like many other forgotten fanfics out there. I’ll add the link here to credit them but please remember it's INCOMPLETE! And the author won’t update it anymore so fyi! This was oddly healing to my younger self, kinda funny how I went from being a reader to the writer :)

[essektheylyss]

My thing about Veth potentially venturing into polyamory is that I do think everyone involved would be perfectly fine with it and happy to help her experiment, and I think that no matter how they do it, it would not fix her. This isn't to say that she wouldn't get any benefit out of trying! It's just to say that it's not a solution to her actual problem, because I genuinely don't think the problem is that she's lacking any one thing that would make her life complete.

Fundamentally, I think Veth struggles with the idea that there will come a point at which she has to settle. Not in a bad way, just in the sense that she is one person with one life and she will have to live within those bounds. Because the thing is, I don't really think her issue ends at struggling to "have it all"; to an extent she does! She is a good parent, even if her kid is a little rebellious; her marriage is supportive (and has fun sex); she gets to go off to save the world with Yeza's blessing on occasion, when the world needs saving. She doesn't have all of these things all the time, but... that's not really a flaw, that's just a fact of life.

But she started out her adult life settling to an extent—even if she loved Yeza and loved being Luc's mom, she did the safe thing that was expected of her. The goblin attack and everything that transpired after shoved her out of that life, but in retrospect, to an extent it likely feels that that pushed her to find something more that she wouldn't have had otherwise. Being pushed to her limit under the worst conditions made her better, stronger, braver, and at the end of it she found that she could have both her original life and much of her new life—so why wouldn't she then wonder if further experiences of that ilk could do the same?

Crucially, she has not actually run up against a hard limit yet, and as such she hasn't had reason to believe that there is a point at which she has to stop and recognize that there isn't more for her to find. When she was drinking more heavily during missions, even when it caused the death of herself or others, there were no long-term consequences. And the thing is, I'm not saying that she should face that kind of major consequence, but she seems as though she is scared to accept that maybe she could be happy if she stopped before she does.

I'm also not suggesting that she should stop experimenting or trying new things—the Luxon knows I am not one to talk in that realm—but I do think she is searching for novelty not because that would make her happy, but because she doesn't believe that she has the capacity to know what would make her happy. She was unaware that polyamory was even an option, so think of what else she might not be aware of! She doesn't have perfect knowledge of the world, after all, so how can she trust that she's found what she really wants? So yeah, she could fuck someone else, and it might even be an enjoyable experience that she didn't know was missing! But that only prolongs the question of what else she might be missing.

I think that deep down, she's terrified that if she doesn't keep pushing until that external hard limit, she will end up with regrets later, and simultaneously she is resentful that her friends all seem to have reached a point where they are largely content with what they have, because she wants them to have everything. She wants herself to have everything. And she has not yet allowed herself to come to terms with the fact that only she can determine when the everything of what she already has is enough, and anything else is the cherry on top.

[0highlyvolatile0]

this meme got me thinking about how mad I am about Arcane, and i was planning on leaving this in the tags but I'm feeling bold this evening, give or take some additions:

the creators of the show are just like 'waaah wahh no they're not gay they're just BROS just let guys be good friends :( (see link above)

do you know how often we hear that rhetoric when two men do kiss on screen? and who we hear it from? homophobes. we hear that shit from homophobes who are mad they have to see men kissing, fucking, etc.

people are too afraid to let men kiss on screen, and they love to fetishize lesbians. Vi is the most butch a woman can get before y'all get scared, coming from a butch.

it's the same shit behind the smokescreen of a good art style. i love arcane, but let's be real here Fortiche and Riot bombed this show big time

like what do you mean we got the "mentally ill woman kills herself as an act of heroism" storyline? i know jinx isn't dead but she was literally planning on it, we get a whole fucking montage of her setting her hideout ablaze with herself inside it! because it's the only way she can fix the problem she's caused, apparently! that is such dangerous fucking rhetoric I don't even know where to begin.

and yet another "not platonic or romantic but a secret third thing on a deeper level" with a couple of the main men of the story. if we get all of these relationships between two men "on a deeper level," then they're all on the same level! why are we letting them hide behind that when they've been doing it for years? this is still queer baiting!

people should honestly be more mad about this but whenever someone pipes up about it, it's "you're mad your ship isn't canon" or "let men be platonic, not everything has to be about romance" or god forbid "aro/ace people deserve rep too"

first of all, Riot was not doing caitvi for the gays. they really weren't. it was for their straight fanbase who was already making googoo eyes at the lesbians from their shitty video game. also: diversity win! the fascist and her cop girlfriend had sex in the jail cell that cop girlfriend's sister was in before she decided to kill herself for being too much of a burden.

second of all, if not everything has to be about romance, then tell me why every single main character in this show has had some kind of romantic entanglement with someone aside from Viktor? Vi, Cait, Jayce, Mel, Ekko, Jinx/Powder. They literally went out of their way to make sure people knew Jinx was into men by creating a manic pixie dream girl version of her and allowing Ekko to kiss her.

third of all, don't throw aro/ace people under the bus or speak for them about having representation, because they deserve better than straight people's "gay undertone scapegoats."

it's homophobia. it is straight up homophobia and we deserve better than that. we really fucking do.

this barely scratches the surface of the problems I have with this show but honestly this has been at the forefront of it and I'm not the only one who feels this way.

[everythingspokenfor]

Part 2

─ ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ─

You were in the middle of packing, taking photos off the walls and putting them away in boxes, piles of clothes littered on the floor based on whether you were taking them or donating.

"Didn't realise we weren't close enough, eh?" Bakugou said, arms crossed leaning against the wall of your room.

Startled you looked at him clutching the photos close to your chest."Knock at least Katsuki, you scared the shit out of me." You grumbled as you regained composure and turned back to the task at hand. Partially to get it done, mostly to avoid Bakugou's gaze while you had this unavoidable confrontation.

You should have told him you were moving out, it was a rational thing, you were friends infact best friends, had seen each other at worst, dealt with it too. Should have had an adult conversation about it. But what would have you said "Hey! Katsuki I am moving out because I am in love with you but you have a girlfriend and the sole thought of her makes me sick" yeah not a good argument or maybe evening worst you would just end up crying sobbing pathetically while pointing out you were there for him more but that's not how it works, you suppose. He deserves happiness, and you are glad he found it. You just wanted to find yours too.

"Haruki, your assistant, let it slip that you are moving", Bakugou snarled, nostrils flaring, fists tightening, tell-tale signs that he is not mad but disheartened.

"I was going to tell you", you defended, turning to face him.

"When? huh, when were you going to tell me?", He hissed "When everything was packed, and you had to bid farewell like some sort of formality?", He continued ,moving towards you, for the first time locking eyes and seeing the red-rimmed, swollen eyes your cheeks were sunken too. "What happened, peanut?", He questioned, pulling the photos from your hand and setting the to the side. "Did I do something? I'll fix it, fucks sake talk to me, tell what was it that made you run I'll fix it", He cupped your face and made you look at him.

"I don't think you can fix this one, Suki", you murmured, voice almost catching in your throat because you'll lose him, you'll lose his friendship. For a moment you wished you weren't in love with him, that you could be normal around him, could be a part of his life, let him be a part of yours. But, you had to fall in love with him, ruin whatever ever you had.

"This new apartment is closer to my agency, plus how long do we go about living here, Suki?", you said before woefully pulling yourself away from him, choosing to pack up remaining of things.

"You should have said something, I deserve to at least know, you know? I go to work and your assistant, fucking Haruki, is looking for couches for you.", He said bitterly,"He knew, he was informed, he was fucking involved, and I wasn't, aren't we close? is that fucker closer to you, huh tell me?" He gritted out.

"If you were any less busy with your fucking girlfriend, then maybe you would have helped me," you yelled, words almost getting clogged in your throat, anger finally taking over.

Both of you stare wide eyed at each other, truth finally out, you behaviour making sense to Bakugou, you can see the wheels turning in his head.

He moved closer to you, reaching out, but you pull away like it burns because if you were being honest it does, Bakugou winces at you withdrawal. Your anger, your distance, you silence making sense you heart finally bared open in front of him.

"If you can't tell me what I want to hear then you shouldn't say anything",you croaked, knowing that you are being selfish,"I want a confession Suki and not consolation", you finalized.

Bakugou looked at you before he left the room, perhaps you already knew his decision but that didn't make your heart hurt any less.

─ ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ─

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 ♡⃕ secret santa: percy jackson

▰▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

y/n doesn't like percy, he's in love with her. the best answer percy finds for this situation? be her secret santa for the upcoming holidays.

warnings: none i think ?? cabin 10 reader just for the plot but it doesn't get mentioned that much.

day one

— 10th of december.

it wasn't even halfway through december and everything was already going bad. Apparently, there had been a storm and Chiron thought that it was safer for campers to stay safely in camp instead of going home since he didn’t know what was happening with Zeus for him to suddenly cause the biggest storm of the year.

frankly, y/n thought Zeus was throwing another one of his childish tantrums, but she couldn't say that out loud because knowing the god, he would probably make things worse. That didn’t mean she wasn't pissed about having to stay at camp though, she was.

that's why, after spending her afternoon hiding her discomfort about the situation, she walked into her cabin and went straight to her bed, wanting more than anything to hide away from the rest of the world. She had been so excited to go and spend her holidays with her father, it was the first time she would be having christmas away from her father.

Just as she was going to jump into her bed, she saw the suitcase with the clothes she had been excitedly packing in the morning. However, when she took the suitcase to put it away, something else catched her attention.

left in her bed was a box of chocolates, a ribbon placed neatly on top of it with a note stuck on it. She took it carefully in her hands, eyeing it with a mix of curiosity and surprise.

“i'm sorry you couldn't go home for the holidays, I do hope some chocolates can cheer you up — your secret santa.

P.S. don't worry, I took the white ones from the box since I know you don't like them”

y/n was left surprised, and when she opened the box and found that the person had, indeed, taken the white chocolates out of the box, she even smiled a tiny bit.

well, the circumstances were not ideal for her, but maybe the holidays were not going to be that bad.

day two

- 12th of december

it took two days for her to take it back. The holidays were going to be awful, especially if she was forced to spend another minute with Percy Jackson.

And if it was up to Chiron, she would have to spend most of her time with Percy. So it was going to be awful, no question. They had both been chosen to plan the christmas party, and it had only been a couple of minutes and y/n almost wanted to go and see if she could drown Percy in the lake. That wouldn't have worked, of course, since he could breathe underwater, but she still was inclined to try.

she still didn’t understand why Chiron had paired them together, she could understand if they needed her help for the party, but what exactly could Poseidon's son provide if not unhelpful ideas and stupid jokes?

"the pavillion could use some blue lights" he suggested unhelpfully, because that's what he did.

she, on the other hand, was set on her own vision of christmas "It’s supposed to be red and green! Like a traditional Christmas!"

they ended up doing nothing that day just because they couldn't agree on anything. y/n suspected he was disagreeing with her just to be annoying, which was something that he seemed to enjoy doing.

but when y/n was back at her cabin, her mood immediatly lifted up when she caught a glimpse of a blue sparkly ribbon in her bed. It had been two days since the first gift, and she had been sure it had been a one time thing. Now, she ignored her siblings and went straight to her bed, finding there a plate of cookies with ribbon and another note on top.

“thought you deserved a sweet treat after working so hard today — Secret Santa.

PS. some of them are a little burnt, but I know how much you like choco-chips cookies"

day three

— 14th of december

When Grover walked into cabin three, he wasn't expecting to find Percy trying to wrap a gift, the floor around him buried in wrapping paper.

“are you seriously trying to go on with this?" the satyr asked, though the answer was very obvious. “Chiron told me you were very interested on helping with the christmas party”

well, maybe Percy had begged Chiron to pair him with y/n since he had overheard her telling one of his siblings that she was chosen to plan the party.

However, Percy was not going to admit that to anyone. "I need help with this wrapping paper, it just isn't folding the way I want to."

Grover rolled his eyes as he walked through the discarded wrapping paper. "You adhd people can't do anything."

"sorry, I was too busy saving the world to attend to gift wrapping 101"

turns out, Grover wasn't any better at wrapping than Percy was. He was worse, actually, since he ate the paper when he got nervous. Thirty minutes later, they had half the wrapping paper they started with and a terrible wrapped present.

"so it's us adhd people huh?" percy asked as he raised his eyebrows.

"hey, I was busy saving the world with you." Grover defended himself as he placed the blue ribbon on top, as if that could cover the terrible work he did.

And since Percy couldn't do any better, the next present on y/n's bed looked like someone had wrapped it with their eyes closed. Still, she didn’t care much when she found it later, because she was busy being too excited over the book she had been reading for months.

“I noticed you kept talking about this book, so I figured it was time you got it. Sorry for the wrapping massacre but hey, don't judge a book by its cover, right? Hope this one keeps you entertained until Zeus chills out. — Secret Santa.”

day four

— 16th of december

Percy and y/n had finally made some progress with the decoration, after Percy annoyed her into allowing him to hang blue lights. She decided to go with it and simply have a blue and white decoration for the pavillion.

they didn’t talk most of the times they met, Percy tried to talk to her but she mostly glared at him or ignored him until he eventually grew tired of talking to himself. It was only sometimes that the silence was too much and y/n would make little comments.

"I'm freezing."

"Didn’t think a daughter of Aphrodite could get cold. Isn't that, like, a beauty hazard? You better warm up, or your hair will lose its shine" And y/n would go back to ignoring him again.

or sometimes they would simply argue.

"No Percy, we can't hang seashells on the tree, are you insane?"

"Why not? it adds nautical charm"

"It’s Christmas! we're not hosting a luau. stick to ornaments, Jackson"

Sometimes, she felt like maybe Percy could be only a little bit likeable, maybe he wasn't too unbearable after all, sometimes he was even funny. But only sometimes.

"How can you make the bows so perfect? mine look like tangled fishing nets" y/n herself was caught by surprise at the laugh that escaped her lips when he raised his bow.

"Maybe if you didn’t tie your bows as if you were anchoring a boat, you would have better luck. Seriously, did Poseidon skip teaching basic motor skills?" And he'd always laugh at her remarks, even when she wasn't being that nice.

By the end of the day, she was tired, but she couldn't deny that she was happy, but she was only happy because they had made progress and now the only thing left was to finish decorating the tree.

And her mood got even better once she stood in front of her bed, noticing the new teddy bear that rested against her pillow, a blue ribbon tied around its neck and a few - blue? - candy canes making a heart on its belly.

“Thought you could use a fuzzy friend to keep you company. — Secret Santa.

PS. I know you don't like candy canes, it was just some decoration. Don't worry, you can give them away."

Day five

— 18th of december.

she ended up giving the candy canes to Percy, and she choose to ignore the weird smile on his face when she gave them to him. Still, he explained that, apparently, he loved candy cane and since those were blue, he loved them even more. Weird.

"Percy Jackson, hero of Olympus, reduced to untangling Christmas lights. Truly a humbling sight." she told him as she found him trying -and failing- to untangle the lights for the tree.

"Give me a little credit here, I think i'm almost done." he replied, a candy cane hanging from his mouth as he continued his work. He wasn't nowhere near done.

But y/n left him to it because she was busy sorting the ornaments. She didn’t know when had been the last time Chiron had gone out for christmas decorations, but the ones her and Percy had found on the big house were old.

She took one of the boxes with the blue ornaments she thought looked the best, and carefully carried it toward the tree, trying to avoid the patches of ice that had formed on the ground outside the Pavillion, she had been so concentrated that she didn’t notice what Percy was up to until a snowball hit her shoulder.

"what the hell, Jackson?" she looked at him, dumbfounded, but he only replied with a laugh.

he went to pick up another snowball, but just as he straightened, she hit him straight on the chest with a snowball of her own. "Okay, that was a lucky shot" he shook the snow out of his hair.

"Lucky? please, I'm a natural" she smiled, shrugging simply.

"Natural at being bossy, maybe." He finally threw the snowball in his hand but he missed his target.

that made y/n laugh, her body feeling lighter as she forgot about the decoration for a moment. "Wow Percy, with aim like that, it's no wonder you stick to swords."

Percy, once again, didn’t take her comment as an offense but simply laughed. She could see his eyes shining as he came close and took the box from her hands.

And he didn’t see it because he turned around to place the box near the tree, but she finally let herself smile as she followed him. When they went back to work, the atmosphere between them felt lighter, warmer, as though a layer of frost was beginning to melt.

When she went back to her cabin, there was a gift already waiting for her in her bed. Whoever this secret santa person was -and y/n really wanted to know who it was-, they had already given up on wrapping and instead used blue ribbon on every gift.

this time, it was a blue and green scarf. And she was confused about it until she looked at the note: “heard you have been cold, maybe you could use a little warmth. — Secret Santa”

day six

— 20th of december

"you're placing the lights wrong" she pointed out as Percy tried to wrap the lights around the tree.

Percy turned to look at her as if she had gome mad. "Are you kidding? there’s surely not a wrong way to place lights on a tree." he replied, his eyebrows raising. "Besides, this is creative expression, you should appreciate it."

"it's an assault on christmas trees everywhere." Percy gasped in mock offense, but he finally stopped whatever he was trying to do with the lights.

"Fine. You hang the lights, I'll stand here looking festive." y/n took the lights from his hands, her fingers grazing his for a second longer than they should.

"If by festive you mean that christmas sweater, it's ugly." this time, she couldn't help but smile a little when he gasped again.

"what's wrong with my sweater? it's festive!" he looked down at the red and blue christmas sweater that had little tridents all over it.

"horrifying, you mean." she mumbled as she put the lights around the tree.

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine? I like your scarf, by the way." he replied, and even though he was always smiling, that moment his smile felt different, y/n didn’t want to find out why. "see how easy is to be nice?"

But the mention of her scarf, made her distracted for a moment as she looked down at the blue and green fluffy scarf around her neck. She still hadn't found out who was her secret santa, and since christmas was coming she wanted to know who was behind those gifts, but she had no clue yet.

She had already questioned her siblings, but no one admitted to being her secret santa and if they knew who it was, they didn’t give the name away even after she threatened them. She was sure of one thing, whoever it was, they had help because it wasn't easy to just sneak into her cabin without her seeing them at least one time.

"hey, Percy." she called absentmindedly, looking up from the scarf. "you pretty much know everyone around camp, don't you?"

"yes, why?" he asked, just as distracted as her because he was hanging some ornaments on the tree.

She hesitated, this was Percy. She didn’t like Percy, she shouldn't share anything about her life with Percy. "Nothing, just thinking about how many people will see you with that ridiculous sweater."

Percy snorted. "next time I'll get you one and we can match."

"I wouldn't wear one of those if my life depended on it, Jackson." and who could blame her if she laughed when Percy looked at her offended.

She also couldn't be blamed if, when the afternoon ended, she had an extra pep in her step. It was just because she was excited over her secret santa, it had nothing to do with Percy Jackson at all!

But it did have to do everything with the box with the blue ribbon placed neatly on top of her bed. It wasn't about the gift at all, no. For y/n, it was how thoughtful everything was. And when she opened the box, she knew she'd have to find who her secret santa was.

Because nobody had ever thought this much about her.

The beautiful bracelet full of small charms, as usual, came with a note. “Each charm has a story. I’ll let you figure them out. — Secret Santa”

day seven

— 22th of december

y/n had tried to make sense of the charms, figure the story behind them. She had been looking at the bracelet every moment she could for the past two days, she already knew the charms by memory: a wave, a heart, an apple, a sweater, a book and finally a star.

She thought that maybe, if she figured it out, she could at least get a hint of who his secret santa was. But she couldn't even guess who this person's godly parents was just because the many charms gave her misleading hints.

Shee was looking at it as she walked through camp, ready to meet Percy at the pavillion so they could finish their decoration for the party. She found him already there, waiting for her with a smile that only stretched on his face when he looked at her.

"Ready for today, boss?" she could've sworn his gaze flickered to the bracelet on her wrist just for a moment but then he was walking past her to pick up the box of decorations.

They ended up drinking some hot chocolate while they decorated just to shake off the cold from the day. These past days, y/n couldn't help but wonder if maybe she had judged Percy a bit too hard before, he wasn't as annoying as she made him out to be.

By the end of the afternoon, they were almost ready with their decorations, Percy was hanging some garlands, his back turned to y/n, who was balancing on her toes to hang a sprig of mistletoe above one of the archways.

She stretched as far as she could, grumbling under her breath. "Who even invented the mistletoe tradition? It’s just a parasite plant. And why is it always there at the worst times?"

Percy chuckled, his voice echoing from across the pavilion. "You’re the one who insisted on using it. Aphrodite's influence finally catching up to you?"

"Oh shut up, Jackson," she shot back, standing precariously on her toes. She was about to talk again when the tip of her shoe slipped slightly on the frosted wooden floor.

"Whoa careful!" Percy dropped the piece of garland he had on his hand and rushed to her.

She caught herself before she could fall, but Percy steadied her anyway, his hands instinctively landing on her waist. "Are you good?" he asked, his face closer than it probably needed to be.

She huffed, looking at the slippery floor before her gaze went back to him. "Can we sue Zeus for hazardous working conditions?"

Percy smirked, helping her regain her footing but keeping his hands on her waist just a second longer than necessary. "Good luck with that lawsuit. Let me know how it goes when you present your case to the olympians."

That’s when they both looked up.

The sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently above them. It swayed slightly in the breeze, almost as if it was mocking them. She blinked at it, her mind racing as her cheeks turned pink. Percy, on the other hand, looked frozen in place.

"I- uh," she started, but her words faltered when his gaze flicked down to her lips for just a second too long.

And when y/n noticed, she couldn't control her eyes as they copied his actions, her gaze going to his lips before returning to his own eyes. It took her a second to realize what she was doing, and she immediatly stepped back.

What was she doing? this was percy jackson!

"I think we're done here, don't you?" Percy only nodded, and for the first time, he wasn’t smirking or cracking a joke. He just stood there, wide-eyed, staring at her.

When she got back to her cabin, she was shaken and it wasn't because of the snow at all. She was so distracted with thoughts of Percy that she almost missed the gift waiting for her as she sat on the edge of her bed.

This time, a neatly folded sweater was placed on her pillows. And for a second, it reminded her of Percy, until she shook off the thought and reached for the note placed over the blue ribbon.

"a little bird told me you liked sweaters, this one might add some extra holiday sparkle to your already dazzling style. I just hope you won't want to burn it. — Your fashionable Secret Santa."

day eight

— 24th of december

y/n had stayed in her cabin as much as possible for the past two days. Now that Percy and her had finished with the preparations for the party, she wasn't forced to spend time with him and she planned on keeping it that way, so she avoided him as much as she could.

Yet, she couldn't keep thinking about him. And that's why she decided it would be best to just stay away from him, at least until her infatuation - and she was sure that's what it was, nothing else - would wear out.

So in the morning of christmas eve, y/n didn’t even went to have breakfast with her siblings, instead she stayed late in bed. She had dreamed about percy, again! and now, she was grumpy as she wrapped herself on her blanket.

It was his fault, for making her feel comfortable with him, for making her forget about how annoying he was, for running to catch her without even thinking, for looking at her lips with those eyes! those stupid sea green eyes she had been seeing every night in her dreams for the past two days.

Now, she would stay on her room, away from everyone. It didn’t matter if it was christmas eve, and damn her secret santa! if they wanted to leave something, they would have to do it with her there. Because she wasn't going anywhere.

Well, at least that had been her plan. Until noon when Grover barged into her room, startling her. "y/n we need you at the stables.. is... uh-" he hesitated. "we just need you, can you come?"

She was about to tell the satyr that he should really learn to knock, but since he seemed shaken and she wasn't doing anything but looking at the ceiling, she stood up from her bed and followed him.

She was wearing her pijamas and the sweater that had been gifted to her. It was truly ugly, with christmas colors and little cupids all over it. But she liked it and it wasn't because it reminded her of percy's ugly trident sweater. No. Nothing to do with Percy. She just liked that her Secret Santa had put effort into it.

As it turns out, Grover didn’t have any emergency or reason to take y/n out of her cozy bed, because there was nothing happening at the stables. The Satyr was acting strange and he told her that the pegasi just needed her, but after they were served food, there was nothing else to do but he insisted on her staying there.

"Grover i'm freezing, can I at least go back to take some gloves and a scarf?" she rubbed her hands against her sweater, trying to keep them warm.

"No!" he exclaimed loud enough to make y/n jump away in surprise. Then, he looked over her shoulder and his face relaxed. "I mean, you can just go if you want to, I think the pegasi are fine."

She looked at him skeptically. He was acting strange. But ultimately, she decided it wasn't out of the ordinary for Grover. "okay... I'll see you later?" she replied before she went back to her cabin.

What she didn’t expect when she walked into her cabin, almost running to her bed because she was freezing, was that her secret santa had worked while she was away.

The past week, she had stood in front of her bed opening all kind of thoughtful presents that made her smile, but this time she was speechless at what waited for her.

Fairy lights were hanging from her bedposts, and fresh flowers were placed in a vase on the nightstand beside her bed, but that didn’t compare at all with the gift waiting for her. As she carefully pulled the blue ribbon off, her eyes wandered through the star map. It was pretty, but the note that came with it was beautiful.

"One night at the bonfire, I remember how you looked at the sky and said 'If I ever get lost, I hope the stars lead me home'. This is a map that shows the stars the first time you came home to camp half-blood. The night I met you. — Secret Santa

PS. I know Christmas is technically tomorrow, but this couldn't wait. So happy christmas!"

y/n sat for a long time in her bed, reading the note over and over again. It wasn't until half an hour later that she realized something: Grover had taken her out of her room so whoever her secret santa was could arrange everything. Grover knew who her secret santa was.

She finds out

— 25th of december.

"I already told you, I have no clue what you're talking to me about!" Grover replied, very obviously trying to run away from her.

This had been going on for the past twelve hours or so, Grover refused to tell her the identity of her secret santa, and she had already tried everything to get him to tell her. He just didn’t budge.

She gave Grover a suspicious look as he hurried off, practically tripping over his own hooves in his attempt to get away. For someone who claimed to know nothing, he sure was acting guilty.

But whatever. She had bigger problems right now, like how her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest every time she read the note. And the star map? It was so thoughtful, so personal. She couldn't stop staring at it, wondering how her Secret Santa could possibly know her so well.

It wasn’t until she was alone in the Aphrodite cabin, looking at her closet while thinking about what to wear to the party, that the pieces started falling into place. She fiddled absentmindedly with the bracelet on her wrist, the charms clinking softly. Her eyes fell on one charm specifically. The book.

She had been so focused on making sense of the charms that she hadn't thought to connect them to the other gifts. There was a book charm and she had been gifted the book she had been wanting. She remembered she had been book shopping with Annabeth when she mentioned that specific book. But it surely couldn't be Annabeth.

Her brows furrowed together, trying hard to remember something from that day. But the only thing she could remember was that Percy had tagged along with them and she had been so annoyed with him, because he kept knocking down books and asking dumb questions and-

A gasp left her lips as the realization kicked in and she had to sit down immediatly, her hand desperately looking for the apple charm. How had she missed it? it had been right in front of her the whole time, the apple and the first time she came to camp.

Her mind wandered back to the note. “The first time you came home to Camp Half-Blood. The night I met you.”

The night she met him. The night Percy and Grover had found her wounded in the woods. The next morning, where Percy had given her an apple and then he had tried to make some joke that only worked to put y/n in a bad mood. He'd brought her to Chiron, and she hadn't thought about it ever again.

But now... now she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Or the bracelet. Or how every single gift felt like it was tailored just for her and connected to him somehow: the scarf after she had been complaining to him about the cold, the christmas sweater after she had teased him about his, the chocolates after that one time Annabeth tried to bring her some and she left the white ones to Percy, the blue candy cane after she had said so many times that she hated it, the chocolate chip cookies she loved because of couse Percy would burn them, the blue ribbon!

Her heart skipped a beat as she replayed every interaction they’d had over the past few days. The snowball fight, the way he’d caught her when she slipped on the ice, the way he’d looked at her under the mistletoe. How she’d sworn he’d almost kissed her.

It was him. All of this time, it had been him. And she had been avoiding him, so torn apart with her feelings that she hadn't realized what was in front of her.

Percy gets a gift back.

— 25th of december

y/n had to beg Leo to help her at the very last minute, but as she walked through the party with a little box in hand, she was glad that Valdez could literally turn trash into beautiful things, because now she had the perfect gift.

And the only thing that was left for her to do was find Percy. It shouldn't be hard, since the pavillion wasn't too big, but she was simply too distracted with her thoughts to find him at first glance. At the end, he was the one to find her when she bumped into someone and he catched her before she could fall. Again.

"Hey, you." he smiled, and now she could see the meaning behind the shine in his eyes. "I see you made it out of your cabin. I thought you were going for the ‘grumpy hermit’ vibe today."

She rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness to them once she looked at him. He even looked surprised when she smiled. "Very funny, I actually wanted to talk to you."

He raised his eyebrows. "whats up?" y/n tried to ignore the way her heart seemed to slow down at how nervous she felt.

Instead, she extended the small box towards him. "I got you a gift."

Percy blinked, looking at her like she had grown a second head. "You did?"

She rocked back and forth on her heels as she looked down on the box, pushing it into his hands. "yes, consider it a... thank you gift."

His fingers brushed hers briefly as he finally took the box, eyeing it curiously. "Thank you? for what exactly?"

"for..." making me happy through the holidays. "oh you know, for helping me with the party and for not being completely unbearable."

She hated how her heart raced when he let out a chuckle. "just what any person wants to hear." he joked, but he was already distracted because he was opening the box.

She had made a point of placing a blue ribbon on top, but he didn’t seem to place the pieces together until he looked into the box. Inside was a bracelet, a simple leather cord with three small charms hanging from it, a star, a seashell and a heart.

He looked up at her, surprise evident in his eyes as he opened his mouth to talk, but she was faster. "I thought you'd maybe want to match." she said, raising her arm, the bracelet on her wrist jingling softly.

he was gaping at her, and for a moment he looked slighly panicked, his eyes darted nervously to Grover, who was standing nearby and immediately pretended to be interested in the food table. He had no choice but to look back at her. "You know?"

y/n opened her mouth to tease him, but the panic in his expression stopped her. Instead, she smiled softly. “Yeah, I figured it out. You weren’t exactly subtle, Percy.”

Percy laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, give me a little credit here, it took you long enough to figure it out." he paused, suddenly quiet. "did you like them?”

It was the first time y/n saw Percy acting shy instead of his usual confidence. “I loved them,” she admitted. “Even that horrifying sweater.”

"i'm just glad you didn’t burn it." he joked, his usual grin back on his face.

Percy looked like he was about to say something else when his eyes flicked upward, she followed his gaze and froze. There it was, for the second time in the week, the mistletoe she hung mocking hee yet again.

Even though it was freezing, her cheeks burned as she looked back at him. "Oh."

"Yeah" Percy said, his voice softer now. “Funny how these things just... appear.”

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the party fading into the background. Percy’s eyes locked on hers, his usual playfulness replaced with something deeper, something that made her chest tighten.

"Well" she said, trying to break the tension, "are you just going to stand there, or—"

He didn’t let her finish. Percy leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was sweet and hesitant but full of meaning. It wasn’t long or overly dramatic. Just a gentle, warm kiss that left her mind spinning. When he pulled back, he was smiling again.

"Well" he said, mocking her as he glanced at the mistletoe again "Maybe it wasn't so bad for you to put that thing there."

She blinked at him, momentarily stunned. Then she scowled, smacking his chest lightly. “don’t push your luck, Jackson.”

And he only laughed.

But as they walked back into the party, side by side, she couldn’t help the warmth spreading through her chest. Maybe Percy Jackson wasn’t so bad after all.

[hoshifighting]

i enjoy your work so much!!! i love reading new posts whenever you update (which is so frequent and im always in awe of how creative your brain is!!) im wondering if you had similar work to your most recent reaction but with mommy issues instead? giving a tight hug to all my peeps struggling through parental relationships ❤️‍🩹

seventeen x reader with mommy issues

a/n: thank you anon 🥺🥺❤️ i hope you like it, and > giving a tight hug to all my peeps struggling through parental relationships pt.2

WARNINGS: mommy issues, svt mostly doing girly things with you.

seungcheol: cheol’s the type to instinctively take a nurturing role without even realizing it. he’ll remind you to eat, help you pick out clothes for the day, and even braid your hair if you let him. “does this look okay?” he asks, tongue sticking out in concentration as his big hands fumble a little. he’s all about making sure you feel cared for in every little way, even if it’s just holding you close while you vent.

jeonghan: knows how to fill that space without making it obvious. he’s the one who’ll ask his sister to help him paint your nails, gossip about random shit, or let you borrow his skincare products. “c’mere, let me do it for you,” he says, gently dabbing serum on your face while teasing you about how bad you are at self-care. it’s his sneaky way of saying, i’m here for you.

joshua: takes on that classic comforting role, always making sure you feel heard.he’ll offer to bake cookies with you or even sew something small together. “it’s okay to miss her,” he’ll say softly, holding your hand. “but you’ve got people now who care about you, including me.”

junhui: create those bonding moments you might’ve missed out on. he’s the type to grab your hand and drag you into the kitchen, insisting you bake something together even if it’s a disaster. “this is supposed to be fun, not perfect babe...” he laughs as flour gets everywhere. he doesn’t try to replace anything, but he makes you feel like you’re not missing out anymore.

hoshi: his appproach is so wholesome it hurts. he’s the kind to pull you into his lap while he combs through your hair, humming softly. “you deserve to feel spoiled,” he says with a grin, and suddenly he’s dragging you to the mall for a mini shopping spree. “pick something cute, okay? you can’t say no—it’s my treat.”

woozi: his way of comforting you is subtle but so meaningful. he won’t push you to talk, but when you’re struggling, he’ll sit you down and quietly braid your hair or make tea for you. “you don’t have to do this alone,” he’ll say in his soft, no-nonsense voice. sometimes it’s just the quiet, supportive presence that heals the most.

wonwoo: he’ll read to you, help you organize your space, or even teach you how to do things like fixing a hem or arranging flowers. “this is kinda relaxing, isn’t it?” he says as you both work together, his calm energy making you feel safe and understood.

minghao: would suggest journaling together, so you can focus more on yourself, than focus on the house problems. “it’s okay to feel like this,” he says, squeezing your hand. “but you’re more than what you’re missing.” he makes sure you feel strong enough to rebuild those pieces.

mingyu: mingyu goes all in on being your cheerleader. he’s the one who’ll sit on the floor with you to do DIY face masks or giggle with you over silly videos. “do you want me to call my sister?... don't really know what a cut-crease is...” he says with a goofy grin, trying his best to make you feel loved and cared for in every way he can.

seokmin: he s exactly what you need when the weight of everything feels heavy. he’ll pull you into the kitchen to teach you his favorite recipes, or he’ll sit down with you to sew a button back on your shirt. “see? you’re already amazing at this!” he beams, making you feel proud of yourself for even the smallest things.

seungkwan: ultimate comforter. he’ll organize a mini self-care day, complete with snacks, facials, and trashy TV. “no one’s judging you here,” he says, rubbing your back as you tear up. his endless affirmations—you’re doing amazing, you deserve love, you’re enough—are exactly what you need to hear.

vernon: he’ll suggest stuff like planting a little herb garden together or decorating a space to make it yours. “babe I think I planted my ring...” he says, looking at the plant pot that will be all messy in seconds just to find the piece of silver.

chan: he’s the guy who’ll offer to watch cheesy movies with you, paint your nails (even if he sucks at it), or teach you a new dance—and stumbling on his own feet on purpose—just to make you smile. “you deserve to feel cared for.”

[sagesariadnd]

My retail job didn't train me for the things I actually needed to know to do my job right. They expected me to be there in the mornings before the buses were even running, then didn't even give me a phone number to call to let me in because the doors were still locked. And when I DID have a number I could call, nobody answered. They told me to call the answering machine if I was gonna call out sick, but my manager never checked the machine so she'd mark me as a no call, no show if I didn't also call her, but I didn't have her personal number so if it was too early for the call to go through to my department, I was screwed. Should I have asked for her number? Sure. But you'd think that would have been step one on orientation day. They didn't even give me the number of the INTERCOM and yelled at me for never using it for several months. They didn't even pay me enough for their health insurance to be worth it.

My retail job's manager was constantly abusive to me. She'd tell me to do something with zero instruction, then yell at me for not doing it right. She'd huff if I asked a simple clarifying question to be sure I was doing something right, and snapping "*I'll* do it then, go clean." She'd scold me for the floor being a mess because I was busy helping customers on a busy Saturday afternoon. She'd scold me for missing that a customer needed help because I was focused on the thing she wanted me to get done faster. She was CONSTANTLY nagging me to work faster. She made me cry a few times from yelling at me, and said "I don't care that you're crying" as if I was doing it to manipulate her.

She constantly got my schedule wrong when I told her what days I was unavailable because of classes. She asked me EVERY WEEK to write it down, then EVERY WEEK she got it wrong, and she told me *I* was the one being inconsistent. She would acknowledge that I was going out of town one weekend, then call me demanding to know where I was that Saturday. She almost wrote up my coworker for being absent on his SON'S WEDDING. She threatened to write ME up when I tried to call out after slipping on the ice in my driveway and hitting my head, basically bullying me to come in. She screamed at me about calling out on Easter Sunday when I was up all night crying in pain from a COMPLETELY VERTICAL IMPACTED WISDOM TOOTH. I'd've loved to know a dentist that was open that day to give me a doctor's note.

The one time I actually reported her for screaming at me for using the bathroom and leaving the floor unattended (I TOLD my coworker where I was going and HE was the one who left the floor unattended to solve a problem at the register), the HR manager sighed and stared at the ceiling when I mentioned her name.

After she got transferred and someone else took over, my new manager was barely more tolerable because he was more passive-aggressive than abusive. He'd never confront me if he had a problem, just cut my hours to next to nothing. He never seemed to listen when I had to call out. He expected me to come into work the day after I called out indefinitely because I had been HIT BY A CAR. And when I did come back after months of recovery, I couldn't keep up anymore from pain and physical exhaustion. And the reason I'd already called out of work so much as it was was because being on my feet that much was literally destroying my ability to walk at all. My knees still have problems to this day from trying to kneel down to do lower shelf work to give myself some relief from my feet. And every time I tried to explain why I couldn't go any faster than I was he brushed me off. I literally quit that year, right before Christmas.

Someone who worked at a notoriously toxic retail store heard the name of the one I worked at and felt sorry for me.

I am never going back to retail.

People always gloss over how mentally damaging it can be to work in retail. I fucking hate that whenever I say “I could never work in retail again” someone has to reply “You snowflake millennials can’t take a starter job because you have to INTERACT with other people” No. Fuck you. I’ve worked as a planetarium host. I’ve worked as a public speaker. I’ve worked as a tutor and as a student teacher. I can work with people. I can work with crowds. Retail was fucking different. Retail was being treated as a subhuman. Retail was being treated so poorly that you have anxiety attacks before work. Having to work retail was a factor in my last suicide attempt. If I hear you say one fucking word about retail workers playing the victim I will personally break every bone in your body. Fuck You.

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

“Freak's looking at you.”

There's a nudge to his shoulder that makes Steve jerk up, snapping out of the daze he'd been in.

“Huh?” he asks, looking at Aaron with his brow furrowed.

Aaron nods towards a spot halfway across the cafeteria, and Steve shifts his gaze over to see Munson standing on top of one of the tables, watching him expectantly.

Shit.

“Can you repeat that, if you're expecting a response?” Steve asks. “I drifted off somewhere around comparing the swimming pool to a goldfish bowl.”

He's being honest - it's still harder to concentrate, and he saves it for classes and practice and tends to zone out when he doesn't need to pay attention - but it makes the people who were clearly listening in laugh.

Steve catches Munson's gaze and rolls his eyes, giving him an apologetic little shrug.

He's not really sure how Munson takes it, because he just bemoans the attention span of the average jock and clomps down from the table, but no one's looking at either of them anymore, so he guesses it doesn't matter.

Steve's almost disappointed. Might be kind of nice to see what Munson's like when no one's watching them, he thinks.

—

Things are okay, with him and Nancy and Jonathan.

His gaze doesn't automatically seek Nancy out in a crowd or anything - mostly because he'd always been at her side, before, so it's not like it's even something he's used to - but he still catches her gaze sometimes, still smiles and nods and doesn't say anything.

They share study hall together.

He and Nancy shared it before, of course, and logically he knows that Jonathan had it at the same time they did, but now - now they all have it together.

After the first few times of him or Nancy awkwardly veering sharply away from their previously shared table when they'd seen the other one was already there - one day they just didn't.

They don't say much, but the three of them sit together, exchanging class notes and books. Sometimes Steve sees the pinch in Jonathan's eyes and gives him a bottle of water and some ibuprofen, and sometimes Jonathan sees him squinting too hard at something and copies the passage over in bigger handwriting, and Nancy checks over both of their notes, and it's -

The jagged black cut in his heart scabs, fades, scars. He'll always love her, he thinks, but sometimes he thinks if they can get over the hurt -

Sometimes he sits with the two of them and it's the closest he's ever felt to being understood. Sometimes he thinks it's what he wanted with Tommy and Carol, all those years ago.

It's a start.

—

He runs into Munson after school, sometimes.

They don't say anything either, but after practice gets out and after Munson is done with his theater club or whatever it is, they'll see each other.

Sometimes, if Munson's selling, Steve will linger.

He doesn't really think Billy's stupid enough to point fingers at Munson, and most people are too afraid of him to do anything, but it still makes him feel a little better to keep an eye on him.

It kind of feels like no one watches out for Eddie Munson, not the way he watches out for his fellow freaks.

“What?” Munson demands one day, sidling up to Steve and slamming his goodie box down on the bench. “What're you looking for here?”

Steve frowns at him. “I told you.”

Munson's brows furrow. “You were serious about that shit? You think you're protecting me?”

“Why not?” Steve challenges.

Munson's eyes go flat. “And what's this protection going to cost me?”

Steve thinks about being offended, for a moment, before he wonders if other people have tried to make deals before, keep the other assholes of Hawkins High away from him in exchange for free weed or something.

He softens. “I haven't asked you for anything.”

Munson scowls. “Yet,” he counters. “Whatever you're thinking, if you're trying to get me to owe you, it's not happening. Fuck off, man, I don't need protecting.”

His heart clenches as he hears an echo of Max saying the same thing, and before he knows it he's reached into his chest and pulled out his heart.

The scowl melts into confusion for a brief moment before it's back in full force. “I'm still not showing you mine,” Munson retorts.

“I still haven't asked,” Steve counters. “I don't want anything, man, all right? Just looking out in case Billy tries something.”

Or anyone else, now that Steve thinks of it, but even with his heart pumping in a steady truth, he's not sure Munson'll believe that.

“Just like that,” Munson says flatly, after a moment of watching Steve's heart. “And what do your knights of the round table think of this?”

Steve's nose scrunches. “What?”

“Your knights.” Munson waves his hand dismissively, but - his tone isn't mean, isn't condescending. “It's a King Arthur reference.”

It's nice, that he isn't being shitty about Steve not understanding something.

“Right. So that makes me King Arthur, and you're - what was it again, the court jester?” Steve asks, giving him a little smile to show he's teasing.

“If we're doing King Arthur, I'm going with Merlin,” Eddie says.

“The old guy with the beard and pointy hat?” Steve asks.

Eddie puts his hands on his hips, fluttering his eyelashes. “You think I couldn't pull it off?”

Steve plays along, making a show of looking him up and down. “You know what, sure, you've got the right look for gray haired old man.”

“Asshole,” Eddie tells him, but he doesn't sound pissed anymore. “You know you're cutting into my profits, right? People see you lingering and they're less likely to come buy.”

Steve's brows furrow. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. Only the desperate want to make illicit purchases under the watchful eye of Hawkins High's once and future king.”

Steve's quiet for a moment. “I'll stand farther away, make myself look busy.”

Eddie glowers. “Seriously? You're not giving this up?”

Honestly - Steve probably should. But he's stubborn, and Eddie throwing a fit about it kind of just makes him want to do it more.

“Who looks out for you?” he asks instead of answering.

Eddie looks thrown. “What?”

“That's why you do it, right? Why you started walking on tables and making yourself a target. It takes attention off of the guys younger than you.” Steve's trying to make a point, so he slides right over the fact that they both know everyone's younger than Eddie - this is his second senior year, after all. “So everyone watches you.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, a little bit of an edge back in his voice. “You watch me, Harrington?”

“No,” Steve replies, blunt and honest. “Not really. Not before.”

“Not before Billy Hargrove tried to blame me for bashing your head in with his fists?” Eddie asks.

“He smashed a plate over it, actually,” Steve shoots back. “But yeah, something like that.”

Steve's heart gives an erratic beat. It wasn't a lie, but apparently it wasn't enough of the truth, either. Eddie gives him a pointed look.

“There's these kids I babysit,” Steve says, slow and careful. “They're into the same things you are. They're gonna be in high school next year, and I won't be here. Neither will you, but it just made me think - I'd want someone like you looking out for them.”

Eddie watches his heart for a moment.

“What are their names?” he asks. “Yeah, I won't be here, but Jeff will be. I can tell him to look out for them.”

Relief swoops through Steve, and he doesn't even care when Eddie gives him a funny look after he includes Mike and Will along with Dustin, Lucas, and Max.

He won't admit it, but it helps.

—

The next day, Eddie sits next to him at lunch.

He makes a big deal of it, hamming it up as he hops over the bench and plops down, pulling out a sandwich and some chips and flattening out his lunch bag to make a plate for them.

Steve's sitting with the swim team today, and he watches some of the guys side eye Eddie like they're not sure what the joke is and who the punchline is supposed to be. He watches some of them look at him with disgust, too, and those he carefully files away to keep an eye on later.

“My liege!” Eddie announces cheerfully. “How fair you and your knights of the round table on this fine afternoon?”

“Your king is doing just fine, as long as you keep your boots on the ground and away from the top of the lunch table,” Steve retorts.

“Is this like when Carol used to call her and Tommy Duke and Duchess?” Jacob asks.

“Are we doing that, are we knights now?” Dorian asks, his eyes lighting up a little.

Dorian gets straight A's, Steve remembers that. English is his best class.

“Sure, why not?” Steve says, shrugging carelessly, even as he shoots a smile at Dorian. “You can be Sir Galahad.”

Michael groans. “Don't encourage him, this is stupid.”

Tanner snorts. “From the guy who calls his girlfriend princess.”

Michael flushes. “Shut up! It's just so Ashley will stop whining.”

“Uh-huh.” Jacob elbows him. “We've all heard you at Tina's parties pledging to be her knight in shining armor.”

They have, apparently, completely forgotten Eddie's existence as they fall back to ribbing on each other.

Steve turns to him, finding him watching the table with a narrow, calculating gaze.

“Eat your lunch,” Steve says. “My knights don't give a shit.”

These ones, anyway, and as long as Steve's there, but he's not going to say that.

They both know it.

Still, Eddie keeps it up. It's not every day, or every other day, or in any kind of recognizable pattern, but he'll plop himself down next to Steve's side like he belongs there whenever he feels like it.

Steve largely treats it like he doesn't give a shit, and most of the people he tends to sit with follow suit, if a couple of them can't seem to resist making snide little comments.

It's always the ones who make snide comments to everyone, the kind of assholes that Steve can't wait to get away from, so he mostly ignores it.

The sixth or seventh time it happens, Steve drops his apple on Eddie's folded over lunch bag.

Eddie stares at him.

“What?” Steve asks. “You're going to get scurvy if you keep eating nothing but bologna and Doritos for lunch.”

Eddie snorts. “I look like an eighteenth century pirate captain?”

Steve makes a show of looking him up and down again. “You look like something,” he replies.

Completely unexpectedly, Eddie flushes a little, picking up the apple and taking a comically large bite out of it.

Steve grins.

—

Steve's at swimming practice after school when Nancy and Jonathan show up.

The second he sees them hovering near the back door, he hauls himself up out of the pool, barely pausing to grab a towel on the way.

“What's happened?” he asks immediately, low and quick.

Jonathan's expression is a mess of worry, like he's trying not to panic, as he says, “I can't find Will.”

“We're supposed to pick him and Mike up from the AV club,” Nancy cuts in. “But they're not there, and they're not at any of their usual places at school.”

“Or at home, or anyone else's place, or the arcade,” Jonathan adds.

Steve's chest tightens. It's stupid, kids go off to places they're not supposed to be all the time - especially these kids - but given their track record, that doesn't mean they're not in trouble. “Let me grab my stuff, I'll be right there.”

Practice is almost done, anyway.

He shrugs into his windbreaker and grabs his backpack, darting out the door to follow them. He's already digging around in the backpack to pull out the walkie talkie Dustin gave him by the time he gets to them.

“Little shit better answer,” Steve grumbles, thumbing it on. “Dustin, you there?”

There's a tense pause as they wait.

“Dustin?” Steve tries again.

Nothing.

Jonathan's face goes a little paler, and Nancy's jaw clenches.

“Hey asshole, you're the one who made me carry this around, the least you could do is respond,” Steve bitches.

This time, the walkie flares to life.

“You're supposed to say over when you're done talking, Steve!” Dustin bitches back. “Otherwise I won't know it's my turn! Over.”

“Are you serious right now? It wasn't obvious enough?” Steve asks - then, because he wouldn't put it past Dustin to be a little shit about it, and he knows Jonathan is beyond worried - “Is Will with you? Over.”

“Yeah, he's right here. Why?” Dustin asks. “Over.”

Jonathan sags with relief.

“Was he maybe supposed to meet his brother somewhere?” Steve prompts. “Over.”

Whatever Dustin had been going to say in response to that is drowned out by a chorus of “Oh shit!” and “You said you were keeping track of the time!” and “Don't tell Mom, we'll be right there!”

Nancy rolls her eyes, taking the walkie from him. “Five minutes,” she says into it. “Or we're leaving without you and you can bike home. Over and out.”

Steve's pretty sure he and Jonathan both know that she doesn't mean that, but the kids don't know it, so he's equally sure that'll light a fire under their asses.

“Hey, Dustin, do you and Lucas need a ride home?” he asks once he gets the walkie back.

“And Max?” Dustin asks. “Over.”

“And Max,” Steve agrees, assuming that's a yes. “I'll meet you out front of the high school. Over.”

He shoves the walkie back in his bag, looking up to exchange a relieved look with Nancy and Jonathan.

“See you tomorrow?” Nancy asks, though Steve gets the feeling it's more to fill the silence that's gone a little awkward, now that the potential danger's passed.

“Sure,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Jonathan tells him, eyes fixed somewhere at his left cheekbone like he's not entirely sure where to look.

“Any time.” It comes out too flippant, though, and Steve makes a face at himself as Jonathan turns to leave.

“Hey.” Steve reaches out, fingers curled loosely around Jonathan's wrist. “I mean it, okay? Any time.”

This time, Jonathan's eyes lock on his. After a moment, Jonathan's cheeks go a little pink, and then he nods before he follows Nancy down the hall.

Steve watches them for a moment or two, then drops his backpack down on a bench a little harder than he probably should, digging around for his sweatpants.

“I don't get it.”

Steve looks up as he's halfway through putting his pants on to see Eddie sidling up next to him in the hall.

“Don't get what?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods towards where Nancy and Jonathan just were. “The three of you.”

Steve shrugs. “We're friends, not a lot to get.”

He goes back to fighting with his sweatpants, wishing he'd dried off a little more before pulling them on over his speedo. They keep sticking to his thighs.

Eddie's gone quiet, though, and when Steve glances back up, he sees Eddie staring at him.

Steve cocks one eyebrow. “What?”

Eddie flushes, looking away. “Didn't figure you'd be so comfortable with the girl who broke your heart and the guy who stole her away, is all. Or hey, maybe she's putting out for both of you, maybe Byers is-”

“Hey,” Steve cuts in, tone sharp and firm in a way he hasn't had to do since he stopped hanging out with Tommy and didn't have to hold him back when he'd gone too far anymore.

But Eddie isn't like Tommy. Maybe he doesn't know Eddie all that well, but Steve gets the feeling he only lashes out when he's feeling cornered.

“Don't be a dick, man,” Steve says, voice softening a little. “They haven't done anything to you.”

Eddie looks back at him, a little surprised, before his expression goes contrite. “You're right,” he admits, easy as anything. “Sorry. It's good that you’re friends with your ex.”

Steve's sort of friends with most of his exes, but that's not the same. None of them were ever Nancy. “I do better as part of a trio,” he says instead of anything else, because it's kind of true.

Then, because he doesn't actually want to field any questions about that -

“Besides,” Steve adds. “If you've heard the rumors, you'd know that's not the kind of threesome I'm into.”

Eddie snorts inelegantly, like he's trying to cover up a laugh. “You telling me I should be putting stock in all the rumors I hear about you, Stevie?”

“Of course not. But the ones about my skills in the bedroom?” he shoots back. “Every word is truth.”

It's not, really. Or, well - not the one about the threesomes. Steve doesn't think sitting between two girls on the couch at a house party and going back and forth between kissing them counts as a threesome.

But it'd never been a hardship to combat that particular rumor, not when it meant he could take his time reassuring the girl he was with that no, he didn't want anyone else there, when he could spend a while making sure she felt important, felt good.

He thinks he'd kind of like spending some time making Eddie feel important.

Steve has no idea what the hell he's supposed to do with thoughts like that.

But he does know the way Eddie's eyes have lingered over his thighs and the line of his stomach and chest peeking out from his open windbreaker, and he-

“You want to find out which rumors are true, you just let me know,” he hears himself say.

Eddie doesn't bite, rolling his eyes and shoving him before he heads off, but Steve isn't deterred.

He hadn't missed the way Eddie's hand had lingered, either.

—

Steve and Eddie have free period together.

Well. Steve has a free period, at least. He's honestly not sure Eddie isn't just ditching, but it doesn't really matter.

They hang out together anyway.

They don't really say much, just - exist in the same space. Sometimes in the smoking area, sometimes at the track, sometimes at the picnic table, sometimes somewhere else in the woods.

They sit too close together when they're in the woods, shoulders or knees always touching.

A few times, Steve takes out his heart, lets himself breathe.

Eddie always glares at it, mutters, “I'm still not showing you mine, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs, tells him he still hasn't asked, and that's it.

Steve'll miss it once he graduates.

—

He graduates, and doesn't go to college, doesn't see Nancy or Jonathan or Eddie much anymore, and it's - it's fine.

He still hangs out with the kids, starts putting in job applications, and it's fine.

He's fine.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 5

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt

[the-winter-spider]

I miss you, I'm sorry

Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: Toxic, angst, smut

A/N: I love Gracie, and was like fuck it gonna toss something together based off my fav songs by her

The air feels heavy, even though the room is quiet. You sit cross-legged on your bed, your phone resting beside you, the screen dim and blank. The minutes bleed into each other, but you can’t stop glancing at the clock, as if willing it to rewind to before it all.

It’s been three days. Three days of no texts, no calls, no nothing. That’s how it always goes with Bucky. He’s there, and then he’s not. And every time, you tell yourself it’ll be the last time you wait for him to come back.

It never is.

You hate him for how easy it is to disappear. You hate yourself more for letting him.

The phone rings.

The sharp sound cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and for a moment, your heart skips. You snatch the phone up, seeing his name flash across the screen. The sight of it sends a rush of relief, anger, and something softer, something stupidly hopeful, all at once.

You answer, but don’t say anything.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet, gravelly. Tired.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Hey.”

The silence stretches, brittle and uncomfortable. You can hear him breathing on the other end, steady and soft. It reminds you of the way his breath felt against your skin the last time he stayed over, the last time he let himself get too close before pulling away again.

“I shouldn’t have called,” he mutters finally, his voice tight. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

You close your eyes. There it is again, the push and pull. The way he says he shouldn’t but always does. The way he drags you back into his orbit every time, knowing you’ll stay.

“What do you want, Bucky?” you ask, keeping your voice steady. It’s a question you’ve asked a hundred times, and you already know the answer.

He exhales sharply, like he’s frustrated—at you, at himself, you’re not sure. “I don’t know.” Another pause. “You were right, okay? About everything. I just…” His voice trails off, and you can picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s trying to find the words. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?” you snap, the simmering frustration bubbling to the surface. “Hate that you always come back? Or hate that you can’t figure out what the hell you want?”

He doesn’t answer. He never does when you call him out like this.

The silence makes your chest ache. You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “You can’t keep doing this, Bucky. You can’t keep pulling me back just to push me away again. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” he whispers. And he sounds so broken, so genuine, that it cracks something inside you. It always does.

You take a shaky breath. “Then why do you do it?”

“I don’t know,” he says again. His voice is quieter now, softer, like he’s afraid of breaking you more than he already has. “Because you’re the only thing that feels real. And I don’t know how to hold onto it without screwing it up.”

Your throat tightens. You wish you didn’t understand. But you do. He’s always been good at giving you just enough to stay, but never enough to feel whole. “Its not enough Buck”

“I know,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “But it’s all I’ve got, you're all i truly have."

You sighed running your head through your hair “Do you wanna come over?”

“I’m already on my way”

You don't have to wait long. The sound of his motorcycle pulling up to your place makes your stomach do a little flip, even though you're still mad at him. You hear his heavy boots on the stairs, and then a soft knock at your door.

You take a deep breath before opening it. He's standing there, his hair tousled from the ride, his face tight and tired. He looks at you, and for a moment, it's like all the walls come down. He reaches out, cupping your face with his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough. "I'm so fucking sorry."

And just like that, you melt. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, pulling you close. He smells like leather and cigarettes and something uniquely him.

"I missed you," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I hate not seeing you."

"I hate it too," you whisper back. "But you can't keep doing this, Bucky. You can't keep hurting me."

He makes a soft, broken sound. "I know. I'm trying, okay? I'm really trying."

The door closes softly behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the charged silence. Bucky's hand is still cupping your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you breathe him in. He smells like leather and smoke, like home and danger all rolled into one.

You press yourself against him, feeling the hard planes of his body through his clothes. He's solid and warm and real, and it's been too long since you've felt him like this. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he claims your mouth in a hungry kiss.

You moan into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. He kisses like your fights- fierce and intense, like he's trying to claim every inch of you. You kiss back just as fiercely, your tongue sliding against his as you lose yourself in the feel of him.

He walks you backwards towards the bed, his hands roaming your body as he goes. He breaks the kiss only to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His mouth is back on yours before you can even blink, his hands cupping your breasts through your bra.

You arch into his touch, your nipples hardening under his palms. He groans low in his throat, his hips pressing forward to grind against yours. You can feel his hardness through his jeans, and it makes you ache with need.

He breaks the kiss again, trailing his lips down your neck as his hands work to unclasp your bra. It falls to the floor, joining the growing pile of clothes. He takes a moment to look at you, his eyes dark with desire as they rake over your naked breasts.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his hands cupping the soft mounds. You gasp as his thumbs brush over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

He leans down, taking one of the hardened peaks into his mouth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sucks and licks and nibbles. Your hips buck against his, seeking friction, and he groans around your nipple, the vibrations making you shiver.

He gives the other breast the same attention, lavishing it with kisses and bites until you're writhing beneath him. Only then does he move lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach as he kneels before you.

His hands hook in the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down along with your panties. You step out of them, kicking them aside as he looks up at you from his knees. The sight of him there, kneeling before you like you're a goddess to be worshipped, makes your knees weak.

"Bucky," you breathe, and it's half plea, half prayer.

He grins up at you, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Patience, baby. I'm going to take my time with you."

And then his mouth is on you, his tongue delving between your folds to taste you. You cry out, your head falling back as pleasure crashes over you. He licks and sucks and teases, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he devours you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls back, leaving you gasping and empty.

"Bucky, please," you whimper, and he chuckles darkly.

"Please what, baby? Tell me what you want."

"I want you," you pant, looking down at him with desperation in your eyes. "I want you inside me."

He stands up, pulling you flush against him as he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it makes you even more aroused. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he grinds his hardness against your bare core.

"Bed," he growls against your lips, and you nod frantically, tugging him towards the mattress.

You tumble onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desire. He breaks the kiss to sit up, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. You take a moment to admire the hard planes of his chest, the scars that crisscross his skin like a roadmap of his past.

He crawls back over you, his hips settling between your thighs as he reaches for his belt. You watch, transfixed, as he unbuckles it and shoves his jeans and boxers down, freeing him.

He settles back over you, his head brushing against your entrance. You shudder at the contact, your hips lifting to try and draw him in.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers, his voice rough with need. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," you breathe, wrapping your legs around his waist. "I want all of you."

And with that, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to the stretch.

He pauses for a moment, letting you get used to him. Then he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. You meet him thrust for thrust, your hips rising to take him deeper.

The bed creaks beneath you as he sets a relentless pace, driving into you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, burying his face in your neck. "So perfect."

You clench around him in response, and he curses, his hips snapping forward harder.

"I'm gonna come," you gasp, your body tensing beneath him. "Bucky, I'm gonna-"

But he cuts off your words with a kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as you come undone beneath him. Your body spasms around him, milking him as he follows you over the edge with a hoarse shout of your name.

He collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as the aftershocks of your orgasms roll through you. He presses soft kisses to your neck, your jawline, your lips as you bask in the afterglow.

"I love you," he murmurs against your skin, and you hope it's just not the sex talking.

Later that week, you’re sitting at a bar with Natasha. She watches you nurse your drink, her sharp green eyes narrowing as you tell her what happened.

“He called,” you say, staring down at the condensation on your glass. “And like an idiot, I picked up, and he came over, we had sex and he was gone in the morning”

Natasha doesn’t say anything at first. She just leans back, crossing her arms. “What do you want me to say?” she asks finally. “That he’s going to change? That this time will be different?”

You shake your head. “No. I just…” You trail off, struggling to put the feeling into words. “I just wish I didn’t miss him so much. I wish I could stop.”

She sighs, leaning forward. “Listen to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “He’s not going to fix this. You know that, right? He’s not going to wake up one day and suddenly figure out how to love you the way you deserve. That’s not who he is, you have to know that babe…"

“I know,” you whisper. But the ache in your chest doesn’t go away.

Natasha exhales deeply, tilting her head as if trying to decide whether to push further. Finally, she sets her drink down and leans across the table, her voice quieter but no less serious. “So, what’s the plan? You gonna keep answering when he calls? Keep letting him come over, screw you and your head, and leave like nothing happened?”

You don’t answer, just trace the edge of your glass with your finger. The truth is, you don’t have a plan. You’re not even sure you want one. “He said he loves me, he's never said that before”

Natasha leans back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studies you. Her sharp green eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no satisfaction in her expression. She doesn’t look impressed, doesn’t look relieved, like you’d hoped she might. Instead, her face softens, just slightly, in that way that means she’s about to say something you don’t want to hear.

“Okay,” she says slowly, her voice calm but pointed. “And what does that change?”

Her question hits like a bucket of cold water, and you blink at her, your fingers freezing mid-trace on the rim of your glass. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, so what?” Natasha continues, leaning forward now, her elbows on the table. “He said the words. Great. But what does that actually mean to you? Did it make you feel better? Did it fix anything?”

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The truth sits heavy in your chest.

“It’s not enough just to say it,” Natasha presses, her tone still steady but with an edge of frustration. “Love isn’t just words. It’s showing up. It’s consistency. It’s choosing someone, not just when it’s convenient, but every single day. Did he do that? Or did he just say what you’ve been waiting to hear and then disappear again?”

The ache in your chest tightens, and you look down, your fingers clutching the glass like it might hold the answers you’re searching for. “He—he’s trying,” you say weakly, but even you don’t sound convinced.

Natasha lets out a breath, her voice softening again. “Babe… I know you want to believe him. I know you love him. But this?” She gestures vaguely, as if to encompass all of it—your tears, the late-night calls, the endless cycle. “This isn’t what love is supposed to feel like. Love doesn’t leave you questioning your worth every time the sun comes up.”

The words settle over you like a weight, and you swallow hard, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. You don’t want her to see you cry. Not here. Not like this.

“Nat…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But she shakes her head, her expression soft but unyielding.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” she says gently. “I just… I want you to be happy. And you’re not happy right now. You haven’t been for a long time.”

Before you can respond, the stool next to her screeches, and Sam slides into it, his energy a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere between you and Nat. He plunks his beer on the table and gives you a once-over.

“Well, you look like someone stole your puppy,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Natasha shoots him a look. “Not the time, Sam.”

“I’m just saying,” he replies, leaning back and gesturing to you. “She’s been sitting here all night, looking like a sad indie song, and you’re just gonna let her wallow?”

You glare at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you have something to say, or are you just here to make jokes?”

“Both,” Sam says, taking a sip of his beer before setting it down. “Look, I love you, but this thing with Bucky? It’s killing you, and everyone can see it. Hell, you can see it, but you’re still pretending like it’s gonna work itself out.”

“Sam,” Natasha warns, but he holds up a hand.

“No, let me finish,” he says, his voice more serious now. “I’ve been where you are, okay? Hanging onto something that’s breaking you because you’re scared to let it go. But you know what happens if you keep holding on?” He pauses, meeting your eyes. “You lose yourself. And I don’t want that for you.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and for a moment, all you can do is sit there, blinking back the tears threatening to spill.

“I don’t know how to let him go,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am without him.”

Sam leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Then it’s time to figure that out. Because you deserve better than waiting around for someone who doesn’t see how amazing you are—not someone who only comes around when it’s convenient for him.”

After Sam and Natasha head home, you find yourself walking through the quiet streets, your hands shoved into your coat pockets. The city hums around you, but you feel untethered, like you’re floating between who you are and who you want to be.

Before you realize it, your feet take you to Bucky’s building. You stop at the corner, staring up at the windows. The lights in his apartment are off, but you know he’s there. He’s always there.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, your heart sinking when you see his name.

Bucky: You up?

The message is simple, familiar, and infuriatingly tempting. Your thumb hovers over the screen.

You: Yes, just leaving the bar.

Bucky: Ill see you in 20.

You see his light flick on.

You: Okay.

You’re sitting in your apartment with Steve. He’d shown up unexpectedly, a bag of bagels in one hand and a concerned look on his face. Now, he’s watching you carefully as you pick at your food, the silence between you growing heavier by the minute.

“I heard about last night,” he says eventually, breaking the stillness.

You glance up, narrowing your eyes. “Natasha?”

“Sam,” he admits with a small smile, but his expression stays serious. “He’s worried about you. We all are.”

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. “I’m fine, Steve.”

“You’re not fine,” he says gently, setting his coffee down on the table. “And it’s okay to not be fine. But you need to stop punishing yourself for wanting more than what Bucky can give you.”

Your chest tightens, and you look away, your voice barely audible. “He’s not a bad person, Steve. He’s just… broken.”

“I know he is,” Steve says softly, his tone patient but firm. “And I know he cares about you, even if he’s too scared to show it. But that doesn’t mean you have to keep hurting yourself to save him.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you ask the question that’s been clawing at you for days. “Is he seeing anyone else?”

Steve freezes mid-bite, his jaw tightening. “Yes.”

You nod slowly, your hands trembling as you set your plate down on the coffee table. “Are they… are they having sex?”

Steve’s shoulders sag slightly, and he shakes his head. “No.”

The relief you feel is fleeting, quickly replaced by another ache—something deeper, sharper. “He told me he loves me, y’know,” you whisper, your voice cracking.

That makes Steve freeze completely. He sets his bagel down, staring at you with wide, startled eyes. “He said that?”

You nod, the words pouring out of you now, unfiltered and raw. “He’s never said it before. And I didn’t know what to do. Because it felt… real. For a second, it felt like maybe this time was different. But then he was gone the next morning, like always.”

Steve leans back in his chair, his brow furrowed, like he’s trying to process what you’ve just said. “Did he mean it?” he asks finally, his voice cautious.

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I don’t know, Steve. Does it matter? He says one thing, but everything else he does just…” You trail off, shaking your head.

“It matters,” Steve says firmly, leaning forward. “If he loves you, that’s something. But love isn’t enough if he can’t show it, if he can’t make you feel it.” Steve is quiet for a long moment, his expression pained. “You deserve more than that,” he says finally. “You deserve someone who’s not afraid to fight for you. Someone who doesn’t make you feel like you’re asking for too much just by being yourself.”

-----------

The music is loud, pulsing through the crowded bar in a steady rhythm that matches the pounding in your chest. You're friends are off dancing their cares away, while you sit at a small table near the corner, nursing your drink, half-hidden in the dim lighting. The condensation from the glass drips onto your hand, but you barely notice.

Your eyes keep drifting to him.

Bucky is across the room, his arm slung casually around another woman’s shoulders. She’s laughing, tilting her head toward him like he’s just told her the funniest joke in the world. He looks… relaxed. At ease in a way you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s like someone’s taken a knife to your chest, twisting it deeper with every passing second.

You force yourself to look away, staring into the amber liquid in your glass like it holds answers to questions you’re too scared to ask. But it doesn’t work. Your gaze flickers back to him, almost involuntarily.

They’re dancing now, swaying to a song you don’t recognize. His hand rests lightly on her hip, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress in a way that feels too intimate, too familiar.

And then he kisses her.

Not on the lips, but on her head, his lips lingering against her hair as she leans into him. It’s tender, effortless, the kind of gesture that feels natural, like it belongs to someone who knows how to love without hesitation.

Your chest tightens, and you swallow the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to take another sip of your drink. The bitterness burns your tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the ache spreading through you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That this doesn’t matter. That he’s made his choice, and it isn’t you.

But the truth is, it matters too much.

You drain the rest of your drink, the cold liquid going down in one sharp swallow. You set the glass down harder than you mean to, the dull thud lost in the noise of the bar.

You glance over at him one last time, just to confirm what you already know. He’s still there, his attention focused on her.

But then his eyes shift.

He sees you.

For a split second, your gazes lock across the room, and the weight of his stare pins you in place. His hand pauses on her back, and something flickers in his expression—guilt, maybe, or regret.

You can’t tell, and you’re not sure you want to.

The heat of his gaze follows you as you stand, slipping your bag over your shoulder and making your way toward the door. The noise of the bar fades into the background as you weave through the crowd, your footsteps quick and purposeful.

You don’t look back, but you can feel him watching you, his eyes lingering like a phantom touch that burns even after you’re gone.

The cold night air hits your face as you step outside, and you inhale deeply, trying to push the ache in your chest away.

But it stays. It always stays.

That night, you’re curled up on your couch, a blanket wrapped around you as the city lights flicker through the window. Your phone sits on the coffee table, dark and silent.

Until it’s not.

The screen lights up, and Bucky’s name appears. The voicemail notification lingers like a ghost, and your hand trembles as you reach for it.

You press play, his voice cracking through the silence.

“I know I’ve screwed this up. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I miss you, and I don’t know how to do this without you. Please… just call me, I’m sorry”

-------

You find him outside on the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing, his shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. The cold night air bites at your skin, and the faint glow of the streetlights below casts shadows that dance across his face. He doesn’t turn when you step out. He never does. That’s the thing about Bucky—he always knows you’re there, but he’s mastered the art of pretending not to.

The sound of the sliding door closing behind you feels final, like you’ve just stepped into a space you won’t come back from. Your arms wrap around yourself, a weak defense against the cold—or maybe against him—and you take a hesitant step forward.

“I thought you left,” you say, breaking the fragile quiet. Your voice wavers, as unsure as the ground you’re standing on.

He finally looks over his shoulder, his eyes heavy and rimmed with shadows. He looks wrecked. Tired in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. “Almost did,” he says softly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city.

You step closer, your chest tightening at his words, at the way he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift to let you in. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugs, turning back to the skyline, his fingers gripping the railing. “I haven’t heard from you all week.”

The ache in your chest sharpens at his tone, a flicker of hope you hate sneaking in despite yourself. It’s always like this: just enough vulnerability to keep you tethered. You stop a few feet away, the space between you feeling like a canyon, impossible to bridge.

“This isn’t working,” you say, finally voicing the thought that’s been clawing at you for weeks. “Whatever this is. It’s not working, Bucky.”

He doesn’t react at first, just keeps staring out at the city, like it holds an answer he’s too afraid to look for. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough. “I know.”

The simplicity of his admission steals your breath. It’s not that you didn’t expect it. You did. You’ve been here before, standing on the edge of this same cliff, waiting for the inevitable fall.

“So why are we still here?” you ask, your voice trembling, tinged with a desperation you wish you could hide.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. The motion is frustrated, exhausted, like he’s tired of his own indecision. “Because I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, his words cutting through the night air with brutal honesty.

You take another step closer, close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles turn white as he grips the railing. “Bucky,” you say, your voice soft but breaking. “I need more than this. I need to know if you’re ever going to stop running every time things get hard. Because I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out.”

He turns to face you then, his blue eyes locking onto yours. There’s something in them—something raw and fragile and so heartbreakingly familiar. For a fleeting second, you think this is it. The moment he’ll finally tell you what you’ve been waiting to hear.

But then he looks away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I can.”

The nausea hits you like a punch, twisting your stomach into knots. You take a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself like it might keep you from falling apart. “Do you even want to try?”

His silence is deafening, an answer in itself.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and sharp. “You’re unbelievable,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “I’m standing here, practically begging you to tell me you care, and you can’t even do that.”

“I care,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know I care.”

“Do I?” Your voice rises, anger bubbling to the surface, breaking through the pain. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. You say you care, but you act like I’m something you can pick up and put down whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“Stop,” he says, his voice suddenly firm, his eyes snapping back to yours. There’s something desperate in his tone, something pleading that makes your breath hitch. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this.”

“No, Bucky.” You shake your head, your voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. “You just don’t want to. And there’s a difference.”

The words hang between you, heavy and suffocating. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, but then he stops. His eyes dart back to the city skyline, and you see it—the war he’s waging with himself, the battle between what he wants and what he’s too scared to reach for.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of the moment. “Say anything.”

“I’m seeing someone,” he says suddenly, his hands gripping the railing so tightly you half expect it to snap. The words hit like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs.

The world around you tilts. Your hands tremble as you take a step back. “Of course you are,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The bitter laugh that follows feels like it belongs to someone else. “I’m done.”

You turn toward the sliding door, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might shatter. Your hand trembles as you reach for the handle, pausing for just a second, hoping—praying—he’ll stop you. That he’ll fight.

But the silence stretches on, heavier and colder than the night air.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s still standing there, staring down at the city like he’s already let you go.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to slide the door open and step back inside. The warmth of the apartment hits you like a slap, but it does nothing to ease the chill in your chest.

The door slides shut with a quiet thud.

And Bucky doesn’t follow.

You’d just moved into a new apartment, one that wasn't tainted with all the places he'd touched, places he'd been. It made things easier it wasn't the reason for your move but it helped. Natasha had decided you were both done unpacking for the night so naturally she had dragged you to a party. Steve’s place, of course. The apartment was alive with the energy of too many people crammed into too little space. Natasha had disappeared into a circle of friends near the kitchen, leaving you to nurse your drink in a corner. That’s when you noticed him.

Bucky.

He was leaning against the wall, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Dark hair falling into his eyes, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder despite the heat of the crowded room. He didn’t see you at first, but when he did, his gaze lingered just long enough to make your pulse race.

You told yourself you wouldn’t approach him, but an hour later, you were pressed against the wall in Steve’s hallway, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t get close enough. It was messy, impulsive, and thrilling.

“We probably shouldn’t,” you’d whispered, your breath catching as his mouth moved against your collarbone.

He’d laughed softly, his voice low and rough. “Yeah. Probably not.”

Neither of you stopped.

There were moments after that—moments that felt like everything you’d ever wanted. Late nights in his apartment, the room dimly lit by the glow of the city outside. He’d lie next to you, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm as you talked about everything and nothing.

He’d tell you about his childhood, the things he rarely told anyone. The weight of his past. And you’d listen, feeling like you were peeling back layers of him that no one else had ever seen.

“You don’t have to fix me,” he’d murmured once, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I like being around you.”

You’d smiled, brushing his hair back from his face. “I’m not trying to fix you, Bucky.”

And in those moments, you weren’t lying.

But then there were the other moments. The ones where he pulled away so fast it left you reeling.

You remember the first time he didn’t text you back. It wasn’t just hours—it was days. Days of overanalyzing every word you’d said to him the last time you saw him. Days of your stomach twisting every time your phone buzzed, only for it to not be him.

When he finally did text, it was so casual it made you want to scream.

“Hey. You good?”

No apology. No explanation. Just like that, he was back. And you let him back in because you didn’t know how not to.

And then there was the jealousy. The way you’d catch him talking to someone else at a party, his body language so open and inviting in a way it rarely was with you. You hated how it made you feel, the bitterness that bubbled up, the way you wanted to pull him aside and demand to know if he cared about you at all.

But you didn’t. You never did.

“Do you even want to move on?” Wanda asks, her tone soft but pointed. “Or is this just who you are now?”

You blink at her, her words cutting through the haze of your thoughts. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

She sighs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You deserve better, you know that, right?”

The door swings open, and Natasha walks in, dropping her bag on the counter. She gives you a look, one that’s equal parts sympathetic and exasperated.

“Let me guess,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’re thinking about him again.”

You don’t answer, but the way your jaw tightens is enough for her to roll her eyes. “You know he’s not good for you. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“I don’t know,” you snap, harsher than you mean to. “Maybe because it’s not that simple.”

“Actually, it is,” Natasha retorts, her voice sharp. “You stop calling him. You stop answering when he calls. You stop letting him treat you like an afterthought.”

“Nat—” Wanda starts, her tone soothing, but Natasha holds up a hand.

“No, she needs to hear this.” She looks at you again, her expression softening just slightly. “I know you care about him. But caring about him isn’t enough if he doesn’t care about you the same way. At some point, you have to start putting yourself first.”

You glance away, her words hitting too close to home.

“I don’t get you,” you’d once said your voice trembling with frustration. “One minute you’re here, and it feels like—like maybe this could be something. And the next, you’re gone.”

He’d run a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is, Bucky,” you’d said, your voice rising. “You either want me, or you don’t. So which is it?”

He’d stopped then, turning to look at you. And the look on his face—it wasn’t anger or indifference. It was fear.

“I don’t know,” he’d said finally, his voice breaking.

And that was the worst part.

“You’re spiraling,” Sam said. He wasn’t harsh about it, but he didn’t sugarcoat it either. “This isn’t love. It’s self-destruction.”

Even as you think it, your phone buzzes on the coffee table. The sound feels too loud in the quiet room, pulling everyone’s attention. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips when you see his name. Just his name—no message preview, no context, just him.

Wanda notices, her brow furrowing as she leans forward. “Don’t,” she says softly, but there’s a weight behind the word, a plea. “You’ll just end up back where you started.”

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the notification. The silence in the room grows heavier, charged with unspoken tension. Your chest tightens as your mind races. It would be so easy. Just one tap, and he’d be there again. One tap, and you’d hear his voice, feel the pull that always brings you back.

“I just…” Your voice falters, your eyes flickering to Wanda and then to Sam, who watches you with a mix of concern and frustration. “What if this time it’s different?”

Sam lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand over his face. “You think this time is different? Come on. What’s he going to say that he hasn’t already said a hundred times before?”

“It’s not about what he says,” Wanda interjects, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s about what he does. And what has he done, really, except hurt you?”

You look back at the screen. The notification is still there, a glaring reminder of the mess you can’t seem to escape. Your thumb presses down slightly, not enough to open it but enough to feel the weight of the choice.

“But I love him,” you whisper. The words tumble out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered.

Sam exhales sharply, standing up from the chair and pacing across the room. “Yeah, we know. Everyone knows. But does he love you? Because if he does, he’s got a real shitty way of showing it.”

You flinch at his tone, the harshness cutting through your defenses. “He does love me,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

“Then where is he?” Sam snaps, turning to face you. “Why isn’t he here, fighting for you instead of blowing up your phone every time he feels lonely? Why is it always you doing the heavy lifting?”

Wanda places a hand on Sam’s arm, pulling him back gently. “Sam…”

“No, I need to say it,” he says, his voice softer now but still firm. “Love isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to feel like you’re drowning every damn day just to keep him afloat.”

The bar is too loud, too crowded, and too filled with memories of Bucky for you to feel at ease. But you’re here because it’s Steve’s birthday, and Natasha had insisted. And of course you came it was Steve.

You’re leaning against the bar, talking to a man you barely know. His smile is easy, his laugh smooth, and even though you’re trying to focus on him, you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. From across the room, his gaze burns into your back, searing through your dress like a brand.

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes for a split second. The tension in his jaw, the way his drink sits untouched in his hand—it’s the most emotion he’s shown all night. But it’s not enough to stop you.

If he wants to act like he doesn’t care, you’ll give him something to not care about.

The man beside you leans in, his hand brushing against your arm as he says something you don’t quite catch over the noise. You laugh, even though you barely hear the joke. You laugh because you know Bucky is watching.

It doesn’t take long for him to snap.

Before you realize what’s happening, his hand is on your wrist. Firm but not rough, his grip sends a jolt through you. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and clipped.

“Excuse me?” You pull back, glaring at him, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“We’re leaving,” he says, not looking at you, not giving the man beside you so much as a glance.

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s already pulling you through the crowd, weaving between bodies with single-minded determination.

By the time you reach his apartment, you’re seething. He slams the door shut behind you, the sound echoing through the dimly lit space.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms.

“My problem?” he fires back, pacing across the room like a caged animal. “My problem is you acting like that guy meant anything to you!”

“Oh, and you would know what means something to me, right?” You take a step closer, your voice rising. “Because you’re so good at showing me how much I mean to you.”

He stops, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t turn this on me.”

“Why not? It’s always about you, isn’t it, Bucky? What you want, what you feel. You drag me into your mess every time, and I let you, because I—”

You stop yourself, your breath catching.

“Because you what?” he demands, his voice sharp.

“Because I care about you!” you yell, your chest heaving. “And all you ever do is hurt me for it.”

His face twists, like your words hit him somewhere deep. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, that he’s going to explain or apologize or do something, but instead, he grabs a plate from the counter and hurls it against the wall. The sharp crash reverberates through the room, the pieces scattering across the floor like jagged confessions neither of you are ready to face.

You flinch at the sound, but the fire in your chest burns brighter, fueled by the chaos. “Oh, real mature, Bucky. Breaking dishes? That’s your solution? Just break things until you don’t have to feel anything anymore?”

He grabs another plate, his hand trembling as he grips it, his knuckles white. His voice breaks as he yells, “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t know I’m screwing this up? That I don’t hate myself for it?”

“Then stop!” you shout back, your voice raw and cracking under the weight of it all. “Stop hurting me, stop dragging me back, stop—just stop!”

The plate shakes in his hand, and for a second, you think he’s going to throw it again. Instead, he slams it down on the counter with a hollow thud. His shoulders slump as he leans over it, his head bowed like he’s trying to hold himself together. His breathing is ragged, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you think it might break under the strain.

“I don’t know how,” he whispers finally, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”

The vulnerability in his voice slices through you, but it’s not enough. Not this time. The ache in your chest is unbearable, your heart breaking as you look at the man you love and realize he’ll never love you the way you need him to.

“Then let me go, Bucky,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you can’t give me what I need, let me go.”

He finally turns to face you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I can’t,” he says, his voice breaking like the plates he just shattered. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Your chest tightens, the pain twisting deeper with every word. “Aren’t you seeing someone?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “She’s not you,” he says, his voice trembling. “They’re never you.”

The admission stuns you into silence for a moment. The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, hot and heavy. “Then why can’t you give me that, Bucky?” you whisper, your voice shaking with anger and grief. “Why can you give it to them but not to me? Why is it always me who’s left bleeding for you? It’s not fair—I give you everything! And you just take, take, take! What’s left of me after this?”

Your words hang between you, raw and unfiltered, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t even try to apologize. He just stares at you, his eyes wide and desperate, like he’s drowning in the mess he’s made.

Then, without warning, he steps forward, grabbing your face in his hands. His touch is rough, almost frantic, his fingers trembling against your skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

And before you can say anything, before you can even catch your breath, his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is desperate and messy, his tears mixing with yours as he pulls you closer like he’s afraid to let go. His hands shake as they cup your face, his lips pressing against yours with a fierceness that makes your knees weak.

You hate how easily you give in, how quickly your hands find their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. The anger and pain and longing all bleed together in that kiss, every unspoken word, every broken promise, every piece of you he’s taken without giving anything back.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. “But I can’t lose you. Please… don’t leave me.” He whispers his voice trembling

Your heart shatters all over again. “Okay”

Bucky’s hands tighten on your arms, his breath warm and uneven against your face. His lips hover just above yours, his eyes searching yours for something—permission, maybe, or forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. You don’t give it to him, but you don’t pull away either.

Instead, your hands move on their own, sliding up his chest and curling into the fabric of his shirt. The tension between you snaps like a live wire as he closes the distance again, his mouth crashing against yours with a desperation that leaves no room for hesitation.

The kiss deepens, his lips parting yours, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His hands roam down your sides, fingers gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You press closer, your body molding to his as the frustration and anger between you melt into something darker, hotter, and infinitely more consuming.

Bucky backs you up until your hips hit the edge of the counter, the cool surface biting into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. His hands slide up your thighs, his touch firm and deliberate as he lifts you onto the counter. You gasp against his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours in all the right ways.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me now.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your chest heaving as you meet his gaze. His blue eyes are dark, filled with a mix of longing and uncertainty that tugs at something deep inside you. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need.

That’s all it takes. He grips the hem of your dress and pulls it up, his hands sliding over your thighs, rough and calloused against your skin. His lips trail down your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against you as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your head tilts back, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands and mouth make you forget every argument, every broken moment that led you here.

His fingers find the edge of your underwear, his touch teasing as he looks up at you, waiting. You nod, your breath hitching as he slides them aside, his fingers exploring with a skill that leaves you trembling. He watches you intently, his gaze locked on your face as he learns every reaction, every sound you make.

When his name slips from your lips, low and needy, it’s like something inside him snaps. He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch with a strength that leaves you dizzy. The world blurs around you, your focus narrowing to the feel of his body against yours, the weight of his hands, the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re all I think about,” he says, his voice raw as he settles over you. “Every damn day.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The only response you can give is the way you arch into him, the way you pull him closer, needing him as much as he needs you. And when he finally joins you, it’s slow and deliberate, every movement designed to pull you deeper into the storm of him.

The morning light seeps through the curtains as you stand by his window, fully dressed, the quiet hum of the city below serving as your only company. Bucky is still asleep in the bed, his arm draped across the pillow where you had been just hours ago. You glance at him one last time, your heart clenching in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you consider crawling back into bed, letting yourself believe in the softness of this moment.

But you can’t.

You quietly grab your things and slip out the door, the sound of it clicking shut behind you feeling heavier than it should.

By mid-morning, you’ve buried yourself in mundane errands—anything to keep your mind from circling back to him. You’re at the farmer’s market now, weaving through the stalls of fresh produce and flowers, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and bread. You clutch a tote bag tightly in your hand, trying to focus on the vibrant colors of the fruit in front of you.

You pick up an apple, turning it over in your hand absently. It’s almost enough to distract you from the ache still lodged in your chest. Almost.

Until you see him.

You freeze, the apple slipping from your grasp and thudding softly onto the wooden table in front of you. Your breath catches, and the world seems to narrow until it’s just him, standing only a few stalls away.

His dark hair catches the sunlight, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed, like the night before never ended. His eyes are locked on yours, wide and filled with a mix of emotions you can’t quite place—shock, guilt, something softer that makes your chest tighten painfully.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended in time. Everyone else around you fades into nothing, their chatter and laughter muffled like the background of a dream.

But then your gaze shifts.

To her.

The woman standing beside him.

Her hand is clasped firmly in his, their fingers intertwined in a way that feels too familiar, too intimate. She’s beautiful, her expression warm and open as she looks up at him, clearly unaware of the storm brewing between his gaze and yours.

Your stomach twists violently, and the apple you’d forgotten about rolls off the edge of the table and hits the ground.

Bucky’s face changes when he sees you notice her, his eyes softening with guilt, his mouth parting as if he wants to say something, anything. But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, holding her hand, while your chest caves in.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you force yourself to look away, your vision blurring with unshed tears. You clutch your tote bag tighter and turn, walking away without another word.

You barely make it out of the market before the tears spill over. You wipe them away furiously, your hands trembling as you duck into a side street, out of view from the crowds.

The weight of his gaze lingers on your back, like a hand reaching out but never quite touching you. You can feel him watching you, but you don’t dare turn around. You can’t.

You stop for a moment, your chest heaving as you lean against the wall of a brick building. The morning sun feels too bright, the world too loud despite the hollow silence pounding in your ears.

He didn’t follow.

You told yourself you didn’t want him to, but the ache in your chest says otherwise.

When you glance back toward the market, just for a second, you see him standing at the edge of the stalls, his hand no longer in hers, his face etched with something that looks like regret.

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

With a deep breath, you wipe your face one last time, adjust the strap of your tote bag, and walk away. The weight in your chest feels unbearable, but your feet keep moving anyway.

The apartment is quiet that night, the silence pressing down on you as you sit by the window, staring out at the city lights. You tell yourself you’re not waiting for him, but your phone sits beside you on the windowsill, the screen dark but heavy with possibilities.

It’s almost midnight when the buzz breaks the silence. You glance at the screen, your heart stopping when you see his name.

The message is simple. “Please, can we talk? I miss you…I’m sorry”

[megamindsecretlair]

Hiii girl! Can I make a request for a prequel to I swear I’ll never leave? Something super angsty on how y/n and Terry got to that point in the first place🤍

I Still Don't Want You To Go

Pairing: Toxic Baby Daddy!Terry Richmond x Singer!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. ANGST, cursing, teasing, mentions of loneliness, depression, brief mention of harm against a child, bad ass child, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, my mom is distracting me.

Summary: A prequel to “I Swear I’ll Never Leave”. Four months ago, things came to a head for you, the loneliness getting too loud for you to ignore. You wanted your husband home, safe and sound with you. As you reminisce about the good times, it’s the bad times you can’t get over. And though your timing sucks, you have to finally tell Terry what’s really on your heart.

Word Count: 7,801k

AO3 Link | I Swear I'll Never Leave

A/N: WHEW. When I say this hurt MEEE. I'm exposing myself like a MF LOL. I see you sneaky anon, a prequel request. I'd love to know your thoughts on the angst, I wanna get better at it. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Six years ago…

“Lovely Day” by Bill Withers crooned from your portable speaker on the marble countertop. The smell of meatloaf and mashed potatoes filled the kitchen, steam rising from the pot on the stove. You were working on the gravy, tasting as you went. Cadence kicked in your belly and you stopped to place a hand there. 

“Alright babygirl, we almost there. You are so impatient already,” you said to her, rubbing your belly. You had a few months left to go but she was already kicking to get out. You’d have to put her in track or soccer or something. She’d run you ragged if you weren’t careful.

“How’s my two favorite girls?” Terry entered the room, following the scent of food. 

You giggled. “You always know when the food is done!” You shrieked with laughter as Terry encircled your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He placed his hands on either side of your protruding belly. 

“Can’t help it when I smell a snack,” he said, kissing your cheek.

You sighed at his corny joke but giggled anyway. “You get on my nerves,” you said with a shake of your head. This man of yours. 

“I love you too. Time to eat?” He asked. 

You craned your neck to look over your shoulder at him. He grinned, catching your eye, and then kissed your cheek once more. “You can’t be that hungry,” you said. 

“For your famous meatloaf? Hell yeah, I’m that hungry,” he said. He swayed with you to the music and you closed your eyes, taking it all in. 

“Didn’t you just eat like…?”

“That was my pre-dinner food. This is dinner. I got room,” he said. 

You shook your head. Thank goodness you weren’t having a boy. You didn’t know what the hell you would do if you had two of them running around, eating you out of house and home. You were barely keeping up with Terry and his voracious appetite when he was home. 

“You can’t possibly eat like this on base,” you said.

“I can pack away some food. But hmm, ain’t nothing better than being home,” he said.

“I worry about you. Help me with the meatloaf please,” you said.

“I need a kiss first,” he said. 

You sighed and craned your neck to kiss his cheek. He shook his head, releasing you long enough to turn you around. 

“A real kiss,” he said, suddenly turning serious. He furrowed his eyebrows as he leaned down, capturing your lips with his. 

It felt like he was trying to tell you something with the kiss, but you weren’t sure what. He held onto you, gripping your waist as if you were the lone anchor and he had been out at sea for weeks. 

You leaned back and looked at him. “Terry? Everything okay?” 

&&&

Four months ago…

“Everything okay?” Terry asked. 

“Huh?” You turned your attention back to him. Cadence fidgeted in your lap. You sighed and righted her once more so that she could look at the screen at her daddy. He was on base and you were talking to him on video chat, trying to make it a nightly thing for Cadence’s sake, but it was getting tougher.

She had sunk into her terrible six’s, getting impatient the minute she didn’t get her way. You blamed Terry of course. Spoiling the damn child and making it seem like you were the bad parent, always saying no and doing nothing fun. 

“I’m just tired, Terry,” you sighed. You smiled, despite it all, but even that was getting exhausting. You were cranky, irritable, and at your wit’s fucking end. 

Terry’s eyebrows furrowed but he took you at your word. Cadence flopped in your arm like she was over the whole thing. You corrected her again, holding down her arms and legs so she’d sit still. 

She began to whine, paying attention to anything but her daddy. “When are you coming home?” Cadence asked, suddenly switching gears and leaning far into the camera. 

“I’m not sure yet, baby. But I hope it’s soon,” he said. 

“Will you be here for Mustard’s birthday?” She asked. Mustard, being her imaginary friend. She babbled endlessly to the mysterious Mustard who was usually to blame when Cadence acted out. 

“I don’t know if I can, baby,” he said.

Cadence groaned, flopping into your arms once more. Ugh. You finally picked her up and set her down. She began to cry, trying to climb back onto you. “Aht aht, you’re acting out because your Daddy isn’t here. And you know better,” you said. 

Cadence cried harder, fighting to get back in your lap. You looked at Terry. “I’ll call you back,” you said. You slammed the laptop shut without even hearing his reply. You were tired and fucking over it. 

Cadence turned her cries into a full blown temper tantrum, stomping her feet and jumping up and down. You stared at the little devil and for a split second, just a split, you pictured tossing her ass out through the window. Fuck. That was an evil thought.

“Cadence. You have three seconds to stop and use your words. Acting like a damn barn animal,” you said, sucking your teeth. 

Cadence continued to cry and stomp, falling onto the floor and screaming at the top of her lungs. You stared at her. At your wild, beautiful, terror of a daughter. You couldn’t scream. Screaming would only feed into whatever this fucking phase was. Screaming would turn you into your own mother, who forced you into a box when you were younger. Only to be seen and never heard.

You didn’t have the greatest relationship with your mother. You wanted a mom and she raised you to be the mother she never had. She thought you were the best of friends when you just wanted to escape. Be free from her constant judgement and disappointment.

You stared at your child as she screamed bloody murder and you didn’t know what to do. Terry didn’t have much family that you could turn to. There was Mike, but Mike was young. Mike didn’t need the responsibility of looking after his niece like that. He should be out and enjoying being young and free. There was your best friend Gianna, but she had her own life to live.

Cadence’s wails were like nails on chalkboard, making your brain itch in places you couldn’t reach. Great, heaving sobs trapped in your chest and you held it in. Held in the anger. Held in the frustration. You were a bad fucking mother and you didn’t know how to fix this. The only one who could was a few states away, off on base doing who knew what. 

You stared. You hurt. You stared. She cried. 

Cadence flopped on the floor, crocodile tears streaming down her face. “Cadence, off the floor. Now,” you said as calmly, voice ready to wobble but you kept on a brave face. 

Cadence ignored you, flipped onto her stomach, and then kicked at the floor in her footie pajamas. You stared. And stared. You felt absolutely drained. Like there was nothing left inside of you to keep going. Keep moving. Keep doing this shit day in and day out. 

But she was yours. You would not abandon her. She may grow up to hate your guts, never speak to you again like you barely did with your own mother, but dammit, you weren’t going to yell and scream at a child who didn’t truly understand the world yet.

You left Cadence on the ground to scream and yell while you went to your room to collect laundry. Let her fucking yell and scream. Maybe it’d tire her little behind out. 

You grabbed the laundry basket from your room, picking up wayward clothes that needed to be washed. The famous chair was overfilled with clothes and Terry’s robe. An ache formed behind your eye, growing worse the more Cadence screamed. Cadence jogged into the room, rubbing the back of her eyes with her hand. 

She continued to cry and scream and you turned to her. She looked at you and sat on the ground, snot running down her face. “Are you ready to use your words?” You asked.

She shook her head. “Then you sit there until you are,” you said. You scooted past her to her room to collect her dirty clothes. She followed you, continuing to cry her eyes out. 

“So now you don’t listen to Mommy?” You asked. 

Her cries turned to sniffling and hiccuping. She finally caught on that you weren’t going to feed into her nonsense. “No,” she hiccuped. 

“No? You don’t listen to Mommy?” You asked. 

“I do listen!” She yelled. 

You tilted your head and gave her The Look. She rubbed her eyes with her hand and then walked closer, putting her head on your leg. “Where’s Daddy?” She asked. 

“Daddy’s at work. You know that,” you said. You placed the basket on her pink princess bed and then dropped down to her level. You grabbed one of her hands and helped wipe her face. 

“I didn’t raise you to act out. You have a voice and you have to learn to use it,” you said, tears threatening to spill down your face. How could you make her see how important it was to use her words? To use what so many people took for granted? 

She was still too young to understand the nuances of being Black and a little girl. Your mother silenced your voice when you were younger. Placing the burden of being alive on you and not on her for not swallowing you instead of giving birth. You didn’t want that for Cadence. Didn’t want her to grow up, mincing her words, swallowing it all down, chest caving in whenever there was confrontation.

You wanted her to be strong. Full of life. Everything you weren’t. You blinked away the hot, itchy tears and smiled at her. 

“I miss Daddy,” she said. “I don’t want to see him on the ‘puter.” 

You sighed. You figured as much. But there wasn’t anything you could do about it now. He had a good job providing for you and Cadence. Maybe it would’ve been easier if he was a deadbeat. It would be easier to ignore the growing ache in your heart, missing him at home with you and Cadence. 

“I miss Daddy too. But you can’t throw a tantrum whenever you don’t get your way. That’s not how young ladies act. And your Daddy would be very hurt to know you’re acting up,” you said. 

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she said. She hugged you and you hugged her back. God, you needed this shit to end. This constant need to cry or yell or scream yourself. You weren’t a child anymore. You didn’t have the luxury of flopping on the floor whenever you were overwhelmed. 

“Thank you, baby. Go wash your face and get ready for bed,” you said. You released her and then popped her on the butt to get a move on. She giggled, jogging out of the room and headed to the bathroom. 

“With soap!” You called out. Cadence giggled like that thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. You shook your head and continued grabbing her dirty clothes off the floor. You seriously had to teach that little girl to pick up after herself better. It was like once Terry was out of the house, she lost all pieces of her marbles.

You could relate. You distracted yourself with picking up her toys, crayons, and coloring books off of the floor and back into its proper places. You grabbed the laundry basket and left her room.

“Daddy says he may not make your birthday, Mustard. But that’s okay! We’ll take sooooooooo many pictures for him!” Cadence chattered on and on to her little friend. 

You shouldn’t be…worried, right? Your daughter had friends but she only saw them at school. The other parents constantly asked you about playdates but you had so much to do between your own work, the house, and getting Cadence together, that you didn’t have it in you to take her for playdates.

You didn’t trust her with anyone else and you didn’t have time to sit and hang out with the mommies while they all gushed about their husbands. Gahh. The whole thing made you sick. They always managed to feel sorry for you. But always thanked your husband for his service.

Whatever. Fuck the service. Fuck the government. Fuck America and its bullshit. You wanted your husband at home. You wanted to crawl into bed and have him wrap his arms around you. If you knew that you’d be this damn lonely in marriage, you would have saved yourself the hassle. 

You loved Cadence with everything in you. But it was never in your plans to raise her with no help. And it wasn’t fair on Terry. He was doing what he needed to do. But…you were tired of feeling like the bad guy when all you wanted was someone to hold you at night. 

You finished up gathering today’s laundry and placed it in the laundry room. You tucked Cadence and Mustard into her bed, sitting down to read her a story while she drifted off to sleep. 

You had a pounding headache from all her screaming and the unshed tears. But you sat for a while longer and prayed over your baby. Prayed she never ended up like you. Prayed she knew nothing but joy and love and how to reach out to people. 

You were half alone, with one friend, and no family to help you. It was you, Terry, Gianna, Mike, and Cadence against the world. What a fucking family you all made. 

You stood up and left the room and turned off the light. You left her door cracked and then made your way through the house, turning off lights, and running through a mental checklist of everything you had left to do tomorrow. 

Making it to your room, you closed the door and flopped onto your cold, lifeless bed with a heavy sigh. You pulled the nearest pillow towards you and snuggled into it. Fuck. And you had to wake up and do it all over again. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

Tears immediately welled in your eyes like it had just been waiting for you to be alone. You let the tears fall. Let your face get hot and puffy as you curled into a ball and cried. Your sniffling was muffled by the pillow.

You let it all out. The frustration from not being good enough for Cadence. The guilt over your disgusting thoughts about harming her. The loneliness from not having your husband there, beside you. Call you a weak ass bitch or whatever, but you just wanted your man home. 

You cried over stupid shit, like spilling your coffee at work. Washing everything in the laundry but finding that one random sock that managed to miss the load. Watching Cadence play with Mustard and seeing Terry written all over her face. You curled into yourself harder and cried and cried, letting every last bit of it out. 

You didn’t have enough strength when it was all over to clean your own face. So you flipped the pillow to a clean side and promptly went to sleep.

&&&

Six years ago…

You paced the length of the hallway in the hospital, trying to breathe through the pain. For all of Cadence’s kicks and tumbling, she sure as shit didn’t want to come out now. Your mother walked with you up and down the hallway, trying to tell you how to birth a child. 

You held back whatever you wanted to say and rubbed your lower back. Fuuuuuck, this shit was painful. You were never doing this again. Fuck this. How did people have multiple kids? How did they birth a basketball team like it was nothing?

It felt like your insides were being scooped out with a rusty spoon. You stopped and leaned on the wall nearest you. “It’s gon’ be okay. Your body knows what to do,” your mom said.

You wanted to tell her to fuck off. So what if your body knew what to do? You didn’t. This was your first child and it was looking to be your only child. You couldn’t do this shit no more. And you sure as shit didn’t want to do it without Terry there. 

Going through the last few months without him was bullshit. No one there to rub your feet or run errands when you were craving something stupid like ice cream and gummy worms. No one there to hold your hand when your panic over being a bad mom got too loud, too close to home, and you were spiraling. 

But…you did it. You got through it. You could continue on. “Terry really ought to be here for this. I can’t believe he’s gonna miss the birth of his own child,” your mom complained.

“It’s not like he has a choice, mom,” you said, careful to watch your tone. Your mom never missed an opportunity to remind you that she was older and could still pop you in the mouth for being disrespectful. 

“Don’t they have leave or something?” Your mom continued. 

Can’t you fucking leave? You wanted to scream at her. You’d rather do this shit alone if all she was going to do was remind you that your husband would not be there. Would not be there to hear your child’s first cries. 

You had planned and gushed over your baby together. You had theories on top of theories of who she’d favor more, what kind of personality she would develop, and what kind of life she would lead. He should be here. 

Tears pricked your eyes but you beat them back. You had a job to do and it involved seeing this baby safely delivered. “I’m tired, mom,” you said.

“I know, baby. One more lap and then we’ll go sit for a minute,” she said. She grabbed your hand and your eyes ached from trying to hold back the tears. Sometimes your mom showed a bit of affection and like a kicked dog, you soaked it up. You reveled in the simple gesture, knowing that at any moment, her claws would come back out.

Squeaking tile made you turn your head. Terry leaned forward, the inertia from running making him rock on his heels. You locked eyes with him. 

“Terry!” You yelled. 

Terry power walked down the hallway dressed in his fatigues. He was clean shaven since he was on base and he looked so damn scrumptious you wanted to gobble him up then and there. He smiled as he approached, carefully taking your hand out of your mother’s.

“I knew you’d find a way to make it,” your mom said, patting Terry on the shoulder. “Otherwise I’d have talked shit.”

“Mom!” You said.

Terry chuckled. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Terry said. He grinned as he cupped your face. “How you feeling?” 

“Better, now that you’re here,” you said. 

Terry kissed your forehead and then grabbed your hand. With him by your side, it wasn’t so bad. You could get through it. You could do this. Still hurt like a motherfucker. Wait…You wailed as you held your stomach, feeling a contraction come on and ruin everything. 

You gripped Terry’s hand with all the strength you could muster as you rode out the pain. You huffed and puffed as you calmed down from the intensity. You turned a side eye to Terry. “You’re never doing this to me again,” you said, your voice rough from wailing.

Terry had the good sense not to look dumb. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. “Had fun making her though,” he said with a wink. 

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “Nasty ass. Just like a man to enjoy all the benefits with none of the work,” you said. 

Terry guided you back to your room. He walked slowly with you though his long legs could cover the distance in two seconds. “I wouldn’t say none of the work. I seem to recall you loudly begging –”

“Begging?!” 

“Beggin’ me not to stop,” Terry said.

You chuckled and winced as it disrupted whatever the fuck Cadence was doing in your belly. Lord, you needed this child out neow. 

Terry stayed with you every step of the way. He held your hand when you needed it and got lost when you cursed him ten ways from Sunday. He was there to make sure the doctors and nurses gave you what you needed, ensuring that your voice was heard and your concerns were met. 

And when little Cadence Richmond came screaming into the world, Terry was right there grinning and laughing and kissing your forehead. “She’s fuckin’ beautiful. She’s so fucking beautiful,” he whispered against your temple. “You did so good, beautiful.” 

&&&

“I can’t do this anymore, G,” you said, picking at the grass in your backyard. 

Cadence jogged around the backyard with Mustard, running back and forth and screaming with laughter. That girl had a set of pipes. But it was a happy scream and you’d take that over anything else.

Your best friend, Gianna, flipped her locs over her shoulder and leaned back on her hands. “Do what?” She asked. 

“Spend my life waiting for a man that don’t wanna come home,” you said. You looked down at the blade of grass and let the melancholy thoughts run wild. You knew your brain was a big, fat, ugly liar but sometimes that motherfucker made sense. 

Terry went into the service to take care of you and Cadence when you were still two kids who didn’t know better. Now that Cadence was six, what was Terry doing? Why continue to stay on base? 

The only logical answer was that he didn’t want to come home. He didn’t want to be here to help you. After years of practically living apart, the weight of your decisions made your head heavy. 

What would’ve happened if you had joined him on base? Once it was proven that he wasn’t going to hop from state to state, or country to country, you could have joined him. But the thought of being a “military wife” tasted like sand in your mouth. You didn’t want to trade in a normal life for whatever the hell that was. You didn’t want Cadence to grow up coddled from the world. 

No one was going to protect her because the world didn’t protect little Black girls. You didn’t want her to grow up with rose-colored glasses, thinking the world began and ended at the base. You wanted her strong but soft. Capable of taking care of herself but not hiding behind a steel wall all the time.

“Girl, you know that man loves you and Cadence. Have you talked to him at all?” Gianna asked. She shielded her eyes from the sun to look at Cadence doing cartwheels. 

“Every time I try to, I get so choked up I can’t speak. And I don’t want him to see how much I’m struggling,” you said. 

“He’s your husband. He’s supposed to see your struggle,” Gianna said. She leaned forward and looked at you. You felt her assessing gaze as if she was trying to see past your words. But there was nothing to see past.

Day by day, it became clearer that you no longer spoke the same language as your husband. He became a stranger before your eyes and you hadn’t noticed. Or had you not cared? You loved him still. You were very much still in love with him. But you weren’t going to hold him back. 

The next time Terry came home, you were going to talk to him. Truly talk. And let him know that you weren’t going to hold him to a marriage he didn’t want to be in. Just thinking it turned your stomach sour. You didn’t want to let him go, didn’t want some other woman to get her claws in him. Didn’t want to “co-parent” with some chicken head with fake boobs. 

You sure as shit didn’t want to see him kissing all over some other woman. Or have him create more children with someone else. But what was the alternative? Spend the rest of your life in a state of limbo. Longingly looking down the quiet street for a car that was never going to pull up? 

The whole thing made you sick to your stomach. You didn’t know what you were going to do. But you knew this was your rock bottom. You couldn’t stand it another second.

“The other day, Cadence showed her entire ass screaming and all I could think was, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t half parent her. Not when he hangs the moon and I’m the monster under her bed,” you said.

“Where is this coming from? Why didn’t you call me?” Gianna took your hand in hers and shifted towards you. 

“I thought I could handle it, is all,” you said and shrugged. Cadence was your child. Why should you pass the buck to someone else just to get a break? A break from your own child. That was your mom’s MO. She had to distract you in order for you to leave her alone. And now you were doing the same thing to your kid. 

You were a mess and you were drowning. You were so far underwater there was no more light above you. And your light was a few states away toiling away at a job he loved more than you. 

“Mommy! Auntie Gigi, loooook!” Cadence said, trying to turn a cartwheel into a flip but only flopped onto her butt. 

“You be careful out there, little girl! But great job!” You said. 

She got up and dusted herself off, nodding to herself. Then she kept practicing, falling over and over. But she kept getting up. You hoped she continued as she got older. 

“You better talk to that man, you know he not gon’ like this,” Gianna said. 

You squeezed her hand. Yeah. Yeah, that was putting it nicely.

&&&

Three years ago…

You sat down on the brown couch with a deep sigh. Terry chuckled and hummed tiredly, reaching his arm down from over the couch to pull you closer. 

“You sound how I feel,” he said. Light from the TV splayed across his handsome face, a mix of colors dancing across his features. It was too dark in the living room to see his storm-blue eyes but you saw enough. 

“That girl, I swear. I don’t know what kinda DNA you got swimming, but that is your child,” you said. You shifted until you were tucked protectively under his arm and against his chest. His heart thumped against your cheek and you closed your eyes briefly. Still your favorite song in the whole world. 

“Nah, anything after seven is your baby. You never go to sleep on time,” he said. 

“Yes, I do. Sometimes,” you said.

“What time you go to bed last night?” He asked. His thumb traced lazy patterns on your shoulder. The sound was muted on the TV but you looked at the picture. He was in the middle of some old movie from the 60s. 

“That is beside the point,” you said, remembering that you didn’t go to bed until 2am. The night just made more sense to you to be awake. Day time was a burden and a half. 

Terry chuckled and shook his head. “I can’t believe we got her down. When is she going to grow out of her terrible fours?” He asked. 

“I don’t know. I thought we were tiring her out. That wasn’t even her final form,” you said and groaned. 

“I have a crazy thought,” he said.

“Mhm, what’s that?” You asked. 

“What if we had another?” He asked.

You leaned away from him to look him in the face. He looked back at you with no change in his expression. He was serious. Like really serious. You leaned up further and faced him. “After today, you want another one?” You asked.

Cadence had been more than a handful lately. Since her Daddy came home, she had run him ragged taking up all his free time. She wanted to play princess or go for a horseback ride. She wanted to run around the backyard with him and push her stuffed teddies on the small swing set he built for her. 

She wanted to lay down with him for her nap and yes, he had to climb under the Bluey blanket with her whether he fit or not. You did snap a thousand pictures and giggled to yourself while you got to some household chores. 

After the nap, he had to watch TV with her. And he had to play dolls while he did so, non-negotiable. Then, for no reason at all, she ripped off her clothes and went streaking through the house. You two nearly gave up trying to chase her around. 

Terry finally managed it and gave her a bath while you finally went to lay down. Goodness knew you needed it. Terry indulged in every little whim of Cadence’s and you told him often that he was doing nothing but spoiling her rotten.

“I know, but I can’t help it. She got me wrapped around her tiny finger. I miss so much,” he had said when you told him.

And now he wanted another? 

“Yeah, before she gets too big. She could use a buddy. Our family is so small,” he said. His smooth voice trailed off, getting lost in thought as he stared at the TV. You wondered if he was even seeing it. Or if he was lost in a thought or a memory. 

You cupped his cheek and caressed it with your thumb. “But are you sure?” You asked. Unlike Terry, you remembered what it was like trying to carry the child alone. You had no choice but to endure and handle it if Terry was gone during this pregnancy too. But sometimes, you got the sinking feeling that he was always looking for a way out and he just didn’t know how to tell you. 

“You and Cadence mean absolutely everything to me. Yes, I’m sure,” he said. He smirked and bumped your shoulder.

“Remember all the fun we had making Cadence?” He pulled you closer and nuzzled your cheek with his nose. You held firm, refusing to give in to his charms. You were not going down that easy. You refused. Absolutely refused. 

“I must’ve turned your little world. You stay bringing that up,” you said, pushing him away.

Terry held firm, moving his nose down to your neck and inhaling. He hummed, low and deep in his chest causing it to rumble. The sound carried up and down your spine, sending electric shocks through your brain. “Been waiting for you to do that shit again,” he said. 

You giggled and leaned away. He followed and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Lemme give you a baby,” he said.

You laughed and shook your head. “You are out of your mind,” you said.

“You know you wanna be swollen with my baby again,” he said. He moved his hand to your shirt and searched beneath it, rubbing his fingers along your skin. You sighed with a moan, shifting your body closer. He was a cheating ass nigga. 

“You get on my nerves,” you said. You feebly pushed at his chest but he was a mountain. Too immoveable. He grinned against your neck and then kissed it, his lingering lips sending pulses of heat straight to your pussy. 

“You just wanna cum all up in this again. Admit it,” you said, giggling.

“I admit it. I confess. I am guilty,” he whispered against your neck. 

You managed to giggle and moan at the same time, your brain in full on mush mode. There was nothing but the feeling of his hands on your tummy. He didn’t venture anywhere else, just ran the rough pads of his fingers against your skin. 

It was more than enough. You pushed into him, needing more but not willing to say it. You couldn’t utter a single sound so you talked with your body. The only language you and Terry spoke well. 

“Use your big girl words,” he said.

“You get on my nerves!” You said.

Terry smiled against your skin. “I love you too,” he said.

&&&

Four months ago…

“DADDDDDYYYYYYYY!” Cadence’s scream was loud enough to wake the dead ten towns over. As soon as Terry stomped into the house, light shining behind him, Cadence was on him like white on rice. 

She launched herself into his arms and he had to kneel or get ran over. He scooped her up into his arms and hugged her tight. “How’s my babygirl?” He asked. He kissed her head and leaned back to look at her face.

His eyes softened as she talked a mile a minute, telling him every thought that came out of her head. Terry fixed her purple flowered shirt while she spoke. He nodded and asked her questions as he set his duffel bag down and closed the door behind him. 

You stood off to the side, feeling like a sack of meat for all the enthusiasm Cadence showed you. You shouldn’t be jealous and well…no one said you had to be rational all of the time. 

You stood rooted to the spot, knowing that whatever came next was going to hurt. It was going to break you. And yet it would shatter you if you didn’t. 

Terry kept throwing glances your way like he knew something was up but couldn’t pinpoint what. He squinted at you and still paid attention to Cadence’s stream of consciousness. 

“And then Mustard said that I was a booger, but that’s not true because boogers are green and I’m not green,” Cadence said.

“You tell Mustard to be nicer to you,” Terry said. He walked over to you and dropped a kiss to your forehead. His large palm cupped the back of your neck and he held his lips to your head. You closed your eyes and breathed in his uniquely manly scent. 

“Welcome home,” you whispered. You leaned back and looked at him. He tilted his head and massaged the back of your neck. Your shoulders drooped as he rubbed, all ounces of tension leaving your body. 

Why couldn’t he make this easier? It was just like your stupid heart to plum forget the past few months he was on base. You never could stand on business. Not with your mom and not with Terry. It was a curse, it truly was.

You and Terry fell into an unspoken truce while Cadence soaked up having her Daddy home. You spent most of the time in the living room, talking, laughing, and telling Terry about everything he missed. Everything you didn’t get to discuss over the computer. 

Terry had to know something was up. He kept reaching out to you but you found ways to dodge or get up to do something. You weren’t trying to be a bitch. But you didn’t want to fall into his arms if he was only going to hate you later.

It’d be easier to stomach his hate and anger if you didn’t have his lingering touch on your skin. So you continued to move and fawn and shake him off anyway you could. 

Cadence had to have Terry read her the bedtime story, not asking for you once. Not throwing a tantrum once. Not even a sniffle. Little booger. 

You made some tea in the kitchen while Terry stayed with Cadence until she truly fell asleep. If she sensed Terry moving a muscle, she’d wake up groggily and ask for him. You waited at the dining table with a steaming mug of tea nestled between your palms but you swore you felt none of the heat.

Terry shuffled into the kitchen and sighed as he sat down in the chair. He looked so ragged. But beautiful as always. Loving Terry was like loving a precious jewel. It hurt to look at but it hurt worse to look away. 

He leaned one arm on the table and leveled you with a stare. “What’s up with you?” He asked. 

You took a deep breath and stared at your mug. “I have to talk to you about something important. And I didn’t want to get in the way of Cadence seeing you,” you said. 

“What’s going on? Just tell me,” he said.

“I don’t want to be a single mother anymore,” you said. You held up your hand as Terry pitched forward, confusion twisting his features. “You’re an amazing father, Terry. But…I want my husband home. And I won’t make you choose between the Corps and me.” 

“That’s not even a choice,” he said. You held up your hand again before he could continue to argue. Yes, it was a choice. He clearly loved what he did. And you knew he loved Cadence. But you were feeling pretty fucking unloved. You knew it wasn’t intentional on his part. You knew that if you just told him what’s up, he’d do everything in his power to make it up to you.

But you were terrified that he’d wake up one day and resent you for making him quit while he was ahead. You wouldn’t survive that. 

“This isn’t something new for me. And I know it feels out of left field, but I think I’ve been feeling like this since we had Cadence. I kept waiting for you to say enough is enough and you’d resign from the service and come home. I kept waiting for you to make that decision but you never did. You kept going and going and going.” 

“I did it for us. So that you and Cadence were taken care of,” he said.

“I know. Baby, I know,” you said. You gripped the mug hard enough to break it. The heat singed your palms but you let it. Your heart thumped too fast, stealing your breath. You vibrated with nervous energy, stomach twisting into painful knots. 

You hated that confrontation made it seem like your insides wanted to crawl out of your skin. You hated the sinking feeling that you were hurting someone even though you were hurting too. You hated that your voice shook and tears threatened to fall. 

“But you’re not here all the time. You don’t see that Cadence can be a fucking nightmare sometimes and it’s just me. I never thought it’d be just me when I had a family. I thought I’d have my husband with me. And I’m tired of feeling like a weak ass bitch for wanting that.

“And I get lonely. And sad. And tired. And I keep thinking that you’re not here. You’re off taking care of us and how can I be mad at you for that? But I am. I can’t stand it. I’m at my fucking limit, Terry, and I can’t keep going back and forth between hoping you came home and thinking it’d be easier if you didn’t.

“I won’t make you choose. Because I love you too fucking much,” you said. The tears came anyway, streaming down your face. Ugh. Now you were crying and he’d think you were manipulating him. It was the last thing you wanted him to think. 

“You love me but you’re trying to leave me? This is fucking insane,” he said. He pushed away from the table and you nodded, looking back down at your mug. It was insane. You were definitely insane. 

He paced the length of the kitchen, hands on his hips as he shook his head. “Fuckin’ unreal.” 

You rubbed your head. “I can’t be stuck in limbo anymore. If I knew where I stood with you, I could move accordingly. But I’m not that strong. I am exhausted fighting my brain and my heart all the time,” you said.

“And what about what I want? What if I don’t want to let you go?” He asked. His voice strained and your heart ached for him. This was so fucking painful, like shards of glass embedded into every beat of your heart. 

“I’m not happy. And I’m not trying to hurt you, it’s not you in particular that made me unhappy. I just am. I’m constantly feeling like a bad mother. I’m constantly feeling like a failed wife. Because why else aren’t you home? Why aren’t you here with me?” You sobbed harder, silently, tears falling in scalding streaks down your face. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” He asked. His voice rose and your tears only fell harder. You were just a failure of a person, not able to make your child happy. Your husband happy. Yourself happy. 

“I didn’t want to make you choose,” you said.

“You keep saying that as if I wouldn’t choose you every time!” His voice rose higher, practically yelling at you and you swiped at your face. You hated crying. Pressure built in your face and made everything gross and full of snot. 

Terry lifted fists to his face and knocked his forehead. “I knew something was up with you. I knew it and I just couldn’t name it. This is my fault, I know that,” he said.

“It’s not! You’re a good father,” you said.

“But a terrible husband?” He asked.

“I didn’t say that!” You said. 

Terry paced the kitchen some more, rubbing furiously at his face. If he had his facial hair, he’d probably tug at it. “I thought you wanted me away. I thought…you hated having me here. It seemed like you never wanted to talk over the phone anymore or you barely looked at me on chat. I should’ve known that was my clue to check back in,” he said.

“Will you please stop saying it’s your fault? I’m in this relationship too and I haven’t been the best wife,” you said. You knew that you could have done better. Could have talked more openly. Told hm you were struggling over the years but you didn’t want him to feel guilty while he was at work. He was providing for you after all. And you thought you could be happy with that. But you weren’t. You were a basic simp. You wanted your husband. And you’d rather beg on the street with him than live in luxury without him. 

“How could you say that? You’re an amazing wife. It’s my job to make sure that’s not a doubt in your mind,” he said. 

You groaned. “M-Maybe we just need to cool off,” you said. 

“No, no, we can fix this. Don’t shut me out!” He said.

“I can’t help it!” You yelled.

“Why not?” 

“I don’t know!” You swiped angrily at your tears. “Because I’m broken? Because I’m a horrible person? I don’t know! I don’t know how to be happy. I don’t know how to let things go. I don’t know how to live and let live. My brain is fucking mean and every time we get off the phone, I start worrying that I’m bugging you? Holding you back? Am I selfish for wanting you at the cost of my happiness? Is that self love or destruction? I can’t fucking tell anymore, Terry, and it scares the hell out of me.”

You stood up and turned away from him, looking down at your left hand. You looked at the simple band he got when he first proposed. He promised to replace it as soon as you had two nickels to rub together but you told him not to bother. The band was to deter other men from talking crazy to what belonged to him. You just wanted him.

You never took it off. Never. It was practically glued to your finger. But you turned around and slipped it off. 

Terry stood up and backed away. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he seethed. 

His eyes were a raging storm, swirling with mixed emotions. His shapely eyebrows were curved downward, nostrils flaring. If you waved a red flag, he would surely charge you. 

“I know I’ve been a shit husband. I…used the military as an excuse. That maybe we just worked better apart. But all I’ve been doing is hurting us both. Creating this distance between us. I want nothing more than to come home to you and Cadence. I’m on leave. We can talk this out,” he said.

“All you’re going to do is convince me that things will change. And the next time you go back to work, we’re back to the same shit. What kind of life is that?” 

“I’ll put in my papers tomorrow. I’ll get a local job,” he said. 

“And what will you say when you wake up years from now resenting me?” You asked.

“What the fuck is it going to take for you to believe me?” He asked. 

You sighed. “I don’t know,” you said. You looked down at your feet. What would convince you? You weren’t sure. You didn’t want Terry to jump through hoops to prove that he was still the man you were in love with. 

You lifted your gaze to him just in time to see him swipe at a lone tear halfway down his cheek. He stepped closer and you tensed, waiting for him to explode. To yell or scream or call you out of your name. But your husband would never. 

Instead, he paused just beside you, facing forward. He didn’t move to touch you. Didn’t press for more contact than what you were willing to give at the moment. You felt fragile. Raw. Like you could collapse at any moment. 

“Don’t you ever take that ring off your finger. I’m not done fighting for us. And until you figure out what it will take, I’m not letting you go. I swear to you I’ll never leave you and Cadence. Both of you are my reason for living and if it takes my last breath, we’ll be a family again. I’ll stay at Mike’s for a while, but I’ll be back in the morning to tell Cadence myself,” he said.

He walked out of the kitchen and like the coward you were, you let him. Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut. Because this was true agony. This was a hell of your own making and you still weren’t sure what the fuck was wrong with you.

Maybe you truly were that broken.

The end, end.

WHEW. I'm sorry, my loves. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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[ir-abelas-vhenan]

I've been thinking a lot today about how easily people condemn Solas for making the choices he did or for so regularly refusing the help and love his friends or a romanced Lavellan extended to him and how that's a very easy thing to do from behind a screen in a fictional game where you are able to (with very few exceptions) curate a world in which your allies are loyal and your decisions will go the way you'd like them to.

And yeah, it's a game and that's kind of the point, but if I were to look at it a little more deeply (and who am I kidding, I got back on this website exclusively to process the aftermath of Veilguard) I'd say that there's so much to be found in wondering if the protagonists in any of the other games would have fared better in similar conditions.

Apparently I can't stop making long posts, so buckle in.

What would Morrigan have become in a world where the Warden never stumbled upon her cottage with Flemeth, if she never got the chance to see more of the world and decide what she wanted out of it? With just her mother (who, coincidentally in this Solas-y discussion is also kind of Mythal) and no support, who is to say what she would have unleashed upon the Korcari Wilds one day when the confines of her cage became too much?

What about Leliana? She, too, suffered at the hands of a very controlling abuser who tried to convince her that one lifestyle was all that her future held. What do we think she would have become if not for a chance meeting in Lothering with someone who could help her face down the woman that molded her?

Fenris, a character MANY people are just fine with was incredibly ready to kill a mage on sight if need be, no questions asked. Where do we think his story goes if he doesn't have someone in his corner early on enough in the game? If he doesn't get caught by Danarius, he's almost certainly going to end up on a murder spree, and he doesn't even have Justice whispering in his head to do it.

Cullen. Just all of him. It's an absolute miracle he hasn't snapped by the time you encounter him in Inquistion, and even then you get the benefit of intervening at a critical point in his story several times over.

Almost every other character could face this analysis and I think we'd reach a result that suggests perhaps the only thing keeping them lovable is your playable character's investment in their well-being.

Enter Solas. We don't meet him when he's twenty to thirty something and on the precipice of falling down a dark path. He's been there for literal millennia already, and with the exception of one close friend he's been alone. And not even Felassan is enough because of the years Mythal had prior to that friendship to make Solas exactly who she needed him to be.

I've had shit friends before that aren't just good at isolating people, they're naturals. I barely made it through high school with my mental health in place (in fact, looking back, it almost certainly wasn't). When you think you've got a true friend and they need something of you, it's so easy to blindly follow them because you think your love is enough to mark someone's soul as trustworthy. Solas doesn't learn that lesson until it's too late, and even when he does he can't turn back: the spirit that was once Wisdom has been exposed to several of the worst ancient elves to ever exist and now he has to stand his ground rather than let it all fall, because that is what Pride would dictate. Admitting that the person you gave your love and labor and time to is a monster is hard. And he was alone.

Give me Morrigan after centuries with her mother. Show me Leliana after the years have become a blur and the only voice whispering in her ear is Marjolaine's. Show me the innocent mages that don't make it through if all Fenris has for years and years and years are the scars Danaris left him and the means to make more. Show me Cullen if he stays in a chain of command under a Knight Commander who knows exactly what he fears and holds it over his head for so long he forgets what it was like to be an excited kid begging the templars for training because he just wants to keep people safe.

We get companions in these games who are broken by the time they're twenty. Solas has spent thousands of years in servitude to a cause of a woman he believed to be his only friend. He doesn't know who he is without her influence, anymore, only exists physically in the first place because she asked it of him and then asked again and again and again. He doesn't have a witty band of merry fools to pull him out of that cycle. He has Felassan, but he has him during war after war after war in the hopes of freeing others from the very situation that torments him.

Trauma from war affects everyone touched by it, nevermind the fact that Solas is actively responsible for saving the lives of thousands and feels each life like a weight around his neck because maybe he can save them like he cannot save himself. We should always be worried about the people trying to do the most good. Who is looking out for them? Why are they so determined to help others? Could it be that it's something they wish others had done for them?

Solas certainly feels comradery with Felassan from working together to free slaves from the very people he helped put in power because Mythal told him it would be okay only to leave him with the pieces, but even the Solas that Felassan knows has been turned into an attack dog shying away from the touch of the very person it desires to be near above all others by the time their relationship forms.

The fact that Solas is able to try and show the Inquisitor who he is at all is a miracle as far as I'm concerned, a sign of a peaceful spirit of Wisdom who loves knowledge for the sake of it finally sensing that there might be a chance to embrace its nature again.

Yeah, if you give him what he has come to expect from people with power, if you let near-absolute power over the masses corrupt you, he's going to bristle and try to shut your inquisitor down.

But if you show him even the smallest bit of kindness? If you treat him like the starving wolf he talks about and feed him instead of fighting him? God, it shatters his entire existence.

It's called a cycle of abuse for a reason. Finding friendship, finding the love of your long-ass life can be the first step in realizing there's better out there. But the time it takes to learn that? When you're too weary to even reach out for help in the first place and afraid of every kind word or gesture because you've never known such tenderness (on a platonic OR romantic level, both matter so so much) before?

Part of the compelling tragedy of Solas is that it's almost Orpheus-like how he knows what he has been made into and still cannot stop himself from yearning for more, from turning around to see if just this once something has changed. You can't convince me that he hasn't spent years hoping that someone will hear the legend of the Dread Wolf and see it for what it is, a leash the Evanuris created for Mythal's whipping boy to ensure that even if he ever escapes them, the people he fought to save will hate him. And I cannot blame him for the shock and terror that consumes him when he realizes someone finally has.

You give me any of dragon age companions after the amount of time Solas spent under Mythal's thumb without your character's intervention and you tell me how that looks.

You tell me if they're able to change at the first sign of something that feels too good to be true.

And then, I want you to tell me they're any less worthy of trying to save, especially when you know how good their best can be.

Solas might be hard for some fans to love, but it's only because he serves as the perfect representation of the beast we are all capable of becoming when the love that sustains us, assuming we receive any at all, is laced with poison.

The journey out of that place, out of a literal prison of regret, is brutal, and I'm thrilled that even with the many things about Veilguard I'm still struggling with, we have the chance to let Solas try again with the help of those who love him not because he never fell down, but because they believe in the beauty of a future where he gets back up again.

[arc-misadventures]

Advice For The Heartbroken

: Oh? Hello, Jaune.

Jaune: Hello, Mrs... Miss Schnee. I'd offer my condolences, but I don't think you'd truly care for that.

Willow: No, not at all.

Jaune: I will say you are looking better; you, and this house seems more lively. Like a new wave of fresh air has blown in.

Willow: Yes, the oppressive aura that, Jacques carried about him has been lifted, bring life to my family, and house. Speaking of looking better; I must say I like your new outfit; Is that a, Specialist uniform?

Jaune: Ahh... yes... Yes it is. I recently became a member of the, Specialist as of, Winter's recommendations.

Willow: Oh congratulations, Jaune! That uniform suit you perfectly.

Jaune: Thank you, Misses Schnee.

Willow: Please, Jaune I already told you, you can call me, Willow. No more of this, Misses Schnee business.

Jaune: Alright then... Willow...

Willow: see, that wasn't too hard. Now then, please take a seat, I assume you're here not because of your new position. Perhaps about the odd circumstances around, Jacques's suspicious death?

Jaune: Thank you... and, uhhh no. I'm not aware of anything in regards to, Jacques's death, and the investigation. I'm a, Huntsman, not a detective.

Willow: Thought I should ask, Winter is unable to tell me anything. Something about the: 'Confidentiality pertaining to the ongoing investigation pertaining to the suspicious death of, Jacques Schnee.'

Jaune: In essence: No.

Willow: Precisely~!

Willow: Now then, since you are not here to talk about, Jacques death, what can I help you with, Jaune?

Jaune: Well... Since you mentioned, Winter... I need some help with her...

Willow: Oh, what is wrong? Did my daughter do something to you?

Jaune: Uhhh... kinda...?

Willow: Kinda... what?

Jaune: Winter likes me...

Willow: So? You are a well mannered, polite, respectable young man. There is very little to hate about you, Jaune. So of course she likes you.

Jaune: Uhhh... Winter likes me... As in like-likes me...

Willow: ...

Willow: S-Seriously...?

Jaune: She's blushed in front of me. She's laughed with me, not at me. She's smiled at me. She gave me this sash on my waist. And, I swear on my mother's life; she winked, and said 'tee-hee' at me!

Willow: Holy shit... Winter does like-like you... I can't believe this...

Jaune: Neither can I?

Willow: I picked a wrong time to stop drinking...

Willow: Okay... you have my permission.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Wha...?

Willow: You have permission to date my daughter.

Jaune: Oh... thank you... B-But, that isn't why I'm here... kinda...?

Willow: Oh? Then what is it, Jaune?

Jaune: I have... absolutely no experience when it comes to romance. If you ask, Weiss about my attempts to, 'whoo' her, you'd whinge in shame at my antics...

Willow: Yes, I do believe I remember hearing, Weiss complaining about that.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: I... I like, Winter... I'm not entirely sure how much I care for her, but I know I do care for, Winter... If there is a possibility of us having a relationship, I want to try... I don't want to miss this chance... not again... So, I came to you to... ask for advice.

Willow: Advice? Why me, couldn't you ask one of your friends for advice?

Jaune: Ha! Ruby has no experience when it comes to love. Weiss, has poor taste in men, and we have that whole history together, not to mention it's about her sister! I can't possibly talk about this with her.

Willow: That would be an ill-advised endeavor to take.

Jaune: Nora, and Ren are out of the question. Nora is pinning for, Ren so hard she might as well become a pine tree. And, people call me dense?! They should take a look at, Ren! A woman is literally fawning over him, and he doesn't see a damn thing!

Willow: Oh, she liked him, I never notice...

Jaune: Don't even get me started on, Blake, and Yang's thing.

Willow: Oh please do, I do love gossip~!

Jaune: Oh, that's right, woman love to gossip; My mother, and sisters love to gossip too.

Jaune: Okay... Blake, and Yang are stuck in this will they won't they situation upon which I don't think they should, because dating, Blake would end up being a part of a very toxic relationship. I mean... Blake is a coward, she has a habit of running away from her problems, and dumping them on others, and refusing to take the blame. Not to mention her past dating experience is horrible! Her first lover was Adam Taurus! A psychotic race supremist terrorist! And, a fanatical lesbian who like, Adam, tried to kill her!

Willow: Oh~? Now isn't this juicy~!

Jaune: Yang has abandonment issues! Her mother abandoned her when she was a child! It would destroy her if, Blake ran away, again! My sister is a lesbian who is married. and in a loving relationship. I told them about, Blake, and Yang, and they looked horrified at the thought of the two of them dating. Not, because its a human, and faunas relationship, because they know how toxic it could be!

Willow: Oh my~! Even the lesbians are looking down on them~! Now things are getting interesting~!

Jaune: Since I don't get involved in their conversations, I just observe. And, I don't like what I'm seeing... Is there a chance they get together, yes. Is there a chance it will be a healthy relationship, maybe... But, I wouldn't bet money on it.

Willow: Ohh~! It's so much fun hearing all the juicy gossip! I feel like I'm a teenager again~!

Jaune: So... I said, I have no experience with dating, so I've come to you for advice. I know you had a toxic relationship with your ex-husband...

Willow: That's an understatement...

Jaune: But, even before that there must have been moments that were happy? Or, the very least you can tell me the does, and don'ts of a relationship. Mostly the don'ts all thing considered...

Willow: ...

Jaune: I know you didn't have a good relationship... But, of everyone I know... You're the only one I can ask.

Willow: Couldn't you ask your sister? She's married after all.

Jaune: Yeah, I ask my sister how she got together with her wife, and...

Willow: She has no idea how it happened?

Jaune: No clue whatsoever.

Willow: Wo you came to me for advice.

Jaune: Yeah, I did.

Willow: Listen, Jaune... I do not understand my daughter well enough to give you advice when it comes to having a relationship with her. I estranged myself from my children when I escaped, Jacque's abuse to the bottle. I am in the middle of trying to rebuild our relationship. I'm learning who my children are, and plan to become. So, I can't tell you what you could do to enter a relationship with her... But, if what you said is true, that if you're making my daughter laugh, and smile. Then you should be together, or at the very least, give it a chance. And, don't regret not taking the chance.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: I don't want to lose that chance again...

Willow: Again?

Jaune: Okay... for now I'll just play it by ear, and see where it will take me... hopefully somewhere nice... Thank you, Willow.

Willow: My pleasure, Jaune. I hope the best for you two. I wouldn't mind you becoming my son in law.

Jaune: O-Oh... Thank you... Now, I best get going there is work to be done.

Willow: Do, Say hello to, Whitely before you leave. He's been wanting to talk to you again.

Jaune: Oh? I'll go do that. Goodbye, Willow.

Willow: Goodbye, Jaune.

Willow: ...

Willow: I wish you the best of luck, Jaune...

[whiteferraristurns]

𝒲𝒜ℛ𝒩ℐ𝒩𝒢𝒮! Smut, pet names, She/her pronouns.

🐻ྀིྀི - i personally think this sucks this is my first time writing smut so please bear with me. I made this so long ago so i’m sorry if it’s actual ass

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬ღ

Chris had never ordered an uber so fast. You had texted him saying that you were finally ready to let him have you.. All of you. You two had been together for almost two years now and you had never gone past heated makeout sessions or some light touches. You were so nervous he wouldn’t like what he saw even though you knew that he worshiped you and he always reminded you of that. He was always so patient with you. He wanted you to be ready and he waited until you were. 

The sun was setting, casting a warm glow through your window as you waited for Chris to arrive. you glanced at the clock for the third time in five minutes, anticipation bubbling up in your chest. He had texted you a few minutes ago, saying he was almost there. You couldn’t wait. You were finally ready to give that last part to him. It was a scary thing to think about but you trusted him with your life.

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. Your heart skipped. You sighed running a hand through your hair before rushing to open the door, your face lighting up as you saw him standing there, his signature grin already on display. “Hey, pretty girl,” Chris greeted, leaning in to give you a quick, soft kiss on the cheek. He looked comfortable and laid-back, wearing his favorite hoodie and a backwards hat that kept his unruly hair in check. You loved that about him—how he always looked so effortlessly good.

“Hey handsome.” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in. "You made it, I thought you’d get lost or something." Chris chuckled, slipping his shoes off. “Oh, please. I could find my way here with my eyes closed at this point.” you smiled and closed the door behind you. You walked up to your room. You sat on the bed looking up at him with your big eyes and innocent looking features. Chris had always loved how pretty and innocent you looked. He was ecstatic that he was the one going to take your virginity. You were the purest not really understanding the jokes he’d thrown around, or how to really do anything.

Part of Chris wanted to bury himself deep inside you as soon as possible and the other part wanted to savor every moment. Your chest rose and fell with every breath. Nervousness bubbling in your chest. “Do you know what it means when we do this baby..?” Chris mumbled. You shook your head. “Words.” he rubbed a hand down your arm. His eyes took in every detail of you and imprinted it into his mind. Your skin glowing beneath the dim lights. “No..”

“It means you won't be the only virgin in our group anymore.” He rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip smirking at his own joke. You rolled your eyes and pushed his hand causing him to chuckle.  “Lay back f’me..” you nodded and moved your head onto the comfort of your pillows. Chris kissed your cheek. 

He grabbed the hem of our shirt looking at you in approval. You nodded once again. He pulled your shirt up over your head. The light orange bralette that sat perfectly on your chest displayed everything. His face lit up. “When did you get this?” he asked, his fingers ran over the lace.. “Yesterday.. I thought you’d like it..” you sheepishly smiled. “No, I don't like it.” your face dropped. “I love it ma.” Your face filled with obvious relief. “I’m just messing’ with you.” 

he chuckled, running a hand down the side of your body leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Lift your hips for me love.” you did exactly as he said. He pulled your shorts down. “Matching panties too? You tease.” you smiled. He kissed your stomach. “Okay once again.. Are you one hundred percent you want to do this?” You nodded. “Yes chris. I’m one hundred and 10 percent.” He smiled up at you and ran a finger over your clothed clit. A gasp left your lips. 

He spread your thighs open more.  A soft whimper left your lips. “Chris don’t tease..” He frowned. “That’s the best though.” You shook your head lightly. He slowly pulled the panties down your legs. He almost drooled at the set of your dripping wet folds. “You are so wet fuck.” 

He cursed. You suddenly got self conscious. You went to close your thighs before Chris stopped you and pushed your thighs open again. “Baby that’s a good thing.. You're gorgeous.” you bit your lip. He leaned down and kitten licked your clit. Causing you to whine. He maintained eye contact. He flattened his tongue against your clit, alternating between long, slow licks and slowly but surely fastening his flicks. He was so fucking hungry for you, for your taste, for the innocence shattering beneath him at this very moment. “Oh fuck- chris,” You gasped, placing your hands in his hair. “I need—oh God.” you threw your head back when he shoved his tongue into your dripping hole. 

His hands dug into the fluffy flesh of your thighs.“You taste so fucking good.” He mumbled against you. The unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in your stomach. “Chris i-”  you gasped he pulled away slightly rubbing his finger over your sensitive bud. “Just let go Ma.” he breathed, leaning back down and continuing his pace. He sucked and licked and till you started to shake under him. Your thighs closed around his head, he quickly pushed them back open. You bucked your hips against his face. 

 Chris pulled away with a big smirk on his face. He licked his lips. “You did so good f’me”  you looked at him with a blushed out face he leaned up and kissed you shoving his tongue into your mouth. You could taste yourself on his tongue. He pulled away and dropped his head into your neck sucking dark marks into your skin. He trailed down your neck onto the cleavage of your tits. 

He continued to suck dark marks. He pulled the bralette off you and dropped his head instantly sucking onto your perky nipples. You moaned softly as he kneaded your left one. He switched and gave some attention to your other one. You ran a hand through his hair. He pulled off with a small “plop” which caused you to flush. He smirked up at you. “Your so pretty baby.”

He stood up pulling his shirt off and then his sweatpants. An obvious wet spot was forming from his boxers. He discarded his boxers quickly after. Your eyes darted down, you couldn't help it. You had always imagined something like this but it scared you. “baby..” He chuckled. 

Your face flushed with embarrassment. He rolled on a condom and got up back on top of you hovering over you. “I wish I could say this isn't gonna hurt but if it becomes too much you tell me okay sweetheart?” He reassured you. “Okay.. I trust you..” He nodded and rubbed his throbbing head against you. You whined. He slowly pushed into you. You grabbed his bicep. 

He wasn't even half way in and it hurt. It hurt so bad you almost called it then but Chris kissed your cheek. He completely stopped his movements and looked at you with scared eyes.  “You can continue..” you mumbled. He nodded and pushed more in. He hissed at how tight you squeezed him. Once he was fully in you you looked up at him with tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “I’m gonna move okay..?” He asked. 

You shook your head, eyes glossy. He soothed your hair out slowly moving out and then back in. The pain slowly turning into pleasure. “You can go faster.” He bit back a smirk and picked his pace up. Everytime thrusted into you the more that feeling bubbled back into your stomach.

 “Fuck mamas your taking me so good.” He grabbed your hips. “Chris!” you screamed as he pushed himself deeper into your gummy walls. He repeatedly hit your G- spot. Yours and his orgasm ripped through you both. Your moans and his groans mixed together as you both came undone on each other. 

As he pulled out you whimpered at the loss of contact. You felt so full with him in you. He disappeared into the bathroom. You sighed with a huge smile on your face. He came back out with a warmed washcloth cleaning you up. His face seemed so focused on making sure you were clean.

He brushed the sweaty pieces of hair off your face. “Arms up.” You lifted your arms up as he slipped his shirt over your body then slipped your underwear up your legs and over your hips. You two slipped under your covers as you laid on his chest listening to his soft heartbeat. “Was it just how you imagined..?” he mumbled, rubbing small patterns into your hip. “Even better. Thank you, handsome.” You mumbled back. He smiled like a kid in a candy store and pulled you closer. “I love you pretty girl.” you hummed back and drifted off into sleep in the comfort of your boyfriend's arms.

🐻ྀིྀི shatter me reference? (Iykyk..) ALSO PLEASE TELL ME HOW YOU GUYS FEEL ABOUT THIS😓

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