#it was because of peach's guilt

[nnnn99999]

The situation: Home is dead and Peach is crying on his deathbed.

Peach: I forgive you😭😭😭 I was never that mad at you in the first place😭😭😭😭😭

Me: BUT WHY????!!!!!! He literally killed you bro! Like I get you're really sad he's dead, I am too but I just can't get over the fact that you weren't even that upset at Home. Like bro you were sold when Home said he tried to call you. That's all it took for you to forgive him. Him trying to call you. Seriously. But he is your family so I guess I can accept it.

[kurohe]

Things you can do to actively participate in the revolution

Here's the list !

I know some of those will look really silly, i promise they are not. And obviously, this is not a checklist, you don't have to do everything. But they're steps that you can absolutely take if you wish to, and they WILL help.

(Thanks everyone for your help, and for adding things yourself with your reblogs <3)

(under the cut !)

1) Let's start off with a very easy one you can do right now: stop using Chrome. It's a google owned browser, and it sents all of your data towards it. Mozilla is a very good replacement, but almost anything will do, really. Also, resign your amazon prime subscription. We revolting against capitalism as a whole, and this is a good first step to not freely give em your data and money

2) Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls. I am not kidding. Little things, that aren't really monitored: a can of food, a lighter, a pair of socks. Condiments are particularly easy to hide in bags or pockets. Steal hygiene products, steal food.

Remember that you should have access to those for free, and you don't because a few rich guys don't want you to.

Additional tip: train station stores are very easy to steal from, because they're so busy. But don't put yourself in danger. Check beforehand if they check bags at checkout, look out for employees that might notice what you're doing. Don't be reckless.

(edit: imma say this, you should read up on what the risks of stealing are, for you and others. Stealing from big stores is IMO always morally right, but it is risky for many reasons. Be careful)

3) In the same line, if you see someone stealing anything from a big store, no you didn't.

4) I know a lot of people are scared of disrespecting rules. By fear of being caught, or by guilt. My advice is: start disrespecting stupid, meaningless rules. I don't have specific exemples, but you'll encounter them and wonder why you're doing that. Stop doing it. This will train you to be able to disobey autority way easier.

5) Put stickers everywhere. If you already have them, go ham. Especially on public property (lamposts are amazing). If you don't, buy them from artists or independant stores, not big brands. If you cannot afford them, remember that you can simply write stuff on an A4 paper and plaster it to walls. Or even post its !

6) Carry a sharpie with you at all time, the big black ones. If you see propaganda, scribble it out. Keep a look out for terfs stickers, maga posters, etc. Also good for getting rid of transphobic and sexist stuff written on public restroom stalls !

7) Buy locally. This means going to the market or small stores, and thrifting your clothes. If you can't for money or accessibility reasons, try trading with your friends, family and neighbours. Get communication going in your circles, and you'll realise there are a lot of things that you can simply trade with or buy from people around you. Like a jar of jam against some eggs, or a pair of socks for a t-shirt you don't wear anymore !

8) Learn how to sew. I know, that sounds dumb ! But i promise you, not only will it be amazing to trade with other people ("i'll sew back ur shirt and in exchange, you give me a can of peaches !"), corporations also haaaate when you know how to fix your clothes. Because they want you to buy more. You'll spend a lot less money if you know how to fix em

9) If you have the space and the money, grow your own food, and share it or sell it around you. Be careful, some assholes will call the FDA on you. Do that with people you trust.

Additional tip: growing vegetables and fruits can be a real nightmare. You can absolutely start by just growing some basil or mint :)

10) Organise. Join leftist groups online, even if it's just to see what's being said, you don't even need to interact. Follow creators, repost and share their content. By doing that, you'll stay informed on group movements like strikes, protests and boycotts, which you can then participate in. It's very important you're connected to other ppl and the movements that are started !

11) Unionize. I'm very sorry I don't know the exact way unions work in the US, but if you can, join one. They will help you in times of needs, especially if you're a student or a worker. If you're not sure how to do that, absolutely ask around to people you know are very active politically, around you or online. People will help.

12) Stay. Informed. Follow independant papers and news outlet. If you can afford it, give them a dollar or two. They are fighting everyday for access to unbiased information for all, and sadly, their independance means that they rely almost entirely on donations and people simply engaging with what they put out.

If you can't access those: do not get your news from TV. Ever. Or anywhere else that has been bought by the far right. Sadly, the majority of TV channels are just the worst.

And, most importantly: fact check. All of the time.

13) Share that information. Talk to those you trust and who are ready to listen to you, and tell them about what's happening. Get angry with them. Revolution stems from people coming together and realising that they're being used and profited off of. Share videos and posts relating to politics, especially informative videos.

14) Go to protests ! If you've never been, i know it can be scary. But you can stay in the middle (don't go all the way to the front, that's where stuff can get heated) and scream and walk with everyone else. You'll meet people who, like you, want things to change. Capitalism wants you to stay as unconnected to others as possible, and that's a great way to fight that.

Sometimes, there are sites that have a planning for all protests happening in a city. Look up if one exists for yours

15) Create and strenghten community. I know i really struggled with this one, because it's so vague. But here's a few places you can start:

-Go and introduce yourself to your neighbours, if you deem it safe. Give them a little gift if you can afford it, like a pack of pasta.

-Make new friends, even if they aren't deep friendships. You need connections. Online or irl, both are fine- don't stay isolated.

-If you already have community, go check on them right now. Ask your friends how they're doing, and if they need anything- ask how they're being impacted by what's happening right now politically.

16) Look for ways to fuck over the institutions in easy ways. One example that went around tumblr a lot is letting dandelions grow in your backyard, because landlords fucking hate it. If you work in retail or fast food, cheat. Accidentally forget to scan the diapers. Put in 7 nuggets instead of 6.

(edit: been told that it's very risky for walmart workers to not scan things, so beware.)

17) Engage in art. MAKE art. Music, shitty paint drawings, craft, anything as long as you're being creative. Share it. If you feel like you can't do that, then support artists. Make a point to look up cool illustrations, and new music. Go to the cinema.

If you're an artist currently in an underpaid office job, please, by the love of god, be creative during office hours. You're underpaid, they do not deserve your full time and attention. Take 30 minutes to write that snippet you've been thinking about.

(and actually, if you're underpaid at all: do the minimum required. So that you can't be fired, but that's it. Any more effort is not worth it. Companies will never be thankful for what you do.)

18) Look up books that your state banned, and go read them. You can get them secondhand, or as pdfs online. (if anyone needs ressources, i will glady look for and share them.)

And, actually, read books in general if you can. Yes, fanfics count !

19) Seek education. There's a lot of youtube channels out there talking about educational subjects in a fun way. Some things the rich assholes who run the country specifically don't want you to learn more about are: biology, history and archeology, social and economic sciences. GO LEARN ABOUT THOSE.

The people in power don't want you to be educated. It's why they eviscerated the education system.

20) PIRATE. I cannot stress this enough, anything you can pirate (that isn't from small, indie creators, except if you absolutely can't afford it) do it. Download music illegally, torrent movies and games. If you want access to academical studies and papers, some writers will give them to you for free if you email them about it. There are also ways to go around paywalls.

21) Don't fall for the traps of "progressive brands". Lately, i've seen a lot of praise for Ben and Jerry's for openly supporting lgbtq rights and being globally anti-trump. They are still a brand. Avoid buying from any big names when you can. That being said, if you have to, check beforehand which ones and what their history is. Some are more evil than others.

Additional tip: a lot of brands you see in stores are actually owned by bigger brands. One prime example of this is Nestle, who are fucking evil, but they own a shitload of other big names. Be careful what you buy.

22) I hate to say this, but be prepared to defend yourself. Revolutions are never peaceful. You will get in danger. If you can, get in ok physical shape. Learn how to run fast and fight well.

If none of those are available options to you, please, make sure you have someone around you that will be able to protect you, or a place where you can be safe. Whether you are disabled, a minor, or anything else. Don't put yourself in more danger than is necessary.

(this used to also include getting a gun. I deleted it because i don't feel comfortable recommending this. But it's still an option.)

23) Last but not least, be kind. When someone cuts off a woman speaking, interrupt and give her the floor back. Shame those who think it's right to say bigoted shit in public. Listen to those around you. If you can't act, then remember to always have empathy for the homeless, for drug users, for immigrants. Understand they are people just like you. You are not immune to propaganda and prejudice, no matter who you are. Always question yourself and your biases.

(if you've read this far, please repost. We need this to reach as many people as possible)

I want to remind you that you're not alone. I know things seem hopeless, but the simple fact that you're reading this is proof it's not. I don't live in the US, but i'm supporting you as best i can from where i am, and sending you strenght.

If you have any questions, do ask away. I'll end on this image that's very dear to me:

[presepohne]

peaches and wine.

nsfw. Fuckboy!John McTavish x F!Reader [ALTERNATE UNIVERSE]

summary: johnny fucks the sweet innocent bird, just a trailer or intro to the bigger oneshot i'm writing.

warnings: johnny is a filthy man and we love that, the reader is inexperienced asf, virgin, just the reader getting half way naked, mostly for shits and giggles.

note: as i was taking forever for the johnny smut so i posted a small snippet from it.

FULL FIC !

Johnny has seen many men and women in his life, fucked 'em good. Pretty blondes, sassy women, men who could bend him at different angles, women who could step on him, men who would beg for him, women who are sweet and kind, men who are absolutely amazing at their dick game, women who cheated on their husbands, experienced and inexperienced alike.

And gods, he loves women and men both.

But women mostly.

But it bewilders him to see you creep up to him at a party. He knows you, yeah he does. He has seen you lurk at the last benches of the classes, a pen in your mouth or sometimes fiddling with it. You're a good student, great even— top scores always and he admires you for your dedication.

So it comes to him as a shock as you ask him to fuck you, straight up, no bulshit.

Clearly, you are drunk, cheeks flushed pretty as you pouted and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. The shorts looking so fucking good on you and making you ass look so fucking bite-able.

He shakes his head, clearly you're out of your mind. A sweetheart, who has never focused on anything else but her academics asking him to fuck you, without any hesitation.

"Aye lass you sure—"

He just wants to make sure, doesn't wanna take advantage, afterall he's a gentleman fuckboy. He'll ask if you're comfy, he'll make sure consent is consent, hell he'll stop half way naked if you ask him to stop.

But that gets a nervous reaction out of you, lips trembling and lashes damp with tears as you start to stutter, a fumbling mess with words as you try to look away, the soft bloom of red on your cheeks now absolutely flushing you.

That makes him groan, in want. He's trying to think of ten different ways to clam his chubbing up dick down.

Think about her doing maths– that's hot, fuck. Think about Simon– fuck he's hot too, think about Gaz— aye nah mate—

His brows are furrowed as he tries to negotiate with you— "Ay– lass nah me didn't wanne make ye cry–"

But it's already out of the box and you're getting all teary and sobbing so he complies.

He takes you to his apartment, doesn't shove his tongue down your throat— but does squeeze your waist as he leads you to his door— it's a nice place, smells like cheese more than anything. You grimace, but smile at him.

He looks at you, "Should I get ye some water lass?"

"No thank you"

Your head is now drowning in guilt— of using Johnny to lose your virginity. Some sort of pitch black feeling clawing up into the pit you call your stomach— salt already dampening your cheek because—

You are reminded of Simon's words.

Now you know you look all sweet and innocent, kind of a person who would never indulge into such activities, it makes you head spin how easily people fuck each other and give away their body.

It makes you absolutely sick.

But it also makes you feel alienated from your friend circle when they talk about sex, or one night stands. You awkwardly standing and looking here and there to appear nonchalant about the whole sex talk of your group.

It began to get worse everyday when your friends started to coo and coddle you with the tag of the innocent friend. To the point where they wouldn't really take you out— that's bad, that's mean.

Maybe logical too if you tried to squint a little— because honestly you really wouldn't enjoy.

But humiliation plays a bigger role and here you are at Johnny's apartment, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt as you try to undress yourself in a seductive manner failing horribly when you can't unbutton your shirt. Johnny has vanished somewhere in the hallway— you know Simon stays here too.

Simon, that bastard of a man. God's you want to punch him square in his face and maybe break his already crooked nose.

Tears that were on the bay now falling down your cheeks again as you wipe them furiously, recalling his words of dismissing you. Nah, don't do innocent girls like ya sweet'art. And turn around without soaring a second glance.

Johnny is back from god knows where with two popsicles in his hands, honestly he thought of trying to talk you out of it— share something sweet and book you a taxi back to your apartment.

You are half way undressed, bra on the floor, shirt crumpled somewhere along the doorway, your hands on your shorts— clearly unbuttoning it to pull 'em down.

A few minutes might have gone, Johnny gulps, the popsicles melting down his hands as he straightens up. "Ye– ye serious lass?" He's looking like a puppy, too shocked or something– closer to thanking God.

He does, in his head he is reciting prayers in the name of almighty suddenly.

Your skin is so tender, soft to look at and Johnny wonders how it would feel under his hands. Your breasts round and so fucking pretty, nipples perked up because of the cold air of the AC, your shy gaze.

All the fucking sheer will he used to clam his cock down thrown out of the window— (he shoved his dick under the cold tap water, blue balls) and the only thought that consumed him was how many angles would he be able to bend you in and fuck you raw.

You're a shy but squirmy thing now, arms wrapping around your chest instinctively as you look away, a hot blush of red over your skin as you bite your lips nervously, but then again you're more embarrassed and hurt at Simon's rejection than Johnny seeing you naked.

The surge of adrenaline as you look at him again and speak clearly, "John McTavish fuck me" has his blood searing down south.

He whistles, throws the popsicles into the dustbin.

"Aye— as you command mam—"

Oh he's gonna fuck you to oblivion.

[sosa2imagines]

Are you mine? Part 3

Warning- Little angst, fluff.

It was just past dawn.

The sky was blushing with faint streaks of peach and silver, the morning air sharp with cold.

You hadn’t meant to open the door, you just needed fresh air. A moment of stillness before the ache behind your ribs reminded you of everything you lost.

But the second you stepped outside barefoot, hoodie tugged tight around your frame, you froze.

They were both awake, sitting on the hood of the car like statues of regret.

Bucky was cradling a thermos between his hands. His eyes snapped up the moment he saw you, and the breath left his lungs. Steve stood immediately, wincing slightly from the healing claw marks across his ribs. His bruised face looked worse in the light, one eye still half-closed, his jaw scraped and tight.

All three of you stared at each other, no one moved.

You didn’t expect your voice to work when you finally spoke, but it did, “Why are you still here?”

Bucky swallowed hard, “Because you’re here...” Steve’s throat bobbed. “And we’re not leaving. Not unless you tell us to…”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of your hoodie, “I left,” you whispered. “You could’ve moved on. Let it go...Cassidy?”

Steve stepped forward, carefully, as if any wrong movement would break the spell. “We don’t want to move on.” Bucky took a single cautious step, still keeping distance. “We want you! To hell with Cassidy!!!”

You looked away, blinking fast. “You already had me. And you let me be forgotten...”

That made Bucky flinch visibly and Steve’s jaw clenched. They didn’t argue. They didn’t deny it.

Steve took a breath. “You’re right. We did. And we’ll never stop being sorry for it.”

You looked at him then, really looked. At the pain behind the blue. At the dried blood in the corner of Bucky’s mouth. At the bruises they didn’t even try to hide.

And the coffee. The notes. The car.

Day after day.

“You stayed…” you whispered.

Steve nodded. “Because you’re worth staying for.”, Bucky’s voice was hoarse. “We don’t deserve a second chance. But we’re gonna keep showing up until we do.”

Silence stretched between you again, but this time, it didn’t ache. You didn’t move closer, didn’t smile and didn’t cry.

You just whispered, “Okay…” and turned around.

Left the door open behind you and Steve and Bucky followed.

Not into your heart.

Not yet.

But into the first moment of something real.

The days passed, not easily though, they dragged. Some heavier than others. Some so quiet it hurt.

You didn’t bounce back and you didn’t crawled back.

Bit by bit, there were days when the sight of them in your periphery made your chest tighten. When Steve’s soft voice felt like salt in a wound. When Bucky’s eyes so full of guilt and tenderness, made you want to scream.

But then there were moments.

Moments when Steve cooked breakfast and burned the eggs so badly even Logan snorted. Moments when Bucky, still aching from his healing wounds, grumbled through washing dishes and almost dropped a pan.

You didn’t laugh.

Slowly, steadily, piece by piece, you started to feel like yourself again.

Logan, ever the protective older brother, watched with cautious eyes as you laughed for the first time in weeks. As you smirked when Steve burned the eggs one morning, and as you rolled your eyes when Bucky tried to charm his way out of washing the dishes.

It was late when it happened.

The kind of late where the stars were loud and the woods had gone still.

You sat on the porch steps, a blanket around your shoulders, the mug in your hands gone cold. You hadn’t said a word in over an hour.

Bucky sat beside you, quiet, not touching. Steve leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, watching the trees like they might give him answers.

“I need you to hear me…”

Both men turned immediately.

Your voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady.

Bucky sat straighter. “We’re listening.”

You stared at the trees. “When Cassidy started showing up, I didn’t say anything at first. I told myself I was overthinking it. That I was being dramatic. That you wouldn’t do that to me.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed, while your fingers curled around the mug. “But then you started cancelling dates. Forgetting things. Laughing with her the way you used to laugh with me. And every time I came into the room, it felt like I was interrupting something.”

You turned to look at them now, your eyes tired, but burning. “You made me feel invisible.”

Steve opened his mouth, but you lifted a hand to stop him, “Let me finish.”

He nodded, jaw clenched.

Your voice shook, just a little. “I would go to sleep next to you and still feel like I was alone. I would hear you talking to her and wonder what I did wrong. I started walking around the compound like a ghost, trying not to be in the way…”

You blinked, tears threatening but not falling. “And the worst part?” you whispered. “You didn’t even notice I was breaking. Not once.”

Bucky dropped his head, his hands clenched between his knees.

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to punish you. I left because I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I was becoming smaller just to fit into the cracks you left me in.”

Silence. Painful and dense.

Steve finally spoke, his voice raw. “You have every right to hate us.”

“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly. “That would be easier.”

Your eyes found Bucky’s. “But I’m not ready to forgive you. Not yet. And I don’t know when I will be.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “We understand,” he rasped.

Steve stepped closer, lowering himself onto the step below yours, so he had to look up to meet your gaze. “We’re not asking for forgiveness,” he said. “We’re just asking for time.”

You looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. “Time is all I can give you right now.”

And Steve, the man who once thought he was strong enough to carry the world, let out the most fragile breath of relief you’d ever heard.

After that night on the porch, things didn’t magically fall into place, but they shifted.

Steve and Bucky didn’t press. They didn’t talk about forgiveness. They just worked.

They helped Logan chop wood, hauled supplies from town, fixed the creaky porch step that had been splintering for months. Steve cleaned around, even the drainage like it was penance. Bucky learned how to cook Logan-style stew, thick, over-seasoned, and strangely comforting.

Logan didn’t say much, but the grunts grew less threatening. And once, you saw him nod at Steve as he passed him a toolbox, it meant more than a full conversation.

There were still bad days.

Days where your chest felt too tight, your patience too thin. When they smiled too easily or sat too close, you flinched.

One afternoon, after Steve made some offhand joke about movie night, the words ripped out of you before you could stop them. “It won’t work.”

The porch went quiet.

Bucky was closest. He stood from where he’d been tightening a hinge on the screen door, his brows drawing together. “What?”

You backed away a step, blinking hard. “This. You and Steve. Trying to be better. It’s not going to fix anything…”

Bucky swallowed hard, but stepped toward you anyway, “I’m trying, Doll…”

“I know. And I see it. But that doesn’t change what you did.”

“I’m not asking it to.”

You crossed your arms, pain curling in your chest. “Then why are you still here?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he closed the space between you and wrapped his arms around you, holding you so tightly you could feel his heartbeat through your hoodie.

“Because I love you,” Bucky whispered into your hair. “And I will never, let you believe you’re not worth fighting for again.”

Your hands stayed frozen for a moment, then slowly, they fisted in the back of his shirt.

You didn’t sob. Didn’t speak.

But you held him back, and that was enough.

That night, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you fell asleep near them.

You were on the couch, curled into the corner with your head against a pillow, the fire crackling low.  You didn’t mean to drift. But the warmth, the silence, the steady hum of their presence, not too close, but not far lulled you.

When your breathing evened out, Bucky looked over from the armchair and stilled. Steve, stretched out on the floor in front of the hearth, lifted his head to look at you.

They didn’t say a word,  just watched.

And when your hand slipped down slightly from the blanket, fingers grazing open air, Steve gently reached up and placed your hand into his.

You didn’t pull away, didn’t stir.

And for them still bruised, broken, aching, that tiny gesture?

Felt like a beginning. You were on the porch, curled up in one of the old chairs, knees drawn to your chest beneath a blanket. The wind had turned colder, whispering through the trees like ghosts that wouldn’t let you sleep.

Your mind wouldn’t quiet.

Memories played on repeat, Steve’s laughter with Cassidy, Bucky’s distracted silences, the way you’d shrunk smaller and smaller without them noticing. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself.

And then you heard it, the porch boards creaking under familiar boots.

Logan.

He stepped out without a word and sat in the chair beside you, a fresh beer in his hand, a bottle of water in the other. He passed the water to you and you took it.

Silence stretched between you.

Then softly, he said, “They’re trying.”

You didn’t look at him. “I know.”

He took a long sip, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’ve seen people beg before. Seen people fake redemption to get what they want. That’s not what this is.”

You glanced over, “They’re still them. Still the ones who let me break...”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. But they’re also the ones bleeding to fix what they shattered. The ones splitting wood with broken ribs. The ones who haven’t taken a real bed in weeks just to be near you, just to prove they won’t abandon you again.”

You were quiet, but your grip on the bottle tightened.

Logan leaned back in his chair, sighing. “I’m not telling you to forgive them, bub. That’s not my call.”

He turned his head toward you. “But I am telling you to look at what they’ve done. What they’re doing. And ask yourself, is this worth something?”

He reached over and gently brushed your hair back from your face and kissed your forehead. The gesture was so soft, so achingly warm it undid something in your chest. “You don’t owe them anything,” he whispered. “But don’t throw away something real just because it hurt once.”

Your eyes stung, but you didn’t cry.

You just leaned your head slightly toward his shoulder and whispered, “I’m so tired of hurting.”

He rested his hand gently on your back.

“I know, Bub,” he murmured. “But maybe it’s time to start healing.”

It was quiet the next morning.

Too quiet.

The kind of stillness that didn’t scream anymore, but waited.

You stepped out onto the porch as the sun broke over the trees, golden light spilling across the cabin steps. Your blanket was wrapped loosely around you, your hands tucked inside. They were already there.

Not on the car this time. But seated on the porch steps, facing the forest, their backs straight despite the exhaustion still carved into their bodies.

They heard your footsteps, but neither of them turned around.

Not until you whispered, “Hey.”

They both looked over, and the expression on their faces made your chest ache.

Hope. Fear. Love.

“I need to say something,” you said, stepping closer.

They stood slowly, carefully but kept their distance.

You stopped a few feet in front of them, the rising sun painting soft light across their bruises, their bandages, the worry lining their faces.

You took a breath, “I hated you…” you said, voice raw. “For what you did. For what you didn’t see. For making me feel like I was replaceable…but I never hated you because I love you…”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. Steve’s gaze dropped to the porch floor.

“But I also saw you try,” you continued, a tremble in your voice. “Every day. Without pushing. Without demanding. Just… showing up.” You swallowed. “That meant more than you’ll ever know.” You stepped forward, just one step and looked between them. “I forgive you.”

Steve’s head snapped up, eyes wide, blinking back tears. Bucky’s lips parted, like he didn’t trust what he’d heard.

You nodded. “Not because it didn’t hurt. Not because it’s forgotten. But because I’m tired of carrying the weight alone. And because I still believe in us.”

They didn’t speak at first. Then Steve stepped forward slowly, eyes locked on yours. “We swear to you, Doll…what happened? It’ll never happen again. Ever.”

Bucky followed, voice thick with emotion. “No one, no one will ever take your place. You are it. Always have been.”

Steve took your hands, gently. “We were blind. But never again.”

Bucky rested his forehead against yours, voice low. “You’re everything. We’ll spend forever proving it.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, tears finally slipping down your cheeks, not from pain. But relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt steady.

Home.

And when they wrapped their arms around you, one from each side, you let them.

Because you knew this time? They’d never let you go.

Bucky let out a sharp exhale, his shoulders sagging in relief. Steve reached for your hand, hesitating for a split second before lacing his fingers with yours.

You let him.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt right. It wasn’t instant. You didn’t just fall back into place like nothing had happened.

No, this time, you started fresh.

As friends first.

You three rebuilt the foundation, step by step. Of course it required Steve and Bucky to take permission from Logan, who threaten that next time the consequences will be non-healable and Natasha who threaten to send them in a dark place.

Steve asked about your missions, truly listening. Bucky made sure to never let a day pass without checking in on you. You teased them again, sparred with them, laughed with them.

And one night, as you sat between them on the couch, watching some terrible action movie, Bucky casually draped his arm around your shoulders.

You didn’t push him away.

And Steve, on your other side, glanced down, a soft smile on his lips as you leaned into them both.

It wasn’t just the way things used to be.

It was better. Stronger.

Because this time, they knew what they had almost lost. And they would never take you for granted again.

The couch was too small, the floor too cold, so eventually the three of you ended up where you belonged, in the bed. Together.

Not because you needed sleep.

But because you needed them.

The light was low, the room warm, your breathing soft and even. It wasn't anything intimate, but more like being grateful and just feel each other.

You lay tangled between them, your back against Bucky’s chest, his metal arm draped protectively over your waist. His flesh hand held your thigh, anchoring you there like he never planned to let go again.

Steve lay on his stomach, face turned toward you, fingers tracing slow, tender patterns along your bare arm.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you were home.

“Did you know,” Steve murmured, his voice laced with sleep, “that I couldn't function anymore...”

You blinked, turning your head slightly. “What do you mean?”

He hummed, brushing his thumb along your knuckles. “After you left… I couldn't breathe...I felt weak, you are our strength, our everything doll...”

Your throat tightened.

Behind you, Bucky’s lips pressed against the nape of your neck, warm and reverent. “I never stopped looking for you, Doll. Not really. Even when we knew where you were, I felt like we lost you...and this seperation period was worse than any nightmare and torture...me and Steve never want to live that ever again...”

Your fingers curled around Steve’s, squeezing gently, “I felt lost too...” you admitted softly. “But… not anymore.”

Steve kissed your shoulder, his touch lingering like a promise.

Bucky’s grip on you tightened, like he could physically hold you against any pain, any memory, any threat.

“We’re never letting you go again...” he whispered, voice low, fierce.

You turned slightly in Bucky’s arms, shifting to face Steve now, your hand rising to cup his cheek. He leaned into it, eyes half-lidded with love.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because we are right where we belong...”

Steve smiled, eyes shining as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

And as Bucky pulled you closer, one hand stroking your hip, the other curled protectively around your belly, he whispered soft, unintelligible things into your skin, words he couldn’t speak fully, but you felt every bit of them.

And you knew, this bond between you three?

It wasn’t just fixed.

It was unbreakable.

Part 2- ✅

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

@emerald-writes @caplanbuckybarnes

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans @gracescor3

@ghostlythinggoingaround @winterssecretgirl @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha @sebastians-love @wintrsoldrluvr @ordelixx @baw1066

@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt @sebastians-love

@pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt @baw1066 @hawkeyes-queen @soelstress @eugene-emt-roe @adenewton @fckwritersblock @chocolatereignz @danzer8705

@peaches1958 @sebbymybaby21 @lucycarlisleswife @daisylanesstuff @darkfoxelly @pearlycandys @blackwidownat2814 @dontbescaredtosingalong

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @nicolebarnes

@dopecrusadechaos @chaoticbisexual18 @spookyparadisesheep @cutiebear45 @distinguishedgardenroadbonk @zophiathefirst @darkfoxelly @chanchansgirly

As you all can see, I tried to tag everyone but the tags don't work well, sorry 🥲❤️

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | The Epilogue (8/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. Seasonal Depressive Episodes. So much fluff it’ll rot your teeth. Time skips.

Notes — Not the longest, but I think that it's perfect. You have all shown this fic so much love. Thank you, I hope this ending does their story justice — Peach x

liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri, landonorris, and 102,374 others

bookishgoldie surrounded by so much love

view all comments

user1 henry is like HELL NAH MOM TAKE ME BACK INSIDE RIGHT NOW😭

bookishgoldie he actually loves being outdoors!!!! until he sees people and/or other cats

user03 the texts😌😌😌 ur faves could never

user63 CAN WE HAVE A SEQUEL UPDATE PLS??????

bookishgoldie 😉

user17 are you going to be at the GP this weekend?

user91 she hasn’t been to any of the last 3 😕

bookishgoldie just because you haven’t seen me, doesn’t mean im not there!!🫶 been having a hard time lately so ive just been hiding from the cameras

user91 feel better soon francesca❤️

user60 bf oscar crumbs…. IKTR

user76 you might actually be the prettiest girl in the world. like your HAIR????????

oscarpiastri glad those are the texts you decided to post and not the ones a little further down 👍🏻

bookishgoldie OSCAR

oscarpiastri 🧡

user75 god this feels like watching my parents flirt🤧

user33 new vlog soon? ♥ by bookishgoldie

—

Things always got a little harder to deal with in the winter.

Cold weather, dark, shorter days. 

Oscar, gone more than he was home, spending more time in England than Monaco, preparing for the new season at the MTC. 

Katie arrived after Christmas with sacks full of presents and the intention to stay for as long as she was welcome.

And Francesca let herself struggle.

She didn’t mask it or push it down. She let herself sleep in. Let herself cry into the collar of Oscar’s hoodies. Let Katie wrap her up in blankets and feed her shitty microwavable pasta. She let herself feel the heavy days without guilt.

And then spring came, slow and golden. The sea looked blue again. Henry sat at the window for hours, purring in the warmth.

Francesca curled up in the corner of the sofa, a half-drunk cup of tea resting on the armrest. Oscar stretched out beside her, hair damp from the shower, an arm slung loosely over her shins.

Their bodies were tired, but their faces were soft — content, a little dazed, totally at peace.

There was music playing faintly from a speaker in the kitchen. The balcony doors were open. The scent of jasmine drifted in with the breeze.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Then, without opening her eyes, Francesca whispered, “I think I’m ready.”

Oscar turned his head, brushing his nose against her knee. “You sure?”

She opened her eyes. Looked at him. Smiled. “Yeah.” 

— 

The wedding wasn’t extravagant.

They’d talked about a big one — at home in Monaco, or away in Lake Como, with flower arches and string quartets and draped silk. 

But in the end, the choice was easy.

A coastal garden just outside Melbourne. A warm autumn breeze. Less than fifty guests. A white dress with long sleeves and lace along the hem. A charcoal grey suit with a crooked boutonnière that Oscar kept fiddling with until Logan smacked his hand away.

Katie cried the entire time. Her mascara was streaked halfway down her cheeks by the time Francesca walked down the aisle — Max, seated beside her in an unusually well-fitted suit, held her hand tightly, leaning in to whisper something that made her laugh through her tears. Henry had a bow tie and a seat in the front row, though he spent most of the ceremony asleep in Zac’s lap.

Oscar didn’t stop smiling. Not once.

He cried when she reached him. Not dramatically — just soft, silent tears. 

Their vows were simple. Sweet. (“I’ll never stop choosing you,” he’d said, thumb brushing her knuckles as his voice caught. “In every version of life, in every timeline — it’s always you.”)

After the ceremony, they danced barefoot under fairy lights. They kissed for too long during dinner. Katie gave a toast that quickly turned into a roast, full of sharp jabs and softer edges, the kind only a best friend could get away with. Mark cried during the father-daughter dance — harder than he had the day Francesca first asked him to step in for her absent father. Lando caught the bouquet.

And when the music quieted and the guests thinned, they stayed. Just the two of them. Sitting on the edge of the dance floor, champagne in one hand and her heels dangling from the other.

“You happy, baby?” Oscar asked, nose against her temple.

Francesca leaned into him, her lips brushing the line of his jaw. “Yeah.”

They didn’t rush off on any kind of honeymoon. There was a race two weeks later. It didn’t matter. Wherever they went, Monaco, London, Melbourne, a grid in the middle of nowhere; they had each other.

And that was more than enough.

— 

There were tiny shoes by the front door — worn at the toes, one toppled over like it had been abandoned mid-adventure. A toddler-sized karting suit swayed gently on the balcony, its colours faded slightly from the sun, dancing on the breeze like a memory.

Inside, the apartment held a hush, the kind that settled in the late afternoon when the world was between moments. Oscar was gone — somewhere fast and loud and far away — and her baby girl slept soundly, curled in a bassinet adjacent to Francesca’s desk. 

Francesca sat in front of her computer, bathed in soft light, her fingers moving slowly across the keys. A new manuscript sat on the screen. This one was different. Quieter. Gentler. Woven with the kind of love that had grown slowly over time, deep-rooted and certain. Her tea, long forgotten, sat cold beside her.

Sunlight spilled across the floor, golden and drowsy, stretching toward an old pet bed in the corner. Henry lay there, curled up in a patch of warmth, his ginger fur dulled with age. Curled beside him, a kitten — all fluff and white — snored in perfect harmony, their bodies forming a sleepy, tangled mess.

A quiet rustle, the creak of little feet on hardwood.

Francesca paused, fingertips hovering above her keyboard.

From the living room, the low hum of the television drifted in. The race broadcast, crowd noise swelling like waves. And then, clearer than anything else, a small, delighted voice rang out, “Daddy!”

She was smiling even before she pushed up from her desk. That voice, high and sweet and excited, cut through the stillness like some kind of magic. 

Her little boy was standing in front of the TV, one hand pressed against the screen where Oscar’s face was displayed. His curls were rumpled from sleep, cheeks still flushed, tiny fingers smudging the corner of the screen as if touching his father would bring him closer. 

Francesca leaned in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, her heart full. 

The race commentary carried on in the background, and her little boy bounced on his toes. 

Her gaze drifted to the balcony, to where the tiny karting suit hung in the breeze; the sleeves smudged with stains, the knees scuffed from victory. It was so small that just looking at it made her chest ache. 

Her little boy had won his first race a week ago. The youngest in his category. Sharp in the corners. Smooth on the throttle. Brave.

It was in his blood.

His father, now a three-time world champion, had scooped him up in the pit lane like he was the one who’d just won a title, not the other way around.

Generational, they called it.

Her little boy caught sight of her in his peripheral and beamed. All toothy grin and sun-kissed cheeks. Without hesitation, he ran to her, arms outstretched. She bent to meet him halfway, grunting softly as she lifted him onto her hip.

He wrapped himself around her neck, squeezing her tight. 

He didn’t have to win races to be held like this. Didn’t need to be the best or the brightest or the bravest. He didn’t have to earn a single inch of her love.

It was already his. Always would be.

She kissed the side of his head, inhaling the familiar scent of sun and sugar and something impossibly sweet.

“You hungry, darling?” she whispered into his hair.

He nodded. “Toast, please. With jam.”

“Coming right up.” She gave him another squeeze before setting him down gently. “You wanna stay and watch daddy?”

He nodded eagerly, eyes sparkling as he twisted his head around to watch the TV screen, where Oscar was currently navigating through an interview.

She carried him over to the couch, his small weight settled against her side as she tucked the quilt around him, the soft fabric a cocoon of warmth and comfort. He curled into it, content and safe.

She took a few steps toward the kitchen, paused, then pulled out her phone and took a photo. 

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar 

Francesca 

*insert photo* 

Oscar 

Thank you

Needed that

Love you

Francesca 

Love you <3

— 

The sun was low in the sky. Francesca sat on a pink towel, legs stretched out, toes buried in the cooling grains. Beside her, Oscar lay propped up on one elbow, his eyes half-lidded as he watched their son dart across the shore, chasing a scuttling crab with wild delight. Their daughter sat nearby, deeply engrossed in her sprawling sandcastle mansion, occasionally glancing up to make sure her parents were still there, still watching.

Oscar shifted slightly, pushing up onto both elbows now, his brows knitting as he stared out at the horizon. 

Francesca moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?” she asked, her voice soft, knowing.

He shook his head a little, a half-smile pulling at his lips. “Just... thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just watched the sun dip lower. Then, finally, his voice low and sure, he said, “I think it’s time.”

She frowned, confused. “Time for what? To head back? It’s still early.”

Oscar sat up properly now, brushing sand off his palms. He looked at her — really looked at her — and the air between them seemed to hold its breath. He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers lingering at the back of his neck, before resting his gaze on her again. “Time to retire.”

Francesca’s heart stumbled. “Retire?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the sea breeze. “What do you mean?”

He let out a long breath, turning his attention back to their children. Their son let out a triumphant laugh, clutching an empty bucket in one hand, while their daughter patted the top of her castle with precise, serious little chubby fingers.

“Five world titles,” Oscar said. “I’ve done it. I’ve done more than I ever dreamed of. And I’m proud of that. But I think… I don’t need the next ten. I just want this.” His voice softened. “You. Them. No more risks. No more being away. I want to be here.”

Francesca’s chest ached. She’d thought about this moment before — hoped for it, in secret. But he was still so young, only thirty-two. He could have gone on for years. He could’ve shattered more records, chased more championships.

But he didn’t want that anymore.

He wanted to come home.

She smiled, even as her eyes stung. Her lips trembled slightly as she asked, “You’re sure?”

Oscar reached for her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering at her jaw with a kind of reverence that made her breath hitch. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything, ‘Cesca.”

Her hand covered his, grounding herself in the moment, in him. “Okay,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “Okay.”

— 

Laughter rang from the garden just beyond; a bright, bubbling sound that tugged a soft smile from Francesca as she stood on the back porch, watching.

Katie was kneeling in the grass, a crown of daisies crooked on her head, her arms raised in mock defeat as Francesca’s daughter tackled her around the middle with giggles. Her son cheered his sister on from the sidelines, face smudged with dirt, holding a water gun like a trophy.

“You little shits,” Katie cackled, falling onto her back with theatrical drama, arms splayed wide as the children climbed over her triumphantly.

Francesca laughed. She stepped out into the sun, barefoot on warm stone. “You’ve completely lost control of them,” she called out.

“Excuse me,” Katie said, sitting up with a toddler’s arms wrapped around her neck. “I am their queen, thank you very much. This is just… a temporary coup.”

Francesca sat beside them in the grass, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair as the little girl nestled into Katie’s lap. 

“I hope you know,” Francesca said eventually, softly, “You’re their aunt, but you’re also my sister. The first real family I ever had.”

Katie looked over at her, blinking fast. “Christ, Fran, don’t go saying stuff like that, I’m trying to maintain my badass aunt image.”

Francesca smiled, eyes shimmering. “Too late. You’re a daisy-crowned queen now. Fully compromised.”

Katie laughed, leaning over to bump their shoulders together. “Love you too, dummy.”

— 

Students bustled around them, dragging suitcases, clutching dorm keys, hugging parents goodbye. It was a flurry of new beginnings and tender goodbyes.

Francesca stood just off the main building, one hand loosely curled around her husband’s, the other pressed gently to her sternum, like she was trying to hold herself together from the inside out. Their daughter was walking away with her new roommate at her side, after their teary goodbye’s had drawn to an end.

Oscar watched her with quiet pride, his thumb brushing the back of Francesca’s hand when their daughter turned and waved — eyes bright, a little glassy, but shining with something solid and sure.

“She’ll be fine,” he said softly.

Francesca nodded, though her throat was tight. “I know.”

They lingered, neither of them ready to break the moment. It felt impossibly full — their daughter stepping into her future, their son already chasing his at breakneck speed, halfway across the world, poised to win the F2 title, just a year after securing the F3 championship.

Francesca exhaled a breath that trembled at the edges, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t believe all of this started in my tiny London flat.”

Oscar leaned in, pressed a kiss to her temple, and let his forehead rest against hers, warm and steady. “We built a whole life out of that flat.”

They stood together, quiet. Proud of everything they'd managed to create. Two lives made with care. A family grown with love.

“Ready to go?” Oscar asked his wife gently.

Francesca smiled, her heart full. “Yeah. Let’s go see our boy win his second championship.”

[ohhiimweird]

Dating them, except they're a monkey

Characters: Sun Wukong, Macaque, MK (brooo where's the yellow text) Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: Nothing, just fluff! ...

Sun Wukong

surprisingly he's a little awkward at the beginning of the relationship

i'm gonna assume you're the first mortal he's ever dated. so, he doesn't know what to do since you're much more vulnerable than he is

very cuddly, like suuuupper touch starved. he'll cling to you like you'd disappear if he lets go. it gets to the point where you start to smell like him

speaking of that, he is BEGGING you to wear his cape. if you've fallen asleep, guess what's going on you, the cape

later on into the relationship, he opens up more about the utter amount of guilt in him about literally everything he's done

if you give him enough encouragement, he might try to close the gap in his and macaque's relationship and maybe they'll be friends again. who knows?

wukong cherishes you more than anything in this entire world, and he's gonna make sure the world knows that (you're included in that)

he's also uber protective because you're a mortal and can die very easily. the only way to fix that is if he makes you immortal with one of those peaches

Macaque

this is a SLOW BURN, but worth is in the end

he'll have some big trouble trying to let you in near the beginning of the relationship. in a way he's still trying to fight his feelings for you, despite you accepting him for who he is

although he's trying to get better, his thoughts still tell him he's not worthy of someone like you, it's not an uncommon thought when the whole world has pushed you aside or used you

when he sees that you're not like the others (ha) he'll warm up to the idea of being loved and loving you

he's not as touchy-feely as wukong, but he'll rest his head in your lap while you scratch behind his ears

he'll quietly purr but if you bring it up, he won't admit it

if you can't sleep, he'll tell you a little story using his shadow lantern (it's about your relationship with the names changed lol)

in a way, he's even more protective than wukong since you're the one that lit up his world. no one is gonna take that away from him

MK

it's weird but he's the least awkward when getting into a relationship with you...actually it depends on when that happens

if we're talking about early in the show, then he's more nervous because wow he just pulled you and you're hot

it we're talking about post-trauma, then he's nervous because he's got the world on his shoulders and doesn't know how to let you in

You're also dealing with monkey boy shenanigans. bro is tripping into you constantly because of either walking with or without a tail

MK is also getting you little trinkets of your favorite things or a cool rock he found. he's like a cross between a penguin and a crow

if he has a rough day he'll just cling to you like velcro and let out this big content huff while you watch monkey cop or something

Pigsy loves you, Tang ADORES you. he is making wedding plans for y'all and you aren't even engaged yet

Whenever you come home, MK runs up to you like a dog and drowns you in hugs and kisses, even if you're holding groceries. you lost a lot of eggs because of that (rip soldier)

[i5uckersblog]

Ain’t Your Girl – Pt. 2

Summary: She won’t speak to them, but the twins visit daily, full of guilt—while quietly plotting revenge.

Say less. Here’s Part 2 — slow burn, heavy silence, long healing, and deep regret. The twins are hurting, but not more than she is.

⸻

She didn’t die.

But she didn’t come back, either.

Not the way they remembered her.

⸻

Her body healed slow. The bruises faded, bones mended, but she still wouldn’t speak. Not to them. Not even a glance.

Smoke and Stack came every day. Sat at her bedside, hands twitching, eyes full of things they didn’t know how to say.

Stack brought flowers. Smoke brought silence.

Neither brought her peace.

⸻

Stack tried first. “You remember when we used to steal peaches off Miss Lila’s tree?” He chuckled, soft. “You ran so fast, you dropped your shoe.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Smoke clenched his jaw. “Say something,” he whispered. “Cuss us out. Yell. Just don’t be quiet.”

But quiet was all she gave.

⸻

They stayed anyway. Every day. Like ritual. Like punishment.

Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they just sat there, stewing in it.

They watched her arms slowly regain strength, her legs twitch under the sheets. Her scars became part of her.

She never looked at them.

But they came.

⸻

Outside, Smoke was on fire.

He’d disappear at night, eyes darker than usual, jaw tight.

“Who did it?” he asked Stack one night. “Who really did it?”

Stack didn’t know. But he wanted to.

Because someone out there put hands on her.

And Smoke? Smoke wanted blood.

⸻

But revenge would have to wait.

Because she still didn’t speak. Still didn’t move toward them.

She just sat in that bed, spine straight, face unreadable—like she’d buried her old self right where they left her.

And the boys who once had her heart?

They had to sit and suffer.

Wait.

And wonder if they’d ever get a piece of her back.

⸻

Feel free to leave requests!

[sakurablossoms-world]

Shadowpeach Headcanon:

(Art belongs to @kazehita)

General:

Macaque is FtM and the only person he trusted with this secret was Wukong (and the little monkeys)

Macaque is Demi (romantic and sexual), he wants a genuine relationship with someone but struggles to truly connect with anyone until he met Wukong

Wukong is aroace and had no interest in relationships prior to meeting Macaque

They met when Macaque washed up on FFM sometime after Wukong returned from his training with Sabodi

Macaque is very insecure about his ears, but Wukong adores them and makes sure to always praise them

Despite being the flirt of the two Wukong is easily flustered

Macaque loves to put on performances for Wukong because it’s the only time he feels like he can truly impress his king

Despite what others would assume Macaque was the one to courtnap Wukong

Due to his insecurities Macaque is a very jealous lover, despite this Wukong is the one who will get aggressive if anyone flirts with Macaque

The reason Wukong doesn’t typically take Macaque with him on his adventures is because Macaque has expressed a dislike for the world beyond FFM

The two are very cuddly and affectionate with each other, with unique expressions of affection being Macaque kissing Wukong’s eyelids and Wukong nipping Macaque’s ears

Macaque’s nicknames for Wukong are: My King, My Hero, My Sun, Peaches, Sunlight, Sunflower, Sunshine, Sunstone, Sunny

Wukong’s nicknames for Macaque are: My Queen, My Warrior, My Moon, Plum, Moonlight, Moonblossom, Moonbeam, Moonstone, Mooncake

Havoc in heaven/JTTW:

Even amongst the brotherhood, not many people knew that Wukong and Macaque were mates

Macaque never spoke out against the havoc (or the camel ridge trio) because he had too much faith in Wukong’s abilities

The fight under the mountain (while not their first fight) was the first time Wukong had actually insulted Macaque

Macaque was never angry at Wukong for killing him, he was angry that he was abandoned and practically forgotten by Wukong

Wukong meanwhile pushed Macaque away because he was still haunted by his death and didn’t want to hurt him further (even if he won’t admit it)

Post-LMK:

Despite having once been a very affectionate couple, they now can barely touch each other without feeling guilt for their past actions and can only hold each other’s pinkies

They struggle to talk to each other because they’re so used to fighting and don’t want to fall into that same pattern

They have weekly therapy sessions with Sandy’s therapist to help them with their communication and affection issues

Wukong has the bad habit of shouldering the blame for Macaque’s past mistakes, and Macaque has to always remind him that he’s responsible for his own mistakes

They often go on dates to try to redefine their relationship and build something new together

Macaque has now become the bigger flirt of the two, though he mostly does it whenever Wukong is in a self loathing mood

Despite struggling to be affectionate, whenever either has a nightmare/panic attack, they fall back into old comfort habits very easily

It takes a while, but eventually they manage to become a strong, stable couple once again (now with the experience and maturity to survive any hardship)

[stillalivebydemand893]

That Night, That Lie, That Fucking Kiss.

part 1

(Part 2 is up)

Story:A year of almosts. One lie. One kiss. One night where heartbreak spills over and nothing is left unsaid.

18+ angst,smut,kinda fluff ?!🫣

“Remind me again why you two are still fighting?”

Julia didn’t even glance up from her magazine. Just flipped a page like your slow emotional disintegration wasn’t unraveling right next to her.

You sank into the couch.

“Because he’s a fucking asshole.”

The second the words left your mouth, regret hit you in the face.

“Ah, shit. Sorry, love.” You rubbed your temples. “Forgot for a second he’s your brother.”

Julia shrugged without missing a beat.

“Don’t apologize, babe. I love him, but I also know he’s emotionally constipated and has the communication skills of a broken toaster. He growled at my boyfriend last week.”

You tried to laugh. It got stuck somewhere between your teeth and your guilt.

You hated this.

You hated the radio silence. You hated the tension.

You hated Erik for kissing someone else like he didn’t spend the last year calling you Peach like it meant something.

But most of all? You hated that you still missed him.

“So?” Julia raised an eyebrow. “What did my disaster of a brother do now? Give me a reason to slap the shit out of him.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I waited for him at the pub. For two hours. No text. No call. Nothing. I thought maybe he’d gotten mugged or died or choked on a goddamn vape cloud.”

Julia winced.

“And?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing the words out like they were shards of glass.

“I went to the studio. To check on him. And there he was making out with Jessica.”

Silence.

Julia blinked once. Twice.

Then:

“NO. FUCKING. WAY.”

She sat up so fast her magazine flew to the floor. “THAT MOTHERFUCKER”

She looked around like she was ready to summon Satan .

You shook your head.

“I’m not even mad that he forgot about me.”

(Lie. Massive lie.)

“I just… after everything that happened with Jessica last year? The crying, the spiraling, the ‘I don’t even know who I am without her’ bullshit?”

A memory hit you like a punch to the ribs,Erik drunk, sobbing into your lap while you held him like maybe if you were soft enough, you could put him back together. The way his lips crashed into yours that night. The way he never mentioned it again.

“You’re still in love with him,” Julia said softly, like she wasn’t kicking the already shattered glass of your heart around.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

She exhaled.

“Have you even talked to him since?”

“It was a screaming match,” you muttered. “And then nothing. I’ve been avoiding him.”

“I miss him, Jules.”

You said it like a confession. Like a sin.

She wrapped her arms around you, tight.

“You wanna go shopping? Sephora's got sales and I'm emotionally prepared to blow my paycheck on lip gloss.”

You gave her a weak smile.

“Thanks. But I think I’m just gonna go home and cry into my blanket .’’

You kissed her cheek and headed for the door.

Your phone buzzed as you stepped outside.

Erik:

“Peach. Please. Talk to me.”

You stared at the screen like it might burn a hole through your palm. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

Nothing.

Buzz.

Erik:

“Please, Peach. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

Your heart felt like a fist.

You finally texted back:

“Busy.”

Then you threw on your headphones and drowned yourself in MCR like it was 2008 and everything still hurt but at least the eyeliner was good.

The Ghost of You played on repeat, and you welcomed the spiral like an old friend.

Why do I ruin everything?

Why wasn’t I enough?

He kissed you once. That meant nothing.

You thought it meant something because you’re desperate.

You’re a placeholder. A maybe. A convenience.

You’re never the choice.

Your chest felt like it was full of shattered glass.

You didn’t cry. Couldn’t. You just lay there on your couch,body stiff, mascara dried, your brain looping the same memory over and over like a cruel home movie:

His hands. Her mouth. That laugh. That kiss.

And then the knock.

Not gentle.

Not curious.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

You didn’t move.

But your body knew.

Only one person knocked like that.

Like he was ready to fight for his life,or rip yours apart.

“Peach. Open the door.”

You didn’t answer.

He opened it anyway.

He stormed in like a fucking hurricane.

Rain still dripping from his hair, jaw locked, chest heaving like he’d just run through hell.

Erik.

Wrecked. Wild-eyed. So goddamn beautiful you hated him for it.

“You’re not doing this.” His voice was sharp, breathless.

“Not again.”

You stayed under the blanket. Silent. Fragile.

He ripped it off like it insulted him.

“I’m not letting you disappear into your own fucking head again.”

You sat up slowly. Black mascara smeared under your eyes. Your fists clenched so hard your nails dug into your skin.

“What the fuck do you want, Erik?”

Your voice was cracked. Tired. Dangerous.

He moved toward you. And for a second, you thought he might back off.

He didn’t.

“I want you to scream at me. Hit me. Fucking do something. Just don’t sit there like I never mattered to you.”

You stood up, legs trembling but rage giving them fuel.

“I think we screamed enough, don’t you?” You turned away.

Headed for the kitchen like that would stop him.

“I’m done.”

Your voice cracked on that last word.

He didn’t move. Just watched you with bloodshot eyes, leaning against the counter like he was seconds from collapsing.

“I said I was sorry. I’ve said it, like, thousand fucking times. I can’t read your mind, Peach”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

You spun, shoving your palm against his chest.

Too close. Too hot. Too fucking much.

He grabbed your wrist.

His grip was firm, shaking.

“And why the fuck shouldn’t I? Why are you acting like a brat.”

He dragged your gaze back to his, voice low and mean and wrecked.

“You want me to stop calling you that? Fine. But don’t pretend you don’t still want me to say it like you’re mine.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Your body gave up before your mouth did,knees slamming into the kitchen floor like your grief finally dragged you down. You folded in on yourself.

And Erik followed.

Dropped beside you. Wrapped his arms around your shaking frame and pulled you into his lap like he needed you there to breathe.

Two broken people, tangled on a cold kitchen floor, ruining each other softly.

“Why would I stop calling you Peach,” he whispered against your hair, “when you’re the only good fucking thing in my life? The only thing I can’t stop thinking about. The only one who makes me feel like I’m not completely fucking lost.”

You looked up at him. Eyes raw.

“I love you.”

It fell from your lips like a wound.

“And it’s tearing me apart.”

You buried your face into his chest as your voice broke open.

“When I saw you with her, I shattered. I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. How am I supposed to just be your friend when all I want is to hold you until everything stops hurting?”

You tried to pull away.

“You’ll be better off without me. You and Jessica.”

“Don’t say her fucking name,” he growled, pulling you tighter, refusing to let you go.

“That’s it? You say your pretty little heartbreak speech and run again?”

You froze.

His voice wasn’t soft anymore. It was breaking.

“I can’t do this, Erik,if you wanna stop being friends, then fine. I’ll figure it out. Just don’t keep showing up like you love me and leaving like you don’t.”

He grabbed your hand and slammed it against his chest.

His heartbeat was brutal beneath your palm.

“You feel that?” he rasped.

“You fucking own this. Every beat. Every goddamn day, I wake up thinking, Is she okay? Should I call her? And then I don’t, because I think you hate me. Because I think I ruin everything I touch.”

“Erik, I didn’t mean-”

“And then you say you love me?”

He laughed bitterly.

“You say that like it’s supposed to fix me.”

That one hit you like a slap.

You shifted in his lap, trying to crawl away,hide, run, vanish.

His arms locked around you.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done.”

His voice was rough, wrecked, devastating.

“You think I didn’t try to stay away? You think I didn’t try to protect you from me? Because I did. Every day. I kept thinking,how could I hold something this good? How could I be trusted with her when I can’t even trust myself?”

“Erik, stop-”

Your voice broke, hands on his face, desperate to shut him up before he shattered for real.

“But I couldn’t stop.”

His forehead pressed to yours.

“I couldn’t stop needing you. Wanting you. Hating myself for both.”

And then he kissed you.

Hard. Starved. Reckless.

You moaned into his mouth, clawed at his shoulders, kissed him like it was the last thing you’d ever get from him. He pulled you tighter, mouth hot and furious against yours, hands gripping your thighs like if he let go, he’d die.

You dragged your nails down his neck. He groaned against your lips.

This was war. This was grief. This was everything you’d swallowed, everything you didn’t say when you should’ve screamed.

His hand slipped under your shirt, rough palm on your waist, and it made you gasp.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he whispered into your mouth.

“But I can’t let you go. Not again.”

Your tears burned as you kissed him back, frantic, furious.

You shook your head.

“I don’t know how to do this.Us.”

“Neither do I.”

And then he kissed you again.

It was still happening in every breath, every drag of teeth, every desperate, bruising kiss that said I hate that I love you louder than words ever could.

Erik groaned into your mouth like the taste of you physically wrecked him. His hands were everywhere,sliding under your shirt, gripping your waist hard like he was daring you to vanish again.He was dragging you down harder into his lap.

You gasped, fingers fisting the collar of his soaked shirt, yanking it like it offended you just by existing.

He pulled away for a split second, panting,forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and hungry and devastated.

“You ruin me,” he breathed.

Then he kissed you again before you could say anything back.

This time it was harder. Hotter. His mouth crashed into yours, tongue sliding past your lips with no hesitation, like he owned you,like he always had. Your thighs tightened around his hips as his hands roamed, palms rough, movements frantic like he was trying to memorize you all over again.

You whimpered into his mouth, and he growled,a low, guttural sound deep in his chest, possessive and way too full of want.

“Say it again,” he murmured, voice rough against your mouth.

You blinked, lips kiss,swollen and trembling.

“Say what?”

“That you love me.”

He said it like a dare.

Like a threat.

His mouth was on your neck before you could respond, biting, sucking, marking. You gasped, hips arching into him on instinct.

“Say it, Peach.” His voice dragged across your skin, hands under your shirt now, one dragging up your spine, the other gripping your thigh so hard it bordered on pain.

“Say it while I still remember how to stop.”

“I love you,” you whispered, wrecked and breathless, like you were admitting a crime.

“Erik, I love you.”

His mouth was back on yours before you finished the sentence, swallowing it like he needed it to live. Your hands tangled in his wet hair, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper.

Tongue against tongue.Heavy breathing. Moans caught between kisses .

The taste of him was still familiar,mint, cigarettes, and rain. But this wasn’t slow. This wasn’t tender.

It was needy. Desperate. Too late and not enough at the same time.

You rocked against him, friction building, your bodies locked in this furious rhythm of take and give and please just don't stop.

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

Eyes wild. Lips wet and red. His jaw clenched.

“I swear to god, you ever try to walk away again”

His voice broke.

You grabbed his face, kissed him again,hard. Messy. Tongue slipping into his mouth with a moan you couldn’t hold back.

“Then don’t let me.”

You were begging now. You didn’t care.

“Hold me here. Keep me. Please.”

His grip tightened.

“I’ll fucking ruin you.”

“You already did.”

And he kissed you again.

Like this was war, and you were both willing casualties.

Your clothes were a blur.

Fingers hooked under your shirt, Erik yanked it over your head. His mouth didn’t stop,pressing hot, open kisses along your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. Every touch was like a firestarter, like he was trying to burn you in with his lips.

You gasped, body arching into him, legs tightening around his hips.

“Fuck,Erik-”

He growled low in your throat, pulling you tighter against him until there was no space left. His shirt was next, soaked and clinging, and you tore it off ,you couldn’t stand the barrier.

Muscle. Ink. That little scar near his ribs you used to trace when he let you stay the night.

You pressed your mouth to it. Bit it.

He hissed through his teeth, grip bruising your hips.

“You’re gonna drive me insane.”

“You already did,” you whispered.

And then his mouth was on your chest, teeth scraping, tongue swirling over your nipple, hands dragging up your thighs and under the waistband of your shorts ,he had every right to be there.

You moaned, breathy, needy,and he swallowed the sound with another kiss, deeper this time, sloppier, your spit mixing, his hand slipping between your legs like it belonged there.

“So fucking wet,” he growled against your mouth.

“You’ve been like this for me the whole time?”

You nodded, biting your lip, forehead pressed to his.

“Don’t tease me, Erik. Not tonight.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

And he wasn’t.

He shoved your shorts down, fingers curling into your panties and dragging them aside, the pads of his fingers brushing through your slick, teasing your entrance,slow, deliberate.

“You still want me to stop?” he asked, voice so low it vibrated in your ribs.

You looked him dead in the eye.

“Touch me or I’ll fucking scream.”

He kissed you again,fast, messy,then slid two fingers inside you, curling just right, dragging a cry straight out of your throat.

Your nails dug into his shoulder. His mouth was back on yours before you could say his name again, moaning into the kiss as your hips rolled into his hand.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just like that, Peach. Take what you own.”

You were panting now, body grinding against him, aching and so close already it was humiliating.

He pulled back, eyes wild.

“I wanna fuck you so bad it physically hurts.”

“Then do it,” you breathed. “Wreck me, Erik. I don’t care. Just,don’t leave again.”

His eyes went dark.

He lifted you,effortless,and laid you flat on the kitchen floor, pulling his jeans down with one hand, never breaking eye contact. His cock was hard, flushed, leaking at the tip,and your body clenched at just the sight.

He lined himself up and paused.

“Last chance.”

“Do it.”

And then he was inside you.

One brutal, delicious thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You cried out,back arching, nails scraping his skin. He groaned like he’d been punched.

“Fuck,so tight,God, you feel like heaven Sweets .”

He started to move.

Slow at first, dragging every inch of himself out before snapping back in, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the kitchen tiles.

Then faster.

Rougher.

His hips smacked into yours as you held on like he might disappear again if you didn’t anchor him to you.

His hand found your throat,gentle, but possessive. His forehead rested against yours.

“Yours” he whispered.

“Mine’’

He kissed you then. Deep. Starving. Full of every word he couldn’t say.

You clenched around him, crying out again, hips stuttering.

“You gonna come for me, Peach?”

You nodded, tears mixing with sweat and spit and breath.

“Do it,” he growled. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you lose it.”

And you did.

With a broken cry, your body shook, walls pulsing around him, dragging him over the edge seconds later. He cursed, thrusting hard once, twice, then spilling inside you with a sound that wasn’t just a moan,it was a fucking confession.

He collapsed over you, chest to chest, heart to heart. Breathing like he’d just survived something catastrophic.

Because maybe he had.

Because maybe this was the beginning or the end or both.

And still,neither of you moved.

Because for once, it didn’t feel like someone was leaving.

[mollygrass]

Preacher Girl part 2

Remmick x Female reader

Summary: Regretful and shameful for losing your virginity before marriage, you avoid Remmick for the whole week until guilt eventually pulls you back at his porch in hopes of his forgiveness.

Tags & Warnings: religious themes, female reader, ambiguous reader, blood drinking, turning into vampire, smut, power imbalance dynamics

A/N: proofread only once, so sorry for any errors I’m lazy

Word count: 4k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺ ‧⁺ ‧

In his bedroom the curtains block out the bright sun rays, keeping the room dim. You lie next to Remmick, cuddled close and cozily warm. Slowly your eyelids flutter open. Each blink clears the blurry fog of slumber. On his side he lies comfortably, chin held up in one hand as the other caresses your smooth cheek.

“Mornin, darlin.”

In a flash, you spring to life, sitting up. The covers sink low to your bare waist. Your eyes fall down to your exposed chest. It all pieces together in your brain like a puzzle. Unholy, vomit inducing memories makes your heart thump as your tummy twists endlessly on loop.

“Oh…oh, heavens,” you murmur, feeling terribly sick.

A mistake. Last night. It was all a horrible regretful mistake you made. All you wanted was to talk about your feelings with him. But here you are, waking up nude next to Remmick.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re regretting last night.”

Unease strings your breaths out in erratic rhythms and your hands quiver in your lap. You refuse to spare glance his way, eyes more interested in the dry walls.

“I need to go home.”

“You can’t go yet. I ain’t even offered you breakfast,” he insists.

The gloom cracking his voice nearly splits your heart in two. Any other day you would have loved to stay for breakfast. However, today isn’t just any other day.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go, Remmick. I’m sorry, really.”

Swiftly, you collect your discarded clothes on the floor and put them on, guilt mixed together with shame plaguing your brain. Then without uttering another word you dash out the bedroom with him hot on your trail like a lost puppy. Brown eyes round and wide, brimming with disbelief as he helplessly watches you leave.

How can someone as angelic as you treat him in such a way? Stiff, cold and distant, instead of the usual cheery, bubbly you. He wants to scream out to you. Yank you tightly into an eternal embrace, never letting you escape out the front door in the living room. He doesn’t. Limbs made of stone, adhered to the floor, Remmick is frozen in time as he watches you walk out the door. And when he does dare to bravely reach a hand out to you it’s too late.

You’re already long gone down the street at home.

…………………..

The days blur together in one messy chain of events, tangled all over the place. Each passing day you keep yourself occupied with mind numbing tasks. From helping out around town to volunteering at church. Yet it never fully eradicates that night tattooed in your brain. Like an angry, bitter spirit it haunts you endlessly.

The worst of it always seems to find you in your devoted worship to God. As you say prayers, his lewd voice whispers in your ears. While you sit in church listening to the pastor's graceful praises of the high lord, images of Remmick from that night dusts your skin in shameful goosebumps. In fact because of these unwanted reminders of your sinful acts you’re beginning to hate going to church or let alone anything that relates to God.

The day of the lord is nearly over as the sun drifts lower and lower from the sky. Your home is packed with your fellow believers from church. As promised, you serve Sunday supper for them.

Chatter and laughter fills your home as everyone stuffs their mouths at your dinner table. Golden crispy fried chicken, creamy buttery mashed potatoes, well seasoned string beans and your famous tooth-rotting dessert–peach cobbler. It brings everyone together in blissful joy and harmony to eat your delicious cooking.

“By now you would’ve been down the street with a wrapped plate for that odd fella. You finally realize how weird he is or something?” A man who always sits in the front row at church, snickers.

Out of everyone in town and especially at church, he never missed an opportunity to urge you to stay away from Remmick in all his “unholiness” as he always puts it. It always puzzles your brain why he does it, and usually shrugs it off like a harmless bug. Though, today his words hold power to them.

A woman sitting at his side jabs a sharp elbow in his gut. “Stop that, John!” She snaps in a hushed whisper, an annoyed glint in her eyes.

The mention of Remmick makes your heart thud wildly. He’s the last somebody you want to talk about with this crowd of folks. It’ll only make the overwhelming shame you feel eat you whole.

You ignore John, pretending to eat your food.

“Hmmp, I must be right. I’ve been watching you since Monday and you ain’t not once visited that man.” He points his silverware at you. “See, this is why you should’ve taken heed to my warnings before you found out the hard way, sweetheart.”

The dinner table falls silent. Their eyes all lock on you. Curious and nosy about if John’s words hold truth.

You clear your throat, lips pursed. “I’ve just been under the weather, so please, let’s talk about something else.”

The soft smile etched on your lips reassures everyone. Well, except for him–John.

He scoffs, shaking his head disapprovingly. The table’s lighthearted atmosphere returns and everyone goes back to chatting up storms. You don’t join in the conversations, mind battling off storms of shame. Instead you act as if you're listening and smile as John suspiciously eyes you from across the table.

After dinner, they all hang around for a bit longer until the moon glows in the sky. One after the other they leave until only one person remains–John. He halts on the porch, turning on his heels to face you in the doorframe. Eyes intense, brows knitting, lips in a fine line. He extends an arm, hand lightly gripping your shoulder.

“Let this be my last warning, girl. Stay far away from that damn man. There’s something evil and demonic surrounding him. A soul pure and sweet as yours is just perfect for somebody like him to destroy.” He adjusts the black hat on his head and turns for the steps. “May our heavenly father be with you, goodnight.”

You watch him get in an automobile as his grim final warning plummets your stomach. His car drives off into the distance, darkness of the night swallowing his car.

In bed you toss and turn relentlessly. John’s warning and Remmick haunt your mind. One minute your conscience agrees with the latter. This side of you urges you to stay away from your outcasted neighbor. On the flip side the other half shames you for how you have been treating Remmick lately. In all honesty it shocks you that you feel this way because throughout the week you never once felt bad for it until now. Maybe it’s from what John said at dinner or possibly the guilt is finally kicking in. Afterall, you don’t normally treat people with such cruelty.

Once more you wash away all the pesky thoughts, but they all come slamming back and this time heavier than a bag of bricks. It forces you to make up your mind and that’s just what you do.

Easily, you chose Remmick.

You hold a nice plate full of leftover food from dinner, neatly wrapped. Your shoes slap against the dry pavement. Humid summer wind blows your night gown in wild ripples. This time around you don’t pray to god for Remmick to answer the door. In fact you don’t pray at all. All you do is focus on getting to his home.

At his house, you knock on the door. A long minute passes and you knock again just to meet silence. All you hear is crickets singing in the nearby woods paired with whispers of the soft breeze. Sighing, you turn to leave his porch.

“What was I thinking? Of course he’s not going to let me in after I ignored him for a week,” you mumble, sulking.

As you begin dragging your feet to leave, a bitter taste filling your mouth, his door groans open.

“Come in,” is all he says.

He doesn’t say anything else as you slip past the doorframe. Rather loudly, the door slaps shut. It jolts your slouchy spine in a fine line and your aching heart racing. He must still be upset with you still. Understandable. You don’t knock him for his valid emotions. It’s the whole reason you're here in the first place. To make it up to him.

The wooden planks squeak as he walks deeper into the house, but the usual bright light never comes. It’s puzzling and odd. But still you don’t judge him. Well, that’s the case until a potent smell overwhelms your nostrils—wet pennies.

“Remmick, what’s that smell?”

You no longer hear the floor moaning under his feet.

“Do you really want to know?” His voice rumbles low, something wicked brews deep within it.

John’s goosebump inducing warning loudly echoes in your ears. You gulp, wondering if he’s right about your odd neighbor.

“Yes.”

The room lights up in a blink of an eye. You carefully eye the room and everything seems to be the same as the day you left. Untouched, neat and clean. It’s another story as your eyes land on Remmick. Eyes widening, the plate slips from your hands. It crashes on the floor with a soft thud. Cold food and the plates glass shards decorate the floor.

you finally look at him though, your eyes widen. The plate slips out of your hands. It crashes onto the floor with a soft thud. The cold food spills everywhere mixed with glass shards.

He stands there, frozen in his tracks. Blood, still wet and fresh, drenches his chin all the way down to his ivory collared shirt. An unreadable blank mask sits upon his bloody stained handsome face.

“Do you know why they fear me? Why everyone avoids me like I’m the devil’s spawn?”

Backing away from him, you trip over your own feet, landing on your butt. Dread sneaks up your spine as you crab walk away from him. Words bundle, sticky as glue in your mouth. You can’t speak as you take in the horrific view of Remmick.

He prowls closer, glowing eyes matching the color of blood staining his shirt. Crouching down at your level, his head tilts. As usual his eyes are round, but a sinister darkness storms within them. “You’re right, I’m sinful. Unholy. Everything the Bible curses. Yet you,” he pauses, gliding a clawed finger under your chin to look up at him. “Always seemed to flock to me, the so-called devil. How can that be when you’re pure and sweet?”

You remain silent. Limbs too scared to dare move an inch.

“Can’t answer that, can you, darlin?”

You frantically shake your head, heart drumming in your ears.

He inhales deeply, eyes sealed shut. Then exhales. Eyes open again. “Didn’t think so.”

Your trembling frame pulls his bloody lips in a gentle smile. Oh, how he hates what he’s planning to do to you next. But it must be done, otherwise you’ll never be his.

“Well, you wanted to know what that smell was, right?” He motions his long talon fingers at himself. A wide smile reveals his vile fangs.

The sight of his unholy, devilish teeth only chokes you tighter with fear. A breathless gasp chokes past your parted lips.

“One of your little friends from church.”

Your heart drops. “No, you didn’t!”

He laughs, shaking his head like a deranged asylum patient. He’s enjoying every second of this. “No, not the ones from your little dinner party, darlin.”

Shamefully, your chest deflates, relieved Yet guilt tears you to shreds at the fact that some innocent person you worshipped God with has been killed by Remmick’s hands.

“Unlike y’all, I don’t find regular ole food appetizing. I prefer something warm, liquidy and fresh, darlin.”

“W-What type of monster are you? You’re not Remmick…you can’t be! He would never do such a disgraceful, disgusting thing.” Tears stream down your cheeks. Your chest heaves heavily, burning hot.

“Ain’t you just the sweetest thing. Too naive for your own good, really. Don’t be deluded, I am indeed Remmick.”

“Lies, you wretched devil!”

Twisting on all fours, you spring to your feet and dash for the door. He idly catches your night gown, its fabric bundled in his fist and yanks you back. Hitting the floor knocks you breathless as pain blossoms in your backside. A quiet whimper slips past your lips.

“Uhn-Uhn, I ain’t finished with ya yet. You ain’t going nowhere, not till I’m done with you.”

The danger coating his voice raises a new concern in your limbs. You thrash on the floor as he drags you through the hall leading to his bedroom.

He sighs heavily, still not looking forward to what’s coming next. Remmick knows how you’ll react. How your screams and cries will slice his heart to pieces. The way you’ll squirm as pins you down in the mattress.

Just as his previous wife did many sunrises ago.

Together they lived happily under the moon together, traveling the world. Until she gruesomely died at the hands of vampire hunters without a drip of mercy. After her death he always figured he’d live out the rest of his days, miserable and bitter in the night. That’s what he thought until you.

Years stacked on top of years fleeing towns, Remmick finally settled down in a small quiet town deep in Mississippi. His days of hunting poor helpless souls for the gift to bring spirits forth from both the past and the future was over. All he craved was to live a quiet, mundane life as he mourned his wife.

He got his wish, but at what cost? Everyone in town damned him for his strangeness. They’re a religious town of people. So, when he never showed his face in church people began wondering things. Curiosity turned to sympathy. Then sympathy became hatred. At first folks thought he was a shy man, until they didn’t.

But one person out of the entire town did show him kindness. A warmth, Remmick never thought he’d feel again after his wife. Maybe it’s because you were new to the town or simply because it’s just who you are. Sweeter than honey, everyday bringing him gifts. Spending time with him. In the beginning he found you. Then suddenly he found himself smitten with you.

“Sorry. I really am, darlin. But after you left me. Abandoned me, I can’t risk having that again.”

He kicks the bedroom door shut, locking it with a key fished from his pocket. Then he lifts you with ease in his strong arms. Like a wild rabbit caught by the neck, your flailing persists till you're dropped on the bed. Its spring wires whine under your weight. Swiftly, you sit up. But Remmick is more swift, shoving you back on the mattress.

“Let me go! You vile demon,” you wail, voice cracking.

“Hush all that racket now.” He hovers you on the bed. With only one hand he effortlessly pins your wrists above your head.

“S-Somebody help! Help!” You scream.

Just as your lips part, ready to cry for help again, Remmick’s calloused palm gags you. It silences your every scream.

“Make me repeat myself again, you’ll be gagged and not with my hand.”

As his hand draws back you don’t dare utter a single word. All you do is quietly whine.

“Good girl,” he coos, red eyes softening. Though his iron grip never falters around your wrists. “Now this next part is gonna hurt. But don’t freight, I promise to take good care of you, darlin. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Do what? What are you going to do to me?”

He huffs a raspy laugh. “Don’t worry, you’ll see soon enough.”

His head dips down to your face. Soft lips gently press against your forehead and slowly trail to your neck. Each kiss he litters, your body trembles. Even after experiencing sex, your reactions are still pure as if he never explored your body’s every crevice. So cute and sweet. Just for him only.

His tongue takes its time gliding across your neck’s feverish flesh. Its slick wetness drags unbalanced breaths from your chest.

Truly, you can’t fathom why he’s doing this to you. All the kindness you showed him when no one else in town did. The chance you alone offered when no one else did. How could he?

Your vision blurs as tears stain your flushed cheeks. “W-Why?”

He buries his face deep in your saliva coated neck. “Hmm?” He hums, drowned in total bliss, inhaling your mouth watering sweet scent.

“This…why are you doing this? I thought we were friends?” You sniffle, voice shattered. “Even if you are some kind of monster, Remmick, why?”

He keeps his face nuzzled in your neck’s warmth. “Because you’re mine. I want you to be mine. I can’t have you if you’re avoiding me, now can I? And once I’m done with you, you’ll be mine for eternity.”

“You can’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“My being, my soul, everything. It all belongs to the lord above and no one else.” You draw out a quivering breath, eyes glassy and stained red.

He laughs, the mockery in steals your breath away. It feels like a slap to your face, watching amusement shake his shoulders. Remmick’s chest deflates in satisfaction. Grinning ear to ear, his fangs show.

“And that’s why I’m doing this.”

“What—”

Deep in the side of your neck an unbearable pain erupts and burns. Your wailing voice fills the bedroom as your limbs freeze. Blood gushes in endless waves, soaking your gown’s bust area.

As expected, it shatters Remmick’s heart. Though, in the same breath euphoria fogs his mind. Filling his mouth, your blood is richly divine and deliciously sweet. He could feed on you all day and night, but that would be no fun and too cruel for his liking. He doesn’t want to hurt you or break you.

Freeing your flesh of his pointy fangs, he leans back, moaning. Mouth gapping. He devours the sight underneath him. Nonstop, tears stream and shock and pain shakes your frame. Remmick hates to admit it, but he’s savoring every minute of this. To you it’s probably mind spinning and heart wrenching. To him it's heaven on earth.

He releases your wrists. It’s no longer of use or necessary to do so.

“R-Remmick. I-It hurts…Blood…my neck won’t stop b-bleeding,” You manage to stammer through sobs.

“Shh, I know. It’ll stop eventually.”

He sits up on the bed and scoops your trembling frame into a gentle embrace, bridal style. Instinctively, lost to fear and dread, your arms hook around his neck.

“I’m scared. The blood won’t stop. I’m gonna die if it doesn’t, Remmick.” You hide your face in his chest. The stench of blood fills your nostrils. It rises bile up your dry throat.

His hand strokes your back gently as if dealing with fragile glass. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“G-God… please…help me,” you breathe one last time. Then in his warm embrace your body runs cold to the touch. Your shoulders slump as your head rolls to the side like an empty doll.

Remmick sighs, embracing your stiff head close to his chest. He didn’t want to do this, but you left him no choice. You could’ve lived as a regular human like everyone else did in town. To be kissed by the lovely sun as humans should. Too bad. Now, all you’ll ever know is darkness and the dim light of the moon.

He pecks your forehead and lightly rocks back and forth. Low and soft, he hums an Irish lullaby as he awaits your arrival.

For the rebirth of a graceful fallen angel.

…………………..

When you rise to life it’s a new day. High in the sky the sun blazes making the house sweat feverishly hot. Wrapped in his arms skin to skin, you stir awake. Your night gown sticks to your skin, doused in warm sweat. Sharp teeth in the top and bottom row of your mouth pokes your curious tongue.

Leisurely peeling away from his embrace in bed, you slip from the room out into the hall.

Home. You need to get home and fast before that vile devil awakens.

Though fog plagues your brain, memories of his cruelty still remain. Each step drains your energy and you find yourself grabbing the rough walls as if your life depends on it. More sweat glosses your skin as your body burns. You draw out ragged breaths, mind spinning like a twister. The closer you get to the door in the living room the hazier your vision becomes.

Then a stomach aching pain yanks you down on your knees. It doesn’t stop. Each stab in your gut comes in waves, sharp and acute. It’s as if your belly is devouring itself from the inside. No longer on your knees, you lay crumpled like paper, whimpering as the pain rips you apart.

“It hurts…”

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Remmick’s voice echoes from the hallway, deep and raspy from slumber. He strolls into the living room and halts before you on the floor. Disappointment fills his eyes as he watches you, still standing tall.

“Stay away from me,” you snarl.

He only sighs. “I can’t do that.”

Easily he lifts you in his arms. Your limbs lie stiff, lacking energy to move.

“What have you done to me?”

Remmick’s feet halt, frozen. His brown round eyes meet yours. “Want me to show you?”

You don’t nod. Don’t speak. You only gaze back at him. He takes it for a yes and lazily heads for the door. The door cracks open with a soft click and a groan. He hisses as the blinding beams, stinging and smoking his skin. Remmick, he’s ancient as the sun and moon. Therefore, he can withstand the brutal heat of the sun’s light.

You on the other hand…

A gut wrenching gasp rips from your throat, skin searing into nasty open wounds. Your flesh boils and smokes as you thrash like a rabid animal. It shatters his heart seeing you cry and claw at him, desperate to hide away from the sun.

“You wanted the truth. Now you have it. Do you understand now?”

…………………..

As you two hide away from the sun’s dangerous rays, now both creatures of the dark, the entire day you avoid Remmick in every way you can. You don’t speak, touch, or even spare glances his way. Sure, the stomach aching hunger collapsing your stomach in on itself drives you mad. But the overwhelming new hatred thumping through your heart is stronger.

It breaks him. On the surface he comes off as if he’s given up on you, but underneath that long frown dragging his lips down, he knows something you don’t. Soon you’ll come around. If your brain and heart doesn’t, then surely your hollow stomach will.

So, he waits.

The days blur by and each day you never cave in to your stomach’s will nor to Remmick. Everyday he tempts you with what you eventually learned your mouth craves—blood. At first it churned your gut, but as time dragged on you began to not care. Though you never let him know.

Some days Remmick leaves the house, hunting for blood as you reside in his home. Those days are the worst for you because he comes back he’s dripping in blood. From his sharp claws, to his shirt and chin. The smell drives you insane as drool threads down your lips.

Tonight he’s gone again and you’re weaker than ever. By now even you expected Remmick to force blood down your throat. But he doesn’t. In fact he barely speaks to you anymore these past couple of days.

You lie on the couch in the living room. Its stale smell fills your senses as you toss and turn, mind haunted by mouth watering thoughts of blood. Time drags on endlessly until the front door whines open.

As usual, blood stains his shirt all the way up to the corners of his lips. The smell yanks you off the couch in one swift breath. You stand, slouched, eyes wide and frantic. Saliva drowns your mouth, seeping out the corners. Your heart thumps wildly. You need it. Want it.

Blood. It’s all your brain can fathom as he strolls across the room.

“Remmick,” you call out sharply, body trembling with an aching need.

He halts in his steps. “Yes, darlin?”

A raw whine claws its way through your throat. “Hungry…I’m hungry.”

The corners of his lips curl.

Finally.

He always knew you would come around.

………………

His blood, rich and ancient floods your tastebuds. It draws loud ragged breaths from your chest, euphoria swallowing you whole.

You don’t remember how this happened—body cradled in his lap, hips frantically rocking—needy for more. His white tailored shirt, bundled tightly in your fist as you hold on for dear life. Head buried deep in his neck, your fangs sink into his flesh. Greedily, you suck his blood as his hands guide your hips in a never ending bounce on his cock.

“That’s it, darlin. You drink as much as you want,” he breathes, chest rising and falling on loop.

You moan into his neck, eyes rolling, spine arching. Everything, it all turns you on. His blood filling your tummy, the fullness of his warm throbbing cock separating you tight walls. It’s blissful, liberating and illuminating.

You release his neck with a pop, blood decorates your lips and chin. Eyes, gazing up at nothing, breathy moans fall past your open plump lips.

“So good, Remmick. It feels good.”

“It feels good, darlin? Yeah?” He purrs, raspy and low through pants.

“Mhmm, so good.”

Your eyes glow crimson and he smiles at the sight. The irony of it all pulls a chuckle past his lips. You, the town’s sweet little preacher girl is now his. The thought swells his chest with pride.

Sounds of skin slapping, wet and sloppy fill the air, soaking your pussy wet more. Remmick’s hands drift to your asscheeks, gripping them. Starving for more of your delicious heat, he desperately bounces you on his dick. The pace, deadly quick.

“Fuck,” he grits, bitting his lips.

Your moans evolve into screams as he moves at an ungodly speed. The pleasure draws your head back, revealing your bare neck to him. Stars shiny and pretty envelope your visions as your eyes roll back.

“G-Gonna cum. I-I’m gonna cum,” you utter, spit trickling down your chin.

“Cum for me, baby.”

On his command, you cum and hard. Your body goes stiff, quivering as he keeps pumping his cock in. Like your nothing but an empty doll, he uses your tightening cunt. The endless pleasure he gives you pools tears in your eyes and your body crumples against him, shaking. Wrapping your weak arms around his neck, you hold on tightly.

“That’s it, baby. Being such a sweet girl for me. I love you so much. You’re all mine,” he huffs, voice breathy and hot.

Deep between your walls his cock throbs, releasing his creamy seed. He keeps rocking your hips against his, making sure to milk every last bit. Then when he’s done, he falls limp. His strong arms flex around your frame in a warm embrace.

The bedroom fills with your pants.

“I love you, darlin.”

Words you never would’ve uttered slip past your lips. “I love you too.”

“You belong to me, and I to you, understand?”

“Yes, Remmick,” you mutter, eyelids heavy.

“Together we’ll live together.”

“Okay.”

With him still deep inside your walls, you drift off to sleep. Soon after you he joins you, happily.

Now you’re his and he’s yours. No longer does your soul belong to God. You’re now free.

The End

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺ ‧⁺ ‧

A/N: Comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! I like to know what people think, hehe

[brownetry]

June Never Ends

Pairing : han taesan x f! reader

Warning : drug addiction, emotional dependency, toxic relationship dynamics, self-harm, relapse themes, heavy angst, smut, trauma, co-dependency, blood, overdose (mentioned), psychological manipulation, mentions of violence, recovery themes.

The rehab centre reeked of peppermint and broken promises.

You stared at the pale green walls, tracing every crack like a map back to him.

Ten days clean. Ten long days. And yet your body still twitched at night, screaming for something—no, someone—it couldn’t have.

You weren’t stupid. You knew why you kept dreaming about his hands. Not because of the drugs. Not really. It was what came after—the high, the crash, the arms that held you through it. Taesan didn’t just sell poison. He sold warmth. He sold safety. In the cruellest, most fucked-up way, he became the only home you knew.

You never told anyone that.

They all thought he ruined you.

But you knew the truth.

He loved you. Just not the way normal people did.

You met him under a flickering neon sign behind a club you weren’t even old enough to be in. He looked like a sin wrapped in silk—rings on his fingers, smile lazy and sharp. When he spoke, it was slow, intoxicating, like every word had a drop of honey.

He didn’t pressure you.

He didn’t need to.

You were already falling before the drugs ever touched your tongue.

You sat in the garden behind the rehab building, legs tucked under you, hands trembling even though the weather wasn’t cold.

You could still taste him in the back of your throat.

And as if summoned by your sickness—

“Yo.”

Your head snapped up.

There he was.

Taesan.

Leaning against the fence like he belonged there, like you hadn’t spent the last ten days detoxing him out of your bloodstream.

He looked unfairly good. Hoodie slung over his sharp frame, silver chain glinting in the dull sun, jaw sharper than the last time you saw him.

“Shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

He smirked. “You missed me.”

Your throat closed.

You did miss him. God, it hurt how much.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you repeated, louder this time.

“I brought something,” he said softly. “Not what you think.”

Your body betrayed you—heart leaping in false hope.

He saw it. Of course he did. He always noticed.

“No drugs,” he murmured. “Just… peach tea. Thought you’d want something that doesn’t taste like guilt.”

You stared at the bottle in his hand. Your favourite brand. Still cold.

He crouched next to you, holding it out.

“I shouldn’t take things from you.”

“Doesn’t mean you won’t.”

He was right.

You took it.

And when your fingers brushed his, something in your chest cracked.

You didn’t tell the counsellors he came.

You should’ve.

But you didn’t.

Because you didn’t want them to make him stop.

That night, he waited outside your window.

You opened it before he knocked.

“Creep,” you whispered.

His smirk curled. “You let the creep in, though.”

You sat on the edge of the window, knees up. He stood below, leaning against the wall like this was a routine.

“I shouldn’t talk to you,” you said.

“You always say that,” he replied. “Then you do.”

Silence.

Then you said the one thing you weren’t supposed to,

“I miss you.”

His eyes softened. Just a flicker.

“Come outside.”

You shouldn’t have.

But you did.

The parking lot was cold. He handed you a hoodie you knew wasn’t yours, but smelled like him.

Taesan lit a cigarette, then held it out.

You hesitated.

“No drugs,” he promised. “Just nicotine and poor life choices.”

You took it.

The first drag burned.

“Why are you here?” you asked.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Bullshit.”

He shrugged. “Alright. I needed to see you.”

There it was again.

That soft ache.

You looked at him under the pale moonlight and saw it—the exhaustion under his eyes, the way he kept clenching his jaw like he was trying to swallow something down.

“You’re not high,” you said.

He gave you a small smile. “Didn’t feel right.”

“You clean?”

He looked at you, dead-on. “As clean as you are.”

Your heart twisted.

Ten days. He’d gone ten days too.

“Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He looked away. “Didn’t want to come back to you with blood in my eyes.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

You kept replaying the way his fingers brushed yours when he gave you the tea, the way his voice cracked when he said “needed.”

And when the night nurse checked your room, you were already sliding the hoodie over your shoulders again.

Sneaking out.

Like always.

He was waiting in the car.

Music low. Engine purring.

The moment you opened the door, he looked at you like a man dying of thirst.

“You really came,” he murmured.

You slid in. “Just for a drive.”

But you both knew it was a lie.

The road was empty, the city asleep.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other twitching like he was itching for something—your hand, a hit, you couldn’t tell.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said after a while.

You stayed silent.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he added.

You looked at him.

“I thought you left me.”

He pulled over abruptly, parking under a broken streetlight. The silence that followed was suffocating.

“I did leave,” you said softly. “Because I had to.”

“Yeah?” His voice cracked. “So why are you here now?”

You didn’t answer.

He turned to you. His eyes were red—not from drugs, but from holding back tears.

“You still love me?”

You couldn’t lie.

“I never stopped.”

His kiss tasted like ash and regret.

But you let him kiss you anyway.

Because love like this doesn’t come wrapped in bows.

It comes with scars, with poison, with shaking hands and whispered apologies.

It comes with relapse.

And right now, relapse looked a lot like Taesan pulling you onto his lap and holding you like he never wanted to let go again.

The next morning felt like a bruise.

Your body remembered his touch before your mind did.

When you opened your eyes, you were in his apartment—his bed, his air, his everything.

Same apartment you swore you’d never return to. The same sheets you once overdosed in.

Taesan was still asleep next to you, hand wrapped tight around your wrist. Like he thought you might vanish again.

You studied his face in the early light. The gentle slope of his nose. The way his lashes brushed his cheekbones. The tiny scar on his bottom lip from when someone tried to rob him and you begged him not to retaliate.

He didn’t listen.

He never listened. Except when it came to you.

Always you.

You slipped out of bed quietly, pacing barefoot on cold wooden floors. The ache behind your ribs had nothing to do with withdrawal this time. It was guilt.

You were supposed to be recovering.

Not crawling back into the arms of the man who broke you just to glue you back together.

But it was like your bones knew him. Your blood still carried him. Your cells whispered his name every time you tried to clean them out.

“Where’re you going?”

His voice was sleep-rough, hoarse.

You turned. He sat up slowly, blanket sliding off, eyes puffy and raw from too many dreams.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you murmured.

He blinked. “Yeah. But you are.”

You swallowed.

“I want to leave.”

His jaw clenched. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes. I do.”

“No, you think you do. But if you really did, you wouldn’t have stayed the night. You wouldn’t be in my shirt right now.” His voice cracked. “You wouldn’t have let me hold you like that if you were gone for real.”

You looked down. You were wearing his shirt. It still smelled like his cologne.

He stood, crossed the room, slowly—like approaching a scared animal. His hands went to your face.

“Tell me you didn’t feel anything last night.”

You couldn’t.

He leaned in, nose brushing yours, voice barely a whisper.

“You’re still mine.”

You were trembling.

And then his lips touched yours—and it was over.

You kissed like the world was ending. Like this was the last time. Like love and pain came from the same bottle, and you were both drinking deep.

When his hands slid under your shirt—his shirt—you didn’t stop him.

Because it wasn’t just about the sex. It was about the need. The ache in your chest. The hunger that no rehab, no tea, no counsellor could touch.

Taesan touched it. Ruined it. Worshipped it.

“You want me to stop?”

You shook your head.

“You sure?”

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t stop. Just… don’t stop.”

Clothes hit the floor one by one. His mouth was everywhere—slow, reverent, desperate.

He tasted you like salvation. Like you were the drug now. His tongue dragged over your skin like he could absorb you through his mouth. The way he groaned when you pulled his hair told you—this wasn’t just lust.

It was grief. Worship. Addiction.

You whimpered his name when he slid between your legs, tongue hot and slow, fingers curling inside you like they belonged.

“Taesan—”

“Say it again.”

“Taesan, I—”

“You missed this, didn’t you?”

You were crying now, just a little. Because it was too much.

“You missed me.”

He kept going until your back arched, thighs shaking, until you were sobbing into his shoulder and clinging to him like he was your last chance.

You came undone with his name on your lips.

And when you looked at him, his eyes were glassy.

Like it hurt him too.

Like maybe he was addicted to you just as much.

Later, when the room was quiet again, you lay tangled in sheets and shame.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” you whispered.

Taesan didn’t look at you. Just lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling.

“I know.”

You closed your eyes.

“I’m going back tomorrow. To the centre.”

He was silent for a while.

“I’ll drive you.”

The next morning.

He didn’t talk much.

Just held your hand the whole way, thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin like he was memorizing it again.

When you reached the centre, he parked but didn’t get out.

You sat in silence for a while.

Then he finally looked at you.

“I’m not good for you,” he said.

You blinked back tears. “I know.”

“I’m gonna try anyway.”

Your chest cracked.

“Why?”

His lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace.

“Because loving you hurts less than living without you.”

You didn’t talk much after you went back.

Rehab was colder the second time. Not literally—the blankets were the same, the tea tasted the same. But the way people looked at you had shifted. Like they knew.

That you’d left. That you’d gone back to him. That you let him touch you, fuck you, kiss you.

Like they could see his fingerprints still burned into your skin.

And maybe they could.

Because no matter how many times you scrubbed your hands, they still trembled.

Day Four.

You hadn’t heard from him. He hadn’t texted. Called. Shown up.

Your chest ached in a new way.

You told yourself it was withdrawal.

But withdrawal didn’t feel like heartbreak.

Day Six.

You woke up shaking.

Heart pounding, skin sweating, mouth dry.

You didn’t know if it was a nightmare or just your body craving him.

You curled into yourself and sobbed. Quiet, ugly cries that you buried in your pillow like secrets.

You missed him.

You missed him like a drug.

You missed the poison more than the cure.

Day Eight.

The knock on the counsellor’s door came mid-session.

“Visitor for you,” someone said.

Your heart dropped.

Couldn’t be. No way.

You stepped into the lobby—and there he was.

Taesan.

Slumped in a plastic chair, hoodie soaked in rain, hair messy, eyes red.

You blinked.

And that’s when you saw the blood on his knuckles.

“What the fuck happened to you?” you hissed, dragging him outside.

He didn’t speak at first. Just lit a cigarette with shaking hands.

“Are you okay?” you whispered.

He laughed. Bitter. Hollow. “That’s a stupid question.”

You stepped closer.

“Taesan.”

His eyes met yours—and it broke you.

Because you saw it.

The spiral.

He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t used—not yet. But he was teetering. Dangerous edge. One push away.

“I almost did,” he said.

“What?”

He flicked the cigarette away.

“I almost used.”

Your stomach dropped.

“But I didn’t,” he added. “I didn’t, because I remembered your face. The way you looked at me when I dropped you off. Like I was worth something.”

You reached for his hand. He flinched.

“Let me see,” you whispered.

He let you take his fist. The skin was torn open. Fresh and raw.

“Bar fight?” you asked gently.

He shook his head. “Wall.”

You blinked.

“Your wall?”

He nodded.

“You punched your wall?”

“I just—” His voice cracked. “I didn’t know what to do. I needed to feel something.”

Your chest throbbed.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whispered. “I can’t be the reason you fall apart.”

“You’re not,” he snapped. “You’re the only reason I’m still here.”

He stepped closer, gripping your arms.

“I know I’m fucked up. I know I’m poison. But you—” His voice dropped. “You made me want to be clean. Not just from the drugs. From all of it. From me.”

Tears stung your eyes.

“I’m not better,” you said. “I’m still sick, Tae. I still think about it. Every day.”

“I know,” he murmured. “That’s why we need each other.”

That night, he stayed outside your window again.

Didn’t sneak in.

Just sat there.

Like a ghost waiting to be forgiven.

One week later.

You got permission to leave for the weekend.

Only under supervision.

So you told the counsellor, your mom was picking you up.

You lied.

It was Taesan.

He picked you up in the same car. Same scent. Same old playlist.

But this time, neither of you reached for the other.

Just sat in silence. Comfortably broken.

His apartment hadn’t changed.

Except for the holes in the wall.

You stood in the middle of the living room while he watched you like you were a hallucination.

“Are you staying?” he asked.

You turned to him.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“You.”

That night was nothing like the first.

It was slow. Quiet. Full of whispered apologies between kisses.

You cried when he kissed your scars. He cried when you kissed his fists.

You pulled his hoodie over your bare body. He tucked his arms around you like you’d disappear if he didn’t.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he said against your skin.

“You will,” you whispered. “And I’ll hurt you too.”

He nodded.

“But we’ll try,” he said. “This time, we’ll try.”

He sold his last stash.

Gave you the money.

You didn’t ask what he wanted you to do with it.

You bought groceries. Paid rent. Cleaned the blood off the past.

You weren’t perfect. Still had nights where your bones screamed. He still woke up from nightmares shaking like a child.

But you held each other. Again. And again.

And one day, it didn’t hurt to breathe anymore.

One Year Later.

You sat on the rooftop, eating peach ice cream.

He sat beside you, fingers laced with yours, eyes watching the sky.

“Do you think we’re clean?” you asked.

He thought for a second.

“No,” he said. “But I think we’re healing.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Still addicted to me?”

“Always.”

Then he kissed you—soft, warm, whole.

Like you were the cure now.

And maybe, just maybe

You were.

© brownetry

[eddiesxangel]

Need You Now | Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Requested by @mmunson86 : Eddie and Reader were best friends who secretly liked each other, but then they went their separate ways after high school and kind of lost contact. one day, Eddie runs into Steve, who still talks to Reader, and after five years he realizes that he should’ve taken his shot and I don’t know maybe he has the urge to call her and instead he just shows up at her doorstep in the pouring rain he’s drenched in water, and he tells her how she feels and hopes that she does and well she does feel the same (Eddie finally asks her to be his girl) & well it gets smutttty 🥹💗 included the song Need you Now by Lady A

Cw: angst, mutual pining, friends to strangers to lovers, fluff, no use of y/n reader is referred to with nicknames (Peach, sweetheart, baby) smut, p in v, dirty talk, one mention of birth control, no use of condoms, creampies? Alchohol.

wc: 7.6k

comments and reblogs are always appreciated and encouraged <3

August 1984.

"So this is it, huh?" Eddie was completely taken aback by the suddenness of it all. He had known deep down that this day would eventually arrive, but it had always felt like a distant threat. Now that it was here, he struggled to come to terms with the fact that you were leaving him. You had always been ambitious, and he was incredibly proud of everything you had accomplished. But the thought of being left behind while you went on to bigger and better things was a tough pill to swallow. Despite his own feelings of loss and sadness, however, Eddie knew that he couldn't stand in the way of your dreams - he would never be the kind of person to hold someone back from reaching their full potential.

"Y-yeah." you sigh with shaky breath.

How could you leave him? The guilt gnawed at you because, even after everything, you never got to tell him how you felt. Now you are standing in the airport, feeling lost. It's too little, too late for confessionals.

Since you can remember, going to school in England has been your dream. You made it a mission and are now attending the University of Cambridge. You got in on a scholarship and scrapped up every penny working at Family Video for your four years of high school.

"You better write to me and all that shit" he pointed.

This made you giggle. "Of course, I'll even call once in a while. Hopefully, the long-distance charges won't be too lethal." You play with the chain hanging from your neck. You never took it off.

"Oh! I almost forgot... here!." Eddie rummaged around his pockets and pulled out a small wrapped gift. "Uh, open it when you get there, okay?"

"Teddy, you didn-"

"I wanted to. Please? Just take it." Eddie’s heart fluttered at your name of endearment.

You reach for the gift, fingers brushing, and you swear you feel sparks fly. You instantly jump into him, arms wrapping around his neck, taking in his feel, scent, and touch. Fuck this hurts more than you thought it would. But you kept telling yourself it wouldn't be forever, only four years; you could survive that. And you would be home in the summers. It wouldn't be so bad.

Tears threaten to fall as they rim your lashes. "I'll miss you," you sniffle, and your voice cracks.

It breaks Eddie's heart to see you like this. You were his girl, well, not technically, but you had his heart. You had it from the first moment he saw you in ninth-grade science when you were assigned to be his lab partner. From then on, you were as thick as thieves; if only you felt the same way...

"All passengers for flight 739, please make your way to gate 67; you are now boarding." Your heart sinks at the announcement; that was you. No more stalling.

You turn to your parents, giving them another tight hug, then quickly turn to Eddie again. You hug him once more, as tight as you can this time.

"You're squishing me, Peach. Can't. Breath." He jokes, and you look up at him with glossy eyes.

You reach up to your tiptoes, kiss his stubbly cheek and mutter the words he has been waiting to hear for the past four years. "I love you, Eddie."

Eddie was stunned, did he hear you correctly? You don't give him time to answer because you quickly turn without another word, not giving him a chance to speak, and you run. You run to the gate and don't look back.

For most of the flight, your mind was racing. You couldn't help but feel like a coward. Your mind was racing with questions and doubts. What if Eddie misunderstood your words as just platonic love? Or would he understand that you were actually in love with him?

You sat on the plane, staring at the gift box Eddie handed you. It was a small black square box with a red bow. Nothing fancy.

Once you were over international waters, you decided you couldn't wait anymore and opened it up.

As you slowly lift the lid, the tears start to well up in your eyes again. Your heart is pounding as you peer inside the small box and handwritten note and a silver mood ring were nestled inside. You reach in and carefully pick up the note and begin to read.

Dear, Peach

I am going to miss you so much, so here is a small token to remember me by…

Your Teddy.

You sniffle as you pick up the ring and hold it up to the overhead light to get a better look.

You turn it over in your fingers, examining every detail, trying to confirm whether or not this was Eddie's ring. It looks exactly like the one he wore daily, but you can't be sure. You had never seen him without it before? You try to think about if he had it on at the airport.

As you examine the ring, memories of Eddie flood your mind. You remember how he constantly fiddled with it, absentmindedly twisting it around his finger. You remember how he told you it was his mother's ring and how much it meant to him. But now, as you hold it in your hand, you can't believe he did this.

You try to slide it onto your fingers, but it's too loose to stay in place. You don't want to give up on the ring, though. It's too precious to lose. Suddenly, a thought strikes you, and you take off your necklace. You carefully latch the ring onto the chain, ensuring its security. You can keep it close to your heart as you wear it around your neck...

Now, 1991

"Peach?!” You jump and turn; you were startled when browsing the chips section at the Dollar Store. “Holy shit, it is you!"

"Steve?" You smile brightly and embrace him in a hug when you realize who is speaking to you. Not even twenty-four hours back home, and you’re already bumping into old friends. You had forgotten how small Hawkins really was.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" he asked with a bright smile across his face.

"Brian-you remember my brother Brian? He's getting married, had to come back for the wedding." You smile.

"When did you get back?! Have you seen anyone? Oh god, everyone is going to be thrilled." He hugged you again for good measure to make sure it was really you.

"I got back late last night; I'm still jetlagged, so I haven't seen or reached out to anyone yet... I don't think I have anyone's numbers anymore; it's been so long..." You felt so guilty. Your life in Hawkins was worlds away. You had been so busy once you graduated. You hadn't been home in about four years; visiting you was easier for your folks.

"I'll alert the media; I'll be the town crier! Let everyone know Peach is back!"

"Thanks, Stevie," you giggled.

"How long are you in town for?"

"Ummm, that's the thing; I think I am back for good?" Sure, you loved being overseas, but seven years was so long you missed your life back home, your family, your friends, and your visa was running out.

"This is amazing! Oh, we have to all get together to celebrate!"

"How um- how is everyone?"

"Good! Robin and I are roommates, Nancy and Jonathan are still going strong, Dustin, Mike, Lucas and Will, El and Max are off at their different colleges..."

"What, uh-what about Eddie?" You hadn't mutter his name in years. Things fell off like they did with everyone else. You used to write almost every day, but then school, friends, and boyfriends happened, and eventually, the letters stopped altogether.

The two of you never spoke of the "I love you" statement you made at the airport. You tiptoed around it like it didn't happen. Sometimes, you wished you had stayed to hear what he would have said, and other times, you were glad you ran. You took the hint that he didn't feel the same way when he never said anything back in his letters or the few times you called him.

"Oh, Ed's is great! Yeah, he has his own shop downtown; you know how good he was with fixing cars and all that. He got promoted a few months back when Richards decided to retire..." You smile at the thought of Eddie finally owning up to his potential.

"Oh, well, um, that's amazing! I really missed you guys." You sighed, subconsciously playing with the ring attached to the chain around your neck. You hadn't taken it off in the seven years you had been away.

"Well, I better get going, but I'll call you, ok?"

"Yeah, I'm with my folks for now until I find an apartment, so same number,” you smiled.

When you leave Steve, your mind can't help but race with thoughts of seeing Eddie again. Seven years is a really long time; would he still have his long hair? Would he have a girlfriend? Oh god, what if he has a girlfriend? Of course, he would have a girlfriend. He's Eddie. He is the most flirtatious guy out there; there is no way he would be sitting around waiting for you. Not that he would be waiting for you... he never said those three words back.

It's been less than twenty-four hours since you've been back in Hawkins, and yet your thoughts are consumed by memories of him. The sound of his voice echoes in your mind as if you had heard him yesterday... The way he laughed, the way he walked, and the way he used to look at you. His presence has left an everlasting mark on your psyche, and you can't help but wonder what he's doing right now, whether he's thinking about you too, or if you'll ever see him again.

Your stuff was all over the new apartment. You managed to score a place not too far from everyone, and it only took about a week and a half to find, sign and finalize a place to live.

The living room was filled with countless cardboard boxes, each one crammed with different items from your childhood home and England.

As you rummaged through them, your attention was suddenly grasped by a photo album that had been buried deep inside one of the boxes. It took you by surprise - I had completely forgotten about it. As you held it in your hands, you couldn't help but feel a rush of nostalgia and curiosity, wondering what picture-perfect memories were inside.

You grabbed your drink from the side table and crawled on the messy couch covered in old newspapers and bubble wrap. Pictures of you with the gang, in the Wheelers basement, at lovers lake, in the trailer…

Memories of late nights, early morning school pick ups, dnd creation sessions, forcible study sessions that ended up just you two talking for hours on end, Eddie making you fall for him and him you with neither of you were the wiser.

The phone ringing breaks you out of the trance. You scramble up off the couch the photo album falls off your lap and onto the floor as you scurry over to the phone mounted on the wall.

“Hello?” Nice to know the phone company installed it correctly.

“Hey! It’s Steve, how are you?”

“Good, just settling in; my place is a mess,” you giggle.

“Good, good. We are all getting together on Friday; maybe you can take a break from unpacking? We thought it would be nice to meet at my folk's place, old time's sake.” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” You hesitated. “Is, um, everyone going to be there?”

"Yep! Folks are out of town; we can use the pool to put advantage. Everyone is so excited you're back" emphasis on everyone.

“That’s great, Steve; I’m happy to be home, glad no one hates me," you chuckle uncomfortably. "I was kinda worried since I fell off the face of the earth...”

“Nah, we could never be mad at you.”

“Okay then! I’ll see you guys Friday,” you smile. Oblivious to the fact that none of your friends knew you were in town…

“So Stevie, what’s got you bouncing off the walls?” Robin asked.

It was Friday, and Steve had everyone already over for an hour before your arrival.

They had no idea you were back because Steve wanted to tell everyone simultaneously. So he invited Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie so he could share the big news.

“Yea, you’re killing us, man,” Jonathan smirked.

“Okay, okay, okay! Everyone sit down.” Steve instructed. “So I was out running some errands, and you’re never going to guess who I ran into!”

“Vicki?” Robin asked.

“Nooo.”

“Chrissy?”

“Nope.”

“Max?”

“Nope, guess again.”

“Lucas?”

Amidst the incessant guessing, Eddie's mind drifted away to a memory of you. He pictured you walking through the front door with that enchanting smile you always had on your face. The sound of your voice was etched in his mind as if he had heard it only yesterday. His heart yearned for you, how you used to take over his whole world and light up his day with your infectious energy and captivating aura.

Just as Eddie is about to get lost in his thoughts of you, the doorbell snaps him back into reality.

“You uh expecting anymore else man?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, you uh mind grabbing the door for me?” Steve was up to something, and Eddie could sense it. Maybe Dustin was home early?

“Why? Are you busy or something?”

“Yea, 'bout to get the pool ready..” he winks.

With his suspicions, Eddie tentatively stands and reaches the door. Behind him, in the distance, he hears Nancy, “Oh my god, shut up!” He must have shared the mystery person while he was out of war shot… jackass.

With his heart racing, he took the last few steps towards the door. His curiosity was piqued, and he felt a sense of anticipation building up inside him, wondering who could possibly be waiting on the other side. As he jogged, he could hear his own footsteps echoing in the hallway. Finally, he reached for the doorknob, ready to discover the mystery person on the other side.

You rang the doorbell once again… what had been taking so long?

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, hold your horses-” Eddie swung open the door without any hesitation as he was in the middle of his sentence. However, his words trailed off when he saw you standing on the other side.

“Hey, Teddy” you smiled as your heart pounded. It was pumping so hard he could probably see it beating through your chest.

“Oh my god.” Eddie looked like he had seen a ghost. The blood drained from his face. His eyes are wide with shock. Did Steve not tell him? “Oh my god!” You were suddenly knocked off your feet as Eddie's weight collided with yours.

“Hi,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around him.

"Peach?" It took him a second to process. “Holy shit, you’re here!” He spun you around before putting you down.

“Did Steve not tell you?” As you slowly stepped back, your eyes fixed on his face.

His once baby-smooth skin now bore a few fine lines, a testament to the life he had lived. Life was never kind to Eddie, but he held on to hope. His facial hair added a more mature rugged charm to the baby face you once knew. You couldn't help but admire the beauty that was Eddie Munson.

You also couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off your face and Eddie was so thankful because he had never been witness to something so beautiful.

“No! Oh my god! No, he didn’t tell us anything.” He couldn’t let you go; he needed to feel you to convince himself he wasn’t seeing things. You smelled just as he remembered, but also sweeter.

“She’s back?!” You hear Robin's voice coming from far inside the house. That made you giggle, and Eddie heard angels singing.

The loud sound of footsteps fills your ears, and you see Robin running towards the door. She bulldozes her way past Eddie and engulfs you in a suffocating hug.

“How long are you here?!” She squealed.

“For good!” You smile as you see Nancy and Jonathan run out after Robin.

“What?! You’re back forever?!” Nancy came running out the door

“Yes, forever!” You smile, glancing over at Eddie.

Eddie needed to process everything and stepped back so everyone else could say their long-awaited hellos.

He missed you so badly; of course, he tried to move on, but nothing was the same. Feeling overwhelmed by the avalanche of information he had just received, Eddie needed a moment to gather his thoughts. With a smile, he excused himself from the room and went through the house to the backyard.

The warm afternoon breeze hit his face as he leaned against the deck railing. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air. He reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, and with a flick of his lighter, he lit one up. As he took a long first drag, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander, hoping to find clarity amid the chaos because you were back.

He hadn’t been out there for two minutes, barely making a dent in the cigarette, when he heard the sliding glass door open and close behind him.

“Hey, you okay, man?” It was Steve.

“Yeah, yeah, just in shock, I guess...” He took a long drag of the cigarette and blew the puffs of smoke in the other direction, away from Steve's face.

“She looks good, huh?.” Steve smirked as he also leaned back against the railing next to Eddie.

"Yeah, uh yea really good" He tried releasing his tense shoulders, but it was of no use.

"I didn't see a ring on her finger… but I did see one around her neck… looked familiar too.”

"What?” Eddie’s head snapped up.

“See for yourself.”

You were now in the kitchen, facing him through the window. Clear as day your exposed chest dawned his ring.

What did this mean?

"Looks like now's your chance." Steve clapped his back.

"It's been so long… things are- I don't know, things just won't be the same. Too much time has passed."

"That's why I say seize the day!"

"Don't Carpe Diem me," Eddie scoffed.

"Well, you better because there is no way I’m going to let someone else swoop in and snatch her up because you’re too dumb to say you love her back." In a swift motion, Steve reached out and plucked the cigarette from Eddie's lips, brought it up to his own mouth, took a long drag, and savoured the taste of the smoke. As he exhaled, he brought the cigarette back down and carefully stubbed it in the ashtray, snuffing out every last bit of ember. The two friends sat silently for a moment, lost in their thoughts.

"Don’t fuck this up again,” he smirked before slipping back inside with the others.

Your gaze automatically finds Eddie as you make your way out the door and into the yard, it was a pool party after all. You even bought a new swimsuit for the occasion because you wanted to make an impression on Eddie. He hadn't seen you since you were no more than a few weeks older than eighteen, when you were still awkward and pimply. Now at twenty-five, you’ve come into your body, and you looked fucking good.

You knew that your body had changed considerably since you were a teenager, and you wanted to look your best.

So when you went shopping you settled on a navy blue option with little white anchors, cute without trying too hard, or so you hoped. It accentuated all of your best assets.

Confidently, you let the shawl slip down your shoulders. Eddie felt like you were moving slowly as he watched you bend over to remove your jean shorts.

If Eddie didn't know any better, he'd think you were doing it intentionally. His hands were getting sweaty, and he needed to tighten his grip on the beer bottle so it wouldn't slip. You made him nervous; you were beautiful, elegant, and not to mention sexy, even more so than he remembered.

As you reach out to grab the drink from Robin's hand, you can sense Eddie's intense gaze fixed on you. Robin, who seems oblivious to the brewing tension, turns around and walks towards the pool chairs where Eddie, Steve, Jonathan and Nancy are lounging. You watch as Robin joins the trio, leaving you standing alone, wondering what Eddie's piercing stare could possibly mean. With a deep breath, you take a swig and join your group of friends.

Like a flip of a switch, Eddie's face softens when he sees you coming towards them. He takes in your body the closer you get. As soon as he caught a glimpse of you, his heart began to race uncontrollably. He couldn't believe how stunning you looked, and his eyes were immediately drawn to his ring that adorned your necklace.

You watched as Eddie gazed at you with admiration. It was like he was noticing every detail about you. Memorizing you - the way your hair cascaded over your shoulders, the sparkle in your eyes, the curve of your lips as you smiled. Eddie always knew how to make you feel special, even with just a look.

"Here, you can take mine." Eddie gets up. Alwasy the gentalman.

"No, it's okay. They are big enough we can share." You smile as you lay out your towel to sit at the end of the long white chair.

Conversations about everyone and how they have been lasted about an hour before you decided it was way too hot to not take advantage of the pool. While living in England, you have had to endure the cool and damp weather. It's such a contrast to the hot and humid summers that you grew up with in Hawkins. The scorching heat can sometimes get unbearable, yet a refreshing change from the gloomy weather back in England.

"I'm going in if anyone wants to join me." You set down your sweaty glass and walk over to the pool. Nancy and Robin follow closely behind before you glance back at the boys.

“Hey, come in with us.” You offer with a smile.

You hear a splash from the pool and see the two other girls' heads bobbing up from under the water.

Steve and Jon nod their head while Eddie shakes his no.

“You sure?” You offer once more, raising your brow.

Once again, Eddie shakes his head no before the other two boys grab him by the arms and drag him to the water's edge.

You giggle before taking a graceful dive in to join your girlfriends. The three of you tread water as you watch the boys struggle from land.

"Hey! Come on, I still have my shirt on!" Eddie protested.

"Take it off!" Robin yelled, pulling another giggle from you.

"Oh you think seeing me shirtless is funny, Peach?" He quipped. He was kidding, of course, but you couldn't help to fight off the blood rushing to your cheeks.

Too flustered to reply, you don't say anything; however, the boys save you by throwing Eddie in the pool. You flinch away from the splash of water that gets in your eyes and wait for Eddie to come back up for air. You stare at the spot that he was thrown in, but he doesn't come back up.

"Eddie?" you ask, feeling a bit worried. However, as you are standing in the water, a feeling of terror fear overtakes you as something grabs your waist from below the surface and pulls you backwards. You let out a small scream, but quickly cover your mouth as you feel strong arms wrap around you, holding you close to their chest.

"Teddy, you idiot!" You play scream but also can't hold back your laughter as Eddie pops back up for air, trying to swim off with you in toe.

"What? I'm saving you from sharks." He shrugs like he is doing the most obvious thing in the world.

"God, you haven't changed a bit, have you?" You gaze into his eyes as he pinned you against the pool wall. You can’t help but take in his beauty.

"What is that a bad thing?" He cocks his head.

"N-not at all," Your breath hitches.

For a fleeting moment, you lose the sense of your surroundings. You forget about group's presence that is intently observing your and Eddie's every move. It's as if you are in a bubble, separate from the rest of the world. Your attention is drawn to the black t-shirt that now clings tightly to his wet body, accentuating every contour of his muscles in a way you hadn't noticed before. During your high school days, you remembered him as a lanky teenager.

Now, you noticed he had put on a lot of muscle mass. His chest was broad and well-defined, his biceps looked like they were about to burst out of his shirt, and his forearms were thick and veiny.

You couldn't help but feel a slight tingle through your core as the thought of running your hands over his muscular chest crossed your mind…

"I like what you did with the ring." He flicked your necklace with his index finger, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Oh yeah, I, uh, it didn't fit, so... Had to keep it safe, you know." You chuckled awkwardly. "Never took it off."

"Never?" He was shocked.

"Never," You whispered back.

"Your boyfriend okay with having another man's ring around your neck, Sweetheart?"

"I-I-uh- no, no boyfriend." God, why was it like you had forgotten how to speak.

"Noted." You can't help but want to kiss the stupid gin off of his face.

You reminisced about the countless hours you had spent lost in your own thoughts, daydreaming about kissing his lips. Maybe, just maybe, a new beginning would allow Eddie to finally see you in the same light that you had always seen him. Little did you know Eddie also daydreamed about your lips. Especially the memory of watching you say those three words in the airport. It plagued his dreams day and night. He should have said them back, but he was too shocked to react, and before he knew what was happening, you were boarding the airplane to take you far far away from him.

"Okay, love birds, enough of this. We are playing macro polo!" Robin announced, popping the bubble that was you and Eddie.

You were suddenly embarrassed by your behaviour in front of your other friends. You were there to see everyone, not just Eddie, but you can’t help yourself, you have missed him so badly, sometimes you felt like your chest was in physical pain from how much your longed for him.

He still was the last person you thought about before going to bed many nights. Even the times when you had a boyfriend…That’s why none of your relationships worked, because he was right. You wore another man’s ring on your neck and refused to take it off no matter your relationship status. You were forever his, even if you technically never were, but your heart belongs to him.

The rest of the day was filled with laughter and catching up on old times. You tried your best to divide your attention to everyone but somehow you and Eddie were drawn to one another. He needed to be sitting next to you, to touch you whenever he could. To convince himself that you were in fact real and not going anywhere.

To Eddie you were the one that got away. The endless nights he stayed up thinking about you, the day you left, the days and nights spent, platonically, wishing he had just made a move… but maybe that would have made your move all that harder?

The ring was a spur of the moment decision that he was glad he made. He always caught you looking at it. He loved that you loved it and that you would have a piece of him while you were gone. He knew you would protect it and cherish it because he knew how much you knew it meant to him. It was one of the last things that he had left of his mother, and he felt that it symbolizes how much you meant to him…

Saying goodbye to every wasn’t half as painful as the last time you had to do it because it really wasn’t ‘goodbye’ but ‘see you later’.

Eddie offered to walk you to your car, before you left. He wanted to speak with you alone.

“It was really good seeing you” you lean against the door of your car.

“Yeah it really was… Um, hey… look can we talk?”

“Of course, what’s up?”

“I just need to know, why?”

“You gotta be more specific there Teds” you giggle.

“You tell me you love me then run away to England for almost a decade!.”

“Oh.”

How was it that this conversation was happening now, in Steve’s parents driveway? Things were fine a minute ago back in the house?

“How was I supposed to process that? What was I suppose to do with that information? Tell me Sweetheart because let me tell you it really fucked with my head.”

“Teddy I’m sorry, I was so young and scared but I had to let you know… I couldn’t stand the thought of you not knowing.”

“You didn’t even give me the change to say it back…”

“What?”

“ I said you-”

“I know what you said Eddie but you had plenty of chances! We wrote every week and we phone once a month what about them!”

“I can’t do this again…”

“Wh-what?” Your words betrayed you as your voice wobbled.

“It’s good to see you, but I don’t think I can go through all of this again.” Eddie couldn’t stop the words. He didn’t know why he was saying these things? This was not how this was suppose to go. But he was so mad you left him and he never got closure.

“Go through all of what?”

“You left. You left me here in Hawkins while you went out and became someone! I was held back two years, a fucking super senior as you were out in the world without me.”

“Oh I see. So this is my fault?” Now you were pissed. How dare he pin his mistakes on you.

“Forget it.”

You didn’t know what to do. You and Eddie never fought before? Now he’s a perfect stranger and yelling at you because you had left him. But he knew you were to leave eventually. How could he expect you to not go to your dream school? Why did he give you his ring?

“Well if that is how you feel.” You reach up to unlatch the chain from your neck and let go of the thing that had been attached to you for the past seven years.

Without a word you hand it to Eddie, and get in your car and drove home.

You cried the whole way home. It was a miracle you were able to see through the burning tears that stained your cheeks. Fitting that it should start to thunderstorm the second you get out of the car; at least it will hide your tears from your nosey neighbours.

As you stepped inside your apartment, the weight of the day's events pressed heavily on your mind. You reached for the nearest bottle and poured yourself a glass, savoring its amber color and the warmth it brought to your throat. The first glass went down quickly, followed by another and then another, each one helping to ease the pain of disappointment and frustration.

After a few hours of wallowing in self-pity and letting the alcohol work its magic, you finally gathered the courage to walk over to the phone. You braved the hallow ringing as it seemed to go on forever.

There's a fat chance he will answer, but you had to get this off your chest. You still love him.

"Hey, sorry I missed your call, just leave a message after the" beeeeep

"Hey, yeah, it's me... Peach. Just been thinking about everything tonight…And I don't know,” you sniffle. “I just miss you so much. I thought about you all the time… did you think about me? -shit- I’m a little drunk I uh…just ignore that last part. Give me a call back if you can?"

Shit, this was so stupid... could you sound any more desperate? “Did you think about me?” God, you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He’s already shot you down twice, but at this point, you would rather be hurt than feel nothing at all. He has found a permanent home within your heart, and the eviction notice has been shredded and burned.

After you hung up the phone, you went straight to bed. You did nothing but toss and turn for two hours. Thinking about Eddie and the words he spoke. You had to do something; you regretted giving him the ring back. Your neck felt bare without it like a part of you was missing.

As the rolling thunderstorm rumbled in the background, you heard a knock on the front door. At first, you were sure it was just the storm playing tricks on your mind. But then, you hear it again - three distinctive knocks that make you freeze in place. You couldn't help but wonder who could be knocking at your door at this hour and in the middle of a storm? Your mind raced with thoughts of potential intruders, lost travellers seeking shelter, or even a neighbour in need of assistance. With a sense of caution, you waited another minute, hoping to hear something that would help me identify the person on the other side of the door.

Again, three more knocks.

You let out a string of curses under your breath as you nervously glance towards the door, wondering who could be knocking at this ungodly hour. The darkness of the night envelopes you completely, with no one else around to offer you any comfort or protection. So you flick on the hallway light for some semblance of comfort.

The howling wind outside only adds to your anxiety as it whips through the trees with a mournful wail. The rain pelts against the ground with a relentless force, creating a deafening crescendo that echoes through the stillness of the night. You feel as though you're trapped in the middle of a horror story or some twisted nightmare.

“Peach, it’s me!” You hear a deep voice coming from the other side of the door as you slowly approach it. You peer through the peephole to double-check, but as soon as you see who is on the other side, you wrench the door open so fast that you almost take it off its hinges.

“Eddie?” You look at him with swollen eyes. "It's one in the morning."

"Quarter after, actually." His heart sank a little when you called him by his actual name.

"Okay?”

"You cheated me out of the chance to say it to your face! That's the least you and I, for that matter, deserved!" Eddie barged his way past you and into your home, not caring that he was leaving a puddle from the relentless downpour. He was drenched from the tips of his hair to the soles of his shoes. "You didn't even let me say it back!"

“You loved me?” The realization of his words sunk in.

“Not loved, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” the disappointment was evident on your face. Eddie could always read you like a book.

“Love, present tense.”

Your heart rate at this point should have been concerning. After all this time?

"and to answer your question, I thought about your every goddamn minute of every goddamn day."

"Please, I didn't mean any of that stuff I said back at Steve's. I don't know what came over me; I'm an idiot, forgive me? I take it all back!"

"You love me?"

"Yes, oh god, yes, I have since the ninth grade and never stopped!" Eddie's heart pounded in his chest as he awaited your reply. Maybe this was stupid? Perhaps he fucked up so badly that it was irreversible. Never did he ever think you would give him the ring back. He knew he fucked up the second you placed it in his hand, but he was too hard-headed to apologize.

When you exited the driveway, he immediately snapped out of his foolishness and started chasing you down the street. No way he was losing you again because of past hurt feelings and pure stupidity on his end. He can't believe he was about to let you walk away from him. Again.

"Please say something?" Eddie pleaded, stepping closer to you.

"I don't know what to say, Eddie? You've been sending me mixed signals all day."

"What is it you need? Space? Time?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"You!"

"Me?"

"I just need you now." With a surge of courage, you stepped forward and closed the distance between you and Eddie.

Heart racing, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, feeling the cold, wet rain residue and softness of his mouth against yours. It was a moment of pure bliss, leaving you breathless.

After years and years of imagining, dreaming, and picturing, this moment finally came to fruition. Some may say it was a manifestation; others might say it was destiny.

An overwhelming heat bloomed from your core and spread throughout your whole body as Eddie’s strong hands explored your exposed skin. Your burning need to overpower the feeling of the coldness of Eddie’s wet, damp clothing. You had been wearing an oversized shirt and underwear when you opened the door, but that only aided him.

His hands trailed up from your hips and slid under your shirt so he could hold you by your waist. As he tasted you, he pressed his body further into you, pushing you back further down the hall towards the bedroom.

"You have me." He pulled away breathlessly as he took you in. Your once dry white shirt was now damp and translucent, sticking to your body. Eddie couldn't help but groan at the sight of your peaked nipples trying to pierce their way through the thin material blocking you from him.

You could feel the pool of arousal collecting in your panties. Never had you been so turned on in your life than in this moment.

“I have you.” You mumble before taking his lips once again. You let his tongue part your lips as he explored your mouth. You tasted like mint toothpaste and a hint of whiskey.

"Baby, I need you now." He moans.

Baby. A plume of butterflies erupted deep within you at the name. There was no going back now; you and Eddie were destined to be together like it was written in the cosmos.

Despite the tension between you two, somehow, you managed to break apart just enough to lead him to the bedroom. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation as you both stood there, breathing heavily, staring into each other's eyes.

"You're perfect," Eddie whispered as he backed you up onto the bed that stood in the middle of the room.

You willingly fell back onto the soft sheets below as his lips met yours. Needy hands pulled at the fabric that separated you.

Lightning lit up the room as your silhouettes danced on the walls. Eddie, atop your body, melted into your plush bed as you both stripped fully.

“Please, Eddie,” you whined as he was taking too slow; the wet fabric clung to his clammy skin. He needed warming up, but you knew just the cure. “I’ve waited for so long.”

“Me too, Sweetheart.”

Having been confined for what seemed like an eternity, he was finally able to break free from the shackles of his own clothes that had become a wet and cold prison for him.

You are both now fully naked in your room. You take in the sight of the man before you and what a man he is. Drinking in every last detail your eyes could see in the dim light. He had more tattoos than when you had left, and you were right about his body being more filled out than you remembered. And his cock, so beautiful you could almost cry at how perfect it was.

“God you’re beautiful.” Eddie whispers as he did the same thing.

"So are you." You reach up to take his rough cheek in your palm, gently pulling him down towards you. You sigh into the kiss as you feel Eddie’s weight fall on you.

You can’t help but grind your hips up into his throbbing cock. It’s rock hard as it rests on your soft middle.

Eddie reaches between your two connected bodies and finds your wet pussy with his fingers. A feral moan leaves your lips, and his calloused fingers brush against your swollen, sensitive clit.

The lewd sounds of lips smacking and Eddie playing with your wet pussy fills the room with the pounding of the storm in the background.

“Please, Eddie, I can’t wait. I just need you now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, please I need your cock so bad.” You begged. There was no time for foreplay; you’ve waited long enough for this moment.

Eddie couldn’t believe this was happening to him.

“I don’t-I didn’t- shut I don’t have-”

“I’m on birth control,” you blurt out.

“You sure?”

“Please, Eddie, I need to feel you… to fill me. All of you.” You craned your neck to reach up and kiss the side of his. You marked him, leaving a significant bite mark that would let everyone know he’s taken. He is yours. Always has been.

“Shit, okay,” he moans as your mouth explores his throat. Eddie would do anything you asked of him at this point.

Eddie slowly guides through your folds, collecting your slick on his shaft, and glides into your pussy.

God, you felt amazing, so wet, so warm, so tight. His perfect girl.

“Oh my god,” you arch up into him so you could feel every inch of him.

“You look so pretty like this.” he mewled as he slowly ground his cock into your needy pussy.

“Fuck fuck fuck” Eddie rambled as he hit the hilt. He slowly dragged his cock back and rocked gently back into you like he didn’t want you to break.

You captured his lips on yours once again, muffling your throaty moans.

Eddie was tender; Eddie was sweet. He wanted to make sure you knew he wasn’t just fucking you; he was making love to you.

God, he loved you, even though all those years separated you. He still loved you.

“Eddie, feels so good!” Your mind was captivated by him. Everything in this moment was eternally Eddie.

Eddie’s hips never stopped, they sped up only a little to gain momentum as the sticky heat between you only grew more are more delicious.

“You feel that baby?”

“Oh god, yes.” You hook your ankles around Eddie's back, pulling him in deeper. His cock hit your g spot with each grind and roll of his hips.

His hands find yours, and he laces his fingers between your own, bringing your hands above your head.

“You make me feel so good; oh god, your pussy is taking me so well, fuckin’ made for me.”

“Mmmmhmmmm,” you agree, “made to be with you,” you moan.

“Yea, baby, you think we were made for each other?”

“Yes,” you answered, too fucked out to be self-conscious about what you were saying.

Your orgasm was quickly building and building as Eddie’s hips continued to grind into yours.

“I love you,” you let slip as Eddie continues to make you feel like you’re floating.

You’ve died and reached heaven. You swore nothing could make you feel better. But you were mistaken; Eddie proved you wrong with the next words that were uttered out of his mouth.

"I love you." He sealed his declaration of love with an emotional kiss.

Your head spun with his words. Did he really just say that? Are you really here? The reality of where you are hits you hard as your orgasm rips through you. You were in bed with Eddie, your Eddie. Eddie, who makes you feel safe and loved and important and worshiped.

“Oh my god, oh my god!”

“Shit-fuck” your cunt clamped down on Eddie so tightly as he tried to hold on a little longer, savouring the moment, trying to hold out as long as possible.

“Where do you want it?” He breathlessly asked.

Still making love to you for as long as he could hold off until you told him you loved him again over and over, totally overcome by the serotonin washing your brain, you don’t even know you’re speaking.

“Inside,” you look up into Eddie’s eyes, and he cums immediately. He swore he never heard more beautiful words.

Eddie slowly pumped himself inside of you as he rode out his orgasm, and you kissed every inch of his face.

“I’m never letting you go.” He sighs as he collapses his body weight on top of yours.

“Good, because I’m never going anywhere without you again.” You incase him in a bear hug as your legs and arms wrap around his body one more.

“I love you, Peach.”

“I love you more, Teddy.”

Taglist: @seexyyprincess @cigarettesaftersmut @urdadsnewgiirlfriend @sunnythespookyghost @babybimbo777 @luxaeterna13 @edge-just-edge @slayyymisha @veemoon @asimpforthe80s @chrrymunson @skyline4446 @xxhellfirebunnyxx @paperbackprettyboy @hellfirenacht

[mayvnwrites]

Fox demon sy au, except more demon and less uwu.

After dying due to expired food, SY wakes up as a fox demon with a natural affinity to poisons and poisoning. He is unamused at the irony, thanks, but at the same time... he IS kind of in some chaotic demon realm adjacent like place and needs all the help he can get, so ... thanks?

His transmigration even came with a subspace for drying and preserving herbs and ingredients, and an encyclopedic manual of all the possible tinctures, ingredients, and handling procedures installed into his brain.

Pretty adequate, although the subspace can only take medicinal ingredients and can't be used for growing/raising ingredients, and the manual is so massive SY feels like it will take decades to read. (Spoilers: it does take decades to read)

Cool, SY thinks, I can be a wandering apothecary and stuff - but of course things don't turn out like that, because why wouldn't this world be full of poisonous plants that require... um ... *alternative* methods of healing.

After the fifth time someone tries to force SY to cure someone with papapa, he says fk it and, unable to escape in more conventional ways, he poisons his way out of the demon lord's castle.

SY is also beginning to understand which world he's been transmigrated to and is cursing a "Master Airplane" under his breath nonstop as he stomps angrily away from rando demon lord's territory, almost no guilt in his heart because the dude and his vassals eat people and are *assholes*.

SY starts using the direct method (aka poison) in refusing persistent inquisitors that want help he's unwilling to give (whether it's papapa or just a matter of principle) and slowly becomes known more for poisoning than cures. Doesn't help that SY has evolved from death-poisons to poisons that would make you wish you were dead.

Soon SY is known as a fox who would rather kill you than speak to you.

At first SY feels upset about this, because after all that work curing people, killing people is what he's known for? But eventually he's like, whatever gets people to stop bothering me~.

After decades, SY has embraced getting his way with his pretty face and poisonings, becoming a bit of a naughty foxy, and is enjoying his life away from the plot and with much less harrassment by the demons.

He's gained the title of Poisonous Shoutao (longevity peach), and his reputation as a venomous fox demon who could cure whatever ails you but would rather poison you has grown far and wide (as well as his foxy bewitching ways as he gloats over poisoning you).

SY has a long list of admirers and haters alike, including those grateful for his healing and those who want revenge for his poisonings, but what good demon *doesn't* have an enemy or 20?

And then one of his haters sets him up to be the scapegoat of a rash of poisonings in some human communities, and suddenly SY is the target of some pony-tailed pretty boy head disciple from Cang Qiong with a mole, who hasn't realized that the Poisonous Shoutao is outside of his capabilities... after paralyzing the boy, SY thinks about just ending the kid but... well, SY has used his pretty face to sway others before, but this is the first time he's been swayed by a pretty face.

B-besides, it's probably better to avoid making enemies of Cang Qiong, no matter where in the plot they are right now! So SY just teases the kid until the kid's practically steaming (out of anger? or...), reveals he's NOT the culprit, and disappears into the night with a faint scent of nightshade lingering behind.

Expecting it all to be done and dusted after that, SY is surprised to find out that the pretty boy now has a vendetta against him and has sworn to take him down.

Cue cat-and-mouse interactions all over the two realms with a poisonous (and slightly flirty) fox demon chased by a serious (but easily flustered - at least when it comes to a certain fox) young cultivator.

[levanswrites]

In the Mood

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: He tells himself it’s fine. 

Gotta keep moving—bigger things to do, too many items on his list.  His libido doesn’t even crack the top ten. 

Until he met… you.

warnings: angst. aka the tortured mind™ of james buchanan barnes. sexual frustration, internalized guilt. mention of erectile dysfunction/anxiety around intimacy. eventual fluff.

word count: 1.5k

Bucky’s got… a list. 

Steve’s the one who planted the idea in his head—ways to keep his feet moving, even when his mind couldn’t. Granted, Bucky’s list isn’t tucked into a literal pocket-sized notebook, but it's there.

Some parts are harder than others—debts, loose ends, reparations.

Others, more straightforward. Try sushi. Learn how to download that album Sam won’t shut up about. Figure out the whole ‘zodiac sign compatibility’ thing.

And then there’s the… in-between. Somewhere between the boring and the impossible.

Pieces of normalcy that don’t sit quite right. Loose shrapnel from the fallout of who he once was. 

Like learning how to smile at strangers without feeling like he’s giving something away. Or making small talk that doesn’t spiral into awkward silence.  

Some things feel closer to second nature, though he still needs the safety net of familiarity and trust, like that time he flirted with Sarah just to rile Sam.  

But then again, the prospect of anything with real stakes, like when that blonde barista slipped him her number, sends him running for the hills. 

And between all the tiger photos on Tinder and—again, what the fuck was the deal with all the zodiac signs?—he’s quickly discovered that ‘dating’ in the 21st-century isn’t quite like it used to be. 

You ever hook up with a girl?   

He had just stared at Sam, then, with a slow lift of his metal arm like it was explanation enough.

Of course, there was the whole other issue of… mechanics. 

Something so unspoken and personal he’s barely admitted it to himself.

And he’s tried just about everything short of pills to fix it.

Articles, advice columns. Porn. Even dug out an old magazine or two for nostalgia’s sake, half-hoping it’d jog something loose. 

But most nights he’d come up limp, staring down a bottle of cheap whiskey as restlessness swallowed him whole.

And he tells himself it’s fine. 

Gotta keep moving—bigger things to do, too many items on his list. 

His libido doesn’t even crack the top ten. 

Until he met… you.

Caught him off-guard one night, in the produce aisle of some corner bodega, when he was busy frowning at a peach that didn’t look like a peach.

Donut peaches. Crazy, right?

Cocked him an easy smile, a basket full of groceries by your hip as you plucked a different fruit off the stand, its skin leathery smooth and blush pink. 

They’re out of season, though. Might wanna try these nectarines. 

Your smile stayed with him longer than it should’ve. 

So did the sound of your laugh, bright and untroubled, when you apologized for what he could only assume was an irresistibly charming grimace on his part. 

Shoot, sorry, occupational hazard. 

I like your jacket, by the way. 

And just like that, you had him.

The next few weeks were a blur of excuses to visit your small bakery, down by 22nd street. Setting up his laptop like he actually had work to do, just so he’d feel less like a creep when you’d step out from behind the register and spark up easy conversation. 

And somehow, between testing all your newest bakes and staying back till closing to walk you home, he’s missed that fragile window where it felt appropriate to tell you who he is—was. Whatever.

That the gloves weren't some quirky fashion choice, or because he’s got poor circulation. 

But then again, maybe it wasn’t all that accidental.

Because you’re virtually the only person alive who knows him as Bucky—only Bucky—and he thought offering up the truth would change things.

The way you smile, call him handsome. Tug him closer by the lapels of his jacket. 

Kissed him outside that wine bar in Brooklyn, then fixed his hair and the corner of his mouth where your strawberry lip gloss smudged. 

Grabbed his hand and draped it deliberately over your thigh, that one time he took you to see a picture about aliens and space wars—though he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember a single plot point afterward. 

That memory is a warm thing that turns cold fast. A flicker of heat curling low in his stomach, his hand twitching instinctively toward the space between his legs. 

Then, the spark would fizzle out, like a bucket of ice water dumped over his thoughts.  

And that’s when the spiral would start, the endless rabbit hole that is sex advice by strangers on the internet. Hunched over a dim screen, browser history stacked a mile high with unanswered questions about modern dating, with one particular query searing into his thoughts:

How long should you wait before having sex with someone for the first time?

Because, supposedly, the internet says three dates. To see if you’re really compatible. 

After that point, why even bother? 

And he had to lean back and hold his breath at that, because, shit—tomorrow was date #3. 

So when he showed up to the jazz bar you’d been wanting to try, at exactly ten minutes to 8, the bouquet in his gloved hand was quivering. Like the time he asked out Lucy Ann from the 7th grade.

He'd sought temporary reprieve in the way you gasped, delighted, branding a smile on his cheek with a chaste kiss. Just like you had for the flowers on the first date, then again at the second.

(Because, apparently, no one does this kind of thing anymore, and he had scoffed because—jesus, did guys make it this easy to impress a date nowadays?)

Later, you’d pulled him close under the neon glow of a sidewalk marquee, kissing him soft and slow like you had all night.  

Taste of merlot and something sweeter on your lips when you'd muttered: my place?

And that brings him here, in the narrow hallway of your apartment, just a couple steps from the door because you couldn’t wait for the couch.  

He’s got you pressed against the wall, lost in the plush yield of your lips, the smooth curve of your cheek under his thumb. Because he loves this part, he really does—the way you arch into him, slide your hands under his jacket. Your breaths, shallow and sweet, mixed in with the heady scent of your perfume.

How you smile, for no apparent reason other than the fact that kissing him seems to make you happy. 

But then there’s that quiet thought, again.

And he desperately wishes he was holding your hips for a different reason than to pull away. 

“Maybe,” he pants, swallowing hard because your eyes were making it hard to focus, “maybe we shouldn't…”

Your gaze settles on him for a brief moment, hazy and heavy-lidded. From the wine or from something else, he’s not sure he wants to know. 

Then, you pull back promptly, slipping under his arm and disappearing somewhere behind him. 

Now, he’s blinking, staring at an empty wall. 

Convinced that he’s fucked this all up, heart leaping to his throat, something pounding in his head—

Until he realizes that the vibration drumming against his ears is music. 

The soft croon of a clarinet, the brassy blare of trumpets—a familiar melody sweeps over him, and it makes his brows pinch because he knows this one.

A tune he can recognize, for once, wedged somewhere between humid nights on Coney Island and crowded USO dance halls. 

“C’mon!”

Your high pitched laugh against his ear, a gentle tug at his wrist. 

It hits like whiplash, then, the realization of what you’re asking him to do.  

And he feels like an assuming jerk for all the scenarios he’s been playing through his mind since last night—because while he was busy coming up with excuses for why he couldn’t get hard, or why he’s got a metal arm, or why he wakes up in the middle of the night hearing screams that might be his own—you had wanted to… dance. 

He lets himself be drawn by your radiant smile, into the tiny pocket of space where your kitchen meets your living room.

His heart stutters when your hand slides to his back, the other lacing around his gloved fingers. He’s supposed to lead, isn’t he?

Yet, his steps flow in tune with yours, falling into place like they never strayed in the first place.

“Not too bad,” you tease, eyes sparkling, body swaying. 

“…I gotta be honest, I—oh!” A high, happy sound tickles your throat when he spins you, arms arching high over your head. “—didn’t peg you for a dancer!”

His fingers itch to hold you closer. Adoration humming under his skin, threaded with disbelief, because how the hell did he manage to find this? To find you?         

“Guess I’ve got a few surprises left.”

You hum, tilting your head. “Mm, I like that. I’ll have to see what else I can get out of you.”

And the way you say it—all innocent and just a hint too sweet—sends a sudden rush of heat through him.

His breaths halt, feet frozen to the floor.

Shit, is that…?

Heat licks at his nerves, sparks jumping under his skin, and before he can stop to question it, it’s there. 

And instead of running, he leans in. 

The next twirl is deliberate, his hand steady against your waist as you come spinning back to him. 

He grins, the thrill of something new rising to the top of his list.

“Just try to keep up, huh?”

a/n: my first bucky fic! was a bit nerve-wracking branching out into other characters, but this was a lot of fun :) lemme know what u think!

[thebirthofvenusfly]

hi i was raised in a home daycare for over 20 years and studied child development and psychology in school for 3 and would like to gush about why i love how bonnie was written and how they're one of the few kids in games i've played that Actually Feel Like a Kid:

firstly: bonnie's diction

bonnie cursing like a sailor is honestly pretty accurate for a kid aged like 9-14 and i distinctly remember having a huge cursing phase of my own at that age too so LMAO

they ask a lot of questions adjacent to a kids' understanding/confusion of things, social norms, situations, feelings, etc. (the conversation about the actors kissing in that play they saw and how they MUST have had an invisible paper between their lips because nobody would REALLY kiss on stage in front of everybody!)

they can be incredibly blunt but often not with the intention to hurt feelings rather than genuinely acquire information (sometimes with some sass b/c of previous conditioning.) ex. "Our teacher always tells us we have to speak up more... You're an adult so why don't you speak up more?" (Precedent/Conditioning; "Adult in position of power and authority has ingrained it is important to use my voice." -> "Why don't you, an adult who should know better, use yours more then?")

they have a tendency to confidently and casually use words and phrases they don't fully understand or know ("Air-no-no-nomic" -> this especially being something picked up by a fellow kid and just trusted that) (struggling to say, "pomegranate" (very cute watching odile help them with it :,) ) (struggling to say onigiri -> purposely messing this up to get a playful reaction out of dile, a party member they're especially close to, was also very sweet)

it's hard to discuss feelings. they're more likely to use a vessel as a means of connecting to someone else before being able to assign words to everything (offering a peach to siffrin in the classroom because they recognize he's upset without fully understanding why, then waiting for him to address the situation)

secondly: how bonnie handles feelings towards the others and about their Scenario

tendency to hold onto hard, serious, difficult-to-breach subjects and then explode and scream when addressed (ex. Rotten Adults quest)

slightly more partial to physical touch than verbal affirmation (hugs, hugs, hugs! including the little half-hugs they do where they just run into siffrin's side...)

jabbing siffrin in the stomach as a show of example for touching them LMAO???

recounting stories and information that interests them without regard for how socially appropriate it is or why others may react poorly (ex. talking to the party about how nille ran away with them and why she did)

unspoken guilt and trauma causing disconnection from people they love (siffrin's eye situation)

just a few examples and thoughts i liked

[voidcat]

assigned knight!mithrun x royalty gn!reader – hcs and blurbs

a/n: this was supposed to be just some hcs but ended up as a 2.7k beast... nsfw content by the last third/half so minors do not interact ! and to clarify mc is one of the youngest of their family but age wise they're close to mithrun.

renowed hero mithrun, one of the big talents who fought bravely during the war. mithrun who is left broken afterwards, losing all his purposes, all his senses, the deaths he witnessed, the news he received. at the frontlines, he receives news of his brother and his beloved marrying– no longer his beloved now, is she? he feels something inside him break but has to ignore it all away. he was never meant for the throne, not when his brother is in such a state, unable to wield a sword, when there is war raging at all sides, when people need to be led and to be supported at the frontlines.

mithrun who resembles an empty shell now, unsure how to carry on from then on, until one of the kings he fought side by side invites him among their ranks, their kin. "let us be your new home, and you can spend the rest of your days at ease, come now, honorary knight mithrun of house karansil, the leading hero, finishing slash of this war." no reason to refuse, he simply accepts, he agrees to becoming one of king's younger kids' assigned knight. maybe another task like this, this need to watch and protect will give him a sense of purpose, an excuse to keep on living.

and here enters you, the young royal, so oblivious, so unknowing to all those happening around you, not a single care and isolated from the world, you spend your days at the castle, strolling gardens, sketching and reading whenever you can, make a face at the slightest topic of future and marriages. aware of the unstoppable future that awaits you, the fate no royal can escape– save for those who are unelligable, those who fall ill and die or those like mithrun, no longer a part of their own kingdom. the young royal and their knight joint at the hip soon enough, days and weeks pass, years come by and you two never seperate.

loyal knight mithrun who always walks by your side, tailing behind like a shadow and the young royal, they still call you, that walks without a care in the world; who helps him to stop and smell the flowers again, talk over red poppies and shed tears together in seclusion, sneak desserts from the kitchens and taste the sun on berries while taking shelter in the shadow of great oaks, whom he chases after literally and figuratively– he agreed to become a knight, because by default they live by a single purpose, but mithrun notices himself finding his purpose again in the shape of your smile. how your chest moves up and down at night, how you tense and whisper to yourself when plagued by night horrors.

loyal knight mithrun always found next to you, holding your hand when you climb down the stairs, wrapping an arm around and pulling you closer to him when you cannot sleep at night. your breathing a lullaby to his ears, and you a source of comfort to him, as much as he is to you. as goal oriented as he is, and with the war dulling his senses and entire being, he was in a way, the perfect knight, just a man crafted of his duty and nothing else. And with abilities like his, he could come to your aid in no time, carve out the eyes that look at you the wrong way.

Yet as you nurse him back to reality, intentionally or not, he finds anxiety and guilt eating at him with each passing day. The same acts you once performed, he feels himself unable to respond with the same nonchalance now. When you bring another berry to his lips for him to eat, he does his best to take it from your hands without his lips making contact with your fingertips. He does his best to look away when you lick off the excess nectar dripping from the peach you’ve just eaten, even just standing outside your door grows harder and harder, his keen sense of smell betraying him and his body.

You should be guilty too, for not noticing how you’re tormenting him.

Preparing for bath, you take off your clothes, let your private garments drop to the floor like it’s nothing. Stepping into the bathtub, taking your sweet time as you do so, leaning your head backwards and letting out a content sigh— “Mithrun!” You call up to him in a sudden, eyes wide open, “can I ask you something?”

In fear of words betraying him, he settles for a nod. Making a gesture with your hand reachimg out, you signal for him to come closer. Hand diving into his hair like always, stroking his face, his cheeks and over his eyes, “when was the last time you have taken a bath?” You ask, giving him a curious gaze.

As he tries battling for an answer to give you, because if he knows you, he knows what will come after this and he is unsure his poor heart can survive it. “Ah, usually at night when you’re—“ “stop lying, I know you wait by my side every night too.” You cut him off.

Bringing a finger to your lips, you pretend to think. “Oh, I know! There is plenty of space here, why don’t you take a bath with me? Maintaining appearances is important, it keeps you refreshed and ready for everything, no?”

When you stare at him with big, begging eyes, words laced with concern adn worry, and all of it just for him, he finds himself unable to move, until he catches sight of you trying to take his armor off and drag him into the water with you.

There is plenty of space for more than one person, but you stand glued to his side, your warm body pressed up against his, fingers in his hair massaging his scalp, your fingertips tracing over his old scars. Mithrun finds himself vulnerable to your touch, soft and laced with love, colder than the water, sending electric down his spine every time.

Your father, the king, dotes on you and always brags about his trusted knight Mithrun at banquets. Raising a glass in honor of the man who saved his life and protects the life of one of his treasures— not knowing the same man is guilty of growing an attachment to the said treasure. every time the king or an elder praises him for not just past accomplishments but for his current post, he feels guilt beginning to bloom and grow– the knight supposedly in charge of you, protecting and shielding you from bad eyes strrugles to stand by your side at night.

should you really be wearing a nightgown see-through and light, he wants to ask, with just a little breeze you'd catch a cold in no time, he tries to rationalize his thoughts; trying to wipe off the images, how the moon shines down on you, how the thin material sticks to your skin, presenting you before him. he feels the guilt toward you most of all, after everything he has lived through he has gained a bit of instincts and senses and yet he is still the same despicable man of the past; how he repays your kindness, your love and care– why, he remembers it like yesterday when you stroke his cheek and prosthetic eye, placed a kiss there and looked at him like he is still whole. as his affection for you grows, he wishes more and more to return to just the end of the war, when he was still hollow and indifferent toward you.

Mithrun realizes in many ways he is your first witness. First to see you get stung by bees, at which you asked for him to kiss it better, usually the first to see you getting sick, immediately calling in a medic to prepare for you a brew; first to cuddle you to sleep at nights, your head buried into his chest and your legs wrapped around his; first to guide you, first to help you explore the castle grounds, the city, banquets to come and even your body, at your request.

right outside your bedchambers one night, mithrun muses whether should he make a quick trip to his chambers. with the change of weather his usual armor and undergarment feel too thick. before he can teleport himself, muffled sounds of someone reaches his ears– out of breath and erratic, coming from no other direction than your chambers, the voice belonging only to you. frozen in place, he teleports himself into your room without a thought and finds himself nailed to his spot. the sight of you under the pale moonlight, a hand between your tighs, eyes closed shut and your face an expression he can only describe as 'pleasure'. mithrun has no clue for how long he stands there, stuck, feet glued to the floor, until you turn your head toward the door, eyes finding his and before he can see how you'll react, he teleports himself out– for hours he feels his beating frantic, threatening to burst out of his chest.

for the following days, he tries putting a distance between the two of you, replying with few words at most, avoiding your gaze, your touch like the plague. he can stand his guard only so long until he gives in, defeated by the sadness that takes over you after his sudden change of behavior. as if reading his mind, you do anything but drop the matter, eventually what he walked into coming to the surface as well. battling on the fields is easier, he thinks, there is only instincts, sharp and calculated moves, kill or be killed, conquer before you can be defeated– such is not the case outside war, and certainly not by your side, you always find a way to make things twice as difficult for him somehow. the scent of your body still haunts his senses and you have the courage to ask him what was going on with your body exactly!

you complain about all those people you see on castle grounds, exchanging gazes, holding hands, in the narrow hallways or the gardens, stealing kisses and using terms of endearment when conversing. not jealousy but yearning is apparent in your voice and he notices that much. it is not easy spending your whole life confined to a castle– even harder when you are a long life species, the hidden hallways remain a mystery only so long, few decades in and they lose all interest. "i couldn't sleep" you pout, "i was just lying down, must've thought myself in those scenes i often witness, and my hands were wandering around." your voice begins to drop with each word, "it was just trailing my fingers around until it felt... funny, and... ah... some sort of wetness, or so to speak." you finish shyly, turning your head away.

at your confession mithrun doesn't know how to react. such topics aren't exactly welcomed to be discussed so openly among your kind. burrowing his brows, he decides to take a simpler approach, from general to specific. "you see... our bodies have certain reactions reserved for certain situations." he does his best not to stammer over his words, does his absolute hardest to not make contact with those big, bright eyes of yours. "when we enter puberty, certain systems of ours go through changes to accomodate for new things we might experience in the future." one thing you have said bothers him though. "that was one of them. take that sensation you have described for example. it occurs so the act itself might take place easier and without causing discomfort for both sides." you seem to find his explanation helpful, judging from the smile slowly forming on your face. he can see the gears turning in your head, he hopes you reserve those new questions for the books you read.

"your highness, may i ask you something?" he blurts out, now or never. his formal way of addressing seems to catch you by surprise, he continues when seeing you nod. "if i won't be crossing any lines..." "there is no such thing as tha–" you say almost instinctively. "you said you were thinking, who was it?" he asks bluntly. "I..." your mouth opens and closes, head turned to the side, you cast your eyes downwards; he can see a blush creeping up. his ears pick up on you mumbling a 'no one' but he knows you are just deflecting now. if you are uncomfortable, he won't pry further. seeing him walk, you qucikly rush to his side, taking the arm he has offered you. "come now, what was it you said you wanted to do today? the greenhou–"

"could you lend me a helping hand actually!" you claim loudly in a sudden, fists clenched in excitement. "you know i would never refuse you as long as logi–" "i mean it, literally." you cut him off, emphasising on the word, and take his hand in yours, moving it in the air while giving him a determined look. considering the topic of conversation the two of you just had and now that... it doesn't take him long to connect two and two together. "a- absolutely not! i-" you will be the death of him, that's for sure. coughing few times, he tries gathering himself and catching breath. "your highness, acts such as the one you accidentally tried, are private matters. done by one's self or with a special one. you cannot just ask anyone that."

you bring your face closer to his, "i am not asking anyone, mithrun" you speak word by word, "i am asking you." the pronoun rolls off your lips like honey, poisoned. "when i say 'special', i mean a significant other, your highness." he adds the title at the end, already sounding defeated. you know exactly what he meant, why must you make things so difficult for him? "or a spouse, in our cases." he adds on, his gaze cast down, "though i doubt the same still applies for me." his voice comes out in a whisper, the unevitable future of an awaiting marriage haunts you both, and he wonders were he to return home, would he regain his title, be elligable for your hand after all.

in the end, he gives up. knight mithrun finds himself more vulnerable than before. lying in your bed, your body pressed against his with the both of you awake. bringing his hand to his lips, he licks his fingers and trails down your chest, your abdomen, down to your groin. feeling every crook, inch and curve of you, fingers moving smooth and slow, he drinks in your expressions, how your lips slightly part, pleasure taking over your entire body, how you grow wetter with each touch, each movement. he has to bring his other hand to your mouth at one point, it wouldn't be wise to have passerbys hear the sounds you make for him now. how you begin to whimper under his hand, small moans soon saying his name like a plea, 'more, more, more' you begin to chant– a symphony to his hears, he watches how your body begins to spasm in pleasure as you reach your high, coming all over his hand, making a mess.

bringing his hand to his lips, he licks his fingers, savoring your taste. with hazy eyes, you barely catch sight of him, your hand trying to make way to him. Mithrun sees your exhausted attemps and brings his cheek to your palm, the all-too-familiar gesture you grace him with on a daily basis; though rather than stroking, you try to pull him towards yourself. "oh? curious as to how you taste?"

the question leaves his mouth without a second thought, though you don't seem to register his words, too focused on his lips. giving his hand another, long lick; mithrun leans into you and for the first time his lips meet yours– your saliva mixing with his, your soft lips eagerly biting into him with wanton need, how that hand tries desperately to pull him even closer, you taste just as sweet everywhere, his taste buds decide. his lips meet yours once and does not let go ever, even when the two of you gasp for breath, oxygen loses all its purpose and though the thought should horrify him, he realizes and accepts easily: mithrun meets his demise at the mercy of you, far exceeding the point of no return.