#confession gone wrong

[aventurineswife]

About Valentine's Week Special

Can you do Ratio x reader who messes up their confession to him?

Ratio found a note in his desk that says “get out of my school” and it was actually reader who wanted to ask him to go on a date with him after school but got too shy to ask and intended to write “go out with me after school” but wrote the above instead

Say It Wrong, Make It Right

Summary: In a humorous and heartwarming Valentine's Week special, you try to confess your feelings to Ratio. However, your nerves get the best of you, and your note intended to ask him out instead says, “Get out of my school.” Ratio, initially confused and offended, eventually uncovers the truth behind your accidental blunder. With a rare smile and a touch of intellectual humor, he forgives you, leading to an unexpected yet sweet first date.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Crack Fic, Valentine's Week Special, Humor, Confession Gone Wrong, Romance, Awkward Situations, Lighthearted.

Warnings: Mild embarrassment, Miscommunication (note mishap).

The crisp sound of a note sliding across a desk broke the silence in the grand, book-filled lecture hall of the Intelligentsia Guild. Dr. Ratio, resplendent in his signature violet hair and gilded academic attire, arched a sharp eyebrow. A folded piece of paper had been tucked neatly among his meticulously arranged lecture materials.

It wasn’t unusual for students or colleagues to slip him notes—requests for feedback, invitations to debates, or even philosophical challenges. But this one was…different. The words scrawled across the page struck him like an unsolved paradox.

"Get out of my school."

For a moment, his brilliant mind short-circuited. He read the message again, tilting the note as if a different angle might offer clarity. Ratio frowned, a rare crack in his ever-confident façade. Was this…a declaration of rivalry? A disgruntled student's rebellion? A threat to his very presence in the academic world?

“Impossible,” he muttered, crumpling the note with an uncharacteristically indignant flourish. “Who would dare suggest such an intellectually void sentiment?”

Little did he know, hidden behind a bookshelf nearby, you—his most dedicated (and nervous) admirer—were suppressing a panic attack.

You hadn’t meant to insult the man you admired most in the universe. Quite the opposite, in fact. Your original intention had been to ask Ratio—genius extraordinaire, passionate educator, and your longtime crush—on a date.

But writing the note was harder than expected. You’d rewritten it at least twenty times, the final draft intended to read:

"Go out with me after school?"

But in your anxiety-fueled haste, you’d swapped the words. Now your awkward attempt at romance looked like a straight-up expulsion notice. And Ratio? He was thoroughly unimpressed.

You peeked around the corner just in time to see him march out of the lecture hall, his alabaster headpiece under one arm, and the offending note in his other hand. His muttering grew fainter as he strode away, but you caught snippets: “Ignorant…crude…unworthy of my intellect…”

You sank to the floor, face buried in your hands. “What have I done?”

The rest of the day passed in a haze of guilt and dread. By the time the final bell rang, you’d resolved to find Ratio and explain the misunderstanding. You tracked him down in his private study—a grand, duck-adorned sanctuary filled with intricate charts and shelves overflowing with books.

He was seated at his desk, his posture immaculate, the crumpled note smoothed out before him. His eyes bore into it as if trying to extract its hidden meaning. When you entered, his gaze snapped to you.

“Ah, the instigator of this…” he gestured dramatically to the note, “intellectual atrocity. Care to explain yourself?”

You winced. “I—I didn’t mean it! I swear!”

Ratio leaned back, crossing his arms with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue. “Then what, pray tell, was the intent behind this baffling message?”

Your face turned crimson as you fumbled for words. “I, um… I was trying to ask if…if you’d go out with me after school…”

Ratio blinked, his formidable intellect apparently momentarily unable to process your words. “…Go out? With me?”

You nodded frantically, every fiber of your being screaming for the floor to swallow you whole. “Yes! I wanted to ask you on a date, but I—I panicked, and I messed up the note…”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, to your utter disbelief, Ratio threw back his head and laughed. It wasn’t a mocking laugh but rather a genuine, amused chuckle that softened the sharp edges of his usual demeanor.

“By the Aeons,” he said, still smiling, “you managed to turn a simple confession into what I assumed was an eviction notice. Fascinating. Truly, you may be the only person alive capable of such…creative phrasing.”

You stared at him, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I understand if you think I’m ridiculous—”

Ratio stood abruptly, his imposing presence suddenly a little less intimidating. “Ridiculous? Hardly. Your error was unique, if nothing else. And as someone who values ingenuity…” He offered you a small, rare smile. “I suppose I can forgive it.”

Your heart soared. “Does that mean…you’ll go out with me?”

He studied you for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. But only under one condition.”

“What is it?”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes gleaming with intellectual mischief. “You must promise never to write me another note unsupervised.”

You burst out laughing, relief washing over you. “Deal.”

As the two of you left his study together, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, your disastrous confession had been the start of something extraordinary.

[steviewashere]

Still Want You Tomorrow

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Mild Blood, Implied/Referenced Mild Violence (Eddie Slapped Steve), Use of the F-Slur (Steve Uses it to Refer to Himself) Tags: Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Dialogue Heavy, Love Confessions Gone Wrong, Love Confessions, Second Chances, Hurt Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Angry Eddie Munson, Scared Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Eddie Think Steve's Messing With Him, Resolve, Apologies, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, They Hug it Out, Forehead Kisses, Soft Steve Harrington, Soft Eddie Munson, They Still Take Care of Each Other Despite Eddie's Initial Anger This one came to me midday yesterday and I'm gonna be honest, I don't really know what it was or where it had initially been going. But it's here anyway.

🫂—————🫂 There are tight fists in the collar of his Members Only jacket. Wound hard, fingernails biting into the fabric—enough to make it all threaten to tear with the tension. He’s between Eddie’s widespread legs, knees bracketing either side of his own bent ones. They’re mere centimeters apart, if the ghost of stale breath over his nose is anything to go by; and up close, he can make out every tiny speckled freckle on Eddie’s face, every long eyelash brimming his big brown eyes, and every little line etched around his mouth as he frowns—as he bites into his bottom lip.

Steve’s back is slammed against the side of his car—again.

Eddie’s strong when he wants to be; that’s what he’s come to find.

The sun’s about to set—he’s ready to die in the melting orange, yellow, and violet.

“You gonna hit me again, Munson? You gonna…you gonna…gonna really give me a taste of my own medicine?” Steve asks cruelly. He darts his tongue out, striking his dried bottom lip, only drying it out further with the quick-to-dissipate moisture. His spit is metallic from where Eddie had split the bottom lip. It’s not the first time Steve’s come to notice that rings are a bitch against the face in a slap; but for it to come out of somebody usually so kind?

Steve swallows hard. Nausea turning over in his stomach like ever-stretching taffy. His hands are limp to his sides. He wouldn’t put his hands on Eddie even if he wanted to. Even if he wanted a loose arm over his shoulders…a thumb against the split…a hug.

All he wants is a fucking hug. But he’ll take this. He can take this.

A fistfight is manageable. It’s usual. Sometimes, it feels like that’s all he’s known.

The look that flashes across Eddie’s face is terrifying. The strength he has is worse.

Eddie’s angry. Angry in that nostril-flaring, red in the cheeks, growl in the voice way. It’s the strongest emotion, sans panic, that Steve’s seen out of Eddie.

He knows why Eddie’s angry.

Because of him.

It was a confession that tumbled half-sheepish and half-hopeful from his chest. Previously knotted tight, yet quick to unravel. He’d come over to Forest Hills under Robin’s advice—“Eddie’s safe, I know for certain. All you gotta do is tell him.”/ “And if it ends up bad, Robs? You gonna take care of me afterwards?”/ “You ask stupid questions sometimes. Of course I will, dingus. Now do it before you get cold feet.”

What a bunch of bullshit, he notes bitterly.

It’s all just bullshit.

Safe, my ass.

“Hit me, bitch,” Steve spits, low enough now the words are croaky, “your best buddy is a fucking fag and has a big stupid crush on you. Show me what I’m worth. Do it, Munson.”

Eddie’s eyes flame. Growing bigger, yet his eyebrows furrow deeper. And his grip grows stronger, grows tighter. If he moved his hands, he could choke Steve. Choke the life right out of him.

Steve would be thankful for it. Let the warmth of a human finish what the coldness of fear tried to do to him—he’d let Eddie kill him.

He’s not sure what that says about himself.

When Eddie doesn’t move, Steve wriggles further into the side of his car, barely able to shift from the hold on his collar. He could just slip the sleeves right off, duck down, and scuttle to the side; he could push Eddie away, beat him to a pulp, and get in his car—just go. But—

“You’re a fucking coward, Eddie. That’s all you are right now. Scared of a guy hitting on you. Scared of…of my stupid love so much. How gross, right? How fucking”—

“Shut up,” Eddie finally speaks, growls. He shakes Steve slightly, it’s gentler than he’d been expecting. Too soft. Too…intimate. “Just shut up, Steve. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Steve licks his bottom lip again. “The blood on my tongue says otherwise, dick.”

“You’re fucked in the head,” Eddie murmurs. Words slurred together with the intensity of his softness, with the equal hardness around the admittance. It’s an awful thing to say; it’s almost romantic to Steve.

“Yeah? Then why don’t you just end”—

“I said shut up.” Eddie’s eyes dart between Steve’s. His nostrils are still flaring, big and alive. But his grip begins to loosen, holding on just enough to keep them in place, but not so hard that Steve couldn’t escape.

He doesn’t want to. He never wants to leave this. Now what does that say about him?

Eddie takes a shaky, deep inhale. Then, “I don’t care that you…you can be into guys, Steve. I don’t care about that,” he talks softly, “but I don’t want…I don’t want…” And then he trails.

It’s hard to gauge where Eddie’s going. His voice is too quiet, but his hands are too hard. And his posture is wide, but his shoulders are hunched. His eyes are giant and soulful, yet the rest of him is carefully neutral. Like he’s hiding within a lie, a facade, a mask.

This is a mask, Steve realizes, it’s all just a ruse.

“You’re not mean,” Steve whispers, “why are you being mean to me?” He sniffs. Swallows. Lurches deep in his stomach. He could throw up. He could choke. It’d be the same anyway. “If you don’t want me, then tell me,” he continues at the same volume, though firm, “but…but I’m not gonna stop wantin’ you, Eds. Even though you…you could…could break every bone in my body and I’d still find my way back to you.”

The next breath that Eddie elicits is warbling. Shivering straight out of his lungs, darting fast through him—some live-wire activated. There’s something new in his face.

Deep, yet gentle. Sorrowful and lost.

Remorse.

Choking, “You scare me,” Eddie admits. His fingers flex again, releasing just as slow as the sun setting beyond them. It’s hard to chase the colors as they bleed, harder to navigate them through his own watery stare—a teary gaze that is mirrored in Eddie. “I think I want you too much.”

Steve’s lip trembles. Eddie’s gaze darts to it—it, right where he split the skin. “Why’d you hurt me then? Why do you—I don’t—I was being sweet on you and then…”

Horrified with his eyes still locked on that fresh cut, “I don’t know,” Eddie whispers, “I’m sorry.”

For the first time since the confession sprang loose—unwound and bent—Steve reaches for Eddie. His left hand marks a tickling path against the waistband of his jeans, fingers caught in the belt loop in his blind journey, and gently—ever so gently—he cups the right side of Eddie’s neck.

“You’ve gotta let go of me, Eds,” Steve says, “so that we can talk about all this. I’ll forgive you, but you gotta let go of me.”

Eddie mildly shakes his head. “You’re gonna run away from me,” he murmurs, “you…you know how fucked up I am now. You’re not gonna want me anymore”—his next breath catches like a sob in his chest, hard and bubbled and messy—“I’ve been wanting you, I just didn’t know…I thought you…”—his chest builds and falls rapidly, ready to collapse in on itself.

“Shh,” Steve tries to soothe, “I promise I won’t go anywhere, okay?”

“How can I”—

“You just have to trust me.” His hand smooths over Eddie’s skin. Up to his jaw and cheek. Instinctively, like an orphaned animal craving nurture, Eddie leans into Steve’s palm. “You just have to trust me,” Steve repeats in a whisper.

One slow finger at a time, Eddie uncurls his hands. Instead resting them on Steve’s shoulders. Holding on as if being led in a dance for the first time, unsure, yet willing. He can be taught, but it’s going to take a while. It’s all going to take a while.

“I’m sorry I hurt”—

“Eddie,” Steve murmurs firmly. “Don’t worry about that, okay? I—As much as it…as it scared me after…I get it, okay? I understand.”

Shamefully, eyes still wet with sorrow, “You shouldn’t have to.”

“But I do. I do.” Steve brings his other hand up finally, placing it over the patchwork scar on Eddie’s face—cupping him like water in his hands. Careful not to spill. “If you’ll have me, Eddie, you gotta know we’re gonna hurt each other over and over and over again. We just…we’re gonna get through it. Because I still trust you.

“And I still know you.

“And I still love you anyway. Okay? I would’ve pushed you away if I wanted to.” He drags Eddie closer to him, those centimeters gone as their noses gently touch. Eddie’s eyes are bigger this close, magnified in a way only telescopes know how—to be in awe of the stars; there are flecks of gold in Eddie’s eyes, and he knows he’s found his north star despite. “You hurt me, you did. And you scared me. But you…you’re not mean. You’re not a bad person. I don’t think you can be.

“The Eddie I know wiped my back when I couldn’t reach all my scars. And he made me a mixtape that I listen to everyday in my car. He held my hand when I had to get my blood drawn a couple weeks ago. And, Eddie, you’re just good. You’re everything I want and need. Endlessly charming and funny and loud and unforgiving; you’re intelligent and emotional and beautiful and caring. You”—

In a whirlwind, Eddie is wrapping Steve tight in an unrelenting embrace. His arms wound so hard he could break ribs. The hair on his head smushed, tangled in Steve’s own. He’s warm and firm and present.

“You’re too good for a world like this,” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear, “I’d take back what I did if I could. I’d…I’d be sweet. I’d cherish you from the get-go. Not…not whatever this was.” There’s a hand against the back of Steve’s head, cradling him in that soft way only Eddie knows how. He may be strong—more powerful than Steve could’ve figured—but he’ll always be gentle at the end of the day; it’s to be expected, typically, knowing somebody like Eddie. “I get scared,” he admits quietly, “and then I get stupid.

“But I care about you, Steve. Of course I fucking care about you. Of course I want you.

“I want you all the time. It just…I freaked out.

“I thought you…I thought you were fucking with me. That you knew. I thought you—But you aren’t like that! I don’t know why I thought”—

Steve turns his head against Eddie’s curls, enough he could nose against his temple. “I have a reputation that proceeds me, Eds,” he states, “I’m not offended. I know who I was. It’s okay.”

“It’s not”—

“But I’m saying it is. Eddie, I need you to just trust me. I need you to just listen. I need you to just…just take care of me the way you always do, okay?” There’s a lump building in his throat, sour and hard and tight. He sniffles and smears his lips against Eddie’s forehead, it’s not a kiss, yet it’s too soft to be anything else, and he knows that. “We’ll try again tomorrow,” he whispers, “because I’ll still want you tomorrow. I waited a while already. I’d wait forever if I had to. Just…just help me clean up?”

Eddie squeezes him. Squeezes him so hard his spine pops. It’s so Eddie. It’s so…endlessly warm. Endlessly lovely. It’s just what he expected. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

He gently wraps back as if his arms are long ribbons and Eddie is the big gift under the tree. His hands splay warmly over the fabric of Eddie’s own jacket—that same leather one, forever permeated with lake water and sweat, but again, so Eddie. Steve chokes on the lump in his throat for a moment, then a second, and a third.

His tears rescind mostly, still stinging in his waterlines. And he sighs into Eddie’s hair.

“I forgive you,” he mutters. And finds, surprisingly—under the shaky layer of his fear and the initial splinter of heartbreak—that he means it. He’d mean it even if he didn’t. “And I love you, Eddie. I still love you.”

Eddie startles with another sob, smearing his face against Steve’s shoulder, hands tight in the back of his jacket. It’s a different firmness than on the collar, something desperate and aching and seeking. Not to intimidate. To find relief. “I feel like you shouldn’t,” he mutters.

Steve kisses Eddie’s forehead with intent now. Just a single peck, lingering his lips over the sticky spot his pink-stained spit leaves. “I do, though,” he rasps, “and I know I always will.”

The cold, runny tip of Eddie’s nose presses hard against Steve’s pulse. But then it tips upwards. A warm, sloppy, yet gentle kiss lands over his skin. Eddie’s lips are chapped as if he’s been picking at them well before Steve even arrived; a nervous tic he knows, from seeing it before in some of their group hang-outs.

Then, the words he thought he’d never feel vibrating into his skull—

“I love you, too, Steve. I really, really love you, too.” Eddie blows out a short puff of air. “I wanna try again tomorrow. I’m gonna love you right. I’m gonna…shit…you’re going to be the pillar to everything when I’m done, Steve. Right at the center of it all. My heart and the podium holding it steady. Swear it. I swear on it.” He squeezes at Steve’s back one more time before he lets himself melt from his wind of tension. 

He’s warm everywhere they connect. Maybe their suns are kissing each other; but even then, Steve would view that as catalytic romance—it’d be the greatest thing he could live through, burning up from the sheer mass of Eddie’s love. It’d be the greatest gift, to have their course set right again, to have each other this way; forever, hopefully.

Forever, preferably. 

🫂—————🫂

[hopeswriting]

daily life arc miura haru. does anyone know who i'm talking about. do you guys remember her. i still can't believe what happened to her 😔

[ii-meeple-confessions]

Something that's haunting my brain is the thought that--assuming MePhone and 3GS's emotional processors work close enough to human brains for this to work the same way--it will probably take them YEARS to even BEGIN to fully process their trauma.

I'm not sure if this is true of everyone, but I know that generally, your brain doesn't start fully processing things like trauma or grief until it feels safe to do so. (It's why you might be fine at a funeral, but then when you step into your bedroom you suddenly burst into tears. Or in terms of trauma, it's why abuse survivors have a risk of going BACK to their abusers because once they get away from them and get someplace safe, they suddenly start feeling WORSE, because their brain is finally unpacking everything.)

MePhone and 3GS? Yeah they got away from Cobs. But now they're left in a weird, uncertain position. MePhone wants to give the contestants space so he probably won't hang around the island. But where do they go from there? Meeple HQ? Maybe at first, but they're sure not going to feel SAFE there.

They'll probably wind up traveling someplace else they've never been before. Maybe they'll travel to several places before they find a more permanent home, or maybe they'll just become comfortable with a life of travel. Either way, it's probably going to be a while before they have a home, or at least a place they truly feel safe.

And THEN it hits them. Their processors have decided it's safe to do so, and begin to unpack their trauma, and it SUCKS. Just when they felt they were doing better, they suddenly feel worse than they have in YEARS. Worse than when Cobs shut 3GS in the closet. Worse than when MePhone lost everything and Cobs went all-out physically attacking him. (MePhone especially is going to have it rough because he had NO TIME to fully take in how bad everything was as it was happening. 3GS ironically might fare slightly better because he at least had time to think through things in that closet, awful as that was.) Hopefully at this point they'll have built up a support network of some sort so they can have SOMEONE to help them, but man, they're in for a rough time.

But that's how it goes. Things get worse before they get better, and hopefully things really will start getting better for these two.

.

[1130archives]

au where bakugo tries confessing to todoroki by giving him the top button of his uniform (closest to his heart) but todoroki doesn’t understand and is just like ??? thanks for the button ig ???? so bakugo takes it as a rejection but todoroki is actually just a little slow :((((

[americanunderground]

Submission: Reslife Gone Wrong

Our university doesn’t give resident assistants a full meal plan— only partial. Our paychecks are less than $200 a month. We’re also not allowed to have another job unless given ‘special approval.’

When we ask how we’re supposed to afford to eat and pay bills, we’re told to take out more loans or just get money from family. I don’t know how they can say stuff like that with a straight face.

[yowyowyaoi]

*Tobi walks into the living room where everyone is sitting*

Tobi: I have something important to say, and I want everyone to hear it.

Tobi: Deidara, I’m in love with you. I have been for a year. I’ve been respectful and kept my distance because I know you were in love with Sasori, and grieving him, but now that a respectable amount of time has passed, I feel it’s the perfect opportunity to confess that I’m an Uchiha and secretly the leader of the Akatsuki my love for you. I already consider you to be my best friend, and now I’d like to pursue something more. We can go as slow as you need, and we can take the time to truly get to know each other, before we take our relationship to a higher dimension. Perhaps, we can begin with a date tonight? Dinner at a restaurant of your choice?

Everyone else:

Deidara, tearing up: I … I don’t know what to say, hm! D-dinner sounds great! Let me go freshen up! *runs from room*

Konan: That was the sweetest, most romantic thing I’ve ever seen!

Zetsu: Tobi, we wish you many blessings in this new chapter of yours and Deidara’s lives!

Kisame: I’m sorry but did NOBODY ELSE catch the other thing he said?! Itachi, surely you heard it??

Itachi: What I heard was a beautiful display of raw honesty and genuine feeling. An exemplary confession. Much better than, say, leaving a note with sticky dango inside of it that says “Do you like me? Please circle Yes or No” on someone’s pillow.

Kisame:

Kisame: I’d be more ashamed of that IF you hadn’t still eaten the dango, ‘Tachi.

[tdlosk-confessions]

I wish people would make fics about S3 ep2 because it's just SO so... yeah it's so fucking bad and good, (ALSO MOD IF U HAVE IDEAS GIVE THEM!! LET EITHER MAKE A FIC OR EAT THE IDEA.)

[Confession 341]

[amurder-ofcrows]

so my mom is catholic but i was raised without much religion for reasons i won't get into, so i don't know much about catholicism outside of aesthetic posts on tumblr and the show midnight mass, so we passed the local catholic church yesterday (saturday) and my dad (jewish) was like wow they're empty, and my mom said they were preparing for 5pm mass and reconciliation, and i never heard the term "reconciliation" before and i just kinda asked "... with God?" which made my mom laugh and go "kinda!" and then explained that it's one of the terms for confession and i felt like an idiot lol

[steviewashere]

Hi guys, is this anything:

Eddie takes a shaky, deep inhale. Then, “I don’t care that you…you can be into guys, Steve. I don’t care about that,” he talks softly, “but I don’t want…I don’t want…” And then he trails. It’s hard to gauge where Eddie’s going. His voice is too quiet, but his hands are too hard. And his posture is wide, but his shoulders are hunched. His eyes are giant and soulful, yet the rest of him is carefully neutral. Like he’s hiding within a lie, a facade, a mask. This is a mask, Steve realizes, it’s all just a ruse. “You’re not mean,” Steve whispers, “why are you being mean to me?” He sniffs. Swallows. Lurches deep in his stomach. He could throw up. He could choke. It’d be the same anyway. “If you don’t want me, then tell me,” he continues at the same volume, “but…but I’m not gonna stop wantin’ you, Eds. Even though you…you could…could break every bone in my body and I’d still find my way back to you.”

They're being low-key toxic, but it's fine. It's all fine.

[moniquegibaeu]

My ocs but I didn't feel like drawing, this ain't even their canon designs

[americanunderground]

Submission: Reslife Gone Wrong

My time as an RA can be summed up by the fact that we all used to joke that our paychecks (which were like $50 every two weeks) were just about enough to pay for the therapy appointments we had to make specifically because of the stress and trauma of being an RA.

[omeynzaol]

The last letter

Link to og post

[uty-confessions]

Dearest Cryptid Anonymous and John Anonymous,

I have challenge, just don’t be crackheads

have fun with that lol

— Not-Jigsaw

☆