#reader insert problems

[almostwisegalaxy]

Title of this publication :

"That Precise Moment When I Realize 'Y/N' Wasn't Written for Me 👩🏾‍🦱👩🏾‍🦳🧑‍🦳👩🏾‍🦰👩🏾‍🦲👩‍🦲🧕🏾🧕👩🏼‍🦱🧑‍🦱👩‍🦱 and a Plus-Size Peoples"

"Y/n threw her long blonde hair into a messy bun"

What the helly???‎ ( ⁰▱⁰ )

You know... those fics where Y/N is supposed to be 'universal' but systematically has hair that harmoniously blows in the wind, pale skin that blushes, and tans?

Yeah... Let's talk about it.

"'Y/N has hair like a waterfall in the wind/ He runs his fingers through his silky hair —

" her fine/delicate face"

"they pale skin flushed slightly."

"His blue eyes sparkled."

where, bestie? (⁠ノ⁠｀⁠Д⁠´⁠)⁠ノ⁠彡⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

Yes. That's how I often discover I'm just an extra in a story I chose to read myself? Me, with my hair that needs 2 hours of prep, an oil, a moisturizing spray, and a YouTube tutorial. ?

And then ಠ⁠◡⁠ಠ... I love it when authors think we all have the same hair density. Or that a 'messy bun' is a universal experience. Like, no, I can't just throw my hair back. It stays there, protesting. It needs an action plan, a meeting, a deep conditioning treatment, and some respect. Not just an improvised 'messy bun' at 7 AM before bumping into "Mr~Mrs. Love Interest."

Cause...

Breaking news my dears (.•̵̑⌓•̵̑) :

Not all hair types let themselves be caressed; with mine, I have to negotiate.

............................................* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊

Now.

To you, "x reader" authors,

If you choose to write an x reader, an x Y/N, a neutral or universal reader... then write that. Not a character molded into a single form, not a fixed projection of what we've too often seen: thin, white or too white, pale-skinned, shy/too badass. Too feminine/tomboyish.Too much makeup/"oh my... Do you wear makeup every fucking day? I can't". And the most popular of all...Having "curves in all the right places."

(I have a long back. Now I do what? Huh?)

Because we don't need to have cascading hair to be worthy of a loving gaze.

We don't need to be small, pink, demure, or "delicate" to deserve a heart-squeezing romance.

We don't have to fit into a mold, damn it!

We just need to exist — truly — in your words. With our hair that doesn't necessarily shine in the sun, our skin that doesn't blush but gets hot, our bodies that take up space, our voices that don't always stay quiet. Our laughter that is not at all graceful. A "social laugh."

That's the beauty of an x reader: it's the silent promise that we can be ourselves... and still be chosen.

Without having to fit into a foreign silhouette, without having to silence our textures, our tones, our contours.

And if you can't write that, then say so. Don't offer us an illusion of ourselves.

Because we, too, deserve to have butterflies in our stomachs without having to disappear into skin that isn't our own.

We deserve to be loved without translation.

Love doesn't need filters. Just a gaze fixed upon us, as we are, that says: 'You. You are enough.'

......................................................

And for those who still have doubts or who think that we are dramatizing everything today.

A very simple example. (I think you're at least up to par for that one. Right?...) :

"Her frail/thin/fragile body"→ A toxic equation between femininity, desirability, and smallness.

"She stumbled clumsily" / "She was clumsy, that's what he liked about her" → Too often a way of infantilizing the female character and erasing strength or self-control.

"She had this innocence that no one could ignore."→ Infantilization + idealized virginity = 🛑

"His voice, soft as a whisper"→ And the deep voices? The loud voices? The broken voices? Made invisible.

"She didn't know how beautiful she was." → Overused false modesty. What if you know you're hot? So what?

"Her thin/delicate face"→ Implies that an "acceptable" face is small, thin, almost childlike.

"Her long, silky, cascading blonde hair" → Makes all other hair textures, Length and colors invisible. What if I'm bald, huh?

Inspiration of this text is taken from here

[rosewood-multifandom-writer]

Sometimes I have moments where I’m like, “What in the stereotypical-submissive-female-otome-game-protagonist is this?”

me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:

like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together

[weepingseraphstranger]

I don't know how some people read reader inserts and then say it takes them out of it when the MC's name and appearance are left to their imagination. That's the point. 😭

[carbondioxda]

It’s unfair that the Task Force 141 should be called The Beauty Force 141. Like fuck you mean every single one of them is as handsome as realistically possible. Not just the game models, the actors too. How am I supposed to shoot enemies in the game when there’s a literal supermodel of them is gazing into my eyes and seducing me whatttefuck.

Military propaganda worked tbh.

[rosewood-multifandom-writer]

If anything, I prefer nicknames that don’t make me cringe, that way the immersion of the reader themselves interacting with the who they are pairing themselves with is not broken (unless you hate certain nicknames). Hate to break it to you, love the fic, but maybe label this as an OC x Canon fic instead?

me when the READER in the X READER has a name:

like babe the fic ate but i do NOT look like an Aurora🙁

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Champagne Problems | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Oh, hi! Truly, sometimes you just don't know the answer till someone's on their knees and asks you, you know? Also I hope my taglist works this time but who the fuck knows.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: engagement / wedding talk, mentions of alcohol

Nat flipped through your list of invitees, crossing off a few names as she scanned the page. She took it upon herself to help you stuff, address, and mail the invitations for your engagement party, because in her words, you were “dragging your feet”. There were only five or so weeks left until the event, and you just hadn’t found the time to sit down and sort out the invitations. At least, that’s the excuse you told Nat- and yourself. 

“Okay, we’re finally making some progress, we’re about halfway done,” Nat called from the dining table. “Shit. Without me, no one would even show up to this fucking party.” She didn’t mean for you to hear that second part- but her voice echoed through your nearly empty apartment. 

Almost everything you owned was gone; either sold, or stored, or moved into the house you were to share with your fiancé, Cole. All that remained was your clothes, your bed, and a few odds and ends. It would’ve been far easier, far more convenient, to stay in your new house instead of living out of cardboard boxes. And far more aesthetically pleasing. The house was a nice- nicer than you’d ever be able to afford yourself. And it was beautiful. There was a lush garden in the backyard. A swing on the front porch. Even a white picket fence. You described it to everyone as “picturesque.”

But the lease on your apartment wasn’t up quite yet. You still had a few weeks until your move-out date, and you wanted to soak in as much time at the old place as you could. You loved it here. Loved the worn wooden floors and the doors that didn’t hang straight. The dent in the wall where Bucky bonked his metal elbow when you popped out of the hall closet and scared him. The corner in your bedroom where you and Bucky made a blanket fort during last winter’s blizzard. Memories papered the walls and covered the floors of this place- and most of them involved Bucky.

This was home. And while the new house was great- and fully paid for by your fiancé’s wealthy parents- it didn’t feel like you belonged there. It didn’t welcome you in or fill you with warmth. Cole’s mom said it just needed the right décor. Your friends told you it needed time. But deep down, you knew that no amount of beautiful area rugs, no amount of time, could turn your house with Cole into a home. There would always be one thing missing, one glaring and flagrant void. 

Bucky.

“You’re inviting Bucky?” Nat looked up from the list and found you coming around the corner with a bowl of popcorn in hand. Her incredulous expression nearly stopped you in your tracks.

You gave her a strange look, “Yeah, of course. He’s my best friend. Why wouldn’t he be invited?”

“Okay, first of all,” Nat scoffed, “He’s your best friend- present company excluded. And second, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

You threw a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth as you settled into your chair. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Nat rolled her eyes, “Because I don’t think it’s smart to invite the guy you’re actually in love with to a party celebrating your engagement to another man.” She threw you a shrug, “but hey, that’s just me.”

“Woah-” you almost choked on your popcorn. “I’m not in love with Bucky.”

It was the most absurd thing Nat had ever heard. “I’m not in love with Bucky!” she jeered, imitating your voice. “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, okay, jesus,” you raised your hands, miming a surrender. “I did- at one point- have romantic feelings for him,” you conceded, “but that was a while ago.”

“Oh, at one point?” Nat crossed her arms over her chest. “You say that like you had a small crush on him for a week, when we both know your ‘romantic feelings’ have been a constant ever since you became friends with the guy.”

Her accusations weren’t necessarily wrong. But they were loud. And pointed. And rubbed salt in your many wounds. “It was …” you gave a small shake of your head. “We never got the timing right, you know? It just didn’t work in our favor.” The heartache with which you’d grown familiar reared its ugly head. “But it’s fine,” you told her. “I’m engaged, now. So.”

Ever since you boyfriend, Cole, became your fiancé, you’d done your best to kill and bury your longing for Bucky. But your feelings for him weren’t so easily vanquished. They were strong and boisterous and loud. At least a few times a day, they launched themselves at you out of nowhere. At work. At the grocery store. At dinner with Cole and his parents. Nowhere was safe. Everywhere you went, things reminded you of Bucky. Of your favorite person. Of the person to whom you were not engaged. 

The desperate pining for him tore your still-healing wounds wide open. Every time your gaze landed on your engagement ring, every time a friend mentioned your impending wedding, a sharp pain sliced through your chest. And each time, you were forced to acknowledge the fact that you were not, in fact, getting married to Bucky.

 “Um, anyway…” you cleared your throat, “Of course, I’m inviting Bucky. And the subject isn’t open for debate, by the way. It’s my party and I’ll invite who I want to.” 

You grabbed an invitation and a blank envelope from the stacks in front of Nat and positioned them in front of you. If Nat didn’t want you inviting Bucky, there was a more than significant chance that she’d conveniently “forget” to address an invite for him. And so, you scrawled his name and address onto an envelope and affixed a stamp in the corner. Come hell or high water, he was going to get his invitation. Even if he didn’t want to come. 

The night of the party arrived sooner than you expected. Sooner than you’d hoped. 

The house was abuzz with people running in and out, carrying food and linens and liquor; you knew you’d be requiring the latter in order to survive the night. Florists arrived to cover the house in perfect, beautiful blooms. A team of caterers brought with them enough fine food to feed an army. And a flawless, two-tiered cake with delicate lacy piping sat on the dining room table, complete with yours and Cole’s initials. All of it was perfect. Picturesque, really. It was exactly what you wanted- but Cole wasn’t who you wanted it with.

Every few minutes, you checked your phone in search of a text from Bucky. The deadline to RSVP had come and gone almost two weeks ago, and he never gave you an answer one way or another. He ignored your “hey, are you coming to my party?” texts, and your “just wanted to know if you plan on coming to the party” voicemails. He ignored almost all of your correspondence, actually. 

Lately, he’d only been answering about a third of your texts and a quarter of your calls. It was unlike him. It was unheard of, really. On multiple occasions in the past, he answered your calls while taking heavy fire; you could actually hear the bullets whizzing by on his end of the line. But now, things were quiet. And you forced yourself to accept that fact that he was not coming to your party.

The festivities kicked off around seven-thirty, and you found your house full to the brim with party goers. All of Cole’s friends showed up. His childhood friends, his college buddies, his old soccer team- they all arrived with bells on. And your friends were well represented, too. High school pals, your book club, a close coworker or two. They were all so excited to see you, so happy that you found someone. 

Even Bucky’s teammates made an appearance. They were his friends first, of course, but growing close with him meant growing close to them. And you’d build unbreakable bonds with Sam, Nat, Wanda, and Maria. They were thrilled for you and more than happy to attend your party- even if Bucky wouldn’t be there. 

With your house so full, so jam-packed with friends, you thought you wouldn’t notice the pain of Bucky’s absence. But you did. Of course, you did. And you found yourself feeling painfully alone in a sea of people. 

Without Bucky there, the night seemed to fall flat. The flowers lost their vibrance. The food was bland. And the music sounded disjointed and off-tempo. Things just weren’t the same. 

People swarmed you every few seconds, hollering their congratulations and asking to see the ring again. They asked you about venues and dresses, bridesmaids and center pieces. Everyone meant well- you knew they did. But as the throngs of people refused to relent with their questions about table linens, your chest began to tighten. A hard, concrete cast wrapped itself around your lungs, preventing them from expanding. A suffocating lack of oxygen rendered your dizzy. It was all too much. The people and the music and the impending nuptials. Even the sensation Cole’s hand on your waist was too much, too tight, too smothering. 

With a whispered “be right back”, you moved swiftly through the crowd and escaped out the front door. If you could just get some space, some quiet, some oxygen, you’d be fine.

The door provided you with much needed support as you tilted and teetered on unsteady feet. The panic, the alcohol, the high heels- it all combined to form a dizzying, possibly lethal combination. But at least you were outside. As least you were free. The cool night air prickled at your skin, and finally, your lungs filled to capacity. A few deep inhales cleared the fog from your mind. With closed eyes, you tipped your head back against the door and let yourself enjoy the quiet. Sure, the music from your playlist leaked into the night air, but this was the closest thing to silence you’d experienced all night. And you were not going to complain. 

As your heartbeat slowed, you told yourself it would be okay. That everything was going to be fine. That you’d figure out how to handle the situation. And, if only for a moment, you actually believed your fabrications. A sense of peace wrapped around you like a blanket, and a welcome calm settled into your bones.

But the creak of a porch step yanked your eyes open. 

And there you found Bucky, frozen on the second to last stair, with giftbox in hand. He eyed you as though he were a prey animal, wondering if you’d seen him, waiting for his chance to escape. But it was too late; he’d been caught.

“Buck?”

He forced a smile, “Hey.”

“Hi!” you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck with an intensity that would’ve injured a mere mortal. He reeled back a few paces as your momentum knocked into him. “I’m so glad you’re here! didn’t think you were coming!”

His arms draped loosely- weakly- behind your back. It wasn’t much- but it was better than no Bucky at all. And after he failed to respond to your messages, didn’t answer your calls, and made himself scarce over the last few months, you’d take whatever you could get. 

“Right. Yeah. Well, technically, I’m not-” He untangled himself from your arms and pointed at the perfectly wrapped giftbox. “I just wanted to drop off your present.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s-” Dismay dripped from your words, “Wait, you’re not staying?” 

Bucky gave a shake of his head. He avoided your eyeline and chose, instead, to look at anything other than you.  The grass. The porch light. His own shoes. “I can’t, sorry.”

It crushed you. Having him stop by for only a moment was far worse than him not showing up at all. Because now, you had to deal with the loss. The pain of his departure. For him to grant you the warmth of his presence, only to snatch it away moments later was almost cruel. How could he leave when you were finally seeing the world in color? How could he go when the music finally made sense with him by your side?

You didn’t want to beg. Didn’t want to make him feel bad. Didn’t want to seem pathetic. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You can’t stay for even a little while?”

The disappointment in your voice broke his heart. And he had half a mind to forget his plan and allow you to escort him inside. But he stood firm. “I would,” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “But I have to go pick up a friend from the airport.”

The words hit you in a strange place. A pin-prick pain nipped at your chest- you’d caught him in a lie. “Buck, no offense, but all your friends are inside.” You gestured toward the house with a nod of your head. It was true- all of Bucky’s closest friends were dancing the night away in your living room. And he was caught red handed.

 “Right…” His teeth dug into the smooth flesh of his cheek; his eyes roamed the yard. He should’ve known better than to use such a lame excuse- he did know better. He couldn’t casually lie around you; you knew him too well. But the pressure got to him, and forced cracks into his cool, marble surface. He hadn’t even expected to see you tonight, let alone talk to you. The painful awkwardness of the moment ate through him like acid.

“So… you can stay?” Your words came out too desperate, too expectant. But you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to get him to hang around- even if he didn’t seem excited about it. Hell, you’d beg him on your knees if that’s what it took. Anything to get him to stay. 

“Uh, yeah,” he shrugged. “I guess I can.”

Finally, he let his eyes land on you. After choosing to avert his gaze for so long, he wasn’t strong enough to do so any longer. He had to look at you, to take in every detail of your face. But as he drank you in slowly, inch by inch, in the light of the full moon, a strange solemnity sunk its teeth into him. Perfectly imperfect curls framed your face. A flawless diamond sat at the hollow of your throat. You were even wearing his favorite lipstick of yours- the one he said made you look like a vintage Hollywood star. He eyed your delicate, lacy white dress. Your white strappy heels with bows on the ties. Your white nails. And the perfect, glistening diamond adorning the ring finger of your left hand. 

Everything about you was so beautiful. So bridal. It made his chest tight.

“You look really nice,” he said, almost bashful. “Beautiful.”

“I, um- thanks. Thank you.” 

This stupid white dress. With its stupid lace and its stupid pearls and its stupid bridal flare. You hated it. Resented it. Wanted to take scissors to its seams. But if you were to play the role of Cole’s blushing bride, you had to dress the part, didn’t you? You had to don your fiancée costume and take part in the production. 

But, regardless of your feelings about the outfit, your heart still flared at Bucky’s compliment. One simple word of praise from him had such a startling, intense effect on you. And suddenly, you were in high school again. He filled you with a sense of giddy adoration that you hadn’t experienced since the tenth grade. This was the stuff of love notes stuffed into lockers. Of first kisses under the bleachers. But your feelings for him could never be as fleeting or as shallow as those of your youth. No, this was the stuff of forever. 

“Hello?” Bucky gave you a wave. “You okay?”

An awkward laugh escaped your chest, “Yeah. Sorry, I kinda spaced out there for a second. Did you say something?”

“I said, what are you doing outside?” He eyed the packed house. Twinkling lights shone through the windows. Crowds of people danced and drank champagne. Music wafted through the air. “Shouldn’t you be in there? At the party? Cause, you know, it’s for you.”

Just the thought of going back to the party made your stomach turn. Part of you wondered if you might be able to hide outside all night; just stay in the yard until the festivities came to a close. Hell, maybe you could even run away. You could get pretty far if you started walking and didn’t look back. By the time the party ended, you could be deep in the heart of Brooklyn- you could be at Bucky’s.

“Yeah, no, I probably-  I should be inside. But, I’m just…” you took in a sharp breath. It hitched in your windpipe and got stuck for a moment. “I got a little overwhelmed, you know? With the noise, and the people and the… everything. So, I came out here to-” To hide. To escape. To flee. “To get some air.”

Bucky could’ve sworn he sensed something lurking beneath your calm surface. It was the slightest change in your voice, the smallest twitch of your brow. He clocked the way your hands never stilled. The way your teeth dug into the inside of your cheek. Something was off. 

He sat in the long silence, waiting for you to open the vault and show him your secrets. But the lock remained secure. You didn’t say anything else, didn’t hint at the source of your discontent. He eyed your manufactured smile, but couldn’t seem to crack it. 

Things never used to be this way. He didn’t keep secrets from you, and you wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from him- there was no reason to. Neither of you had to fear judgement or ridicule from the other. Your most embarrassing stories, Bucky’s darkest thoughts- they were all safe with the other. 

But an unfamiliar disconnect had pulled the two of you apart. And Bucky could no longer read your soul like a book.

“Everything’s okay, though. Right?” He eyed you with suspicion. With concern. 

You nodded- maybe too fervently. “Yeah. For sure,” a fake smile stretched across your face, “Just stressed, I guess.”

“And he treats you right?” It was one of the things Bucky worried about most. Sure, the house was nice. And the ring was huge. But did Cole speak to you with kindness? Did he show you empathy and understanding? Did he make you feel safe?

“Yes.” 

Bucky breathed a small sigh of relief. Knowing that Cole handled you with care brought a sliver of ease to his worried mind. “So, you’re happy then?” 

It was all Bucky ever wanted for you. A safe life, a happy life. But the answer wasn’t yes or no. This  was the farthest thing from a black and white situation. On more than one occasion, you told yourself to just be happy. You thought that if you willed it, if you said it with conviction- then it would be true. And the happiness you were supposed to feel around your fiancé would magically spring up around you. But it didn’t. Every day, you waited. Every day, you told yourself to just be fucking happy. Cole gave you everything. He was nice and agreeable and provided you with the resources to do anything you’d ever wanted. But the happiness never came. At one point, you decided you’d settle for contentment. But that too evaded you.

“Um, do you wanna sit?” It was the best subject change you could come up with on such short notice. “The porch is free. Come on.”

Before Bucky could respond, he found your fingers linked with his. Chills traveled up his arm, over his shoulder, and across his scalp. Even the most innocent of your touches sent his dopamine levels through the roof. He’d never experienced ecstasy like this ever before- and knew he never would again. Especially not after your wedding.

He knew it was selfish to feel anything less than happy for you. You were engaged, you were getting married- this was what you wanted. You wanted marriage. A lifelong partner. A “till death do us part” kind of relationship. And now, you finally had it. So, who was Bucky to ruin it for you? Who was he to hope that you’d leave Cole at the altar? He forbade himself from ever being that selfish. If he was truly your closest friend, he had to be happy for you- even if it meant that he could never be anything more than your friend. 

With his hand in yours, you led Bucky to the porch. And regardless of the brand-new patio furniture Cole’s parents gifted you, you and Bucky opted to sit on the steps. Crickets chirped every now and again. A cool breeze wafted through the trees, rattling the leaves. Voices and music and the clatter of dishes seeped through the windows. You didn’t notice any of it.

Because, finally, you had what you wanted- if only for a moment.

It was the simplest, most innocent desire you’d ever had. To sit on the front steps with Bucky. To share a home with him. To drink coffee next to him on the porch each morning. To watch the rain from safety of your porch swing with Bucky’s head in your lap. 

If you ignored the white dress and the engagement ring and the pop of champagne bottles, you could almost believe that this was Bucky’s house, too. That the two of you could go inside and retire to bed. That you could wake up in the morning, wrapped in his arms. You could almost believe it. Almost.

The two of you sat in silence, planning your words carefully. Conversation felt like a mine field, and one misstep could send either of you to your death. But the warmth radiating off Bucky’s his body wrapped you in a familiar comfort. The narrow steps didn’t provide much in the way of sitting room, forcing Bucky to sit almost shoulder to shoulder with you- not that he’d ever complain. 

With every gust of wind, he caught a whiff of your perfume- the perfume he loved so much. The scent that often clung to his hair and weaved itself into the fabric of his clothes. It mixed with the smell of early spring- crisp air and new blooms. And he felt himself losing his resolve. He did his best to put distance between the two of you, to protect his heart and yours. But as you leaned your body against his and rested your head on his shoulder. He wondered why the fuck he’d ever leave your side.

You, too, lost all strength. And suddenly, you didn’t care about misspeaking. 

“I miss you, Buck…” Present tense. Because, even with him next to you, you missed him. Missed the way things used to be. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy with work, and trying to prove myself…” He let out a heavy sigh. Of course, regardless of his intentional distance from you, work really was killing him. “Everyone at SWORD is paranoid- they’re convinced that there’s a secret faction of Hydra growing within their organization.”

“Hmm, that’s so weird. I wonder why they’d be worried about that.” You gave bucky a nudge, and pulled a laugh- your favorite laugh- from his chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shot you an eye roll. “But you’re probably really busy, too. With all the wedding planning.”

His mention of the wedding shattered your perfect, maladaptive daydreams. All the noise from the party once again filled your consciousness. And the weight of Cole’s engagement ring felt like an anchor, dragging you down to the deepest, loneliest sea. Bucky wished he hadn’t brought it up as you removed your head from his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, no. It’s been-” you felt yourself closing off a bit, and did your best to fight it. “I haven’t actually planned a single thing. At all. So.”

Bucky gave you a strange look. It wasn’t like you to put things off, to procrastinate. He knew you to be an organized, ahead of the curve type of person. You were always the one who had a plan, always the one who over-prepared. He figured that in the few months since your engagement, you’d have planned at least a few things- if not the entire wedding and honeymoon.

“Do you have a date at least?” He pulled out his phone, “I want to put it in my calendar.”

Bucky would be there to support you no matter what, even if watching you marry another man killed him.

“Um, no, there’s no date yet,” you said. “Cole’s parents belong to a really fancy country club and said we could get married there- it’s beautiful. All I have to do is contact the club’s event coordinator and figure out which days are available. I just-” you dropped your eyes to the ground, “I haven’t yet.”

Bucky didn’t like your downcast gaze or your uncertain voice. There was something eating at you- he’d bet his life on it. Maybe you were just overwhelmed. Maybe you felt like you were behind on all the decisions that needed to be made. Either way, he wanted to help.

He threw you a shrug. “Well, there’s no rush, is there?” 

He took your left hand in both of his and gave it squeeze, but regretted the gesture when your engagement ring dug into his palm. You were getting married to someone else; he had to stop touching you like this. Had to stop treating you like you were still on the market. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or disrespect your relationship. And so, he dug his hands into his pockets. 

“I mean some people don’t start planning right away, right?” He said, “They wanna take their time and enjoy the engagement for a while, and-

“I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“Enjoying my engagement.” You had half a mind to take off the ring and launch it into the street. You’d dreamed about doing so every day, actually. Dreamed of throwing it on the subway tracks. Or dropping it through a grate on the street. 

Alarm ran through Bucky’s system like wildfire. “Is everything okay? Is it-”

Finally, you lifted your eyes and met Bucky’s stare.  

“I don’t want to marry him.”

Bucky felt his brain short circuit. He forgot how to breathe, how to speak. His thoughts tangled themselves together in tight, writhing knots. Words bounced off the walls of his skull without meaning. This wasn’t what he’d expected you to say. 

“Um, why-” he cleared his throat, “why not?”

He cringed at his own question. Maybe it wasn’t his business. Maybe you didn’t want to get into the details. But you were upset. And if there was any chance at all that you’d want to vent or use Bucky as a sounding board, he was going to listen. 

But there was nothing for him to listen to. For a long time, you didn’t answer. Because to you, the answer was stupid. To you, it sounded like bullshit. Like you’d wasted Cole’s time and love and money. Like you were some noncommittal, unsure child. You rolled your eyes at yourself- as you had every day since Cole’s proposal.

“I just don’t- I don’t love him,” you finally said. “I’m not in love with him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s great. He’s a really nice person…” And he was. He was kind. He was understanding. He was thoughtful. But he wasn’t the one- he wasn’t Bucky. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. And he’s given me- he’s given me everything. But, I just don’t love him like I-”

You stopped yourself. The words that danced on the tip of your tongue were too risky, too dangerous. You wrangled them before they had the chance to escape- before they had the chance to push Bucky away- and locked them behind bars. 

But they screamed inside your mind. ‘I don’t love him like I love you’ echoed again and again, reverberating every few seconds. Part of you feared Bucky might hear it.

“Um, I don’t love him like-” you rerouted, “Like I always imagined. You know? I don’t feel the way I thought I would.”

Bucky considered your words for a long time. Unlike you, he didn’t think it was bullshit. Or stupid. Or childish. He set his feelings for you aside, not allowing them to cloud his judgement, and thought about your predicament. 

“Well, you don’t have to, you know,” he finally said. “Marry him, I mean.”

You gave him a subtle nod. Maybe he was right. But a larger problem- a more important problem- loomed. And while you’d spent the past few months hemming and hawing about marrying Cole, there was another issue at hand that ate you alive every single day. 

“Why have you been avoiding me, Buck?” It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t accusatory. You just needed to know.

For the third time that night, Bucky found himself caught red-handed. “What?”

“Ever since I got engaged, you’ve been avoiding me.” 

The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. And though Bucky knew it was truth, his first instinct was to refute. To deny. To deflect.

“No, I haven’t. I’m not avoiding you,” he said, putting on an air of offense. “I’ve been busy with work and-”

“Don’t give me that.” Your heartbreak dissolved into cold, hard facts. Facts that Bucky couldn’t refute. “I used to see you almost every day. No matter how busy either of us got, we still saw each other all the time. We made time for each other. But ever since Cole proposed, you don’t answer my texts anymore. You don’t respond to my voicemails. I mean, I’ve only seen you-” The realization was startling. You knew Bucky had been distant, but as you quickly flipped through your memories of the past few months, you confirmed just how detached he’d been. “I’ve seen you twice. Including tonight.”

Bucky’s silence bit through your flesh. 

Part of you didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. But the question left your lips before you could stop it. “Buck, are you mad at me?” 

He shook his head. “No, why would I be?”

“Because Cole proposed, and I said yes.”

A look of bewilderment yanked Bucky’s features upward. Emotions flashed across his face at lightning speed. A scoff barked out of his throat.

“No. No, I’m not-” He was caught off guard. Struggling to cover his tracks. “I’m not mad. It’s not like that. I’m just-”

“What’s it like, then?” You stared at him, expectant. 

“Oh, come on…” It was all too much. He couldn’t be in such close proximity to you anymore. Couldn’t have you almost pressed against his side. 

He fled from his seat on the stairs and opted to stand in the grass. He paced for a beat or two, wearing down the fresh blades of greenery. And when he finally came to a stopping point, he couldn’t face you. Couldn’t look you in the eye. He just needed a moment. Needed some space. Needed to breathe air that didn’t wear your perfume. And when he cleared his mind- and his lungs- he turned to you.

“You know…” he let out a huff. “You know that things haven’t always been exactly platonic between us. You know that I’ve had- that I’m-” His metal fingers ran through his hair, “Anyway, I’m just… I’m trying to deal with this whole thing. I guess I’m not doing a good job.”

It wasn’t news to you. But it still struck you like lightning. 

Things between you and Bucky always teetered on the edge of romance. Always walked a tightrope between friendship and love. And while you adored a good “will they, won’t they” type of relationship on tv, it didn’t have the same charm in real life. The Nick and Jess, Sam and Diane, Janine and Gregory dynamic brought you only pain. Confusion. Heartache. Unfortunately for you, there wasn’t a room full of talented writers scripting your every interaction with Bucky. The two of you didn’t have a well thought out, perfectly planned arc that placed you in a relationship by the end of your third season as friends. No, the two of you were left to your own devices, navigating the difficult terrain without help. 

Part of you always believed that you and Bucky would end up together. Maybe it was the Ben and Leslie of it all. Or maybe it was your hopeless romantic side. But you truly thought things would work out for the two of you. The ring on your finger, however, said otherwise.

A wave of remorse washed over you. You rested your elbows on your knees and dropped your chin into your hands. “We just never got the timing right…”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“Our feelings for each other were always out of sync,” you lamented. “They ebbed and flowed over the years- just with opposite timing. When you had feelings for me, I was dating someone. When I had feelings for you, you were in love with another woman. It was just…” you cursed fate and destiny and everything in between. “It was bad fucking timing. 

A sharp edge rose in Bucky’s voice, “You think that’s what happened?”

You nodded, “Um… yeah. Yes.”

“You’re wrong.” He was steadfast. Resolute. He wanted to argue with you, wanted to prove you wrong. 

“What do you mean?”

“My feelings never ebbed- whether I was dating someone or not, those feelings never went away,” he said. There was a desperation in his voice. A longing you hadn’t heard before. “And they still haven’t. They’ve never gone away or even faded a little bit. I know you had fleeting feelings for me at one time or another, but mine weren’t temporary.”

It was bullshit- it had to be. Right? His “feelings” for you never seemed so concrete, so permanent. They weren’t even feelings; if anything they were more like passing flirtations. Momentary affections that dissolved every time a beautiful woman walked by.  

You let out a scoff, “Tell that to all of your girlfriends-”

“I only dated other people because I was losing my fucking mind.” His voice rose an octave or so  and he cut his eyes toward the house, watching for a sign that someone had heard him. “Every time you started seeing someone new, it was like I couldn’t breathe. So, I needed something- someone- to be a distraction. And I know that’s a dick move. But-”

You weren’t proud of it, but you were familiar with Bucky’s coping mechanism. With his tactics for surviving every new boyfriend of yours. “I did the same thing.”

“What?” He didn’t believe you- not even for a second. Your engagement ring wouldn’t allow him to. 

“Buck, I’ve had feelings for you since we became friends. It was pretty much immediate after meeting you. And they weren’t ‘fleeting’- or whatever you said.” The word actually offended you. “They’ve never ebbed.” 

You caught a glimpse of your engagement ring in your periphery and instantly dropped your hand into your lap, hiding the ring from your view- and Bucky’s. “I only dated other people because I didn’t think anything could actually happenbetween us.”

Bucky’s chest tightened. He instantly mourned the lost time, the years he could’ve spent with your lips on his. Of course, the friendship you shared was never a waste. And he’d never trade the years you spent as confidantes. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how different things could’ve been. How much mutual pain could’ve been avoided.

He took a step away from you, too confused and upset to be in your orbit.  “And you never told me any of this?”

Your brow furrowed; your lips stretched into a thin, frustrated line. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

With fury smoldering in your chest, you rose from your seat on the porch steps. Anger glistened behind your eyes and hurt coated your words. “I told you! I bared my fucking soul to you!”

The puzzle pieces came together for Bucky. He let his head tip back a bit and covered his face with his hands. He let out a deep groan that only added to your rage. He didn’t have to ask- he already knew what you were referencing. But the part of him that wanted a fight egged you on. “Oh my god, are you talking about that night at the bar?”

“Of course I am!” you spat. “I told you everything- I confessed everything! I told you I loved you and that I wanted to be with you. I told you I was in love with you. And you just brushed it off!”

Bucky grimaced, “I know...” 

He wandered a bit farther, putting a few more paces between your body and his. He knew he was wrong. Knew he fucked up. Every time he thought about what you said at the bar, and the way he reacted, he grew nauseous.

“But I didn’t think it was real.” Another wave of desperation sent his voice booming through the yard, “I didn’t know you actually meant it! And I didn’t think I should hold you to something you said after six margaritas.”

He had a point. He had good reason not to believe a drunken confession. But you gave a fervent shake of your head; it wasn’t his actions that night that hurt you, it was everything that followed.

“But you didn’t even acknowledge it!” The words echoed down your street. You wondered if your neighbors had gathered around their windows, watching yours and Bucky’s drama unfold like a soap opera. “You could’ve asked me about it the next day or-”

The pain in your voice cut Bucky deep. His tone was softer now, his voice a little quieter. He knew he should’ve handled things differently. Knew you deserved better. “Well, you never brought it up either…”

“I tried to!” A rogue tear dripped down your cheek. You wiped it away in a hurry, hoping Bucky hadn’t seen it- though you knew he had. “But you told me ‘not to worry about it’ and then you walked away. And that was it.”

Bucky watched as a few more tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. He wanted to wipe them away with the sleeve of his shirt. To offer you a hug. But he couldn’t- he was certain you’d swat him away. Regret sat in his stomach, weighing him down like lead.

“Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? I told you how I felt, and you pretended like it never even happened,” your voice wavered ever so slightly. “And when I tried to talk to you about it, you waved me off. I was so humiliated- I didn’t want to say anything else.”

The weeks that followed your drunken- but true- confession were some of the most miserable times of your life. Bucky simply carried on like normal, inviting you over for movies and pizza and wine. And you didn’t have it in you to pull away. To put some distance between the two of you. To take the time you needed to lick your wounds. And if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t want to stray from his side. Didn’t want to retreat. Because being around him was better than being without him, even if the rejection left you broken and bruised.

 “After that,” you shrugged, “I thought you didn’t want anything more than friendship with me.”

“But I-” Bucky shook his head; you were wrong- you were so wrong. He’d always wanted more, always wanted you. “I’ve always loved you…” 

“How was I supposed to know that? I mean, your string of girlfriends says otherwise.” You thought back on the litany- on the catalogue- of beautiful women Bucky paraded around. “And I know I dated other people, too. But you had so many. And you were so- you gushed about those women. You flaunted them. You talked about them nonstop.”

Bucky knew it was true. He brought his girlfriends to every event, every team dinner, every casual hang. The one time, the one place he deemed too sacred for the presence of his rotating cast of lovers, however,  was the one-on-one time you shared. He never dreamed of allowing them to tag along when it was just supposed to be the two of you- that was one line he’d never cross. He did spend a significant amount of time talking about them, though. He went on and on about his many, many forays into the dating world. And truth be told, you had trouble keeping track of all the names. 

Because, while you’d had a few boyfriends here and there, Bucky dated enough women to field a soccer team. Or two.

But you weren’t mad at him for it. You didn’t hate him for seeking companionship. You just couldn’t believe that he had real, legitimate feelings for you while simultaneously telling you that he planned to propose to Isabella. Or Nadia. Or Violet. 

“Honestly, you made it seem like you wanted to marry every one of them,” you told him. “The way you talked about them- it was like you were so in love. So, I didn’t think…” The whole situation was too messy. Too confusing. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to have real feelings for me. I thought you were a flirt. And a ladies’ man. And I thought you only showed me affection when you were bored between lovers.”

Bucky thought back on all the girlfriends. All the hook ups. All the times he left a one-night stand and ended up at your apartment after. He hated it- but you were right. He may have flirted with you; he may have showed you fleeting affection. And maybe he made a joke or two about growing old with you- but he never made a declarative statement. He never confessed his true and undying love for you. Never made the effort to take your friendship to the next level.

Only you’d been brave enough to do that. And he’d paid you dust.

“And I mean, you made it very clear that you didn’t want to talk about my feelings for you,” you said. A flood of familiar embarrassment rose around your ankles. You found yourself struggling to wade through it, just as you had after Bucky brushed you off. “So, I just… I found Cole. And I stayed with him- I stayed long enough that he asked me to marry him. And I knew you didn’t want me, so… I said yes.”

Bucky couldn’t imagine a reality in which he didn’t want you. “I’m so-” he slid a hand over his mouth. He let his head drop a bit. 

The weight of your words- of the truth- almost forced him to his knees. He’d only ever known longing, wanting, yearning- for you. And he always told himself you didn’t see him that way. But knowing now that you’d felt the same, that your confession was real and true, didn’t assuage the hurt. He couldn’t believe that he brushed you off. That he didn’t take the time and summon the courage to ask you about what you said at the bar. 

But he’d been too scared. Too scared he’d ruin your friendship. Too scared he’d make you uncomfortable. Too scared that your drunk words were just that- drunk words with no meaning.

As your point of view stood next to his, the puzzle pieces aligned. And the two of you finally got a look at the full picture. It was a picture of mutual love, mutual longing, mutual heartache. A picture of two best friends who couldn’t find it in them to have a serious- sober- conversation about their feelings for fear of ruining a good thing.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said. “I didn’t know you were serious at the bar. I didn’t mean to hurt you- I never want to hurt you.” He swiped his sleeve across his face, mopping up a stray tear that threatened to run down his cheek. “And I really didn’t mean to push you into the arms of another man. I just... I didn’t know you meant it.”

A tired sigh deflated your chest, “I meant it.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to handle the situation. He hated that things got so muddled. Hated that you felt so hurt. Hated that he hadn’t just been honest. The two of you were so close, so comfortable together, he never thought things could get this messed up. This disastrous. But he supposed it was par for the course. After the way his life had played out, why would he think that something as important as falling in love would be easy?

“So, it seems like we’re…” Bucky frowned, “terrible at this.”

“Yeah,” a dark laugh escaped your chest. “I guess we’re both stupid.”

Bucky nodded. If there’d been one- just one- honest conversation between the two of you, none of this would’ve happened. There’d be no Cole. No hurt feelings. No argument in the yard. All this time, you could’ve been sleeping next to Bucky each night. You could’ve shared a home with him. Kissed him good morning each time the sun rose. And the engagement ring- albeit a smaller one- resting on your finger would’ve been from Bucky. 

But it was too late now, wasn’t it? There was too much pain, too much hurt. And you were very much so engaged. Hell, you and Bucky were standing in the front yard of the house you shared with your soon-to-be husband. But Bucky had to ask, didn’t he? He had to dig deeper, to find the truth. 

And after he’d failed to acknowledge your truth last time, he wasn’t going to do it again. 

Knots twisted around in his stomach. His lungs failed to expand all the way. But he needed to know. “Do you still-

“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t leave even a sliver of room for doubt. “I still love you.”

Bucky said nothing. He simply drank in the words. Replayed them in his mind. Relished in the sound of your voice- sober and steady- saying that you loved him. It was all he’d ever wanted.

But his silence pushed you to the precipice.

“So, um,” your hands shook. “What about you? Are you-”

Bucky almost laughed. “Oh, come on. Of course, I do- of course, I love you. What kind of question is that?” He shot you a wink.

There it was- his truth laid out before you. And to think, you’d dreaded this night for weeks. Dreaded celebrating your engagement to Cole. Dreaded answering questions about your impending wedding. And now, the love you’d hoped for, the love you’d always wanted, laid perfectly spelled out for you in the grass. Somehow, the party celebrating your engagement to another man provided the perfect venue for Bucky to bare his soul.

And while the two of you relished in the others’ words of love, uncertainty still filled the air. Bucky stood firm on his side of the lawn, and you yours. This wasn’t a perfectly scripted episode of sitcom, there weren’t people telling you what to say. What to do next. Your shared predicament was messy and awkward. And though you didn’t have a director telling you how to act, you knew your neighbors were entertained.

“So, what do we…” Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. “What do we do now? You’re supposed to marry someone else. Your house is full of people celebrating your engagement. And-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. 

You pursued him across the lawn, stalking toward him until your lips crushed his. Instantly, his hands found your waist and pulled you tighter. Your hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders, and buried themselves in his hair. The chill in the air fell away. The noise of the party evaporated. Nothing existed outside of this moment, this kiss. Bucky snaked his arms around your back, encircling you completely. He wasn’t going to let you slip away. Not again.

But an errant sound from inside the house made a grab for his attention. And suddenly, the stark reality of the situation hit him like a train. 

He pulled away ever so slightly, only allowing a few millimeters between his lips and yours. His gaze landed on the packed house, “Someone might see us-”

“I don’t care.” You gave his hair a gentle tug and closed the gap between you. Now that you’d finally tasted his lips, you didn’t want to spend a moment without them. Ever.

And while Bucky wanted only this- only you- for the rest of his life, his anxiety needled at him as it always did. He did his best to swat his worries away and devote his focus to you and only you, but he couldn’t fight it. He had to tell you, had to clarify.

Again, he pulled away. 

“But you know I can’t- I can’t give you the things he can give you. You know that right?” He searched your face for any hint of realization. Any flicker of regret. “I mean, the big diamond ring, and the fancy wedding, and the house. I don’t want you to be disappointed, I don’t want you to-”

And again, you cut him off. Your mouth melted against his, hell bent on consuming him right then and there.

“Buck, I don’t want any of that,” you finally said when you came up for air. “I want you. That’s it.”

And there it was- Bucky’s confirmation that you wanted him for him. That you didn’t care about his small, shabby apartment. Or his lack of funds. That you loved him for who he was, not what he could gift you. 

“And honestly, all the fancy stuff isn’t really my vibe,” you shrugged. “I mean, I’m not really the type to play tennis at the country club. And I don’t use ‘summer’ as a verb.”

Bucky’s laughed boomed through the yard. It cut through the noise and chatter of the party and made you feel more at home than you ever did in this godforsaken house.

“So, do you want to make a run for it?” Bucky asked between long, deep kisses. “If we go now, I don’t think they’ll catch us.”

It was enticing. The thought of absconding with Bucky set you alight from the inside out. All you could think about was spending the night in his bed, wearing his clothes as pajamas, and then ditching them entirely for a night of passionate debauchery.

But there would be plenty of time for the two of you to make your escape- after you carried out the plan forming on the outskirts of your mind.

“I say, we run- but not quite yet,” you told him. “I think you give me a few minutes inside so I can snag a couple bottles of champagne and some of that fancy whiskey Cole’s dad brought by. And then we jump in the getaway car and run like hell. How does that sound?”

How could Bucky possibly say no to that? He watched with bated breath as you snuck back into the house and hoped to god that no one noticed your return.

And his prayers were answered. Everyone was so drunk, so distracted by the music and the lights, that they didn’t even glance in your direction. 

A quick trip to your room allowed you the opportunity to rid yourself of Cole’s ring. Sure, it was beautiful. And sure, Cole was a nice guy. But you didn’t want it, didn’t want to be shackled to him for the rest of your life. You slid the ring from your finger and instantly felt the weight of the world fall from your shoulders. It was the most instantaneous relief you’d ever felt- aside from kissing Bucky for the first time. You tucked the ring safely into the drawer of your nightstand and told yourself you’d return it to Cole tomorrow. 

Tonight, you had more pressing matters to attend to. You snaked down the hall to the kitchen, undetected by the raucous partygoers. And without drawing any attention to yourself, you snaked two bottles of champagne out of their ice bath and tucked a nice vintage whiskey under your arm. If you and Bucky were going to celebrate, you were going to do it in style.

With the alcohol safely cradled in your arms, you made a mad dash for the front door. But just as you turned the handle, the sensation of someone watching you gave you pause. Slowly, you turned around, fearing that you’d find Cole’s confused, heartbroken gaze staring back at you. Instead, it was Nat who’d caught you in the act. 

She gave you a wicked smile and mouthed “I told you so” from across the room. And with a sweeping gesture, she urged you to “go, go, go!” She didn’t have to tell you twice. Quick as a flash, you escaped out the door and sprinted down the porch steps. 

Bucky paced up and down the front walk, waiting for your return. Part of him feared that you might not return from your trip inside. Maybe you’d change your mind about the whole thing. Maybe you’d decide to stay with Cole. But the way you tore down the front steps and launched yourself into his arms quieted his anxieties. 

He took your face in his hands and captured your lips with his. “You got the goods?”

Your laugh vibrated against Bucky’s lips, “I don’t know about you, but I think stolen champagne tastes better.”

"That's my girl."

Bucky snaked an arm around your back and ushered you across the yard, out the front gate, and across the street to his car. He stole the booze from your grasp and placed the bottles gently in the back seat. And once he ensured that the alcohol you worked so hard to pilfer would make it home safe, he turned his attention to you. 

His hands slid over your hips and traced up your spine, sending goosebumps over your skin. His mouth met yours in a kiss full of love and desperation. Longing and need. This was what you’d always wanted. What you’d begged the universe for. What you’d cried and agonized over. And now it was yours- Bucky was yours.

He pulled away only a fraction of an inch, “You ready to go, baby?”

“Get me outta here, Buck.”

------------------------------------

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliameryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[melanthaeunomia]

Don’t you just love writing a 16 paragraph fanfic but cant even write a 3 paragraph essay for a school topic

[rosewood-multifandom-writer]

I’m gonna come back to this if I ever see a nickname that made me curl up into a ball of cringe lol, because oh my god, some of the nicknames you guys ran into sound so bad, lol. There are some that were mentioned I don’t mind. It cannot get any worse than “baby cakes,” or “papa bear (genuinely, wtf that sounds even worse than “daddy” and this is coming from someone who is into that nickname lol).”

When a fanfic writer puts a nickname you think Is icky in their smut fic

[burntsecrets]

Guilty as Sin

Pairing: Reader x Eddie Munson

Word Count: 1460

Prompt: Guilty as Sin by Taylor Swift

Summary: As the new girl in town, you’ve been warned to stay away from Eddie Munson, the school freak, but the fantasy of being with him consumes your thoughts until you can't tell what’s real and what isn’t.

Warnings: ​​Intense fantasy and obsession, emotional confusion and guilt, unsolicited warnings and social judgment.

You’ve heard it all before. The whispers, the sideways glances, the unsolicited warnings. 

"Eddie Munson? Seriously?" they say, with raised eyebrows and skeptical smirks, as if the very idea of him being more than the school freak is incomprehensible. They don’t know him, not really. They only see what they want to see—wild hair, heavy metal shirts, and those infamous D&D campaigns he holds in the Hellfire Club. To them, he’s the guy who didn’t fit, who refuses to blend into the mundane. 

But you... you've seen something different.

It’s a fantasy, isn't it? Or maybe it’s more than that. Either way, you can’t shake the thoughts—the ones that creep into your mind late at night when the world is quiet, and you’re alone with only your imagination to keep you company. That’s when Eddie Munson becomes more than just a distant figure at the back of the classroom. In those moments, he’s yours. 

You can see it so clearly, sometimes too clearly. It feels real, almost as if your mind is playing tricks on you. The way he’d hold your hand under the table, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. The way his voice would drop when he talks to you, low and rough, as if every word is a secret shared just between the two of you. His laughter—God, his laughter—ringing in your ears, free and genuine, breaking through the walls you’ve built around yourself.

You can imagine what they would say if they knew. The judgment, the disbelief. They’ve already told you who Eddie is supposed to be—a troublemaker, a loser, not boyfriend material. But they don’t know him. They don’t know the way his eyes soften when he thinks no one’s looking or how he’s always watching out for the ones who are as out of place as he is. You’ve seen it—those moments where the mask slips and the real Eddie shines through. 

Sometimes, you think you’re losing it. The lines blur between what’s real and what’s imagined, and you can’t help but wonder... are these just fantasies, or are they memories? Did you really feel his lips brush against yours one day, soft and hesitant, or was that just another one of your wild daydreams? You remember the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the way your heart raced when he whispered your name, but no... that couldn’t have happened. Could it?

It’s all in your mind. You’re drowning in the fantasy of him, and you let yourself sink deeper because reality—without him—is too dull, too empty. You picture him standing in front of you, sending a shiver down your spine as he leans in close, his breath warm against your skin. You’ve never kissed him, not really, but you imagine it every time you close your eyes. Messy top lip kiss. How you long for it, crave it, even though you’ve never felt it for real. But it doesn’t matter, does it? Because in your head, you’ve already done it all.

They don’t understand. The guilt you feel, the way your heart aches every time someone tells you to forget him. But how can you forget someone who’s carved himself so deeply into your thoughts, into your very being? How can you be guilty as sin for something that’s never happened yet feels more real than anything else? 

There’s a constant tug-of-war between what you want and what you’re allowed to have. Every day feels like you’re standing at the edge, staring down at the abyss, wondering if you should take that leap. But then you think of him—Eddie—and you know you’d jump, without hesitation, if it meant being with him. Even if it’s just in your mind.

You keep recalling things you never did. The stolen glances across the room, the way he’d smile at you when no one else was watching. The way you feel his hands on your waist, his lips against your ear, even though he’s never touched you. How can you be so sure it hasn’t happened? Because every time you think of him, it feels like you’re slipping, falling back into that fantasy, deeper and deeper until you can’t tell where it ends.

Maybe that’s why it feels so dangerous. You imagine the world finding out, the judgment that would rain down on you. They’d crucify you for loving him, for daring to dream of something different, something real. What if he’s written 'mine' on my upper thigh, only in my mind?  The thought makes you shiver because it feels true. It feels like something only you know, something sacred, even if it exists only in the corners of your mind.

And yet, you can’t stop. You won’t stop. Even if it’s all make-believe, it’s the only thing that makes sense, the only thing that feels right. You’ve chosen him, Eddie Munson, even if the rest of the world thinks you’re insane. You’ve screamed his name in the dead of night, whispered his secrets into the darkness, and you’ve built a world where it’s just the two of you. 

So what if it’s not real? It’s real enough. Without ever touching his skin, you know what it’s like to be his. You’ve built your desires, your longings, into something that feels like a vow, a promise neither of you will ever break. You don’t need to touch him to know what it would be like. You already know.

And then it happens. You’re standing at your locker, spinning the dial absentmindedly, lost in your thoughts of him again. It’s the same fantasy as always—you imagine him walking up to you, leaning against the lockers with that lazy grin that makes your knees weak. You picture him teasing you, something playful in his voice as he inches closer until his lips are just inches from yours. It’s a scene you’ve replayed a hundred times in your head.

This is where it always happens. Where you lose yourself in the daydream, where the fantasy becomes so vivid you almost forget it isn’t real. You can practically feel his presence beside you, smell the faint scent of cigarettes and leather, his warmth cutting through the cold, distant reality of the school hallways.

And then, there’s a voice.

“Hey, new girl,” he says, voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your heart skips, the sensation so real it almost startles you. You blink, forcing yourself to remember that this is just another dream, just another figment of your imagination. You’ve been here before, conjuring him up in the quiet spaces of your mind, letting yourself believe, if only for a moment, that he’s really standing in front of you. But this time, it’s different. There’s something about the way his eyes lock onto yours, intense and knowing. Something about the smirk that curls at the edge of his lips.

It’s just your mind playing tricks on you. It has to be.

But when he leans in closer, your breath hitches. You feel the warmth of his body, the soft brush of his lips as he whispers something you can’t quite hear. The world around you blurs, and for a second, you forget what’s real and what isn’t.

And before you can stop yourself, you close the distance between you. Your lips press against his—tentative, soft at first, almost like you’re testing the boundary between reality and fantasy. But he’s warm, solid. You feel the way he kisses you back, his hand brushing against your cheek, pulling you deeper into the moment.

The bell rings, a sharp sound cutting through the haze, and you pull back, breathless. Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a split second, you look into his eyes, waiting for the illusion to shatter, for the fantasy to slip away as it always does.

But he doesn’t fade. He stands there, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face.

“Took you long enough,” he says, his voice teasing, but there’s something deeper in his tone, something that sends another shiver down your spine.

You let out a shaky laugh, stepping back, still half-convinced that the world will snap back into focus and you’ll be standing alone, as you always are. You turn, walking away as your heart continues to race, the kiss still tingling on your lips. You tell yourself it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real.

But then, from across the hall, Eddie watches you go, his smile still lingering on his lips. He touches his mouth like he’s savoring the kiss, shaking his head slightly as if he can’t believe it just happened, either.

And as you disappear into the crowd, the truth lingers in the air—this time, it wasn’t a fantasy. 

This time, it was real.

[mixu2]

Fanfic writer please specify what gender reader is

Please please the next time you write x reader fanfics please specify what gender is or what pronouns you're going to use on reader, because you literally just wasted my wasted my time reading your works only to found out that reader is a female all along 💔🥀🥀🥀🥀

[kaleldobrev]

Prologue — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Unnamed Hunter Boyfriend (OC)

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 1.5k

Chapter Warnings: Age Gap (15 years) & Self-Loathing Dean

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | Thoughts are in italics | Switches between reader & Dean's POV but it's still written in the second person | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

Dean sat on the edge of his bed looking at his surroundings that he hadn’t seen in so long. Although it’s only been a few months, it felt like an eternity to him. Everything was still in the exact same place he had left it; and he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved about that or not.

Being in his bedroom back in the Bunker came with a wide variety of emotions. He was happy to be back in a place that he had called home for the past several years, a place where he was finally able to have his own room again since he was four years old. But yet, there was another part of him that wanted to take his keys and drive off somewhere. He loved Sam, he loved Cas but, it was hard to face them again after everything he had done, and after everything he had put them through. Not only during the months he was gone, but during the short amount of time they were trying to cure him of a disease he strangely enjoyed.

“You weren’t you,” Sam had told him repeatedly as if he was a broken record. But Dean didn’t believe his words for a second. He enjoyed being a demon more than he liked to admit. Being able to kill whoever he wanted whenever he wanted without consequence fueled him. Being able to fuel the Mark was easy, being a demon was easy. Being a demon weirdly came natural to him.

Sitting at your desk, you endlessly scrolled through news story after news story, trying to find any excuse to leave your apartment, as it was a place that was currently not giving you the usual sense of peace it tended to provide you. Your apartment was usually your safe space, a place that you could relax and unwind in after a tough hunt. But ever since your boyfriend moved in, it had become a place that you no longer felt safe and calm in.

You and your boyfriend hadn't been together for that long — roughly a year — but during a majority of your relationship, it has been argument after argument, and the arguments were always about the same couple of things. He was either disrespecting you or upset that you didn't bring him along on one of your hunting trips.

He hadn't been a hunter for long — barely two years — and you met him within his first year. You had met him while on a werewolf case, as the two of you found the same lead and decided to work together since he really had no experience with werewolves. For some reason, the two of you clicked, and had been together ever since.

Whenever you and him tended to get into an argument, you wondered why you were still with him, knowing that you could do better. He didn't treat you right, and often undermined you in front of other hunters, sometimes taking credit for your own hunts. You tried to rationalize it, often saying that he was the best you were ever going to do because there was no way you could be with someone that wasn't a hunter, as you felt being with someone that wasn't one would put them in more harm, and you couldn't risk it. But the words of your mother started echoing in your head now, "It's better to be alone than to be with someone who disrespects you." You knew she was right; she was always right.

As you were about to give up, a news story finally jumped out at you, and it screamed poltergeist — your specialty.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, wanting more than anything to fall asleep; but the events of the last few months kept replaying in his head. "You weren't you," Sam's words repeated again and again.

No matter how many times Sam's words repeated, Dean still refused to believe it, as when he was a demon, he felt more like himself than he had been in such a long time; and that scared him.

The things that he did as a demon he would have done regardless; but the only reason he did the things that he did was because he knew there were no consequences, his conscience wasn't trying to stop him. Sam or Cas weren't there to stop him especially.

The Mark started itching again, getting hot with need. I need to kill something, he thought.

Getting off the phone with you, Sam sighed, looking at his slinged arm. There was no way he was going to be able to help you with this case, but it was far too late to call you back now; not after he already agreed to help you. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you, as you were a big help to him while Dean was gone.

Sam was impressed by you to say the least, as despite your age, you were a damn good hunter with a decent amount of experience under your belt. He hadn't known you for very long — meeting you within the last couple of months — but you had quickly become someone he had grown to deeply trust; and he was incredibly thankful for that, and thankful for you.

Placing his phone back into his pocket, he grabbed his duffel bag and started packing some of the essentials. The case you asked him to join you on was one that was pretty straightforward, so he assumed it wouldn't take more than a couple of days. That's when his mind started to wander, wondering why you had asked for his help in the first place, as poltergeists were one of your specialties and it was the type of case that you could do in your sleep, but yet, you asked him for help.

Closing up your laptop, you grabbed it bringing it over to your bed, before going underneath it and grabbing your duffel. You started packing all of the essentials for a case that would only take you a couple of days. The case was an easy one, one that you could easily do in your sleep, but yet, you called Sam Winchester to help you. There was a small twinge of regret after you got off the phone with him, and you debated back and forth as you packed to call him back up again and tell him, 'Never mind, I got this Sammy.' But deep down, you wanted the company; you wanted to be with someone that treated you like an equal unlike your boyfriend.

"Going on a case?" Your boyfriend asked from behind you.

You turned to look at him for a moment, and he was leaning against the doorway, staring at you as you packed. "Yes," you said, plainly. Even if you weren't going on a case, you felt like you didn't need to explain anything to him.

"Where's the case? I can join you," he offered. But his offer wasn't a genuine one, as the only reason he offered to go with you was to try and make up the argument to you in some way. But you weren't in the mood for any of his gestures.

"Tulsa," you said. "I already called another hunter to help me."

"What hunter?" He asked, making his way to the bed so he could sit down on the edge like he usually did whenever you were attempting to pack for a case.

You looked at him again, annoyed that he kept interrupting your packing. He didn't need to know what hunter was going with you, and he didn't know where the case was going to be. But yet, you felt like you needed to tell him in order to get him off your back. "Sam Winchester," you said simply, and you saw his eyes grow wide.

"Sam Winchester?" He questioned. "Really?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with Sam Winchester?" You asked, curious as to what he had to say about him, as you knew he had never met him. But there were times when you and him would be spending time with fellow hunters, and he would claim that he knew Sam; a bold statement that, whenever said, you tried to hold back a laugh.

“Nothing it’s just…the Winchester’s tend to get a lot of their partners killed,” he said. Your brows furrowed, not only because you were confused on where he heard that, but you’ve hunted with Sam a few times already, and your boyfriend never brought that up to you before.

“I’ve hunted with Sam a few times now, and I’m still alive,” you said, zippering up your duffel. “He’s a great hunting partner, very careful.”

“For now, you’re alive and for now he’s being careful. What happens when he bails on you to save himself?” Your boyfriend asked, his tone excitable now.

“I don’t know because I know for a fact that won’t happen,” your tone was serious and stern, defensive. Despite not knowing Sam for a long time, you trusted him more on hunts than your own boyfriend. “I trust Sam.”

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 1

Tag List: | @roseblue373 | @snakebxtez | @deanwanddamons | @missy420-0 | @hannahisthebanana | @madzzz0797 | @livingordeadwhoknows | @grx-deanslovr | @nancymcl | @jacklesbrainworms | @savagemickey03 | @deanbrainrotwritings | @rachiem4-blog | @syrma-sensei | @justletmereadfanfic | @deans-daydream | @midorimachisenpaii | @anamiad00msday | @beansproutmafia | @queenie32 | @deansbbyx | @deans-spinster-witch | @ficmesideways | @frozenhuntress67 | @coldspoons | @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden | @androah | @zulema222 | @k-l-a-w-s | @the-achievementhunter | @k-slla | @mrlonelycat | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @ladysparkles78 | @jackles010378 | @zepskies | @mrsjenniferwinchester | @globetrotter28 | @missscarlettangel | @foxyjwls007

[will0waesthetic]

Things I don’t understand in fanfics

At the beginning of a story the reader has a life (work , friends , hobbies) and then when she meets the character it’s like those things disappear

When the fem reader quit her job when they get married 💀

I don’t understand the whole “oh he is such a girl dad” in fanfic, like would he treat the kid different because it’s a girl 🤡 it’s a little sexist in my opinion , and the way every time it’s a girl she make tea parties or want to put makeup on everyone like omg

The reader never getting abortion

Why is reader always weak (This point is for jujutsu kaisen fic , we need more ,powerful , crazy fem reader , like she enjoy killing curses )

Why reader never saying no to moving in with the character (don’t need to live together to be in a relationship)

[marblemoovt]

Current mood

[casey1-2007]

What's the Truth?

Fiyero x reader angst

This story has a sad ending. It has some differences from the Wicked movie and/or musical, in addition to the Reader insert. Story involves themes of jealousy, unrequited love, flirting, kissing, etc.

Summary: Fiyero Tigglar reunites with Reader, his childhood best friend, long after communication between them stopped, at Shiz University. But feelings are hurt, hearts are broken, and Reader finds themself mourning a love they could have had. Will Fiyero be able to make things right before Reader gives up on him forever?

Note: Not exactly based off of the musical or movie, at least not exactly. This is my first time posting something original. Hope you like it.

Please comment to let me know if you want any other one shots/stories like this. Whether a continuation of this one or something else.

The halls of Shiz University echoed with laughter and chatter, but Y/N could only hear the pounding of her own heart. She watched from around the corner as Fiyero - her Fiyero, her childhood best friend, the boy who used to climb trees with her in the Vinkus - smiled down at Galinda. The blonde beauty was practically hanging off his arm, giggling at something he'd said.

"Oh Fifi, you're simply perfect!" Galinda's high-pitched voice carried through the corridor.

Y/N's stomach twisted. Fifi. When had that nickname started? She remembered when he was just Yero, racing through the palace gardens with her, sharing secrets under starlit skies. Before he stopped writing. Before everything changed.

She turned away, clutching her books tighter to her chest. The silver locket around her neck felt heavy - a gift from him on her sixteenth birthday, the last time they'd seen each other before Shiz. Inside was a pressed blue iris, his favorite flower to give her.

"Y/N!" His voice made her freeze. "Wait up!"

She considered running but forced herself to turn around, plastering on a smile. "Hey Fiyero."

"I've barely seen you lately," he said, falling into step beside her. His presence was achingly familiar - the scent of sandalwood and something distinctly him, the way he walked with that slight swagger.

"Well, you seem busy," she replied, unable to keep the edge from her voice. "With Galinda."

He ran a hand through his hair - a nervous habit she remembered well. "About that..."

"Don't," she cut him off. "You don't owe me any explanations."

But he did. He owed her an explanation for every unanswered letter, for every promise broken, for making her fall in love with him only to watch him fall for someone else.

That night, after seeing Galinda announce to everyone at dinner that she and "Fifi" were officially courting, Y/N finally broke. The tears came hot and fast in her dorm room, quiet sobs muffled by her pillow.

A soft knock at her door made her hastily wipe her eyes. "Who is it?"

"It's me." Fiyero's voice was soft, uncertain.

She considered ignoring him but knew he wouldn't leave. Opening the door, she saw his face fall at her tear-stained cheeks.

"Sweet Oz, Y/N..."

"What do you want, Fiyero?"

Instead of answering, he stepped forward and kissed her. It was everything she'd dreamed of and nothing like she'd imagined. His lips were soft, desperate, tasting of mint and regret.

When they broke apart, both breathing heavily, he pressed his forehead to hers. "I love you. I've always loved you."

"Then why?" she whispered, voice breaking.

"I don't want to hurt Galinda. She's... fragile. We need to keep this quiet, just for a while."

Y/N stepped back, cold washing over her. "How long is a while?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

The words hit like physical blows. "So I'm supposed to watch you parade around with her? Pretend my heart isn't breaking every time she calls you 'Fifi'?"

"Please understand..."

"I understand perfectly," she said, voice hollow. "You want us both. But I won't be your secret, Fiyero. I deserve better than that."

The distance grew after that night. Y/N threw herself into her studies, avoiding the dining hall when she knew they'd be there. But she couldn't avoid seeing how Fiyero's gaze increasingly followed Elphaba - the same longing looks he used to give her.

One afternoon, after watching him stare after Elphaba in history class, Y/N felt the last piece of her heart crack. She'd lost him not once, but twice.

"Y/N, please," he caught up to her after class. "Talk to me."

"There's nothing left to say," she replied, fingering the locket she still wore. "You can't keep everyone happy, Fiyero. Sometimes you have to choose."

"I choose you," he said desperately. "I'll tell Galinda today, I promise."

She smiled sadly, unclasping the locket. "No, you won't. Because you're not that boy from the Vinkus anymore. And I'm not that girl who waited for your letters."

She pressed the locket into his palm, the metal warm from her skin. "Goodbye, Yero."

As she walked away, she heard him call after her, voice breaking: "I'm sorry."

But sorry wasn't enough to mend a heart broken three times over - once when he stopped writing, once when he chose Galinda, and once when his eyes found Elphaba. Some love stories, Y/N realized, were better left in childhood memories and pressed flowers in silver lockets.

[midnight-talescape]

𝒟𝑜𝓁𝓁(𝐵𝓊𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇)

Kinktober Day 23: Aphrodisiac (sorta)

Has it been like a week since I last updated? Maybe.

But trust I was writing during the week I just couldn’t finish it and I didn’t like how the one I finished look so I yeeted them :’(

I will probably rework them and then publish them after kinktober or something.

This is very ooc though, I really wanted to write Bucciarati unzipping reader so he can use them like a portable fuck toy, but that also seem super out of character unfortunately.

Warning: aphrodisiac like stand ability, inappropriate use of stand, he unzipped your limb and use you like a fuck toy, yes im kinky like that bite me, ooc, etc etc you get the point not for kid

Genre: filthy filthy smut

Word Count: 3.7kish

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“Thank you, Bucciarati. We will sort out everything as soon as possible, before then they will be under your protection.”

He had nodded his head when Giorno explained the situation to him.

It was a simple job.

Be your bodyguard and protect you at all cost until Giorno sort out some business with your father.

Usually this sort of job wouldn’t fall onto him. Ever since he became the new underboss of Passione he’s usually helping Giorno with some other mission or attending meetings.

But this was different.

Your father was insistent on your safety being guaranteed and he was the best person for the job.

Or the only person for the job, since your father said that the other members of the team were either too immature, hotheaded, serious, or as he said (very aggressively, Bucciarati sigh as he remembered the look on your father’s face.)

“I will rather die then let that womanizer near my fucking child.”

Your father’s protectiveness over you, had left the only person he semi trust to take care of you in his wake, Bucciarati.

He sigh again before tidying up his suit and knocking on your door.

He was ready to face whatever challenge he may face in the next few weeks as he protect you.

What he hadn’t expected was the sound of his heart racing as the door open, and he finally saw you in all your glory.

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You poke your head out of the door shyly as you heard the knock. Your eyes squinting slightly as you look up at him, unused to the bright sunlight, having stayed inside for most of your life.

“A-Are you Mr.Bucciarati?” You ask quietly before letting out several uncontrollable cough, causing Bucciarati’s eyes to furrowed in concern,

You were the opposite of anything he expected.

It was no secret that you were sickly, your father had made that abundantly clear. It was one of the reason why people rarely ever sees you in public and why your father was so protective of you.

But he had still expected someone who… acted more like the child of a Mafia Don. Someone who was perhaps a little spoiled under your father’s coddling.

He hadn’t expected you to be so shy and so… beautiful.

Beautiful and fragile, like you were made of glass and will break with a wrong move.

He mentally chastise himself for his thought before replying gently, his Italian accent softening his words, “Yes, i'm here to be your bodyguard for the moment until your father return."

His concern for you rise again as you breaks into coughs again. Without thinking, he steps closer and rub your back softly trying to soothe you.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)? Do you want to go inside?" he suggests giving you an encouraging smile, wanting to put you at ease in his presence. "I want to make sure you're taken care of.”

“I’m alright, Mr.Buccirati. I’m use to it already, thank you for your concern.” You answered meekly at his concerns, before opening the door wider so he can come in, “You don’t need to do anything, Mr.Bucciarati. I can take care of myself.”

"I'm sure you can, but it's my job to protect you. And that includes taking care if you during the time being," he replied firmly but kindly, closing the door behind him. His eyes briefly scanned the interior of your home, checking for any potential threats or areas of concern.

“Father’s too protective of me, I’m already a adult…” you said with a little huff, but there was a soft smile on your face,

You appreciated your father’s love for you even if he can be a little coddling, knowing that he only want the best for you.

He chuckle lightly as you huffed about your father's overprotective tendencies, his expression softening with understanding.

"Yes, I can imagine, he seems very protective of you."

His tone was teasing, but he couldn’t help but agreed with your father. While you might be technically an adult now, you still look…

Well, too delicate to be the heir of a mafia

He thought silently as he turned his attention back to you. He hesitated for a moment, before reaching out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, "And please, call me Bucciaratu. Mr.Bucciarati is too formal for my liking."

“…Bucciarati…”

"That's better,"

The corners of his mouth curve into a warm smile at the sound of your soft voice calling his name, it was a simple word yet somehow it sounded beautiful coming from you.

You look to the side as you see his smile, your face flushed in embarrassment as you quickly lead him to his room, “I will show you the place you will be staying at, Bucciarati…”

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You’re a delicate flower that bloom in the darkest corner of Italy.

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

“You shouldn’t sleep here…” Bucciarati said softly as he spot your curled up form on the couch,

You look up at the sound of his voice, letting out a incoherent mumble before falling back onto the couch already asleep again.

With a sigh and a soft smile that he didn’t notice on his face, he gently carried you into his arm before heading towards your room.

“Let’s get you back to bed…”

As you buried yourself into his chest, you let out another mumble, not noticing the slight shiver that went up Bucciarati’s body as he felt your breathe against his bare chest.

Or the way his heart pound against his chest as he hold you close to him.

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

It all happened so fast.

You were attacked on your way back home, after being cooped up in your house for weeks.

Of course you tried protesting at first, but you had eventually relented under his firm gaze.

“Don’t move, Bucciarati…”

You quickly wrap his arm up with practice ease, your hand shaking as you finally finish tying the knot, “…I’m sorry…”

Bucciarati eyes narrowed ever so gently as he watch you bit your lip nervously, not understanding why you will be apologizing for something out of your control.

Beside the wound itself isn't too serious, barely something that he will care about if he was by himself.

"Don't apologize, this isn't your fault," he said firmly as he reaches out to give you a light pat on your head, wanting to comfort you, "Beside, i've had worse.”

But it was no use. Seeing the guilt that still linger on your face, he opened his mouth, wanting to say more. To reassure you, to comfort you, to wipe away the hint of tears in your eyes.

But suddenly his body froze, letting out a loud groan. His body starting to shake as he felt a sudden wave of heat wash over him, his hand desperately clawing at his suit.

“Bucciarati! What’s wrong?” Your voice filled with worry as you hold onto him, his body felt unnaturally warm under your hand, “Are you okay?”

Sweat start to form on Bucciarati’s face as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Something was terribly wrong.

He tried to move away from you, to distance himself before he hurts you. Before he do something that he will regret.

"Stay back... there’s something wrong with me..." he warn weakly, his eyes glazed over with lust as another wave of heat wash over him,

With that, he collapse against you. His arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"(Y/N)... I..." he breathes out helplessly, wanting to do so much more to you,

To be closer to you, to be inside you, but he couldn’t.

He shouldn’t.

But god does he want to...

“What’s wrong?” You asked again, your eyes wide at his uncharacteristic behavior, hesitating before wrapping your arm around him, “I-is there anything I can do?”

He grits his teeth at your word, trying desperately to regain control over himself and his actions. His hands were trembling as he gripped your waist. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum.

He wanted nothing more than to pull you closer, to press his lips against your soft skin, to feel every inch of your body against his...

"T-the enemies stand must have done something..." he manage to groan out, his voice strained, “…you need to stay away from me…”

The sudden wave of lust that coursed through him was overwhelming, and so wrong on so many levels.

He was supposed to protect you, not... not this.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he forced himself to release you.

"I... I need to leave," his voice hoarse with barely restrained desire. "I... I can't..."

As he continues rambling, trying to control himself and his flushed face, it felt like a lightbulb went off in your head as you realized what’s wrong.

You should let him leave.

But almost as though you was being bewitched, you grabbed onto his sleeve before whispering softly, “I can help you, Bucciarati…”

He froze at your words, staring down at you with a mixture of shock and desperation.

You couldn't possibly mean that, could you?

You were so innocent, so pure, and he was... he was a filthy dog, driven mad with lust.

He should leave, should put as much distance between you as possible. But the way you're looking at him, the way your fingers are curled around his sleeve... it's so tempting.

"(Y/N), you don't know what you're saying."

But even as those words leave his mouth, he can feel his resolve crumbling. He couldn't seem to make himself move, couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from your beautiful face. His hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your fave as he leans in close.

"Please... tell me to stop..." he whispers, his lips mere inches from yours, "Tell me to leave before I do something we both regret."

You didn’t answer.

Your eyes flutter nervously as you lean in, pressing your lip against his, and for a moment, he stood there frozen. You were kissing him, and it was making his head spin.

He knew he should pull away, should put an end to this before it went any further. But the feeling of your soft lips against his, the slight tremble in your hands as they gripped his shirt... he couldn't bring himself to push you away.

Instead, he found himself deepening the kiss, his hands coming up to tangle in your hair as he pulled you closer. He could taste the faint hint of sweetness on your tongue, could feel the heat of your body seeping into his own.

It was pure insanity, the way you were affecting him. He wanted more, needed more. His hands began to roam over your body, slipping under your shirt to caress the soft skin beneath. He could feel your heart racing against his chest, could hear the slight hitch in your breath as his fingers trailed lower.

"Mi cara..." he rasps out between kisses, his voice low and husky with desire. "You have no idea what you're doing to me..."

“What do I do to you, Bucciarati?” You asked, you voice hoarse and you lip swollen from the kiss.

He stared at you the desperation in his eyes practically consuming him. You were driving him mad, and he couldn't seem to find the willpower to resist you.

"You make me want things I shouldn't want," he grits out, his hands fisting in your hair as he pulls you closer. "You make me forget who I am."

He could feel the heat building in his loin, could feel his body responding to your touch despite his best efforts to remain in control. His hips pressed forward instinctively, seeking friction against the soft curves of your body.

"I'm supposed to be protecting you,"

But instead he wants to explore every inch of you, to learn every curve and dip until he knows your body better than his own.

"Please, mi cara. Tell me what you want."

“I want you Bucciarati.”

Those three words sent him crumbling.

You want him.

You, with your sweet smile and innocent eyes, wants him - a mafioso who didn’t deserve you. You deserved so much more than this, so muchmore than him.

But the way you were looking at him, the way your body was pressed flush against his... it was enough to shatter what little control he had left. He could feel the last of his restraint snapping, replaced by a burning need that consumed him utterly.

"You don't know what you're asking for," but even as he said that, his hands roam your body with urgency, his cock straining against the confines of his pants.

He lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you towards the nearest surface — a table, a countertop, anything that would allow him to lay you down and fuck you stupid.

You barely had a moment to breathe as you was placed onto the table, before he was on you again.

“S-slow down, Bucciarati…” you cried out softly, your neck arching up as he bit down.

Your clothing was already strewn across the living room, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from your form sprawled out beneath him. You look so small, so fragile, like a delicate little doll just waiting to be played with. The thought sent a thrill of excitement through him, his cock twitching eagerly in his pants.

Without warning his stand activated, Sticky Finger appearing behind you his hand hovering over your body, waiting for his command. You look up at him your eyes wide, innocent and full of trust that he didn’t deserve, so unaware of what was about to happen to you.

It was so fucking wrong.

You didn’t deserve what he wanted to do to you.

But he couldn’t help it.

“Please forgive me, mi cara…” was the only warning he gave before Sticky Finger swipe against your body,

You let out a surprise gasp as you felt your limb being disconnected from you.

“B-Bucciarati what’s happening…”

It wasn’t unpleasant to say the least, just strange and unexpected. But the feeling of helplessness, of not being able to move was terrifying.

Bucciarati didn't answer your question immediately. He couldn't. Not when you were looking at him with those big, confused eyes, tears glistening on your lashes. The sight of you lying there, your limbs scattered around you like broken doll parts, painfully erotic to him.

"Shh, it's okay mi cara," he murmured, reaching out to brush away the tears that had begun to fall. "Don't be scared. I won't hurt you."

But he knew they were a lie. He was already hurting you, he wanted nothing more than to use you like a toy, to pose your limbless body however he pleased and fuck you until you scream his name.

"You're going to be a good girl for me, aren't you?" he ask before he slipped two fingers into your tight pussy,

You cried out beneath him, your body jerking slightly at the sudden intrusion, But despite your pain you tried to stay still, not that you could move in your state.

“I-I will be good… I will be good for you, Bucciarati…” you said trying not to sob as your pussy was spread open on his fingers,

God, you were so perfect, so trusting even as he violated you in the most intimate way possible.

He hated himself for doing this to you, for taking advantage of your trusting nature. But he couldn't seem to stop himself as the lust course through him, couldn't resist the temptation you presented.

He tried to be gentle as he thrust his fingers deeper, but his cock throbbed almost painfully. His mind filled with imagine of all the deprave things he could do to your helpless body.

He could feel your walls fluttering around his digits, could hear the breathy little moans that spilled from your lips as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it, mi cara," his free hand coming up to tweak one of your nipples roughly. "Be a good little doll for me."

You let out a loud wail as you was brought to the edge, your pussy clenching around his finger as he rammed into your g-spot.

He watched you come apart beneath him, hecould see the way your body shuddered and twitched as the orgasm tore through you. Only when you became a writhing, sobbing mess did he withdraw his fingers.

The sound of your crying made him want to keep you like this forever - helpless and dependent on him for everything. His little treasure, his perfect doll that he could play with whenever he wanted.

“W-wait… Bucciarati slow down… please…” you whimper as you felt him grabbing your waist, picking you up and aiming his cock at your pussy,

He could feel your fear, could hear it in the tremble of your voice as you beg him to slow down.

Part of him wanted to give in to your pleas, to be gentle and make sure you were ready for him. But a dark part of him wanted to abuse you, to use you like nothing but a toy.

"Shh, it will only hurt for a moment mi cara,"

And then he's pushing inside, stretching you open around his thick cock. You scream beneath him, your body trying to reject the intrusion. But there's nowhere for you to go, no way for you to escape.

He starts to move, setting a brutal pace that has you crying out with every thrust. Your pussy is so tight around him, gripping him like a vice. He can feel every flutter, every desperate clench of your walls as he pounds into you mercilessly.

Your cries turn to choked sobs as he pounded into you harder and harder, each brutal thrust tearing through your tight little cunt. You could feel every inch of his cock as it stretched you open, could feel the way it was reshaping your insides to fit him perfectly.

It hurt, god it hurt so bad. But there was something else too, something so satisfying in being use in this way that it makes your eyes roll back in your head. He was ruining you, destroying you with every snap of his hips. Breaking you down until all that was left was a mindless, needy thing that craved his cock.

“C-can’t… can’t take this anymore… gonna cum.. Bucciarati i’m gonna cum again!”

He could tell you were close again, could feel your pussy clenching down around him as he pounded into you mercilessly. The sight of your body jerking and twitching as another orgasm ripped through you, was almost enough to make him lose control and spill his cum inside you already.

"That's it, mi cara," he growled out, his hips snapping forward faster and harder with every word spoken. "Cum for me. Cum on my cock like a good little doll."

He could feel his own release approaching, could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his loin. He wanted to fill you up, to paint your insides white with his seed until it leaked out of you for days.

With a feral snarl he reached down, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it harshly. Your scream echoed through the room as you came again, the orgasm bordering on painful.

As you try to come down from your high, Bucciarati’s mind finally cleared up. His face was filled with guilt and horrir as he saw the state you were in.

“I’m sorry, mi cara… I shouldn’t have lost control.” Bucciarati apologized as he quickly zipped up your limbs, holding you tightly in his arm as he try to figure out a way to make up his actions,

“It’s okay…” you said softly as you buried your face in his neck, “I asked for this, it’s okay. It’s not your fault…”

You guys stayed like that for a few moments. Basking in the afterglow and the consequences of what just happened.

Bucciarati only started moving again when he felt your eyes close, clearly tired from everything that you went through.

Placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he start carrying you to your room.

He will deal with the consequences if his actions.

Because after all.

He’s not letting you go.

[selfless-solipsist]

Nothing Ever Changes

[Wander x Anti-Hero GN Reader] (a.k.a my take on what season 3 COULD be)

NEW FIC DROP ✨🚀 [A Wander Over Yonder Fic Featuring Chaos, Romance, and Hater Losing His Mind]

The Yonder Galaxy is gone. Poof. Done. Toast. Well, mostly. What’s left of it? A highly questionable spaceship filled with way too many villains, heroes, Watchdogs (so many Watchdogs), and one insufferably cheerful orange furball who won’t stop looking at you like you hung the stars.

BUT WAIT, what’s that in the distance? A planet? No, the planet. A galaxy? A utopia. Perfect. No worries, no struggles, no needs, no problems—no help required. Ever.

And hey, don’t you want to be happy? Of course you do. That’s what he is here for.

🛑✨ COMING SOON TO AO3 ✨🛑

���� YOU. A chaotic, morally flexible menace. The universe’s biggest problem. Your backstory? You stubbed your toe. Seriously. A known force of destruction with no allegiance to good or evil, just to fun. You were out here living your best life—stealing thrones, messing with Hater, breaking intergalactic laws for the aesthetic—when the galaxy up and DIED. Now you’re TRAPPED. On a spaceship - The Star Nomad. With EVERYONE YOU'VE EVER ANNOYED.

💖 WANDER. Your insufferably happy, banjo-playing, sunshine-powered, hopelessly-in-love roommate. He’s been crushing on you forever, and the worst part? He’s smooth about it. No blushing. No stammering. Just pure, unshakable confidence. He’s somehow simultaneously adorable and the biggest threat to your sanity.

☠️ LORD HATER. Screaming. Just, constant screaming. His empire is dead. His chairs are gone. His stress levels are astronomical. You don’t know what’s funnier—his mid-life crisis or the fact that he’s stuck in a room with Peepers.

🦾 COMMANDER PEEPERS. Workaholic. Evil mastermind. Also desperately trying to keep this ship from imploding. Is this his villain origin story? Unclear. What is clear is that he’s the only one who knows how to fix things, and nobody listens to him.

🐴 SYLVIA. Your begrudging friend and the ship’s unofficial security officer. She’s ready to throw hands at all times. Has teamed up with RIPOV, aka the most terrifying woman alive, for maximum destruction. Together, they may or may not be planning an intergalactic heist just to pass the time.

🔥 LORD DOMINATOR. Unbothered. Moisturized. Thriving. She only shows up when it’s convenient for her and hasn’t done a single chore. No one knows what she’s planning, and honestly? No one wants to ask.

🦈 EMPEROR AWESOME. Stuck in a room with SOMETHING THE SO-AND-SO. It’s hell. He hates it here. He’s begging for death.

💀 MAJOR THREAT & THE BLACK CUBE OF DARKNESS. One’s a reformed villain turned yoga instructor. The other is a literal cube. Together, they vibe. Cube does not speak. Cube only judges.

🐱 LIL’ BITS & KRAGTHAR. A tiny, manipulative cat girl and a giant, flaming warlord. Are they friends? Enemies? A sitcom waiting to happen? No one knows. Kragthar still gets flustered when she mispronounces his name.

🐒 MONKEYBOY. …Yeah. No. Just no.

🔫 RYDER & SCREWBALL JONES. Enemies. Roommates. Potential murder waiting to happen.

🦠 NECKBEARD & ANDY THE WATCHDOG. The most cursed roommate pairing imaginable. Andy is thrilled to have new content for his talk show. Neckbeard is insufferable. Their room is a war zone.

👑 BRAD STARLIGHT. Still thinks this is all about him. His ugly fish-faced wife and two gremlin children are making his life miserable. Hater hates him. You hate him. Everyone hates him. He’s fine with this.

👵 STARBELLA & MANDRAKE. A retired superhero and her former nemesis. He’s still trying to woo her. She’s pretending not to notice. They knit together in silence. It’s kind of romantic.

👀 THE WATCHDOG ARMY. FOUR HUNDRED (or more) little eyeball minions crammed into one room. Pure anarchy. They are not okay.

...AND MORE!

ALSO BACKGROUND HATER/RIPOV: It’s not romance. It’s war. Hater is into it. Screaming is involved. Therapy is not an option.

HATER & WANDER FRIENDSHIP ARC: Because my heart needs it.

PEEPERS LOSING HIS MIND: Possible evil arc? (TBD)

WANDER & SYLVIA SIBLING ENERGY: My cuties <3

MINOR OC ROBOT CHARACTER INCOMING (don't worry he's cute)

And while the only main ships are You/Wander and Ripov/Hater, I might give some shipping fuel to every ship there is, because nobody can stop me.

BASICALLY: A fic full of chaos, banter, romantic hijinks, and the slow, creeping realization that something isn’t quite right. But hey. That’s a problem for later. Right now? There’s a chair shortage, and Hater is about to have a meltdown.

Some doodles???? (I CAN'T DRAW AND I DON'T CARE)

Come join the circus. It’s going to be fun. 🎪🚀✨

Tumblr Blog dedicated to this disaster: