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galaxywannabe · 2 days ago

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The Miscommunication Trope™

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: After getting into the first real argument of your relationship, some misspoken words from Bucky leave you thinking that he's done. By the time he realizes just how badly he screwed up, will it be too late to correct his mistake?

Warnings: Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Miscommunication; Crying; Arguing between romantic partners; Bucky is mean but he makes up for it; Happy ending; Reader identifies as a woman and uses she/her pronouns, but other than having hair that can be swept behind an ear I don't think there are any other physical descriptors; Please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: Almost 9.3k.....I'm sorry lol

A/N: Ummm....so. I'm fairly certain I promised this fic, like...3 months ago? In fact, I actually just went back to look and I first teased this fic on Febuary 19th, so um...lol? I made it! Listen, idk if it's even any good anymore but if I look at it for another second I'll scream, so please take it off my hands. Any and all comments or reblogs would be SO appreciated because this has truly been a labor of love, I didn't know if I had it in me. Also!! I have not forgotten @buckyinmyuniverse - you asked to be tagged in this wayyyy back when I first posted about it and I have FANTASTIC news for you babe: The wait is finally over!! I know you've no doubt been refreshing your feed for months looking for it (/j) but this whole time I was cooking this thing I remembered you asking for a tag. So, this one goes out to you. Hope you all enjoy! <3

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You and Bucky hadn’t ever been in a fight before, not really. You bicker, sure, usually over something lighthearted, usually resulting in an eyeroll and a “whatever you say, honey,” from Buck, but nothing serious, nothing that can’t be worked out through a civilized conversation. That was, until today.

You weren’t even trying to start an argument, you were just expressing your concern. He works too much, he takes more missions than anyone else, and it’s running him ragged, anybody can see that.

Obviously, you miss him when he’s away, but that’s not even the point - the point is that he’s taking on too much because he thinks he owes the world something, and that’s not sustainable, it’s not good for him. All you said was that maybe he’d ought to ask Fury to take him off the rotation for a while, or even just cut down on his assignment load, to give him some room to breathe. And Bucky got…defensive.

Obviously, you knew that was a possibility. Typical male pride of course prohibits silly ideas like “self care” and “burnout,” but on top of that is Bucky’s specific brand of guilt, the kind that makes him work himself into the ground no matter how badly his brain and body beg him to stop.

The defensiveness you were prepared for, but you were only coming from a place of love, your concern that of a devoted girlfriend, and surely he’d understand that, wouldn’t he? Except he hadn’t. He’d immediately dismissed your suggestion, waving a hand and continuing to type up his latest mission report with a laser-like focus.

“I don’t need a break, I’m fine,” he’d muttered, eyes trained on the bluish light of his laptop screen.

Again, you weren’t trying to argue. You certainly weren’t going to force him to take a break, you just wanted him to at least consider it, to remind him that it would be okay for him to rest a little, if he wanted to. The world would go on without his help for a few weeks, and there were other heroes available besides him.

“Honey, I know you might not need one, but it’s okay if you just want one. No one would judge you if-”

And then he did something he’d never done before: he snapped at you. He didn’t even look up from his screen, his fingers still a steady staccato on the keyboard as he barked out harshly.

“I said I don’t need a fucking break. I’m just doing my goddamn job, and I don’t need you breathing down my neck watching my every move the whole time I do it. I can take care of myself.”

You winced. Obviously, that stung, and if he’d bothered to look up from his computer screen, he might have seen that on your face. But you could tell he wasn’t as unbothered by this conversation as he was acting.

Despite his brusque attitude, your words were striking a chord with him, hitting a little too close to home. His shoulders were stiff as a board, bunched up around his ears in a telltale sign of defensiveness, and you understood, really you did.

For Bucky, doing this job is the one way he can even attempt to atone for all the bad shit he’s done. Of course he felt uncomfortable with the idea of a break, he thinks he has to do these missions as some sort of self-imposed penance for the things he’d been made to do as the Winter Soldier.

So you didn’t judge him too harshly for lashing out. You understood the reason he worked so hard, and you knew what motivated him to continue going out there even when he was exhausted. You just wanted him to see that taking a break for his own mental health wasn’t a bad thing, that even if he was making amends he still needed to find time to take care of himself, too.

You took a deep breath and spoke in a calm voice, hoping to express your concern in a nonthreatening manner even as he still refused to look at you.

“Angel. I’m not trying to breathe down your neck or tell you how to do your job. I know it’s important to you, and I love how hard you work! It’s just that, super-soldier or not, if you want to continue to do this job, you’re gonna need to stop and rest at some point, honey. That’s all I’m trying to say. I’m worried about you, love.”

Finally, he looked up at you, and your heart fluttered just seeing those baby blues you love so much. Until you clocked the scowl on his pretty face, and the hope in your gut curdled to dread. He was angry, you knew what that looked like, but in the six months of your relationship so far you’d never once seen that anger directed at you before.

It wasn’t frightening in a physical sense, not like you were scared for your well-being, of course not. But it deeply unsettled you, seeing the man you love looking at you like that. It made you want to apologize, though you weren’t quite sure what for. Before you could do anything at all, he spoke, his voice a cold, steel edge.

“You don’t know anything about what I can handle. I was doing just fine before you came around, and I don’t need you fussing over me at every turn just because I don’t sit around here all day scrolling on my phone or whatever it is you think I should be doing. I don’t need or want your hovering, so just stop, okay?”

There was silence. His shoulders heaved in the wake of his outburst, and you felt almost dazed, like this was some kind of mirage you could will away if you blinked hard enough. He’d never spoken to you like that.

Obviously, you’d hit a nerve, and while logically you understood that, it didn’t lessen the pain in your chest. You were just worried about him, why was he fighting like you were trying to strap him down and force him to quit?

While you tried to regain your bearings, breathing deeply and forcing back the stinging you felt building in your eyes, he slammed his laptop shut, standing and stalking towards your bedroom door. He’d come over to your place to work on his mission reports at your insistence because you’d wanted to keep him company, and now it appeared he was leaving.

“W-where are you going, what are you doing?” you’d squeaked, alarmed, following after him as he made his way to the foyer of your apartment and shoved his feet into his boots.

“I can’t fucking do this, I'm done,” he’d muttered in a gruff, hard voice, lacing his boots efficiently and standing back to his full height as he reached for the doorknob.

You shook your head, panicked, reaching for his arm and trying futilely to drag him back into your apartment. “Baby, please. I’m sorry, don’t go.”

But he just shook off your hold and stalked out the door, leaving you there as your eyes blurred with tears. After standing there in your foyer for several minutes, waiting for him to turn around and come back, you’d simply fallen to your knees and curled up right there on the polished wooden floor, bawling your eyes out.

That’s where you still are a couple hours later when your phone starts to vibrate incessantly in your pocket. You pull it out with trembling fingers and swipe to answer a call from Natasha.

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“H-hello?” you croak into the receiver.

The second Nat hears you pick up the call she’s talking, looking distractedly through her closet as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder.

“Hey honey, listen, me and the girls were thinking about running to Target, and we wanted to- wait, what’s wrong?” Natasha’s cheerful voice quickly drops into something soft and concerned as she picks up on the sniffles coming through her tinny cell phone speakers.

For a few seconds all she can hear is you sobbing quietly, the way you struggle to slow your hysterical breathing so you can put together a sentence. “H-he left, Nat. He broke up with me,” you whimper, voice barely audible.

This stops Natasha in her tracks, her brow furrowed in deep confusion as she freezes with one hand reaching for her favorite sweater. What the fuck? Why in the hell would Barnes break up with you? Especially when she knows for a fact that on the last mission she had with him, he stopped into a jewelry shop in Germany ‘just to look’ at engagement rings? This doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

“Honey,” Nat speaks into the phone again, her voice soft and soothing even through the crackly audio coming from your cell phone. “What happened, what did he say?”

You sniffle again, and clear your throat so she can hear your scratchy voice a bit better. “We…there was a fight, a-and I didn’t mean to, Nat, I swear, I was just worried, but��he said he can’t do this anymore, that h-he's done, and then he left. He didn’t take any of his things with him, but maybe he’s gonna come back for them, I don’t know…I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Nat…” As your sentence tapers off, your voice fades out, and a few renewed sobs float over the phone call into Nat’s ear, the sounds soaked in agony.

Oh, okay. Nat thinks she can see what really happened here just from your description, but that doesn’t make the sounds of your misery in her ear any less painful to hear. Likely, when Bucky had said he couldn’t do “this” anymore, that he was done, he’d meant the argument, the conversation, not your relationship.

But Barnes is your first real boyfriend, and you’ve never had a fight with him before. You were probably so confused and upset in the moment that you weren’t thinking about the context of his statement.

All you knew was that Bucky got upset with you for the very first time, and then he left. To you, that must certainly look like a breakup, and when Nat thinks about it from your perspective, she understands how you’d come to that conclusion.

She’d love to explain to you how you may have misunderstood, but as she listens to your hoarse crying over speakerphone, she knows you’re not in the frame of mind to process rational thought right now. Instead, she decides to focus on soothing you for the moment.

“I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know why he’d ever do anything like that to you. I’m gonna get to the bottom of it, alright? In the meantime, I just need you to do something for me,” she coos, her voice comforting and warm.

You don’t answer, just sniffling occasionally as you sit there in silence. Natasha, interpreting your lack of response as an affirmation, continues on.

“Where are you right now?”

There’s more silence for a few seconds, the sound of you pulling deep breaths into your lungs as you regain awareness of your surroundings. Then:

“Uh. The floor. In my apartment,” you mumble, confused, like you’ve just now realized that fact.

Natasha feels an additional lash of anger at Barnes flood her system when you tell her that, but she works to keep her voice calm even has her knuckles go white around her device.

“Okay, well, I need you to get up off the floor and go to your bedroom, okay? I want you to get dressed in your comfiest pajamas and crawl into bed for me, and wait there while I handle this. Can you do that? Just close your eyes and try to rest while I figure everything out?”

More sniffles, a hoarse cough, and then, after a beat of silence, your voice crackles over the line.

“Yeah….okay. I can do that, Nat,” you croak, the sound of shuffling floating over the line as you stagger to your feet after who knows how long on the floor.

She smiles, relieved to hear your voice coming through a bit more calmly, even as her mind races with the next items on her to-do list. “Okay sweetheart, you do that, then. I love you, I’ll call back soon, okay? Go get some rest.”

After hanging up with you, confident that at least you’re not curled up on your apartment floor anymore, she pockets her cell and immediately stalks down the hall towards the elevator, Target trip long forgotten.

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Bucky knows he fucked up. As someone who fucks up just about everything, he’s intimately familiar with the process, and he can say, with 100% certainty, that in this instance he absolutely fucked up. He never should have snapped at you - his sweetheart, his girl. You were just worried about him, and of course you were.

Bucky knows damn well he works too hard, especially lately, and he’s been on the verge of physical and mental collapse pretty much every damn day for the past month, running himself into the ground. He’d even been thinking to himself before your argument that he should slow down, take a break before he gets himself killed. So why did he get so defensive when you’d suggested it?

He doesn’t goddamn know. Because he’s messed up. Because it’s one thing when he decides to take some time off, but another when someone else has the idea, like they think he needs it.

He can’t help it; for decades of his life, the slightest sign of weakness meant pain, meant the frigid blast of a firehouse to wake him up or the wandering scalpel of a Hydra doctor looking to find a defect. Not that that makes his outburst okay, by any means, but it’s an explanation, and hey, he’s working on it, really he is.

Still, he knew the second he walked out of your apartment that he’d fucked up, and so he’s spent the past two hours at his own place a few floors up, licking his wounds and gathering the courage to go apologize.

Because…yes, okay, he’s embarrassed by the way he acted. He’s ashamed of his own behavior, and he’d needed a minute to feel sorry for himself before he inevitably goes back down to your apartment and grovels for your forgiveness.

He figures you’re pissed beyond belief, and if giving you some time to cool off also gives him a little while to stall the complete destruction of his ego, well, then, he’ll take it.

He finished up his mission report, he took a shower, and now he’s preparing his apology speech, debating the merit of walking down the street to a bodega for some flowers, when his doorbell rings. Shit, maybe he’s already out of time and you decided to come to him.

When he opens his door, looking thoroughly contrite, it’s not your expected figure that stands in his entryway, but Natasha’s. And even given all his super-soldier reflexes and military training, he still staggers back a step in shock when she slaps him right across the face.

“Whoa, what the fuck, Nat?” he barks, rubbing at the heat blooming under the skin of this cheek.

Standing there in front of him with her arms crossed, she looks anything but remorseful, her fists clenched as if she has to deny herself the urge to do it again.

“Why the fuck did you break up with her, Barnes? Are you insane?! The one good thing in your life, and you threw it all away, why, because you got a little pissed off? Out of all the stupid, careless decisions you’ve made in your fucked-up life, I really didn’t think you had it in you to top all that, but Jesus…”

As she continues to rant at him, her face pinched with rage, Bucky struggles to make sense of the words she’s already spoken. Broken up with you? Why in God’s name would he ever do that?

What an absolutely absurd thing to accuse him of, given that everybody in this building knows how insanely in love with you he is, especially your own best friend. Why is she here playing some kind of prank on him when he’s supposed to be rehearsing his apology?

“I did no such thing,” he answers bluntly, interrupting her impassioned speech, his expression confused and a little irritated at the accusation.

Nat barely even blinks at this denial. “Oh really? Then why did I just talk to her on the phone, bawling her eyes out on the floor of her apartment, telling me that you did?”

Of course, Nat’s pretty sure that Barnes hadn’t really meant to break up with you by leaving during your argument, but she’s pissed at him either way for not being cognizant enough of your feelings to foresee your interpretation of his behavior.

To Bucky, Natasha’s words might as well have been a bucket of ice water poured over his head, the way they immediately freeze his joints with dread. He feels his stomach churn as if he might be sick, the horrifying mental image of you curled up on your wooden floors driving a stake between his ribs. When he’d left, you’d been standing. Sure, you’d looked upset, but surely not that upset…right?

He tries to think back to your emotional state when he’d stormed out a couple of hours ago, but truthfully he hadn’t turned back to see your face as he’d walked out your door. Had you been crying? He didn’t think so, but now he isn’t so sure, especially given the look of anger on Nat’s face. Why would you tell her that he’d broken up with you? As a joke, some kind of payback for his outburst?

“I….” he pauses, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips. “You talked to her? What did she say?”

Natasha almost feels sympathy for Bucky in this moment, standing before her looking so confused and slightly horrified. But then she thinks about her best friend sobbing on the floor because he’s an idiot, and that emotion vanishes, replaced with her plentiful anger.

“Well, it was kind of hard to hear her, what with all the sobbing and such. But when I finally was able to get her to speak, she said that there was a fight, and that you broke up with her and then left her there. She said you hadn’t taken any of your stuff with you when you left, and she wasn’t sure when you’d be back for it, but that she didn’t know what she was going to do,” Nat recalls in a hard voice, her gaze sharp and accusatory. “After that she started crying again, so I didn’t ask her any more questions.”

Another bruising blow to the tatters of Bucky Barnes’s heart. What did you mean, he hadn’t taken his stuff? Why would he take his things when he’d left them there on purpose so he had them to use when he was at your place?

Why would he take his belongings out of your apartment just because you got into an argument? This doesn’t make any sense, and the longer Natasha talks, the worse his growing sense of unease becomes.

Why were you crying? Sure, he expected anger, he’d been a huge swinging dick and he deserves some harsh words. But why is Nat saying that you were curled up on your floor sobbing? Why wouldn’t you be on the couch, or in your bed, or even down in the gym punching out your frustrations?

And why were you on the phone with your best friend moments ago talking like you didn’t expect him to come back? Surely you know he’ll be back, he practically lives in your apartment - his wallet and keys are still sitting in the dish by your front door, his favorite jacket hung on the coat rack. He looks at your closest friend desperately, his face drawn in stark lines of horror and regret.

“Natasha, please, I don’t know why she said all that stuff to you, I didn’t break up with her, I would never break up with her. We had an argument. She was only worried about me, but I got defensive like an asshole and said some shit I didn’t mean, so…I just wanted to get out of there, get some space before I lashed out some more, that’s all. I just needed a minute to cool off, I was always fully planning to go back, to explain myself and apologize. I don’t know why she…” he trails off, looking lost.

Nat sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her best friend is in hysterics, and it’s all because men are the dumbest creatures on this planet.

“What do you think that looked like to her, Barnes? You guys get in your very first fight, and after saying some mean shit to her you stomp out of there and go ‘I can’t do this, I'm done’. What do you think those words might have sounded like to her ears? You’re her first serious boyfriend, jackass! She’s never been in this situation before! She doesn’t know that it’s relatively normal for couples to argue, even if you definitely shouldn’t have snapped at her. She just knows you’ve never fought before, and the first time you do, you walk out the door. She thinks you’re gone for good, James.”

You could hear a pin drop in Bucky’s apartment right now, the sounds of bustling Manhattan outside his windows muffled by the blood roaring in his ears. He wants to be upset with you, to question how you could ever doubt his love enough to think he’d really just walk out after one disagreement. But in truth, given his actions and your lack of relationship experience, he doesn’t see how you could’ve come to any other conclusion.

Bucky thought he’d been regretful before Nat got here, but after hearing his behavior described in this new light, he’s got a whole list of emotions to add to the pile. Self-loathing, remorse, fear. You’re in your apartment right now, believing yourself to be single. All that time you two spent together, every memory and intimate moment, you think it’s over, just like that, in the blink of an eye.

Obviously, he needs to explain himself immediately, to tell you that he hadn’t meant to end your relationship in the slightest and that this is all just a giant misunderstanding.

But what if you don’t care? What if, after the way he acted towards you today, you’d rather accept his words as you’d thought he meant them and stay broken up, even knowing that wasn’t his intent? He’s shaking, he realizes distantly, noticing the way Natasha looks at him with concern in her eyes now.

He hadn’t ever really let himself consider that you’d turn him down before, when he was rehearsing his apology speech. You’re in a committed relationship of six months, you’re in love. Surely, even if he was a bit of an asshole, one transgression can be forgiven as long as he apologizes sincerely.

But that was back when he thought his only sin was his harsh words, back when he thought you were angry with him for his outburst.

Now that he knows what you’ve really been feeling, that you’ve apparently spent the past two hours sobbing on your wooden apartment floors waiting for him to come back and take his belongings, he’s not so confident that he can grovel hard enough to make up for this.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, god damn it, that’s the whole reason he left in the first place, to spare you from his undeserved anger. Now he might be about to lose you because of his own childish temper tantrum, and the terror of that thought feels icy in his veins as it travels straight to his heart, freezing it in place.

His body is moving towards his apartment door before he even commands his muscles to do so, single-minded on the only thing that matters anymore: fixing what he’s done. His hand is already turning the doorknob by the time a slightly startled Nat is able to catch up with him, her hand on his shoulder stalling him for only the tiniest moment before he’s barrelling ahead again.

“Don’t fuck this up. You love her, now go make it right,” she commands sternly, and Bucky just grunts his acknowledgment before bursting through his door out into the empty hallway, towards the elevator.

He doesn’t stop to voice his fears to Natasha, that it might be too late to make anything right, that he may have fucked it up beyond repair already. He just keeps moving, hoping beyond hope that he still has a chance.

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When he makes it to your apartment a few floors down from his own, it’s eerily silent as he pushes the door open. He’s never needed a key, FRIDAY has explicit orders to grant him entry, but for the first time ever it feels wrong entering your space unannounced, like maybe he should knock and wait for permission in light of what’s happened. He ignores the impulse.

You’re not crouched on the floor of your entryway like Nat said you’d been, so he supposes that’s a good sign, but it occurs to him then that he’s not even entirely sure you’re home. Bucky pauses to ask FRIDAY where you are, and is relieved to hear that you’re only in your bedroom.

He almost thinks he picks up a hint of annoyance in the AI’s voice when she responds to his inquiry, though, as if even the damn computer program is pissed at him for the way he treated you. It must be his imagination.

“Angel?” he calls out softly, making his way slowly through the apartment to your bedroom, noting the oppressive stillness of the place as he goes deeper. “Honeybun? Sweet pea?” he uses his softest, most gentle voice, disturbed to find your usually lively dwelling so silent.

The TV in the living room - usually playing some youtube video or episode of your favorite show - is powered off, and the lights are all off too, as if the sun had set and you simply hadn’t bothered to flick any of them on to combat the encroaching darkness. The place he’s wandering now is like a ghost of your apartment, no scented candles lit, no steaming mug of tea waiting for you at your usual spot at the coffee table.

It’s unnerving, to have a place usually so full of life be so startlingly empty all of a sudden. His slow steps and his soft voice calling out for you are the only sounds in the entire space, until he finally reaches your bedroom door and pauses to listen. For a moment there’s nothing, and he worries that perhaps you aren’t home after all, until he hears a soft sound coming muffled through the thick wood of your door.

He presses his ear against it to listen closer, brow scrunched as he waits to hear the sound again, and a moment later his heart shatters as it becomes clear that what he’s hearing is your soft sobbing, interspersed with the occasional sniffle.

Bucky pushes your door open ever-so-carefully, cursing under his breath at the slight squeak of the wood on its hinges. It’s hard to see anything in your room, even with his perfect super-soldier eyesight, as the lights are off in here, too, the curtains closed to limit even the soft moonlight coming through the windows.

His instinct is to flick on the light so he can see you better, but he doesn’t want to startle you, and besides, you obviously prefer the lights off or you would’ve turned them on yourself when it got dark. Instead he just steps further into the room, squinting his eyes as he can just barely make out the lump under the covers where you lay, curled in a ball in the center of your mattress, crying quietly.

He knows you must have heard his entrance, must realize he’s standing at the side of your bed right now, but you make no move to acknowledge him, continuing to sob softly as he watches on, heartbroken.

“Oh, darlin’...” he sighs, pulling the covers back a bit to expose your head, kneeling with one knee on the mattress so he can get a closer look at you.

You sniffle pitifully as you feel the cool air of the room on your face, extra cold against your cheeks where they’re wet with tears. Your vision is too blurry for you to actually see him, but you know who it is, know the scent of his cologne and the familiar touch of his fingers on your face as he brushes your hair back to see you better.

Your stupid, traitorous nervous system reacts immediately to his presence, your panicked breaths slowing and your tears subsiding, a warm wash of comfort moving through your chest along with an instinctive sense of safety.

Your body knows nothing of the events of the past few hours, that he isn’t yours anymore, that he isn’t here to comfort you. It just instinctively calms under his attention, unaware that it is fleeting now, sure to be gone in only moments.

As the man you love wipes the tears gently from your face, his touch so sweet and soft it inadvertently causes more of them to fall, you force your hoarse voice to speak, the sound a barely audible croak even in the silence of your room. “Are you here to get your things?”

Bucky’s own eyes sting at your words, at the miserable tone to your voice as you say them, and he shakes his head vehemently, though he’s not sure you’re even really seeing him right now.

“No, baby, of course not. Why would I take my stuff, huh? I left those things here so I could use them when I’m visiting my girl, you know that,” he counters in a painfully soft voice, like he thinks speaking above a murmur will shatter you. Maybe he’s right about that, you do feel awfully close to shattering.

You feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind your eyes, and you close them for a moment, struggling to craft a coherent thought through all the heartbreak clouding your brain. Why is he here speaking nonsense when you’re in the middle of trying to mourn him? Does he not see that it’s cruel for him to be here with his comforting touch and his sweet voice, knowing that those things are lost to you forever now?

“I’m not your girl anymore…” you mumble brokenly, the very act of having to speak the words into existence pulling another sob from your chest.

Despite yourself you nuzzle your cheek into his palm as he cradles your face, desperate for his affection. If you’re never going to feel his touch again, you’ll bask in every opportunity while you have it, savoring the familiar warmth even as you question why he’s offering it to you in the first place.

Your face is pinched in concentration, like you’re trying to commit the sensation to memory, and Bucky’s heart might as well be in shards by his feet at this point, the way you seek out his touch like you’re starved for it. Like it hasn’t only been hours since he last gave it to you, like you’ll never have the chance to feel it again.

“Yes you are, baby, you’re always gonna be my girl. You’re mine, honey, just like I’m yours. Forever, haven’t I told you that?” he speaks desperately, like he’s pleading with you to agree with him, and although you’d love to, you have very recent evidence to the contrary.

“B-but, you said…” you trail off in a whisper, unable to repeat the words. You don’t need to anyways, you both know what he’d said. That he can’t do this. Can’t be with you anymore.

Bucky’s quick to interrupt you, needing you to understand that that’s not what he’d said, or, at least, not what he’d meant. “Baby, I didn’t- I’m sorry I said it like that, and I understand why you took those words the way you did. But that’s not what I meant to say, sweetheart, I swear.”

He huffs and slides a frustrated hand through his hair, suddenly unable to bear having this conversation with you while you lie curled up alone in your bed, looking up at him blankly with your shining eyes.

Before you can speak another word he peels back the covers some more, making room for himself as he slides into the bed beside you, pulling you up and onto his chest so he can hold you in his arms. The tears on your cheeks immediately soak through the soft cotton of his T-shirt, but he doesn’t care, cradling you tightly against his chest and rubbing slow, comforting circles onto your back.

You want to say something, to express your confusion at his incongruent behavior, but you can’t, not with his arms around you and his scent in your nose. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out are more shuddering sobs, your body limp in his hold, completely helpless against the comfort he offers.

Even if he shouldn’t be, he’s here. He’s here, and he’s holding you like you’re something precious again, and even if you know that there must be some mistake you can’t stop yourself from completely melting into his embrace, any semblance of your remaining composure crumbling completely.

Bucky just coos softly, murmuring gentle assurances in your ear and holding you, solid and steady as you weather the storm of your heartbreak. Despite having spent the better part of the past two hours bawling your eyes out, the crying starts anew with him here, his comforting presence both a relief and a reminder of what you’ve lost, what you’ll be missing when he walks out that door again.

You two lie like that for a while, though whether it’s for a few minutes or several hours you can’t say, time stretching into infinity as you cry into his chest. As the tears finally subside once again, your body exhausted and your throat sore, your mind belatedly registers his words from before. He’d been saying something, hadn’t he?

“What…” your voice comes out scratchy, so you clear your throat to be heard better - though Bucky couldn’t have missed a word out of your mouth if he tried, focused on you as he is. “What do you mean, that’s not what you meant? You broke up with me.”

Bucky shakes his head immediately, bringing his mismatched palms up to cradle your face, sweeping your hair back behind your ears so he can see his beautiful girl. God, it’s torture watching you cry, but he seems to have broken through to you somehow, and he’s not going to squander this opportunity to explain himself.

He can’t suppress the urge to lean down and drop a tender kiss to your forehead, though, your tear-stained face so pitiful he could cry right along with you if he didn’t have something more important to be doing at the moment.

“I mean, that’s not what I meant, sweetheart. I never intended to break up with you. How could I? Leave my girl, my princess? Don’t you know you mean more to me than every other person on this planet put together?” He speaks calmly but firmly, his gaze steady on yours as he practically begs you to believe him. You have to believe him.

You frown, confusion pulling your brows together as you take in his desperate expression. His words make your heart flutter with hope, but you don’t understand, can’t make sense of the reality he’s trying to assert when you know you heard otherwise only a couple of hours ago. It’s all a bit much for your heartbroken brain to handle, and you just blink at him blankly, completely lost.

“I don’t understand, Buck. Y-you were so upset, and then you left, and you said ‘I can’t do this, I'm done.’ I thought you meant we were done, that you can’t do us anymore.” you recall in a miserable voice, searching his eyes for answers as you desperately try to understand.

He nods empathetically, his thumbs brushing at the tears on your cheeks even as more continue to fall to take their place. “I know that’s what I said, sweet girl, and I know how it sounded to you, but that’s not at all how I meant it, I swear. I just…” Bucky sighs, his features plastered with remorse, his eyes falling from yours in shame.

“I was being an asshole. I knew, even as I was doing it, that I was being an asshole, that I couldn’t stop being an asshole, so I just…I wanted to get away from you before I lashed out any more, that’s all. I knew if I kept trying to discuss things with you right then I was only going to say more shit I didn’t mean, so I tried to put some space between us, just until I could cool off and be rational again.”

Bucky pauses, sighing deeply and stroking your cheeks. His eyes are swimming with guilt so deep it hurts your chest just to look at it. He looks almost as torn up about this whole ordeal as you do, which, although his pain isn’t something you revel in, does make your heart beat a little faster with hope. Would a man who doesn’t want to be with you anymore still look at you with that much guilt over having caused you pain?

When he speaks again his voice is low and strained with emotion, apologetic. “Darlin’, I…I am so sorry for the things I said to you today. I didn’t mean a single damn one of them. I love that you look after me, I love that I have someone waiting for me when I come home, making sure I’m not pushing myself too hard. I need you there to do that for me, because we both know I’m too proud and stubborn to take a break on my own. I got defensive, and I lashed out because I felt threatened, and that is not okay or fair to you. If you can’t forgive me for those things I said, I understand.”

He swallows thickly, his eyes closing as hot tears sting the backs of them, fighting to escape. “But you need to know that when I told you I couldn’t ‘do this,’ I sure as hell didn’t mean you, or us. All I meant was that I couldn’t keep having that conversation with you, that I needed to get away before I hurt you worse. That’s all it was. When I left your apartment today, it was to get some space because I knew I was throwing a temper tantrum. In no way, shape, or form was I breaking up with you, or trying to end what we have. I couldn’t do that, it’s not in my DNA to do that. I’m simply not capable of it, and you have to know that. Even if you decide you’re better off without me, I need you to know that. Please.”

You stare down at him in the wake of his speech, watching as he blinks rapidly to keep tears at bay, and you’re so god damn confused in this moment that you wish he would give you a timeout, let you process everything he just said before you have to respond to it.

Could it possibly be true? That he’d never meant to break up with you, that he still loves and wants you? Could this all just be some massive misunderstanding on your part?

The possibility has hope fluttering warm in your chest, but you suppress it. Better to make absolutely sure first, before you let your heart get obliterated for the second time today. Letting yourself have this hope only to quash it moments later might actually break you for good.

“You weren’t…I mean, you didn’t want to break up with me?” you whisper hesitantly, afraid to let yourself believe it even though you’re desperate to.

Bucky’s heart cracks in his chest as you ask that so timidly, like just voicing the question is opening you up to a whole new potential world of hurt. He shakes his head firmly, his metal hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull, his fingertips massaging your scalp gently.

“No, babygirl, never. Not in a million years. Even though we were arguing, it was the last thing on my mind, trust me. I’ve never wanted to break up with you, not for a second. I love you,” he reassures you smoothly, his voice low and calm, exuding certainty.

You have to sniffle hard to hold back a fresh round of tears at those three simple words, ones you never thought you’d get to hear from him again. Jesus Christ, if you never cry again it’ll be too soon. Your gaze is particularly frail and fragile as it meets Bucky’s, some of that hope you’d been suppressing earlier making itself known in your features, tentative but present.

“So…you’re still my boyfriend?” you ask in a tiny murmur, like maybe this is the part where he pulls the rug out from under you and announces he was kidding about the whole misunderstanding thing.

Bucky’s features tighten a little at your question, and dread pools in your stomach rapidly, fearing the worst. But his words aren’t quite the heartbreaking blow you’re expecting, more like a puzzling wrinkle.

“If you want me to be, yeah, baby, I am.”

Your brow furrows, confused. What the hell does that mean? Suddenly, you recall a few other parts of his speech just now, parts that had been immediately overshadowed when he’d said that he still wanted to be with you. Now that you think about it, he’d also said a bunch of stuff along the lines of ‘If you can forgive me,’ and ‘If you decide you’re better off without me,’ hadn’t he?

What the hell was that all about? Why’s he talking about whether you want to be with him? Like you haven’t been literally bawling your eyes out for the past two hours at the prospect of having to live without him? How does that make any sense?

“Of course I want you to be. You think I was curled up on the floor sobbing because I was happy to think that our relationship was over?” you ask incredulously, frowning at him.

He chuckles a little at that, the sound vibrating through you as you lay on his chest, but it’s strained, his expression vulnerable. Although you attribute this misunderstanding mostly to your own mind jumping to the worst possible conclusion, Bucky is riddled with guilt for both his abrupt exit from your apartment and the things he’d said leading up to it.

In his eyes you went through a lot of pain today, and every inch of it is his fault. If he’d stopped to explain his meaning, or, hell, if he hadn’t gotten so damn defensive in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. His girl wouldn’t have spent hours of her life sobbing on her hardwood floors if he’d just stopped to breathe like his therapist taught him to. His pale irises swim with shame as he gazes up at you.

“No, no, I just…I said some horrible things to you today, darlin’. And just because you were upset to think that I’d broken up with you doesn’t necessarily mean that all is forgiven, I know that. I understand if you’d rather keep us apart after the way I acted,” he murmurs defeatedly, like he’s already prepared himself for a thorough scolding.

Which is absolutely goddamn ridiculous, in your eyes. You snort, brows raised in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? All is forgiven, Buck, all is so past forgiven. I don’t care about the shit you said. You’re here, you’re still mine, that’s all that matters now. Forget the fight, forget all of it. I’ve got you, that’s all I care about.”

You say it so simply, like it could be so easy. Like his indiscretions are just wiped clean in the face of your pure relief. But he knows that they aren’t, they can’t be. It’s not that easy, as much as he’d like it to be. He fucked up, and he deserves what’s coming to him.

He tries to reason with you, his expression pained. “Baby, you can’t just-”

“I absolutely can, actually,” you interrupt, looking unamused, stern. “I’m the one you said those things to, so I think I have the right to determine how I feel about them, don’t you?” You keep your eyebrows raised, challenging.

You watch as he mulls those words over a bit, licking his lips anxiously. It takes him a moment to decide how to respond, and when he does his words are slow, strained. Like maybe he doesn’t want to say them, but he feels like he has to.

“Yes, you do. It’s ultimately your decision, of course it is. I just…before you decide to blindly forgive me for this, I want you to really consider how you feel, okay? I know your instinct is to forget all about it because you’re just relieved to have me at all right now, but…I messed up. I hurt you, I said hurtful things even if I didn’t mean them. You didn’t deserve that, least of all from me, the man who’s supposed to love and protect you. You’re allowed to be upset about it, and if my actions made you realize that you don’t want to be with me anymore, then…you’re allowed to feel that way, too.”

His voice cracks on that last word, and your heart aches painfully in your chest at the sound. In this moment, you’re realizing with horror that Bucky truly believes he deserves to be broken up with tonight. With the unshed tears clinging to his lashline and the devastated look on his face, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be dumped, that in fact that’s the last thing he wants.

But it’s obviously what he thinks should happen, the punishment he thinks he’s earned for the inadvertent heartbreak he put you through tonight, and that’s just…unacceptable, to be honest.

The man would forgive you if you literally drove a stake through his chest, for Christ’s sake, yet he’s expecting you to kick him to the curb? What, because he got a little snippy with you? Because you jumped to the wrong conclusion and convinced yourself he left you? You would almost be insulted that he could think such a thing of you if you didn't know where the fear comes from.

You've seen them firsthand: the deep layers of self-loathing that have bogged him down since long before your relationship started, the inherent belief he carries that he is irreparably flawed and unworthy of love. He doesn't feel like he deserves you on his best day, so when he screws up, no matter the size of the infraction, he expects to be cast aside.

You reach out with one hand to cradle his cheek, his stubble gently scraping against your thumb as you caress his skin. Your expression is caring but firm, your eyes holding his as you speak in an even voice.

“I need you to understand that I don't expect you to be perfect, James. I don’t expect that you will always say the right thing, or have a perfectly even temperament in every situation because hell, none of us do. You’re allowed to fuck up sometimes, sweetheart, and you still deserve to be loved even when you do.”

His brow furrows as you speak, his instinct to reflexively deny the forgiveness you’re offering. “But I hurt you,” he interjects, the look on his face so miserable it tugs at your chest.

You nod your agreement, though your expression is still full of compassion and love. “Yes, you did. I won’t even begin to address the break-up fiasco because that was a complete misunderstanding on my part, but yes, the things you said before you left really stung me. Do you know why I’m going to forgive you anyways, though? Why, even if this happens again, I’ll probably forgive you a hundred times over?”

You pause for effect, giving him the opportunity to respond. Honestly, as upset as you’ve been these past few hours, it’s all begun to fade in the face of this man you love trying to convince you he’s not worth it. When he just looks at you helplessly, his eyes tracking your speech with rapt attention, you smile and continue.

“It’s because I know you’d never hurt me on purpose, Bucky. Let me ask you something: when you snapped at me today, did you do it because you were trying to find the absolute meanest thing you could say at that moment? Did you say it because you wanted me to feel bad?”

Looking a bit startled at the suggestion, Bucky shakes his head mutely. He hadn’t really even been conscious of the words at all until after they’d already blurted from his mouth, and even then it didn’t fully sink in until after he’d calmed down. You smile, satisfied by his immediate denial.

“No, of course you didn’t. You didn’t say that stuff to be mean, to hurt just for hurting’s sake. You were feeling ambushed and defensive, and you lashed out. Is it ideally how you’ll always react when I try to express my concern for your wellbeing? No, of course not. But is it a realistic thing for a person to do who’s not used to being cared for? Absolutely, it is. And it’s just something we’re gonna have to work on, baby. I’ve never done this whole relationship thing before, and you’re trying to do it for the first time in 80 years with a hell of a lot of additional trauma thrown into the mix.

“We’re learning, and it’s not always gonna be perfect or easy. Maybe before this becomes an issue again, we’ll think up some ways for you to politely tell me ‘I’m feeling overwhelmed by this conversation, please back off and we can come back to it later.’ Or maybe we’ll discuss how I can voice my concerns to you in the future without triggering your defensive response, how I can come off as less accusatory and make the discussion feel more safe for you.

“We’ve only been doing this for six months, and as real as it is, as much as I love you more than anything, we’re gonna face a hell of a lot more than this one hurdle if we want to keep doing this thing in the long term. So, yeah, tonight has sucked, pretty much every minute of it was a disaster, but you know what? It’s over now. You apologized, we’re gonna try and do better next time, and…that’s the end of it. Clean slate. All I want to do with the rest of my night is finally stop fucking crying, and eat a burger the size of my head. Preferably, with my boyfriend next to me the whole time, trying to steal my fries when I’m not looking. Do you think you could help me make that happen, Buck? Please?”

He looks stunned in the wake of your speech, silent for several moments as his brain struggles to grapple with the reality of your easy forgiveness. He blinks at you hard, like he truly can’t believe that you’re not running in the opposite direction right now, burning every trace of your life together and cursing his name the whole way.

But the truth is, you’d already made up your mind to forgive him the second you realized he hadn’t meant to break up with you in the first place, and Bucky must see that, too, because the fight in his eyes is slowly dimming into something more fragile, vulnerable.

His gaze fixes on yours in the dark, searching for some hidden shard of resentment or anger that you may be holding back for his sake, but he doesn’t find it, there is no such thing for him to find. You just smile weakly up at him, exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day but no less sincere, and when he blows out a slow breath through his nose, you know you’ve got him.

He’s definitely not done badgering himself about the mistakes he made today, not by a long shot, but he must see your weariness on your face, your desperate need to move on from this at least for the moment, so he nods slowly, his flesh hand rising to gently tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, sweetheart, we can make that happen. Whatever you want.”

Your smile brightens, the relief so stark in your features that it brings a lump to his throat, and when you press your lips against his he makes a silent promise to never put you in a position like this again, to never let his bullshit drag you down or put your relationship at risk like he did today.

He’ll go to therapy twice a damn week if he has to, you deserve better than his temper tantrums, than cruel words spoken out of a defensiveness he doesn’t need anymore. Not with you.

Half an hour later finds you perched in his lap, draped in one of his hoodies and talking and laughing at your favorite diner like there never was an argument, like not a single tear was shed today. He hates that the joy on your face is most likely motivated by your sheer relief that he’s still yours, but he can’t complain about the sparkle in your eyes, nor the way you lean back against his chest as you sip your shake.

Obliging your request, he steals some fries off your plate while you gesticulate wildly through a story, a warm flutter going off in his chest when you pretend to squawk in protest. He soaks in every second, every twitch of your lips and brush of your hand against his, reminding himself what he could have lost, what he perhaps deserved to lose after his actions today.

He’ll make this up to you, he knows he will - he’s sure Natasha will have plenty of suggestions for how he can start. He thinks back to that little velvet box he’s got buried deep in the back of his sock drawer, a sharp pull tugging at his heart as he realizes he almost lost his chance to give it to you at all. He resolves right here and now, basking in the warm light of your infinite patience for him, that he won’t take that box out until he’s earned it.

He hates to wait even a second longer, itches to lock you down with every passing moment, but he won’t ask you to make that kind of commitment to him until he’s sure he’s the man that you need him to be. As he presses a firm kiss to your temple, swiping another morsel from the edge of your plate with a smile, he swears up to his Ma that he will work hard to deserve you, even if you seem to think he already does.

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic

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diamonddeputy · 3 days ago

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Why [DELTARUNE CHAPTER 4 SPOILERS] is an effective villain: a premature analysis

Y’all I’m literally posting this and then disappearing from the Internet for however long to avoid the spoiler brigade. I haven’t even finished Chapter 4 yet, there could be more I don’t even know. I just cannot sleep and am so wracked with autistic mania that I HAVE to get my thoughts in order or I will explode

Character creation and analysis have always been some of my greatest passions. I still have my Ceroba Ketsukane analysis sitting on the backburner, 24 pages and counting, that exists purely for my own enjoyment. Storytelling fundamentals are things I keep in mind for everything I consume, especially in the context of characters. That being said, known character development strategies can be attributed to Carol Holiday, and why she works SO WELL as a villain imo

Back when J.K. Rowling wasn’t a piece of shit, I watched an interesting video commenting on how Voldemort could have been made more effective as a villain. Which essentially compared him to Umbridge who usually provokes more vitriol within the community and pitched the idea of him casting some sort of life-altering spell on Hermione. I can’t remember the exact details, but it was something to the effect of memory alteration or brain function suppression, to take away the one thing that mattered most to her in life, which was her academic success and pursuit of knowledge, which we see her strive so passionately for throughout the whole series. And then the reader would have to watch her slog through life with no sense of purpose, a husk of her former self, and allow that rage to fester. He then tied this back to why Umbridge is remembered (ironically, less) fondly, because the slights she commits are targeted specifically on known flaws and vulnerabilities of the main characters

It’s something that I’ve carried with me since because it really does make sense if you stop and think about it. Being like 13 at the time I initially clicked on that video with more curiosity than anything because I thought he worked pretty effectively. But by the end I was like holy shit yeah that would’ve worked SO much better. And the more I think about it, the more it’s really on full display here

The reveal that Carol is a central antagonist made me feel things, sure, but the thing that REALLY got me was seeing her for the first time, even before we knew just how connected she was. When Susie commented on the temperature seeming to fall when she entered, I FELT that. Because the previous chapters made SUCH a big deal about NEVER letting us see her. She was always cooped up in her office with hordes of cronies blocking any entrances commenting on how busy she is, even when confronted with our teenaged protagonist wishing to report a serious danger that not even the police is taking seriously. Within our centralized view, that paints a cold, scheming picture right off the bat

We were given ample time to create a caricature in our minds, shaping itself to whatever bounds it would allow itself to stretch. This is a common practice seen in comic book theory, with the idea that a scene that takes place in a gutter (the space between panels, or in other words, not shown) is infinitely more shocking, gruesome, terrifying, whatever you want it to be than anything that could be shown. Because it allows the viewer to fill in the blanks for themselves, and the human mind has the tendency to jump to the very worst. So seeing her pale fur, sunken eyes, stony glare, frigid colour palette, just HIT because it reinforced EVERYTHING that had been festering in our minds for the past however long. For me, it’s barely even been a year. I can’t even begin to imagine those who have been holding it for upwards of six

We’re already starting off with a bang, but the fact she’s so mysterious is then just used to make the small things we DO learn about her even MORE effective. Noelle is scared to tell her she’s locked out of the house. She doesn’t keep keys of important documents anywhere but home. Rudy is spending what could be his last moments terrified of what will happen to Noelle after he isn’t there to “balance Carol out”, in his words. Noelle explains the feeling of seeking out things that scare her just so she can feel comforted. Speaking as someone else with a poor emotional relationship with her parents, the portrayal of Carol as such is not only harrowing, but very REAL. It’s severe enough to push all the right buttons, but not SO much so that she becomes harder to take seriously because a sense of immersion is lost. THAT is just as important, and it’s what really sells the effectiveness

The fact she wants to bring calamity upon the world is awful, sure. But that’s not why I hate her. I hate her because she’s a shitty mother. I hate her because Noelle has gone through so much because of her. And most of all, I hate her because of the implication that she’s using Dess to get her way, if I’m not going batshit crazy and Dess is the Roaring Knight like is seeming to be implied. Hell, she may have even staged her disappearance to be rid of her, as we know Dess wanted to leave home as soon as possible and take Noelle with her, and also that she was a contrarian to her mother’s strict beliefs and did things she never would have approved of. The reveal that, in her words, “I am always welcome in her home” would only have ever intrigued me if I didn’t know what I do about her. Perhaps she has more sympathetic motives than are being shown to me presently! But because these careful steps were taken to establish her not only as an antagonist, but as a VILLAIN, I felt pure unadulterated disgust. And the desire to be anywhere else and do anything else and listen to anyone else and never do what she wants me to do ever

What truly makes a good villain is the combination between narrative stakes and personal investment. And, more importantly than that, the effort to make it believably, groundely REAL, as opposed to overly blunt or performative. I’ve hated Carol from literally Chapter 1, assuming that she was gonna be an invisible driving force for Noelle’s character development and not much more, and now I just have a vessel to fuel all that rage into because the careful work behind the curtain is being unveiled masterfully. The fact there’s even more to know upcoming has my head spinning because I’m already reeling from just how much I HATE Carol, and just how GOOD that is for the story

If you’ve somehow survived my word salad the size of Mars, please please please leave tour thoughts or whatever else. I’ll see it when I eventually finish everything

#deltarune #deltarune chapter four #deltarune chapter 4 #deltarune chapter 4 spoilers #character analysis #rant post #sleep deprived af #villain analysis #storytelling #not proofread #carol holiday #noelle deltarune #noelle holiday #noelle dr #december holiday #dess holiday #dess deltarune

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wynnyfryd · 2 hours ago

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Eddie hesitates with his thumb hovering over the send button. The date tonight went so well. They've been on three so far, and honestly? Eddie's not even sure if Steve Harrington is a real human being or just some shroom-induced daydream of an old-school Hollywood star; he's so....

Sharp-nose-drowsy-eyes-blahblahblah-expression. High fashion model cool, he makes bored look hot; he acts like you're the only interesting thing in the whole room. Eddie's never been aloofly cool a goddamn day in his life (unless you count the villain characters he's played at the head of the Hellfire club, which—he's pretty sure actually suave characters don't get so keyed up with performance anxiety that they chug Mountain Dew out of a gold-painted "chalice" from the Dollar Tree just to have a moment to remember their next line.)

Point being, he doesn't want to fuck this up.

And he's pretty sure he's going to, because Steve kept glancing at his mouth all night, and now he's all worked up, and the question that's been worming its way through an apple core in the back of his brain has suddenly burst through the skin and demanded an audience.

And also?

It's too late to play guitar without pissing off his roommates and he needs something to do with his hands or he's going to die, so it's really either this or chew the skin around his fingernails until they get all gross and bleed. Steve would care about his health, right? So really, it's like.... it's like Steve basically encouraged him to ask this. I mean, he did, right? He prompted the question in the first place by responding to Gareth's dumbass prank profile. My friends call me Eds, but you can call me Daddy. Which is stupid for so many reasons, namely that no one even calls him that, but—well, now Steve calls him that. Steve calls him Eds, and it's actually kind of really charming the way he says it; how it slides out the side of a lazy smirk; his eyes a little closed; and—and Steve swiped right! He read the whole thing and still swiped right, so, so maybe it was a joke and maybe it wasn't, but regardless as his Gramma would say Eddie's near to working himself into a tizzy over the idea that Steve might want to call him the other thing, too.

....Fuck it.

Eddie: heyyy uh

Eddie: [cowboy_pewpew.gif]

Eddie: i had a really great time with you tonight

Eddie hits send and then panics a little, because he- he sent the pew pew gif? Why? Why the hell did he do that?

Steve: That feels ominous ha ha

Shit! Eddie deletes the paragraph of anxiety-induced excuses for his behavior and just generally who he is as a person and starts typing:

Eddie: no! no genuine GREAT TIME like

Eddie: !!!

Eddie: rly guf

Eddie: *guf

Eddie: GUD. DAMN IT

Steve's incoming call takes over his whole phone screen mid text-rant, so like, he's really not even sure if he can be faulted for how ridiculously quickly he answers—like, his finger was already right there.

Steve says, "You seemed like you were struggling," in that same tone he uses when he calls Eddie Eds. Jesus. Eddie can see the smirk so clearly it's like he's on a video call.

Oh, god. He's not on a video call, is he? Cause he definitely has, like, a little bit of goddamn drool on the edge of his mouth.

"Eddie? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah." It's muffled through the sleeve he's wiping his mouth off on. "Sorry, yeah, hi."

"Hi." There's a smile in his voice. He's doing that thing again. The model thing, where he makes Eddie feel like he's fascinating to listen to.

"Hi."

Which, clearly, Eddie isn't. Shit. His chest is gonna explode out of his chest. He's gonna find out he has some weird Russian nesting doll configuration going on in there or some shit, whatever; his heart feels like a bomb.

On the other side of the line, Steve takes a deep breath in, lets it out through his nose, so much slower than Eddie's. "Okay." There's a soft laugh, a beat where Eddie imagines him rolling his shoulders back and down, then, "You seem like you have something you want to say to me, so, as long as you're not trying to tell me you don't want to go out again— I mean, you could still tell me that. I wouldn't get mad or anything, it would just suck to hear because I like you, but—" Eddie's never heard him talk this fast before. "—I guess what I'm trying to say is." A deeper breath; pumping the breaks. "You can just tell me stuff. I'm not gonna, like, freak out on you or whatever."

There's the slightest wobble to it, a strain that suggests that maybe Steve's got a softer, squishy side tucked behind the prince charming smirk. Eddie wants to crawl inside and find it. "Okay," he exhales; here we go. "So like, obviously you know Gareth screwed with my Tinder bio the night we matched."

"Yeah."

"And uh- and I know that you said you swiped because you thought it was funny."

"I thought it was insane, actually. And also I was bored and drunk."

"Wow. Killer blows to my ego over here, Steve."

"Sorry," he laughs, "I did think you were really hot, too, though, if that helps."

"It does not."

"Aw, come on," and his voice goes slinky again like a cat stretching its spine, "It's got to help a little bit, right?"

"Oh, my god." Eddie's voice cracks.

The smirk is audible. "Are you blushing?"

Jesus H. Christ. He's blushing so fucking badly.

"Because you look cute when you're flustered."

"Steve." Eddie squeezes his eyes shut; begs mercy. Goddammit is this shit embarrassing, and Eddie's got to get away from it, got to spit it out of his mouth before it corrodes his tongue or something, got to— "DO YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO CALL ME DADDY OR NOT? Because I'll be honest, Steve, I'm not totally sure I'm into that, and I don't even know if I could do a good job of that for you, but I am pretty good at roleplaying for D&D, and I do also like you a whole lot and think you're hot and would be open to trying—I mean, shit, uh, whatever with you, I guess; I mean, maybe not the real weird stuff, but—"

He only cuts himself off when Steve's cackling gets so loud it starts blowing out his speakers. "Eddie," Steve chokes through long peals of laughter—showing off his teeth, Eddie can picture it: the angles and ridges, the holds Eddie would use to climb inside him and look around. Shit. Maybe he is into the real weird stuff. "Eddie, I'm—you—"

Steve takes eight seconds to calm down and catch his breath. Eddie knows that, because he was counting, so as to not lose his goddamn shit waiting for Steve's official government response to the natural disaster he just unleashed on the state of Indiana.

"To be clear," he says when he collects himself, "I did swipe because it was funny, I was drunk, I'm pretty sure I'm not really into that one, either, but I'm willing to try basically anything once. Also..."

Oh, no.

"I meant it when I said you look cute when you're flustered."

"Je-suuuuus."

"Hey," Steve purrs, "maybe you could call me that."

It's...

Hmm.

Eddie feels himself making kombucha girl faces, because, like, there is something kind of conceptually hot about the power play, something kind of peeling the paint off the edges of his brain at the thought of Steve keeping that supermodel calm while he bosses him around, but also— Ugh. Yeah. No. His dad's a fucking dick. "I think I'm good," he snorts. "No judgement or whatever."

"No judgement."

They're quiet for a moment, but it's nice. A warm, pretty bubble before it pops in soapy swirls. Eddie thinks if they were in person they'd be pinky-promising. "Maybe... we could, uh. Talk about. What we are into, sometime. Maybe try some of it out on the next date?"

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "Yeah, whenever." There's a sound like he's biting his lip, the wet click of his tongue against the back of his teeth. Eddie knows the smirk's back. "Just text me."

Steve’s drunk and sad at a party and doom-swiping through Tinder when he comes across this profile:

Eddie, 21

guitarist, dm, dipshit, six time ass eating world champ 💪 🌎 my friends call me Eds, but you can call me Daddy

“What the fuck?” Steve laughs to himself. First time he’s really laughed all night, actually; this party kinda blows.

He slinks down further into the couch, takes another sip of hunch punch and tilts his phone so no one sees him swiping right on this shit. It’s obnoxious. Like, objectively. He’s just…

Bored.

And curious. Surely that bio has never actually worked for the guy, right?

Steve swipes.

It’s a match.

He snorts to himself again, sends a message before he can overthink it.

Steve: Hey, Eds. That’s kind of a bold move, isn’t it?

Message sent, he goes to back out of the app; doesn’t really expect an answer this close to midnight on a Saturday night — only losers use Tinder at this time of night, and what the fuck does that make him? — but then Eddie starts typing.

Eddie: hey, cutie :) what is?

Steve: Uhh…

Jesus. Why is he blushing? He’s not the one who wrote a wildly aggressive hookup bio. Guy might as well have sharpied DTF on his forehead.

Steve: Your bio? 🫣

Eddie: huh?

Eddie: i mean, dnd can get a little spicy on occasion but i’d hardly call it scandalous

Steve: What’s that?

Is it a sex thing? It’s probably a sex thing.

Eddie: okay, what?

Steve: What? I’m so confused lol

Eddie must be, too, because it takes him a few seconds to answer, and when he does he just says:

Eddie: hold pls

Steve holds. Takes a big gulp of his drink and winces; pretty much all vodka at the bottom.

Eddie is typing and then he isn’t, then he is again and then he’s not, and Steve frowns at his empty cup and wonders if he’s already fucked up the one interesting thing that’s happened to him all night.

Finally, finally, a new message pops up.

Eddie: ………god. DAMN it, Gareth 😤😤😤😤

#wrote this all in one sitting just now and will not be going back to edit it or even proofread thank you so much #there are probably so many typos in this but WHATEVER #coming back to a two-year-old blurb from a different character pov instead of working on my switch eddie week fic? it's more likely than yo #oops character limit okay anyway #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #college au #modern au #my writing #my fic

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edensrose · 2 days ago

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Well you absolutely gorgeous, aren’t you, sweetheart?

Such delectable choice and taste of aesthetic and formatting. Pretty little thing we got here huh?

Could I be lucky enough to request a little something for the strongest himself?

How ‘bout a sweetheart reader, blissfully unaware of the hearts she’s got beating twice the normal drumbeat.

And yet Satoru joins the game of chase for fun, to see if he could make her feel something for him. He went in thinking he wouldn’t fall. But he did, he fell bad. And she doesn’t see it— making it turn into a little obsession for him to get it to click for her.

Thinking ‘bout some indirect kisses too? Subtle hand touches, until it becomes full-blown in a messy, desperate attempt to get her to see it. Whatever this delves into, I think I’ll leave to you. Sweetheart.

˖ 𑣲 𝓐 ll the ways you ruin me

˚₊‧꒰ა satoru gojo ﾉ sweetheart.ᐟ reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ he's always known that you were too good for him — but what happens when he tried to make you fall and you're not noticing? his desperation and desire keeps growing, but you're not batting an eye ꒰ ᡣ𐭩 ꒱ lovesick toru ˖ smutty end ˖ oral ( f. receiving ) ˖ 1.4k

໒꒱ ‧₊˚ eden , anon you want me so bad don't you? it's okay no one's lookin we can kiss

. ۫ᯓᡣ𐭩 TEASER .ᐟ “Can't do this anymore,” he heaved. Ragged, rough, nothing like the man you know. His lips felt like fire and his tongue like ice. “Need you to see me. Need you to need me.”

She was a charmer, they said.

Look into her eyes and you've lost, they said.

But Satoru Gojo never knew what it meant to back down from a challenge. You were beauty, grace, power — all three of which he's admired since your shared years in Jujutsu High.

He'd watched you grow into the woman that you are now. Claw your way to the top with pretty, charmed nails and glossy lips wretched in that smile both parts insane as it was beautiful. He'd seen how the masses fell for you; the woman they once turned their back on.

Your charm was what intrigued him. He didn't quite remember that from high school. Oh, how you paraded yourself like the definition of elegance — as you deserved, because you were. How you smiled to get what you wanted, allured just because you thought it was fun. Men, women, you didn't care, it's not like half of it was intentional in any case.

Satoru felt something he hadn't quite experienced before. A certain tug and blister to his soul. Jealousy, of you? What would he need to be jealous of, he's the strongest. Even your title, the second, is a nod to him.

No, jealous for you. The way you batted those pretty lashes and crooned at the next poor fool who was ready to play into your hand. How your charms pulled even the most stoic of faces and touched the coldest of hearts. He wished it was for him; and it was. Your little flirtationship and pointless competitions were solely for him, no one else could fit his shoes after all.

But they weren't only for him, and that's when he decided: wouldn't it be fun to charm the charmer?

It started with amped-up flirts. Compliments that lit up your face and twinkled your eyes. Suggestive brushes when you'd sway those dangerous hips into his office with files for your newest shared lesson. He asked you out for dinner, once, twice, thrice — hadn't you seen him staring at your lips all night?

Couldn't you see the way his fingers ached for you? Your hands, your waist, those thighs you hardly hide in silk dresses and preppy skirts. Surely, his blue eyes spelt out every desire for you. If you'd let him his tongue could too —

Woah, where'd that come from? That's not how it was supposed to go. This was another competition, a silly little game. But how can he play when you're cheating with those stunning eyes, plush thighs, damning voice and a brawn that matched his? How could he play with the only sorcerer that came close to his strength and turned it to putty in your pretty, dainty hands?

Suddenly, he didn't want your affection and attention for the sake of some bet he made for his pride. He needed it like a lifeline. Like the air that left him whenever you were around. Like the food that tasted bland if you weren't opposite from him.

But you hadn't made a move on him. At best he got your hand tight around his collar after a teasing, flirtatious jab. How close you held him, face-to-face. He could have died in your palm if it meant to be consumed by you.

You still flirted with others. Still held several hearts in your hand without even trying nor intending. His heart. His soul. Why couldn't you see what you'd done to him? Why couldn't you see what you turned him into?

It felt like he was losing his mind. He waited for cataclysmic curses so that you'd be assigned on his missions. Counted the seconds for some free time to rush to your door for a 'surprise visit'. But you took everything with a grain of salt.

Were you playing with him?

Is this what they mean when they called you a siren?

His last thread of control snapped one fateful night in his office. Your hands brushed with an exchanged document, his slid to your wrist, trapped it in his large hand. And you smiled, tilted your head and bid him goodnight, tried to slip from his hold.

As if you didn't see his eyes, didn't feel his hands, feel the weight of his need. Here you were again, trying to flutter out of his grasp.

He trapped you like a helpless butterfly. Pinned your wings to him. Crashed into you with the force of a flame that grew tired of a moth's antics. Your gasp into his mouth stroked a satisfaction deep within him. You both stumbled through the dim office. He caught you on his desk, one hand fixed behind your head and the other on your waist.

"Can't do this anymore," he heaved. Ragged, rough, nothing like the man you know. His lips felt like fire and his tongue like ice. "Need you to see me. Need you to need me."

"Satoru — "

"Yeah, just like that baby."

You melted into his hands as if you belonged there — no, you did. Your lips moulded on his just right, your tongue submitted to his, thighs fit in his palms like they were the arms of your throne, his face was naturally the seat.

His name came again. This time paired with desperate fingers in his white hair and your sweet taste he'd been dreaming of since this stupid self-bet started. Your panties looped on one ankle, leaving your pretty pussy completely exposed to his tongue.

Eager and firm as it swirled your clit and drew pantings down your slit. The sheer size of his hand allowed his thumb to nudge against your clit in angry little circles. As though his frustration poured out into overstimulating your pretty self.

"Just for me, right sweet girl?" He slurred into your heat. Drinking and gulping down your juices like nectar. Eyes half-hung and hopelessly yours as they stared in a daze at you.

He pinched on your clit when you didn't look down. Still not giving him your attention? Is he a fool for you? "Look -" he heaved, parting with a pop. Your slick glistens his lower face and bobbing throat. "Look at me. Fucking — keep your eyes on me."

You comply, shakily. He can't remember when last he saw you so weak. He can't remember when last he felt so weak. His face buried again. Tongue circling your wet hole then shoving in to fuck you on the pink muscle with reckless abandon.

Strong hands dragged you closer. Sat you flush on his face as you arched into the desk for dear life. He couldn't bear to not have his flesh against yours. Not even for a second. Yet even muffled, the lewd slurps and wet squelches filled his office. How he wished to record the exact moment you gave yourself to him.

"toru - ah - toru oh god —"

"Tell me."

He whined, parted his tongue with syrupy strings connected. He swirled them on your throbbing clit and shoved two fingers into your pussy instead. Pumping, curling, needing you to seal the deal and mess his face. "Tell me you need me. Tell me I'm yours."

"You're - fuck — y-you're mine," your eyes looped back from the onslaught of harsh sucks on your clit. A silent, louder, so you oblige. "You're mine - Satoru-! Mine - mine, 'm yours, ah." Your hands tightened on his hair and your wetness ground on his face in sloppy, pathetic hip rolls.

He's trapped your clit. Messily thrusting his fingers and angling them on a spot he shouldn't even know, yet fucks so expertly. Spraying your juices and trickles of cum all over his face. Evidence that he's yours now.

His eyes looked up as if in search for light. Sure enough, yours shone down upon him. The perfect image of sin as you stuttered your hips into his albeit slower, but still working tongue and fingers.

"This -" you heaved, raking through his snowy hair. "This is your way of confessing?"

Satoru chuckled and the vibrations into your poor cunt elicited soft whines. He huffed, a small pop! resonating as he parted. "Can you blame me? You're as oblivious as sheep." You squeezed your thighs around his head for that one, he groaned and pressed closer. Pink muscle feathering licks on your dripping slit.

"Thought maybe my tongue would spell it out better." He laves a kiss to your clit, sweet and sensual before his hands abruptly shoved up and gripped onto your ass, dragging you back onto his awaiting mouth.

"You thought we're done? Gotta make up for lost time, sweetheart. Arch a bit more, this time."

That damned wink. And he called you the charmer.

#. ۫ ۶ৎ . 𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 '𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 ﹕ satoru gojo ꒱ . ˚◞✧#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #fem reader

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4kozy · 2 days ago

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sophia as ur monster gf hcs

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

sophia is a vampire, so messes in your home is a guarantee. she’s a messy eater; regardless of if it’s your blood or someone else’s, there’s gonna be a lot of cleaning up afterwards.

vamp soph has very pointy ears and teeth. she doesn’t have claws–common misconception–but she likes to get acrylics to match the look. she’s deathly pale when hungry, a big problem for her because she misses the natural color of her lips from time to time, but hates having to feed to get it back.

vamp soph mentioned feeding on you as nonchalantly as she could ( so as obvious as possible ) at the start of your relationship… saying how good you smelled, how much she wanted to try you, how feeding was an honor… it was kinda cute, so you kept teasing her as if you never heard any of it. she got so sick of it😭 she almost tackled you so you’d listen… ( ended differently than planned )

vamp soph always kisses you deep before eating–she says it makes you taste better, but you think it’s an excuse to make out. you also know that it’s to relax you before her fangs pierce your pulse, and that way, it hurts you a lot less. ( sometimes she gets drunk off of it, not stopping until you weakly push her off, in which case she profusely apologizes, giving you the aftercare of the gods🙏 )

vamp soph does NOT go outside. no, the sun doesn’t burn her alive, but it might as well… she also doesn’t do well in temperatures that aren’t moderate. fall and early spring are the times you go out the most–not too cold; not too hot.

vamp soph would sooner fly you everywhere you need to go than invest in a car. she thinks they’re the root of all evil, and would rather you stay home anyways.

vamp soph is very expressive–she never has to say that she’s feeling anything because she wears her heart on her face…? she’s upset? oh, you know. she’s pleased? oh, honey we can tell. you don’t tell her this either, because she will lie in your face about how she’s feeling even though it’s really obvious.

when vamp soph first fed on you, it kinda linked you two together. when you feel physical pain, so does she. it’d be a bit more romantic if you weren’t so clumsy at the job.

vamp soph doesn’t sleep period. she will lay in bed with you with her arms crossed and eyes open. she is literally counting the seconds until you wake up again. she never brings it up because she knows you like sleeping with her and you’d feel bad.

vamp soph can’t eat anything but blood ( and odder enough, raw butter ) and STILL takes the time out to make you dinner; yes, it’s good asf; yes, you ask for seconds and thirds.

vamp soph likes to play games with you more than anything. you two don’t play collaborative games anymore–a phantom woman knocked on your door and kinda cussed y’all out… ( you guys apologized and now hang out regularly. sophia has to wear 3 layers though. )

vamp soph likes to collect antique sharp objects! it’s cool until you’re asleep and wake up to sophia holding a broadsword over your face! more incidents of falling weapons occur and you thank whatever otherworldly force for her reflexes.

vamp soph broods like a teenage boy and listens to ptv very obnoxiously when it’s her journaling time. she likes to say that vampires have concerns the world would blow up over… falling over while attempting to stand up after a week of flying straight is not one of them.

vamp soph is super protective over you. remember how she can feel when you get hurt? it took months for her to stop showing up at the job after a prick–she still shows up for a fall every time; she also takes you home, because why would anyone beef with a vampire?

when vamp soph met you, she swore off eating anybody else… you think it’s cus she’s picky, and she thinks you guys are soulmates.

vamp soph loves receiving cheek kisses. especially after rescuing you from work, it’s like her special reward.

like manon, i also see vamp soph as being lesser on the possessive side, just because everyone can see that you’re taken. also she’s really confident in herself; you’d be stupid to try anything. you are very very smart! ( unfortunately some people are not. sophia knows she swore off eating anyone else but when that idiot man was messing with you, she got so mad she couldn’t control herself. she didn’t fully eat him–he tasted quite gross–but the point was made when his mangled body was found off the side of the road… oh how protective your girlfriend gets. )

vamp soph’s fav thing to do with you is talk. conversations with are never dull, so you enjoy them too!

vamp soph was turned a long, long, long time ago. you don’t ask about her age, or who turned her, it’s a topic that isn’t taken very well. ( sophia spent the first thirty years of her life post-turn almost animal-like–vampires only get more human the more they feed )

another ability of vamp soph’s that backfires on her a lot is her shape shifting. this one is still one she has yet to control, her body usually going haywire when you make her flustered. ( tugging on her cheeks teasingly ended up with them stretching to 22 inches. it took a lot of butter, hard work, and apologies stifled by laughter–on your end–to fix it. )

vamp soph can also hypnotize you. she doesn’t realize when she’s doing it most of the time, until she jokingly tells you to die on the game and you rush to the nearest weapon ( which wasn’t far due to her odd obsession with them ) and she has to restrain you for the next hour.

vamp soph is really loud and argumentative; this is only exacerbated by the fact that she’s lived for hundreds of years so she thinks she knows better than you do. when google gets pulled out, phones get broken. and better phones get bought…

when vamp soph gets asked her favorite era of life, she will 100% without fail say it’s the one with you in it. it’s not meant to be corny, it’s genuinely how she feels about you.

vamp soph likes taking extravagant baths with you, and she will do one every night with a different theme. your favorite was pride month ‘23.

you like to massage vamp soph a lot! for such a homebody she gets a bunch of knots in her back. ( it has something to do with her workout routine… flying… for a long time… )

vamp soph likes to capture spiders in your home and name them. you currently have a lot more than you’d be comfortable with, but you love sophia more than you hate spiders.

you like to crochet vamp soph new clothes all the time. you originally picked it up as a side hobby, but seeing her enjoy every piece–from the ugly ducklings to the beautiful swans–you continued. she wears everything and proudly shows them off to everyone in the building, despite your embarrassment.

you and vamp soph’s favorite place ( outside of your home, that is ) is the beach! especially at night, you both love it there.

where the phantom neighbor’s apartment is minimal with barely anything but string lights and the occasional clothes on the floor, you and vamp soph turn your place into a maximalist dream–there is stuff everywhere, in a way that’s full but not cluttered. it reminds her childhood home in a way, her father was a toy store owner in their town.

you laugh at all the jokes vamp soph tells, even when they aren’t funny, just because you know your laughter makes her happy.

after 4 years of being together, and multiple internal monologues, you finally bring up to vamp soph about your wish to be turned. sophia stares at you like you’ve grown three heads. this is equally because of her trauma and her need to keep you safe at all costs. she tries to argue with you, saying you’ll need to eat a lot to turn human, you’ll have horrible pain for the first few weeks–or in her case years, and that living forever means watching the people you love die. you’re determined though, telling her that it’s forever with her or nothing, and you’d be willing to do anything it takes for it to work. after a few months of pleading, she finally relents, and just as she told you, it hurts like fucking hell. she brings you humans every day, hoping that you’ll have it just a bit easier, taking care of you the best way she knows how. when you recover, all you can feel is overwhelming love, and you know you’ve made the right decision 🩷

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

wow vampire sophia😍😍??? how surprising!!! all i know is that i need her–and bad. (in a tone of voice that is not appropriate)

#katseye ⭐️#wlw #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #sophia laforteza #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia my filipino enchantress how i love and miss you #ko’s works

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madamechrissy · 6 hours ago

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Endless Summer - chap two preview!

Pairings- Yandere! Caleb x F!reader

Warnings- masturbation (caleb mostly hehe) mutual pining, Caleb thinking filthy things about you!!

It's Here

“Good night Caleb. Love you.” His heart aches, wishing it fucking meant more than that, than a best friend, whatever the fuck you two were.

The way he means it is not the same. “Love you, Pips, sweet dreams.”

He walks out and gently shuts your door, you let out a ragged breath, hand over your racing heart, as he leans his head against your door, palm over it, struggling to compose himself.

He can’t stop himself from jerking his cock as soon as he gets in his room, he barely makes it inside, releasing his thick, veiny length that smacks his belly button, smearing precum on his shirt as it slaps, leaking from his pretty pink tip. He exhales in relief, before crying out, his long lashes fluttering shut, seeing you behind his eyes.

He can't stop himself from picturing doing exactly what he told you - having you cum till you pass out. Fuck he’d keep licking you after, have you cum in your sleep - drink the juices he tasted on his tongue earlier, as you tugged his head even closer. God would you use him like he wishes you would?

God, if you’d suffocate him with those? He’s picturing them on either side of his head, god would you ride his face? He spits down on his cock as he leans back against the door, groaning softly at the thoughts, his eyes shutting as he strokes himself, maybe he would while you suffocated him with your cunt, drown him in all that fucking wetness just pouring.

Caleb murmurs your name as he strokes his cock, from the base to the tip, whining out from the images racing through his mind of you - you and only you - how could there be anything else? The only girl he can ever picture sinking his long, thick cock deep inside, watching the bulge of your tummy as he fills you, so big in comparison.

He’s closer, closer to cumming, the release just on the brink as he pinches his tip and gasps out, remembering your scent, your heat on him - he shouldn’t be doing this when you’re in the room across from him. He should feel bad, but he can’t, not when he’s about to cum, picturing filling up your cunt, so much your tummy would just bloat with all the loads he’d put in you.

Caleb should feel bad for wanting you, for cumming now, white hot ropes filling all over his hand, making it a sticky mess as his head rests against the door of his room, knowing you’re over there is pure fucking torture. Knowing he can never say it, all he fucking feels, it’s a cruel joke, to wonder what you’re doing over there, to wonder how you look when you cum, how you’d look taking him.

He hastily cleans up, hands shaking as he does. Later, he's swiping a hand across his face as he lays in his bed, grimacing at his thoughts, not realizing you’re circling your clit with your little fingers in the room across from him, picturing him on top of you. If he knew that, he wouldn’t be able to handle it, as you scream into your palm under your blankets, picturing the boy you grew up with cumming inside you.

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

#lads caleb #caleb smut #caleb x you #love and deepspace #lads smut #lnds caleb #caleb x reader #story preview #divider by omi resources #yandere caleb #yandere smut

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emisafan · 3 days ago

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Honestly such good advice. I've been doing the same and even the worse parts of life feel a bit better now, just because I don't go adding to my issues by looking for signs of people hating me anymore, but for signs of that it's actually the opposite.

I don't know who needs to hear this. Stop assuming everyone secretly hates you. Stop pretending to *know* everyone secretly hates you. You don't. Stop thinking no one cares. Even a person following you here on tumblr might care about you more than you know and is happy to see when you post and wonder when it's been a while. You don't know what your impact on people truly is. If you're already someone who's got anxiety, depression or some other thing, then please, try to see what people do around you and really try to put in positive light. For example, being offered help isn't being made fun of. Asking for help isn't giving up or saying "I'm too dumb for it". It's simply being offered or asking for help or even getting another opportunity to learn, and you are *not* being a nuisance. And I know it's hard, I've been there and sometimes I'm even back there, bc noone's perfect and that's fine.

Once you start finding some of these things, they'll come to you easier. Much like looking for well hidden frogs in a terrarium - once you spotted one you'll see there's actually been 20 staring you in the face. Like many things in life, it's just something that needs practice. Being positive in general.

Sharing a meal, getting in a subtile way praised like @time-compass mentioned are good to look out for, but also maybe you'll notice that someone paid attention, remembered what food you like/dislike, noticed whatever your favorite colour/animal/videogame/media... - just what you faves are. And maybe they send you.... idk a picture of a horse bc they know you love them so much - memes from the fandom you're in even though maybe they aren't, but they came across it and thought of you. People that hated you wouldn't see a post and think "Oh this is for [person] I know they'll love it/ it's totally their style." I'd assume they wouldn't think of you at all. And if they really did hate you and still engage with you in some way then that is definetly their problem bc either they're in denial or wasting their time - and that should really not be something *you* need to think about.

Just as you need to remember that you aren't forcing them to be in your presence, I want you to remember that you aren't forced either. (If you are I think that's a whole different problem) Maybe you can even try and see what you do when you try to show you "secretly" like/love (not specificaly romantic) them and see of they return something similar in their own way. (Keep in mind everyone's different, and that's beautiful.)

I think that's all I wanted to say to this, it's a lot now anyway. Maybe someone will see it and think it's helpful, maybe not, but that's not for me to decide.

They should invent a method of asking for reassurance that nobody secretly hates you that doesn't make people secretly hate you.

#whoops I went on a ramble #but I had things to say #I had this as a comment but then I thought it's kinda too much so I made it a post #emnothidingintags

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trippinsorrows · 2 days ago

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dreamland: dinner daze

authors note: had this idea and ran with it. and, yes, this is how it is most nights for the fam.

words: 2.7k

warnings: none.

Roman’s phone vibrating on his desk beside him is both a necessary and annoying distraction. In the midst of reviewing quarterly figures, a task he also hates but a necessity, it's something he prefers to complete in one sitting. However, the name across his screen—along with the message—quickly wash away any pre-existing irritation.

Solana: dinner is ready, mi amor. ❤️

Roman leans back into his chair and rolls his shoulders, tension immediately hitting him. A frown falls upon his face as he checks the watch on his wrist. Just how long has he been in here?

Regardless, it’s pushed to the side the same way he closes up the files on his laptop and shuts the computer, rising from his desk.

Grabbing and pocketing his phone, he walks across the space of his office, stopping when he steps on something. A look down reveals a doll smiling up at him, one of several on the expensive Persian rug.

Roman sighs, taking a minute to gather the dolls, tossing them in the basket in the corner. It doesn’t bother him. Not really, anyway. From as far back as he can remember, really, when Lina and Leya started crawling, his office slowly became a playroom. A doll, ball, toy, device, something, always being found in some nook or cranny. Aroha is no different, often venturing into his space with her toys, sometimes wanting him to play with her, sometimes just wanting to be in his presence.

All the kids, really. His office doubles as a “hangout” spot for most of his children several days out of the week, and while it can be irritating stepping on shit half the time, it’s something he’s gradually welcomed and just come to accept over the years.

Though, he can already hear Solana’s voice in his ear, chastising him for not making Aroha pick up after herself.

He doesn’t entirely disagree, but doing it for her every so often won’t hurt. Plus, she’s probably already somewhere doing something. Hopefully not terrorizing her brothers. Roman already dealt with a round of the Littles going at it earlier in the day. He’s really not in the mood for the sequel.

Floor clean, toys put away, Roman walks out of his office, leaving the door cracked as he makes his way down the hall and through the house. And the closer he gets to the kitchen, the stronger the delicious smell of whatever Solana has prepared for them this evening has him licking his lips.

She never misses in the kitchen.

She never misses with most things.

Turning the corner welcomes him into the large, open floor plan of their massive kitchen where, sure enough, Solana is in front of the stove, moving a pot from off the front burner to the back burner, hitting the knob. Music plays in the background, something Spanish, but not loud enough to prevent her from hearing him. “Hi, baby.” She turns around, brushing her hands on her apron, gesturing to the dining room. “Go sit down.”

He opens his mouth to protest, to do as he always does. “Let me help you.”

And with the smallest smile, she responds as she always does. “I got it.”

Roman would push, but years of being together and knowing how this all plays out prevents him from starting a losing battle. In the kitchen is Solana’s element. While it feels and looks overwhelming and chaotic to him, she is masterful and graceful and in control. She knows what she’s doing.

It’s why he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to take her out of said element, just ventures into the dining room where he expects to see at least some of his kids, only to find one.

Leya looks up from where she’s just placed the last plate on the table, in his spot, her smile widening. “Hi, daddy.”

Naturally, he matches her smile. This is partially why he doesn’t really stress or worry about Solana overexerting herself when it comes to cooking for their big ass family. From a young age, Leya expressed an interest in cooking, often hanging on Solana while she prepared meals, and over the years, that interest has just grown to the point where it’s really the two of them working together in tandem.

He likes it. Loves seeing how close they are. Loves seeing just how much like her mom his little girl is.

“Hey, baby.” Roman kisses her temple as she passes him, carrying the remaining plates into the kitchen, to continue helping Solana, as she always does. He goes to pull his chair out from the table when sudden, rushed, loud ass footsteps evoke an immediate, premature sigh.

“Dad.”

Roman turns around to see Lina and Tama standing there with expectant expressions. Expressions he knows all too well.

“What do ya’ll need?”

Tama is immediately sucking his teeth. “Why you gotta be like that, pops?”

“Because I know you two,” is Roman’s deadpanned response as he proceeds to finish pulling out his chair and sitting down, both of his kids flanking either side of the table. “Now, what is it?”

Lina doesn’t waste any time. “The pre-order window for the latest Jordans just opened up—”

“And, we need em,” Tama finishes, stressing. “Need.”

“And, I need a fucking vacation,” Roman mutters, running his hand over his face. He truly does. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. No cell reception. Just him, Solana, and a bed.

Or, any flat surface, really.

“Are we going to Disney?”

Aroha’s little voice chimes from the side as Roman turns to see her skipping into the dining room, the train of the dress dragging behind her the same way Nala walks quietly behind her.

It’s not the fact that his youngest is wearing a whole ass princess costume to the dinner table that causes Roman to pause. He’s used to that. If Aroha isn’t wearing some sort of costume, then there’s a problem.

“No, baby, we’re not going to Disney.” Roman is still trying to recover from the last visit. “Aroha, what’s that on your face?”

It’s that that has his attention, especially as she climbs up on the chair in between where Aria and Leya typically sit, the….stuff on her face.

“Makeup,” she answers happily with the biggest grin, reaching over to pet Nala who stretches and stands up to be pet by her favorite person in the house. “Aria did it for me!”

Roman sighs. Of course.

“Dad, focus,” Lina snaps her fingers, bringing his attention back to the fact that two of his older kids are impatiently waiting for his sign off. “Can we—”

“Lina, ya’ll already know where I keep my wallet.” The same way these kids already know it’s rare he tells them no when it’s something they want to order. It’s just a habit, he guesses, probably at the recommendation of Solana, that they ask beforehand.

Lina squeals and smiles, hopping off the table at the same Tama does, while fist bumping in the air. “Thank you, daddy.” A quick kiss to the cheek from her as Tama hits him on his arm, shouting out, “you the best, OTC!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roman mutters, refocusing his attention on the real issue. His seven year-old wearing a full face of makeup. “Ro—”

“Daddy!”

Roman jumps and places his hand over his chest, eyes shutting. He doesn’t care what Solana says.

These damn kids really are trying to kill him.

Waiting for his heart rate to settle, Roman finally looks over at 1/8th cause of his consistent high blood pressure who currently has her arms wrapped around him from behind, looking at him from the side. “Yes, Aria?”

Her smile is wide as she breaks away and points over to her little sister who now has that damn cat sitting in the chair next to her. “What do you think of Roro’s makeup?”

“I think I told you about putting makeup on her, Samaria,” Roman reminds. “She’s too young for all that shit.”

Aria rolls her eyes as Aroha giggles, saying something along the lines of “daddy said a bad word.” He makes a mental note to buy her a doll or something for her silence. “Dad, I needed a muse, and she was there!”

“Aria, I’m not even gon’ pretend to know what that means.” He gave up a long time ago on trying to understand his most….dramatic of children. “Just don’t put any more makeup on your sister.”

Aria pouts, crossing her arms and scowling. “But, I need to practice! How else am I supposed to master my artistic craft?”

Roman rubs his temples. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Figure it out.”

She gasps, smiling suddenly. “So, I can order the master course, then?”

At that, he frowns. “What?”

A loud squeal followed by another hug and kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, daddy!” Roman remains confused, calling after her right as she darts out the room, running down the hall shouting, “wait for me! He said yes! I need the card!”

Roman leans back against his chair.

Fuck a vaction. He just needs to run at this point.

The sound of low purring reminds him that the issues never seem to disappear. “Roro, Nala can’t sit at the table with us. I told you this already.”

Aroha pouts, and Roman can swear that damn cat hisses at him. “But, she’s my baby.”

“I understand that, honey, but she’s not an actual baby….she’s a cat.”

A damn cat he didn’t even want in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there. Speaking of animals, it dawns on Roman that Coco and Max are far too quiet. They’re either getting into some shit or perhaps in the kitchen being fed by the boys. He prays for the latter versus the former.

And then, the most dangerous combination as Aroha gives him that face with that voice. “Please, daddy?”

Right away, he knows he's done for. Resistance is futile.

“Fine,” he mutters, Aroha clapping happily and adjusting her tiara.

Roman won’t admit it, but perhaps there is some hint of truth to what Solana and his older kids say from time to time. Maybe he does have some difficulty saying no to Roro.

Just a little.

Solana and Leya walk into the dining room, both with plates full of food in both hands. Naturally, Solana places Roman’s in front of him, along with his drink, a damn diet soda. Fucking dietary restrictions. “Here you go, mi amor.”

The salivation returns as he takes in the plate full of some of his favorites. Steak, potatoes, candied yams, mixed vegetables, a bowl of fresh baked rolls that Leya places in the middle of the table and three hot, baked apple pies, the cherry on top.

However, it’s when Solana sighs, hand on her hip that his attention is shifted. “What’s wrong?”

She rolls her eyes. “Can you get the boys? Leya and I called them before I text you, and they’re still not here. Max and Coco need to be fed, too.” Roman is already out of his seat, gently tapping his wife on the hip before she can even finish her request.

The minute he’s at the bottom of the steps, his deep voice rings out and travels far. “Koa, Kai.” There’s no mistaking he means business. “I know you heard your mom and sister calling you.” Because those two hear and see everything. “Ya’ll got five minutes to get your asses down here, or I swear to God, I’m gon’ clear your rooms of every piece of equipment ya’ll got up in there.”

Immediately, he’s met with the sound of grumbles and footsteps, his twins scowling at and continuing to mutter as they trek down the steps. “Fix your faces,” he reminds as they walk past him. Roman is uncaring. They know better than to ignore their mom like that. The kids may do a lot, get away with some things, but disrespecting Solana will always be where he draws the line.

Period.

Roman doesn’t stop there, calling out, “Catalina, Tamasa, Samaria. Dinner table. Now.”

The Head of the Table—and his family—doesn’t bother waiting to make sure they follow suit. He just walks back into the dining room, seeing Leya place down the last plate of food as Solana reaches for her husband.

Stroking his beard, she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Roman nods, lightly tapping her ass as she walks over to the other seat at the end of the table.

Her seat.

Solana says something in Spanish to Roro, gesturing to Nala, a brief conversation that Roman is loosely tuned into until he catches a glimpse of Leya sitting down, phone in hand, smiling. She’s smiling at her phone.

Or, rather, something on her phone.

It makes him take pause. Roman knows that smile. It’s the same one Solana used to have with him, still does sometimes, when she felt bashful around him. But also happy.

“Baby, who are you talking to?” He has to ask, cause who in the hell has his little girl smiling like that?

Leya looks up, smile shifting into her usual one. She shakes her head and locks her phone, placing it in her pocket. “Nobody, daddy.”

Roman pauses.

That definitely wasn’t nobody.

But again, he’s distracted by the remainder of his kids, piling in almost all at almost once, Koa and Kai gaining a warning from Solana as they make a snide comment about a pouting Aroha, the seat next to her empty, revealing Solana made Nala leave. Clearly, the source of their teasing comment to his littlest.

“No, Aria.” Lina’s voice sounds as she shoots down what was probably Aria’s request to borrow something of her big sister’s. A common thing. While they don’t get into it nearly as much as the Littles, they have their moments.

“This looks delicious, mama.” Tama rubs his hands together at the plate of food in front of him, licking his lips, moving one hand to his stomach. “I been waiting all day for this.”

Solana giggles, teasing, “didn’t you come and sample some not even an hour ago?”

“That was an hour ago,” he counters, shrugging. “I’m a growing boy. I need my food.”

“You need to grow into some money, so you can make good on your debt.”

Koa’s comment brings Roman’s attention to his oldest boy. “You still taking money from your brothers?”

Tama grumbles, “it’s not like they ain’t got it.”

And, as she sticks her fork into the steak, already cut up for her—probably by Leya—Aroha asks, “can I get a pony?”

Thankfully, Solana is already on it. “No, mija. You know daddy and I already talked with you about that. No more pets.”

Aroha scowls, making a “humph” sound as she points across the table to Koa and Kai. “Then why are they here?”

Roman closes his eyes as Kai angrily retorts, “better than being a brat.”

Aroha stands up in her seat, projecting loudly and defensively. “I’m not a brat!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

Lina rolls her eyes, looking at Tama, mumbling, “there they go.”

“Enough.” Roman’s voice travels across the table, catching and maintaining the attention of all. “Aroha, don’t talk about your brothers like that, or you’re going to get your tablet taken away. Koa, Kai, ya’ll gon stop calling her names, or it’s gon be me and ya’ll.”

Lowered heads and muttered apologies from his youngest followed by Solana directing everyone to start eating, a bit of an unnecessary command given the way everyone quickly digs into their food and would have, regardless of her direction.

A rare, extremely rare, silence settling over the table and lasting a good, solid 45 seconds before Aria gasps. “Does anyone want to hear the pitch for my latest one woman play?”

“No.”

“Maybe a little later, sweetie.”

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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fandomscombine · 2 days ago

Text

T-Shirt

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

BG: Coping with missing Aaron Hotchner. It hits harder when you’re newly engaged but barely had any time to celebrate when he gets sent off for Chief BAU duties. Angst, this whole thing is basically yearning.

A/N: Song fic since T-Shirt by Shontelle was stuck in my head for days.

WC: 1019

>>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<<

>>>CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST<<<

It’s been 16 days, 12 hours and 29 minutes since you’ve been in the loving arms of your fiancé.

No, you aren’t in a lover’s quarrel. In fact, you were at an all-time high, having been newly engaged just 18 days, 8 hours and 17 minutes prior.

But dating the unit chief of the Behaviour Analysis Unit meant that the job doesn’t come lightly. If there’s a case, no matter the time, no matter the location, the team would be on the jet within the hour.

Aaron Hotchner has been upfront with this even before officially starting your relationship, having learned that it was almost always the cause of his failed lovelife.

He had tried his best to keep his emotions at bay but even with his profiling skills, your bright personality and friendship slipped through the cracks and into his heart.

How could he not? You have managed to fit into his work and personal space. Something he himself has yet to perfect. It was the laughter and lightness you were able to bring out of Jack and fill his apartment full of warmth. It was the steady eyes and secret handwritten notes you leave in his Go Bag.

"Wherever you go, know that our love for you travels with you. Be safe, my love. Can't wait to see you soon. - Jack & Y/n "

Seeing Jack’s slightly wavy 6-year old penmanship with yours felt right. It’s these signs of a home to return to that recharges Aaron in rough cases.

But you’re only human. And it just so happens to be one of those days that an empty bed feels like an endless downfall.

The spark in your eyes dimmer and every bone in your body craving his touch.

Your phone lights up. <Hope you’ve got your dance moves ready. Will be there in 30 mins!>

It’s currently 7:43pm and you’re still in the middle of getting ready for the girls night. Officially, the goal of tonight was to reduce stress and let out an end-of-the-work-week frustrations. But you can see past the unusually early and long agenda for the night - the real goal was to get you to forget the past two weeks of “miss yous”.

The reflection looking back at you is a lady dressed to the nines - your dress was flawless, your shoes while slightly heeled, had a secret (as Aaaron likes to call them) foam cushion insoles - perfect to whatever the girls have planned and without the worry of blisters.

On the outside, you’re ready to go but the mood isn’t right. This felt like plastering wallpaper on the cracks.

Tryna decide tryna decide If I really wanna go out tonight I never used to go out without ya Not sure I remember how to Gonna be late gonna be late But, all my girls gon have to wait 'cause I don't know if I like my outfit I Tried everything in my closet

You know they mean well, but tonight is not tonight. Slumping back onto your bed, twisting your ring idly. You don’t want to be the downer to their party nor are you in the mood to be hit on at the club so you text a quick apology.

Nothin' feels right when I'm not with you Sick of this dress and these Jimmy Choos Takin' them off 'cause I feel a fool Tryna dress up when I'm missin' you Imma step out of this lingerie Curl up in a ball with somethin' Hanes In bed I lay With nothin' but cha T-shirt on

Wearing Aaron’s shirt while he’s away on a case became a regular thing near your one-year anniversary. The team had gotten a case up in a fishing village in Alaska and was informed that there would be little mobile.

Since he won’t be able to update you as often as he likes, Aaron devised this deal.

“Here.” He had said, placing one of his home shirts on your lap. “It’s for when you miss me, wear it and it would be like I’m right there with you.”

“Aww, I didn’t know you could be this cheesy.” You say, smirking at him. “I love this side of you.”

Aaron helps you get your head through. “Miss me already?”

“Always” Pecking his dimple. “And this-” You continue, grabbing his phone from his back pocket. “Is something for you.”

That right there frozen in time, a moment of full domesticity, a scene filled with love - Just you and him, wrapped in each other’s arms. Aaron Hotchner, a man people rarely see smile - now has a lockscreen of lovestruck eyes and an infectious smile with you in his clothes reflecting the exact same expression.

Gotta be strong gotta be strong but I'm Really hurtin' now that you're gone I thought maybe I'd do some shoppin' But I couldn't get past the door an Now I just don't know, now I just don't know If I Ever really gon' let cha go And I couldn't even leave my apartment I'm stripped down, torn up about it

It was a dip of the bed that brought you out of your slumber.

“Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your eyes were still adjusting to the dark room, but you would know that voice from anywhere. “Aaron? I'm dreaming?”

“No, y/n. I’m really here, I’m home.” He whispers, pulling you close to kiss your forehead. Aaron missed your touch, your voice - he would want to hear about your days but seeing that it was 4am, he is fine settling for second best which is being wrapped around in your arms.

As he snuggles to your chest, the pattern of what you're wearing catches his eye. “So, my old academy shirt huh?”

“Shut up, it’s cause I missed you.”

“I missed you too”

Curl up in a ball with somethin' Hanes In bed I lay With nothin' but cha T-shirt on With nothin' but cha T-shirt on With nothin' but cha T-shirt on ('cause I missed you, 'cause I missed you) With nothin' but cha T-shirt on (said I missed you baby)

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #song fic #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #hotch x you #fandomscombine writes

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demie90s · 1 day ago

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MASTERLIST | MORE | Part 1

Pairing: UConn x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Your not officially dating anyone, but she acts like someone's girlfriend every practice. It starts as a joke... until someone catches feelings. Then another. Then another.

GENRE:Flirtation, team chaos, poly tension, slow-burn drama, light comedy

WARNINGS: Mild language, suggestive behavior, light possessiveness, jealousy (playful but real)

Word Count~ 2.4 k

I don’t say a word the next day. Don’t reference the flowers. Don’t mention the kiss. I sit in the locker room like nothing happened, hoodie half-on, leg bouncing, scrolling my phone like I didn’t have the whole team in emotional distress just twenty-four hours ago. Azzi won’t stop glancing over, and the rest of them? Silent. Watching. Waiting. KK’s already squinting like she knows I’m on bullshit. Jana hasn’t even taken off her headphones.

But me? I stretch. I yawn. I stand.

“Where Inês at?” I ask casually, knowing damn well she’s already in the gym.

Azzi’s head snaps up. Nika chokes on her water. Paige mutters, “Wait..what?.”

I don’t wait for commentary.

I stroll into the gym with my usual strut—unbothered, a little cocky, just enough bounce to make a scene without trying. Inês is mid-shot, brow furrowed, locked in. She doesn’t even see me at first. I stand behind her, watching her form, arms crossed, then finally tilt my head.

“Your arc’s better when you don’t overthink it,” I say low, just enough to make her jump slightly. She turns fast, and there it is—that wide-eyed, flustered look she always gives me like she hasn’t figured out how to build immunity yet.

“You scared me,” she breathes, laughing, nervous, adjusting her stance.

“Sorry, princesa,” I grin. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

I step closer, barely in her space but enough. Just to get in her head. Just to see what happens. Her cheeks are already pink, but she holds her ground.

“Why are you always like this?”

“Like what?” I ask, eyes flicking from her mouth to her eyes. “Curious?”

She swallows, hard. She’s trying to act tough, but her hand tightens on the ball.

“You kissed Azzi.”

I smirk. “Did I?”

“She told me.”

“Did she say I meant it?”

Silence.

Then I lean in—slow, easy, same way I did with Azzi—but this time i don’t kiss her. Just act like it. I pull back with a small smirk after seeing her eyes widen. “It’s just flowers. Just a kiss. Means nothing… unless I wanted it to.”

And then I walk off. Again. I can feel the heat of her stare. And somewhere back in the hallway, the whole team is probably watching. But like I said: I didn’t choose anybody.

And I’m not gonna. Because I like women. And I’m having fun.

⸻

I walked into practice like nothing happened. No kiss. No locker room tension. No stolen glances from Azzi that lingered a little too long.

I breezed in, hoodie on, slides dragging, chewing gum like I didn’t leave the locker room yesterday with the entire team on edge and a smirk on my face. KK was already on the floor—early, focused, stretching like she had something to prove. Perfect.

I slid in next to her, dropped a pack of Tru Fru in her lap with zero explanation, and just nodded like it was owed.

She blinked at me, then back at the candy. “What’s this?”

I tilted my head. “You know what it is. I remembered you were mad I didn’t bring you any last week.”

Her face lit up, that little dimple showing as she tried not to act too hype—but KK? She was gone already. She leaned against me like we’d been locked in for months, not whatever weird limbo this actually was. And I let her. Rested my head on her shoulder like I belonged there. Played with the end of her braid while we watched the rest of the team file in.

I didn’t miss Azzi coming in behind them.

Didn’t miss the look she gave me either. The same one she gave those flowers sitting in her room right now. The same look that still held the ghost of yesterday’s kiss.

But I didn’t even flinch. Didn’t look her way. I laughed at something KK said and popped a Tru Fru in her mouth like it was just us in the gym.

Because this? This was a game now. They wanted me to choose—so I said, bet. Let’s see how far y’all wanna take it.

Nika kept staring from across the court. Paige looked like she was trying not to care, but the tight jaw said otherwise. Jana smirked every time I leaned closer to KK, like she knew I was stirring the pot on purpose. Because I was.

Scrimmage started and KK asked if I wanted to run on her team. I said of course, clapped her hand loud in front of everyone, and called her “baby” under my breath just loud enough for Azzi to hear. She stiffened.

Afterward, we all cooled off on the bleachers. KK stretched across the bench, feet in my lap, and I rubbed her calves like she was mine.

Azzi sat a few rows up, quiet, hoodie pulled low, chewing the inside of her cheek.

Paige finally broke the tension.

“So… you pickin’ her now?”

I looked up mid-bite of a protein bar. “Pickin’ who?”

She gestured between me and KK. “You know what I mean.”

I blinked like I was confused. “Ohhh. Y’all thought I was serious?”

KK turned toward me slowly. “Wait… so what is this then?”

I smiled and shrugged. “This is me being friendly.”

That was the moment. The moment the entire team realized I was unserious. Or worse—too serious in the wrong way.

Because I wasn’t choosing. I was watching. Testing. Seeing who cracked first. And they were all cracking.

The kiss with Azzi. The Tru Fru for KK. The lap sits. The hugs. The locker room tension. I’d been affectionate with all of them—but not consistent. Not committal.

Just enough to make each one wonder if they were special.Just enough to keep them in the game. And me?

I was having the time of my life.

———

I flirt. I kiss cheeks, drop pet names, buy snacks, steal hoodies, make girls blush, all that. Never said anything. So when they started catching feelings?

Not my fault. Still… today hit different.

It started at lunch. I had just sat down, headphones on, hoodie up, trying to eat in peace when Paige slid in across from me like she owned the bench. Didn’t even flinch. Just leaned forward, grabbed my drink, and took a long, disrespectful-ass sip. Her eyes never left mine. She wiped her mouth slow and said, “You gon’ stop me?”

I tilted my head. “You bold.”

She grinned. “Nah, I’m just done pretending.”

I chuckled, went back to eating like she wasn’t sitting there with my drink in her hand and her ego on ten. Then KK showed up.

No warning. No words. Just dropped into the seat next to me and slung one leg over mine like it was natural. Like I was her personal recliner. She handed me her Tru Fru like I was supposed to open it—so I did. No shame.

“Say please,” I muttered.

KK laughed and popped one in her mouth. “Say less. You cute when you do what I say.”

She leaned in close, mouth sticky sweet, voice low. “You pickin’ today or nah?”

I looked between the two of them and smiled. “Nah.”

Later, I dipped out early and went to class, just tryna get away. I walked fast. Hoodie up. Low profile. And then Inês popped up beside me like a ghost. She didn’t say shit. Just started walking so close our arms brushed with every step. Then her hand slipped into mine like it was nothing. No eye contact. No question. Just hers.

I slowed. Looked at her.

She met my stare and raised an eyebrow. “Say something.”

I didn’t. I just let her hold it.

Then gym time came around. I was early. Needed space. Music in. Ball in hand. And there’s Jana—already there, already shooting, already wearing my hoodie like she paid for it.

“Hope you don’t mind,” she called, not even turning. “You left it.”

She finally faced me, tugged the collar up, smirking. “I claimed it.”

I laughed. “You really think I care?”

She walked past, bumped my shoulder, and whispered, “I know you don’t. But they do.”

By the time practice ended, I had Paige hovering near my locker, KK waiting with her arms folded by the door, Inês watching me like a hawk from across the room, and Jana? She was on her phone—taking pictures. Of me.

I stretched my arms, cracked my neck, and grabbed my bag like none of them were there. My job wasn’t to choose. My job was to walk out and let them figure out who wanted it more.

They keep pushing. They keep showing up.

They keep claiming space like they forgot who taught them how to take it in the first place. I’m still the problem.

———

It’s getting bad. And I mean bad. I thought I was being chill today—sweatpants, messy bun, no lashes, hoodie damn near swallowing me whole. Just existing. I wasn’t even trying to be cute.

Didn’t matter.

I walked into the gym and Nika was already on one. She was sitting on the scorer’s table, sipping from my water bottle like it was hers, legs crossed, cool as hell. When she saw me, she nodded like, Finally.

“You’re late,” she said, hopping down. “I was about to get mad.”

I raised a brow. “You always mad.”

She grinned. “Only when I miss you.”

Nika slid my water bottle back into my bag like she was tucking in a secret and walked away. I barely made it to half-court before Aubrey snatched my attention. Literally. Homegirl grabbed my wrist mid-warmup and spun me around like she was in a rom-com.

“You really not gonna say hi to me today?” she asked, pout on full display.

I smirked. “I see you. You ain’t hard to miss.”

She let go—slowly—and then winked. “Just making sure you remember who been here.”

Ayanna wasn’t far behind. She didn’t say anything at first. Just bumped me with her hip mid-drill, hard enough to throw me off balance, then laughed when I caught myself. Loud, unbothered, Ayanna.

“Keep playing,” she said, pointing at me with her water bottle. “You gon’ find out.”

I licked my lips and chuckled. “You threatening me or flirting?”

She smiled. “Both.”

Ice? Oh, Ice was different. Real lowkey. Just coolin’ in the corner until I came to grab a towel. She passed it to me without looking, but when our fingers brushed, she locked eyes like she’d been waiting for that one second all day.

“You smell good,” she said.

I blinked. “It’s sweat.”

She shrugged. “Still.”

And then Caroline—Caroline had the nerve to act like she wasn’t pressed. Just leaning against the wall after practice, scrolling her phone, all nonchalant. Until I walked by. Then she reached out and fixed the drawstring on my sweatpants like it was bothering her.

“Loose,” she said. “Had to fix it.”

“Could’ve just told me.”

She smirked. “Didn’t want to ask.”

I walked away that time. Couldn’t even hold in the laugh. This whole team was ridiculous. Nika was texting me about where I was going after practice. Ayanna was playfully mean-mugging across the locker room. Aubrey was already halfway in my hoodie. Ice was watching me like I was art. Caroline? She caught me looking and just raised her brows, like, Yeah?

And then Paige walked in and saw all of them hovering.

Then smiled. Like, Game on.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, blew a kiss toward the room, and said, “Y’all have fun figuring this out.”

————

Ice cut me off in the hallway. “You good?” she asked, eyes soft like she actually cared. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Yeah. That’s the problem,” I said.

I made it to the locker room, hoping to shower in peace. But Nika was already waiting inside, sitting on the bench, drinking out of my water bottle like she owned it. “You mad at me or something?”

I looked at her. Dead in the face. “No, I’m mad at everyone.”

She blinked, confused. But I didn’t stop to explain. Aubrey whistled when I passed her. Ayanna smirked and asked where I was going. Caroline reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear like she hadn’t been giving me attitude for three days straight. KK said I looked tired and offered me Tru Fru like that was gonna fix it.

And that’s when I snapped. I dropped my bag so hard the strap popped.

“Back. Off. All of you.”

The room went still.

“No more flirting. No more touching. No more stupid ‘where you going’ texts or sitting on my lap like I’m Santa. I’m not your emotional support dom. I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not even your friend right now. I came here to play. You wanna make out, go do it with each other.��

They looked stunned. Genuinely. Nika opened her mouth to say something and I shut it down with a look.

“I’m not picking. Because I never wanted to play. You started the game. I just let it happen. But it ends now.” I walked out.

Didn’t even change. Just marched straight to Geno’s office in my damn slides and hoodie, heart racing. Knocked once. Walked in.

He looked up from whatever play sheet he was studying and raised an eyebrow. “You look like hell.”

“Yeah? It’s your team’s fault.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Talk.”

So I did. Told him everything. The flirting, the drama, the distractions, the way every time I blink, someone’s trying to get my attention. I didn’t snitch on names—I wasn’t messy. Just facts. I told him I couldn’t breathe without one of them trying to steal it.

Geno listened, nodded once, and then said, “So fix it.”

I blinked. “I just did.”

He chuckled, low and dry. “No—you vented. Fixing it means if they don’t listen, I bench them.”

I stared at him. He stared right back.

“Let me know who needs to sit,” he said. “I’ll take the heat.”

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