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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3

Summary: A series of mishaps has you and Eddie (and Grandma and Harris) in the same place at the same time, leading Eddie to let his guard down a bit. That is, until a secret is spilled.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, injuries (nothing bloody or gory), mostly set in a hospital, mentions of Eddie's dad, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 6k

Chapter 3/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

“Har-Bear?” Eddie calls out from the bedroom, pinning his nametag to his shirt. “You tie your sneakers yet?” His son had insisted that he didn’t need help with the laces, that he could do it on his own, but he’d be late for work if he waited any longer.

“Not…yet!” the tiny voice yells back, and Eddie can sense the frustration in his voice. “I think they’re broken.”

“Broken, huh?” Eddie laughs to himself as he walks out to the living room, where Harris is sitting in front of the door. Sure enough, his shoelaces remain untied, and tears roll down his cheeks. “C’mere, bud. It’s okay. I can tie ‘em for you this time.”

Harris shakes his head, brown curls bouncing on his scalp. He mumbles something unintelligible, and when Eddie bends down to help him, he pushes his hands away.

“Harris, enough!” Eddie hisses through gritted teeth, taking the laces and tying them quickly. “You know that you have school and Daddy has work.”

“B-b-but I’m the only one!” Harris wails, kicking his shoes off defiantly. Eddie picks them up with one hand and scoops up his son in the other, tipping towards the couch and hooking his pinky around Harris’s little backpack. He doesn’t have any time to waste; shoes will have to be put on at school.

Maybe Ms. Sweetheart will have better luck with him, Eddie thinks wryly, wrangling a screaming Harris down the stairwell.

“The only one what?” Eddie asks once the crying starts to subside.

“I’m the only–sniff–one at school who–hic–can’t tie my shoes!”

Eddie wrinkles his nose as he places a shoe-less Harris in his carseat. “I’m sure there are other kids who are still learning how to tie their shoes.”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, straining against the seatbelt. “All the other kids tie their own shoes, but Ms. Sweetheart or Mr. Will have to tie mine.”

Eddie’s heart sinks as he thinks of his son being the outcast as the freak, the rest of his friends flying past him as he gets left behind. “Tell ya what,” he says finally, mustering up a smile, “I’ll teach you, and you’ll be able to tie them in no time.”

His offer placates Harris, who spends the rest of the time singing along to the radio. Eddie wishes it could always be like this; happy and carefree, just driving and listening to his favorite metal station with his mini-me. Maybe one day it’ll happen, but the fleeting sense of hope disappears as quickly as it comes. His time with Harris might be limited if he doesn’t get his shit together.

The job was a start; he was lucky that the hours coincided with school drop-off and pick-up so he didn’t have to reach out to Wayne. He’d been working at Rock Records for about a week, and while it was a far cry from the stardom he’d once dreamed of, it was paying the bills and still allowed him to spend his time around music. And when his manager–a twenty-year-old named Ash who used her phone line to talk to friends rather than answer store calls–heard that he plays guitar, she’d all but insisted that he give lessons. If he could get Wayne to watch Harris a few days after school, that would be even more money in his pocket.

But, first, he actually has to start talking to his uncle again.

He pulls into the preschool parking lot, killing the engine and hopping out to help Harris from his carseat. When he opens Harris’s door, he immediately deflates.

“Harris, where is your jacket?” Eddie asks, heaving an exasperated sigh.

The little boy just shrugs. “I dunno. At home?” It’s not his fault; the chilly early October air just began settling in, and he’s not accustomed to including his jacket into his morning routine. A look of realization creases his brows, another tantrum on the horizon. “Now I won’t be able to go out for recess!”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says reassuringly, shrugging off his own denim, patch-riddled jacket, “you can take mine.” It’s comically oversized on Harris’s tiny body, but the smile on his face is enough to distract Eddie from the chill settling on his own arms.

“Daddy, now I’m just like you!” Harris sticks out his tongue and makes the ‘rock-and-roll’ symbol with his pointer and pinky fingers, scrunching his big brown eyes shut.

Eddie laughs, taking his son’s hand as they cross the parking lot. The way he copies him is adorable, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he pictures Harris actually following in his footsteps.

As soon as he enters the school, Harris lets go of his father’s hand and bounds into the classroom, the jacket dragging on the ground like a regal cloak. “Ms. Sweetheart, look at my jacket!” he proudly announces, twirling around on one leg. “It’s my daddy’s!”

You smile, crossing your arms over your chest as you shake your head teasingly. “Harris, is daddy wearing your jacket?”

“Nooooo,” he says, jutting out his chin and giggling. “It’s too small, silly!”

Eddie shuffles in behind him; after a month of drop-offs, he’s realized that he’s never going to win the battle of getting Harris to walk beside him in the hallway. “Don’t forget your backpack, little dude,” he reminds him, handing him his bag and motioning towards the row of cubbies.

Nodding, Harris hangs it up on the hook, along with Eddie’s jacket. He starts to run towards the toy area, stopping when he hears you call out, “Harris…”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He flashes that innocent smile, slowing his pace to a walk.

You shake your head knowingly, grabbing the clipboard with the sign-in sheet from your desk. Wordlessly, you give it to Eddie, who takes it with a sigh. This is how it goes most mornings: he drops off Harris, scribbles his signature, and stalks off without so much as a “good morning.” It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the barrage of insults and snide comments that he seemed to prefer to greet you with.

He drops the clipboard on top of the cubbies with a clatter, turning to the door, but the sound of a child shrieking stops him in his tracks before he can leave.

“Harris, no!”

Eddie’s stomach turns at the way the little girl angrily shouts his son’s name. Harris is frozen in place, holding a weird contraption that Eddie doesn’t recognize. The boy’s lower lip trembles, and all Eddie wants to do is pick him up and yell at the other kid for making him cry, but you get to the scene first.

“Abby, Harris, what happened?” you ask, crouching down to their eye-level. There’s no accusations, just a soothing tone to de-escalate the situation.

“He took my Bop-It!” Abby pouts, stamping her foot in frustration. “He stole it from me!”

Eddie feels his fists clench involuntarily at the word stole. Harris would never steal. He was a good kid, and having the Munson name didn’t automatically make him a thief. He tries to send a telepathic message to Harris, willing him to stand up for himself, but it doesn’t work.

You eye the toy in Harris’s hand–the Bop-It in question, you assume–and meet his shy gaze. “Did you take Abby’s toy?” Again, your voice is free of judgment, and Eddie allows himself to relax ever-so slightly when you don’t automatically take the girl’s side.

“I just wanted to see it real quick!” Harris mumbles, shoulders slumping. “I was gonna give it back.”

“What should you do when someone has something that you want to see?” you prompt him gently, feeling Eddie’s eyes scrutinizing you, analyzing your every move you make to see how you’re treating his son.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, eyes wide and misty.

“You have to ask them and then wait for them to say yes,” you say, and he nods as you swivel to face Abby Carver. “Abby, if someone forgets to ask to see your toy, you can remind them nicely. With an inside voice.”

“But he didn’t even say sorry for stealing!” she whines.

“It was an accident,” Harris rebuts, scrunching up his nose, “an’ I didn’t steal it!”

Breathing out a soft sigh, you turn back to him to end the argument before it can really start. Hell hath no fury like a preschooler scorned. “Saying ‘sorry’ is important, even when we accidentally make someone feel sad or mad,” you tell him.

“‘M sorry, Abby,” he says, handing her back the Bop-It. You can’t help but notice the way that he tucks his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, just like Eddie does when he’s anxious.

“It’s okay, Harris,” Abby says flatly, eager to flounce off to her friends and show them her toy, as Harris quietly joins some of the other boys to play with building blocks.

You press on your knees and stand up, finally allowing yourself to glance over at Eddie. He gives a tiny nod of acknowledgment; so subtle that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. You’re not exactly sure what it means–thanks or good job or simply I’ll be back for pick-up–but he’s out the door before you can think about it further.

You really should have seen it coming. Should’ve listened to the proverbial alarm bells ringing when you’d heard the shower running. But you were exhausted from a long day at work; the Bop-It situation having kicked off a series of arguments between various groups of kids. At one point, you and Will had given up on storytime and basically played referee, just trying to keep the peace between tiny feuding humans.

You’re scraping the last bits of unfinished mashed potatoes into the garbage when you hear the crash. There’s a clatter of bottles and the pop pop pop of the shower curtain ripping off of its rings. Your blood runs cold and you nearly drop the plate you’re holding, palms suddenly slick with sweat.

“Grandma?” Your voice catches in your throat, a hoarse whisper, and you clear it and try again as you fly towards the bathroom. “Grandma?!”

There’s no answer; between the steady pounding of the shower and her own declining hearing, you expected just as much. You push open the door that she thankfully left unlocked to find her laying in the tub, tears mixing with the stream of water. She cradles her left wrist in her right hand, mumbling inaudibly to herself between heaving sobs.

“Grandma, what happened?” you ask, leaning over to finagle the knob to the “OFF” position.

She looks up as if she’s just realized you’re standing there, too disoriented and focused on the pain to take in any of her surroundings. “I fell.”

You reach for the powder blue towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door and pluck it off of its hook. “Here,” you say, draping it over her shoulders, “let me cover you and I’ll help you up.” It seems absurd to worry about modesty, given the urgency of the situation, but you can tell based on her sheepish demeanor that the small part of her that still feels shame is pinging in her brain. You tuck your hands under her arms, lifting with your knees and hoisting her to her feet. “Grab the bar,” you instruct her, nodding your head towards the silver safety bar lining the shower wall.

“Can I dry you off?” She gives a small nod, letting go to hold her swelling wrist. “Keep holding onto the bar. I don’t want you to slip and fall again.”

“But it hurts,” she whimpers, and you know this will be a losing battle. Even if she does agree to grab onto it again, she’ll almost certainly forget, and you'll have to start the whole process over. Instead, you carefully run the towel over her, watching as the cloth soaks up droplets and trying not to think about how backwards this all seems. There was a time where she was the one drying you off, lifting you out of your little bath seat in the kitchen sink and cooing at her beloved baby granddaughter, hope and joy filling her eyes. A time where life seemed limitless, and maybe she’d started to slow down, but she’d sworn that she’d always remember this moment. She couldn’t even imagine forgetting you.

Grabbing the pile of clothes from their spot on the tiled floor, you find her shirt and offer it to her. “I can help you put it on,” you tell her, toeing the line of preventing another fall and respecting her dignity.

Grandma’s lips curl into a frown and she shakes her head. “Those are dirty,” she protests.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to grasp onto the last bit of patience you have left. The words, You didn’t even go anywhere today rests on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down, force a smile, and say, “Okay. Let’s get you to your bed so you can sit down, and we’ll pick out new ones.”

She reluctantly agrees to this, and you slowly walk her to the bedroom and grab the first of everything you can find. A fuschia t-shirt and green sweatpants might not be her best look, but you’re not trying to style her for a runway show. After sliding her fluffy pink slippers over her feet, you help her up and guide her to the door, where she stops in her tracks.

“Can’t wear these outside,” she says simply, pointing to the slippers.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, grabbing your keys from the small table tucked in the corner. “You can wear them outside this time.”

She doesn’t budge. “No, I need my other ones.” Her gaze lands on the pair of white Reeboks resting on the shoe rack. She starts to lean over to take them, but she’s still unsteady on her feet, and you wrap your arm around her torso before she can wobble.

“Just…just sit,” you mutter, feeling anger rise in your chest like a thundercloud. It wasn’t her fault that she was being stubborn, but it didn’t quell the burning frustration. You toss her rejected footwear to the side, silently reminding yourself to pick it up later, and shimmy her feet into the sneakers. You tie the laces into a double knot, pulling nice and tight, determined to keep it from unraveling.

Eddie’s day at work wasn’t much better than yours. After dropping Harris off at school, his first customer had been a middle-aged woman who claimed that a record had been scratched when she’d bought it a few weeks ago, insisting that Eddie had sold it to her that way. Which could have been the case, except he’d only started the job earlier that week.

All he wants now is a nice cold beer, but he has to wait until Harris goes to sleep. Years of watching his own father guzzle down Johnnie Walker until he fell into a drunken stupor led him to promise never to drink in front of his son.

“Bedtime, buddy!” he announces. He doesn’t even have to pretend to be excited; the second Harris dozes off, he’s going to crack open that Coors Light and watch the most mind-numbing show on TV.

Harris throws his head back in exasperation. “But Daaaaadyyyy, I’m not even tired!” His whine pierces Eddie’s eardrum, making him grimace.

“It’s 7:30, and it’s a school night,” he tells him, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “But tomorrow is Friday, so you can stay up a little later then.” He walks over to the tiny dresser pushed up against the wall, pulling out the bottom drawer and taking out a pair of dinosaur-print pajamas. “C’mon, let’s go. Pajamas, pee, and brush those teeth.”

“I’m…not…tired!” Harris screams at the top of his lungs. His cheeks flush beet-red, and spit gathers at the corners of his mouth.

Eddie clenches his fist around the pajamas, feeling his fingernails dig into the soft cotton. He inhales for three, then exhales for three, feeling the oxygen flow through his lungs. “Harris,” he manages through gritted teeth, “I’m going to count to five. And when I’m done, I want you doing your bedtime routine, or you’ll go to bed early tomorrow.” He takes one more deep breath, getting to two before Harris angrily snatches the pajamas from his grip and stomps off to the bathroom.

The boy only brushes his teeth for a grand total of ten seconds, but Eddie doesn’t have the stamina to argue about oral hygiene tonight. Tucking Harris into bed, he leans in to kiss him on the forehead, but he’s met with the back of his head.

Logically, he knows that there will come a time where Harris won’t want a kiss good night, won’t need his dad to help him into bed. Eddie just hadn’t planned on it being tonight.

“I hate you.” Harris’s voice is muffled from his lips being smushed into the pillow, but Eddie received the message loud and clear. It reverberates in his brain like an echo in a tunnel: I hate you I hate you I hate you.

Eddie backs out of the room slowly, flicking off the light and closing the door. He forgoes the shitty TV and sits in silence as he sips on his beer, letting the bitterness seep into his tongue before he swallows.

The venom in Harris’s voice was unmistakable. Eddie knew all too well how it felt to hate a parent. That raw anger swelled within him each time his father got them thrown out of another apartment, or conveniently forgot to pick up groceries (but always managed to remember his booze and drugs), or put his hands on Eddie.

My son hates me, Eddie thinks, taking a last swig of his drink and absentmindedly wiping the foam from his lips. I’m a shit dad, and my son hates me.

He’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts, leaving the sound of squeaking bed springs unnoticed until a loud thud followed immediately by the sound of Harris’s distraught wail snaps him to attention.

“Daddy!” Harris cries out, and Eddie’s sprinting to the bedroom before he can even finish the second syllable.

“What happened?” His voice is louder than he intends from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and it only makes Harris cry harder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he says, softening his tone as he flicks on the light. His eyes widen when he sees the way his son’s arm is twisted.

“I couldn’t—sniffle—sleep, s-so I—sniffle—t-tried to j-jump my awake out,” Harris explains through hiccuping sobs. “An’ I h-hurted—sniffle—my arm.”

“C’mere, sshh, ‘s okay.” Eddie reassures him as he scoops him up, carefully avoiding his injury. “We gotta get you to the hospital so the doctors can fix it.”

Harris’s lower lip trembles again. “Are th-they gonna g-give me a sh-shot?”

“Nah, they’ll just have to do an x-ray,” he says, grimacing when he thinks of how much it’ll cost, even after Medicaid kicks in. “But those don’t hurt.”

Harris gives a tiny nod, still ambivalent as he nestles his head into the crook of his father’s neck. His curls tickle Eddie, who presses a kiss to the boy’s forehead and murmurs, “Daddy’s here, okay? I got you.” He feels Harris’s uninjured hand grab onto him a bit tighter as he brings him to the car.

“Can we go home now?”

You breathe out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in the chair and bouncing your leg anxiously. Hawkins General Hospital wasn’t crowded, and you and Grandma were taken to a room fairly quickly, but it still isn’t fast enough for an elderly woman who has no idea why she’s here.

“We have to wait a little longer for the doctor to see us,” you explain for the fourth time in as many minutes. “They have to make sure you don’t have a concussion.” Your answer seems to placate her, at least until she asks again within the next sixty seconds, as she hums her acknowledgment.

There’a a soft knock on the door, and a perky blonde nurse pokes her head in the room as soon as you give her permission to enter. “Hi, I’m Chrissy; I’ll be your nurse,” she says, looking at your grandmother. “What brings you in to see us tonight?”

“I’m just here with her,” Grandma shrugs, pointing to you.

“She slipped and fell in the shower,” you explain patiently. “I know she hurt her wrist, but I’m not sure if she hit her head, and she has Alzheimer’s…” You glance at her uneasily. “She doesn’t even remember falling.”

Chrissy nods understandingly, offering a sympathetic smile as she makes a note on her chart. “I can take you in for an x-ray of your wrist, and then we’ll run some tests to rule out a head injury as best as we can, okay, Mrs…” Her gaze shifts back to the chart before she brings her attention back to you. “Do you teach at Hawkins Preschool, by any chance?”

“Guilty as charged,” you give the best semblance of a laugh you can muster.

“I recognized your last name,” she says as she helps Grandma off of the examination table. “My daughter is in your class. Abigail Carver? She absolutely adores you.”

The compliment buzzes in your chest as your smile becomes more genuine. “Well, thank you. That means a lot. And she’s a great kid, too.” Except when she’s screeching at her friends, you think, but you keep that tidbit to yourself.

“I work nights, so my husband handles the school stuff,” Chrissy explains. “But I’m glad we finally got to meet, even if it’s under these circumstances.”

She hooks her arm through Grandma’s, who promptly shakes her off. “Let go of me!” the older woman snarls, shuffling back towards you. She may not know exactly who you are, but there’s at least a level of familiarity that brings her some comfort.

“I’ll walk with you,” you offer, and Chrissy agrees gratefully as the three of you gradually make your way down the starch-white hallway.

Unbeknownst to you, in a room just across the hall, Harris Munson is showing his dad how he can hop up and down on one leg without losing his balance.

Jesus H. Christ; does this kid ever run out of energy? Eddie silently wonders, but he plasters a smile on his face. “That’s really cool, Har-Bear. Just, uh, sit down before you hurt yourself even more.”

Harris is about to pout when a nurse enters the room. She’s probably in her mid-fifties, Eddie surmises, with brown hair that’s streaked gray and pulled back in a low bun.

“Harris Munson?” she asks shortly, and Eddie points to the little jumping bean standing next to him. “Come with me to the x-ray room.” She doesn’t offer her name, but Eddie catches a glimpse of the badge on her scrubs pocket that reads “Anna.”

Anna has Harris place his arm on the table, gingerly moving it to take x-rays from different angles. Standing in the doorway, Eddie winces at the tiny yelps his son lets out with each minimal adjustment. “You’re hurting him,” he manages through a bone-dry throat.

“If there is a break or sprain, we need to ensure that we find it,” she explains impatiently, retreating back to the room where she snaps a few more images before bringing them back to the room.

“Dad?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m sleepy now.” Harris punctuates his statement with a yawn, laying back on the examination table and dozing off just moments later.

Eddie takes his jacket–the same one that Harris wore at school that day–and places it over the boy’s sleeping body in a makeshift blanket. By the time the radiologist comes in to deliver the results, Eddie’s struggling to keep his own eyes open.

“How’re we doing in here?” she says, watching as Harris stirs, stretches his little legs, and promptly falls asleep again. “Is it past someone’s bedtime?”

“His and mine,” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes and sitting up straighter. There’s a pinch in his lower back from slouching in the uncomfortable chair, and he grimaces as he tries to massage the sore spot.

“Well, you’ll be out of here soon. It looks like Harris did break his wrist, so we’ll need to get a cast on it, but we can discharge him as soon as it’s done.”

“Brilliant.” Eddie presses on his knees as he stands up to gently shake his son awake. “Hey, bud. It’s time to wake up so you can get a super cool cast.”

“Mmph,” Harris grunts, throwing his good arm over his eyes dramatically.

Eddie just laughs, not catching the concerned look on the doctor’s face as she flips through Harris’s chart. “C’mon, I’ll carry you, but you gotta help me out here.” Harris begrudgingly complies, wrapping his legs around Eddie’s waist and holding onto him as tightly as he can.

“It’ll only take about fifteen minutes,” the doctor explains, rubbing Harris’s back for good measure. “You can drop him off in this room, Mr. Munson. One of our nurses needs to speak with you.”

He doesn’t like the look on her face; the one that simultaneously gives away nothing and too much. Her lips press together in a thin smile, one that’s obviously forced, as an orthopedic technician guides Eddie into the next room.

The unfriendly nurse from earlier, Anna, is waiting for him outside the door.

“Mr. Munson, could I speak to you privately?” Eddie nods wordlessly, traipsing behind her back to the room where Harris had just been sleeping.

“Mr. Munson,” Anna begins, and Eddie swears he’ll punch a hole through the hospital’s wall if she keeps speaking in that condescending tone, “as you know, ensuring the safety and wellbeing of our patients, particularly our pediatric ones, is our top priority here at Hawkins General.” She pauses, as though he’s supposed to have some response to that, but he remains silent. “Given the nature of your son’s injury, coupled with the report that a nurse smelled alcohol on your breath when you entered our facility, we have to report this incident to Child Protective Services.”

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head; his fists clench involuntarily, and he has to remind himself to steady his breathing. In for three, out for three. “There–there must be some mistake,” he stammers. “I had one beer after Harris went to bed–well, he was supposed to be in bed–and I was well under the legal limit when I brought him here.”

Anna cocks her head, and rage surges through Eddie’s bloodstream at her subtle gesture of disbelief. He didn’t even drink when his son was awake, let alone drive drunk. And the thought of him hurting Harris, whether under the influence of alcohol or not, was enough to turn his stomach. For fuck’s sake, he felt guilty if he accidentally stepped on the kid’s toes.

“Be that as it may,” the nurse continues, and Eddie swears she’s trying to suppress an eyeroll, “I also see that there was a previous report from 1992–”

“When he was born?” Eddie sputters. “That–that had nothing to do with me. His mom…”

Anna glances back down at Harris’s chart and frowns. “It looks like both you and Harris’s mother were listed in that report.” She looks up at Eddie again. “This is out of our hands now. CPS will take over from here and determine the next steps to take.” With that, she walks away, leaving Eddie leaning against the door with tears in his eyes.

All he can think about are the custody papers Wayne gave him. The way he’d angrily torn them up, taking them as a threat, rather than an offer to help. The way he’d blamed Wayne for his life going to shit.

I hate you, Harris had said earlier that evening.

Maybe Wayne was right. Maybe Harris was better off without his dad around to fuck up everything in his path.

You’re waiting at the front desk for Grandma’s discharge papers when you hear an excited voice call out your name; rather, his nickname for you.

“Ms. Sweetheart!”

You turn around to see Harris Munson running towards you, sporting a bright orange cast on his wrist. “What happened to you?” you ask with a smile–a genuine one, this time. That little boy always manages to cheer you up.

“I was trying to jump my awake out and I breaked my wrist,” he says. “So then my daddy taked me here and I got this cast. See?” He holds out his arm two inches from your eyes, as though the neon color wasn’t already a dead giveaway.

“That is the coolest cast I’ve ever seen,” you tell him. “I broke my leg once, and I just got a boring white one.” You pout your lips exaggeratedly, making Harris laugh. “I bet all the kids in school will wanna sign it tomorrow.”

Harris breaks out into a giant grin. “They can sign it?”

“Sure can!”

He thinks for a moment and asks, “Will you sign my cast, Ms. Sweetheart?” He looks up at you with those soft brown eyes, and you feel yourself start to melt.

Before you can answer him, your Grandma speaks up. “I’m leaving,” she declares, already trying to take off the sling that the nurse gave her for her sprained wrist.

“I just need to sign you out, Grandma,” you explain. “And remember, you need to keep the sling on so your wrist can heal.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” she hisses. “I hate you.”

Your face heats up, embarrassed at her outburst and at the fact that it happened in front of a student and his parent. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, though you’re unsure if you’re apologizing more to Eddie or to Harris. “She has Alzheimer’s…she doesn’t know…”

You expect Eddie to laugh at your misfortune, but when your eyes flicker to his face, you only see sympathy.

“‘S okay,” he says softly, putting a ringed hand on Harris’s shoulder. “I feel like swearing, too, after the night we’ve had.”

You offer a weak smile, still processing the unfamiliar kindness that he’s showing. “Thanks,” you manage, just as the receptionist hands you the discharge paperwork. “I’ll see you both at school tomorrow?”

“And you can sign my cast!” Harris exclaims, flashing a toothy grin. “Promise?”

“Promise.” You ruffle his hair, leading Grandma out to the car before she can conjure up another slew of swear words.

Eddie wakes up the next morning still exhausted. He rolls over, catching a glimpse of Harris still sleeping soundly in his racecar bed. He’s tempted to let him sleep in a bit, maybe take the day off from school, but he knows how badly he wants Ms. Sweetheart to sign his cast.

Ms. Sweetheart.

He’d been thinking about you all night. The way your calm, confident demeanor had faltered when your grandma cursed at you and said she hated you. The way you caved in a bit, as though her words had punctured you.

You hadn’t reacted like that when Eddie called you a bitch; you’d simply carried on as though the words meant nothing to you.

Because they did mean nothing to you. Because he meant nothing to you. He was just another drop in the douchebag bucket, and once you’d gotten over the initial sting of rejection, you’d moved on. And so had he.

Right?

He tries to shake these thoughts from his mind as he gets Harris ready for school, but it’s nearly impossible when all the kid can talk about is how he saw Ms. Sweetheart at the hospital and how she’s going to sign his cast today.

“She’s the bestest teacher I’ve ever had,” Harris tells Eddie, shoving a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth.

“She’s the only teacher you’ve ever had, buddy,” Eddie reminds him, but Harris remains unfazed.

Sure enough, you’re waiting outside the classroom door, black Sharpie in hand. Harris’s eyes light up when he spots you.

“Ms. Sweetheart! You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered,” you say, uncapping the marker and crouching down to his level. Both Eddie and Harris watch intently as you write your signature, complete with a little heart.

Ms. Sweetheart ♡

“Go ahead and unpack,” you tell Harris. “Once you finish your morning routine, we can have your friends sign it, too.”

“Okay!” He starts to run, but crawls to a stop. “Gotta use my walking feet in the classroom.”

You give him a thumbs-up, turning back to hand Eddie the sign-in sheet.

“I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, shaking his head incredulously. “I’ve been trying to get that kid to slow down since he learned how to run. Swear to God, he skipped right over the ‘walking’ stage and went straight to sprinting.”

You laugh at his remark, taking the clipboard back from him. “Try the walking feet trick. I’ll let you borrow it, free of charge.”

“Much appreciated.” He starts to leave, but stops before he can fully turn his back to you. “How’s your grandma, by the way?”

His kind gesture catches you off-guard, but you recover quickly. “Already giving me a hard time about the sling, but that’s the home health aid’s problem until I get back.”

Eddie steps forward, awkwardly resting his hand on your upper arm for just a second. He’s not exactly sure what he’s doing, or why, but it felt like the right move. “Well, uh, good luck. With the whole ‘sling’ fiasco.”

“I’ll need it.”

He smiles, and you easily return it. It’s an olive branch, one that you eagerly reach out and take. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever given you.

Eddie’s walking back down the hallway, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off of his overburdened shoulders, when he hears it:

“...reported to CPS. Apparently, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

No. No. There’s no way that they could be talking about him.

He rounds the corner towards the school lobby to see Carol Perkins talking to Steve Harrington, her hushed whisper not soft enough to prevent other people from hearing.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Yup,” Carol nods. “Something about when he was born? Like, how bad of a parent do you have to be to get reported to CPS as soon as your kid is born?”

Eddie feels the bile rise in his throat. His suspicions are further confirmed when she adds, “And get this–he was drinking when he brought Harris to the hospital. That’s why I’ll never let Frankie play at his house.”

There’s no way he can just walk past them and act like he hadn’t heard anything, so he decides to wait until they finish their conversation. They made him sound like some sort of neglectful alcoholic who disregards his son’s safety. They made him sound like his dad.

As Steve and Carol say their goodbyes, Eddie takes one last glance back towards the classroom. You’re cheerfully greeting an adoring student, ruffling her hair like you did to Harris at the hospital last night.

Eddie sucks in a quick breath. You were there last night. You were also in the orthopedic wing, as evidenced by your grandma’s injury. You had been humiliated in front of him for the second time; the first was when Eddie hadn’t called you after the one-night stand. And now you wanted revenge.

No wonder you were so friendly this morning. This whole time, you were just waiting for him to slip up. Waiting for him to have his moment of weakness. Now he knows better than to trust you. He won’t make that mistake again.

@littlepotatobeansworld @kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @definitelynotecho @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @krahk @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @theactualf0ck @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights @eggo-segual @rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff@meadow20 @theweasleyskettle @lost-in-the-stars03 @elizabethmidnight2017 @aysheashea @fckyeahlames @chaoticgood-munson @rachofficial @poofyloofy @girlintherubyslippers @shotgunhallelujah @thirddeadlysin @sinczir @vintagehellfire @ieatmunson @behind-thebrowneyes @southblizzard @ilovetaquitosmmmm @blueberry--lemon @chrissymjstan @eddiesguitarskills @corrodedcoffincumslut @foreveranexpatsposts @scarletwitchwhore @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @moldy-khunt @simars3

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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didi-writes · 3 months

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could do some fluffy headcanons for mammon, and beel with a chubby reader who gets insecure if they still like them?

Thank you sm 🫶🏻

꒰🎶੭・how beel and mammon reassure insecure reader hcs .

characters : 3,297

warnings: mentions of insecurities, feeling upset over your appearance and slight jealousy feelings.

notes : a little angst + fluff , gender neutral reader hi!! hopefully you like them ^^ i apologize for not really making em headcanons though, hope that's not an issue. not proofread so sorry for any possible grammar mistakes.

— Beelzebub .

As of recently you had been feeling quite down about your appearance, insecurities were still something that would torment your thoughts every now and then. And today was another one of those days.

Beel noticed how you were more kept to yourself as he gulfed down another cheeseburger. He stared at you before speaking. "Y/N??" he asks. Beel noticed your rather sad expression as you looked up at the red haired demon sitting in front of you on his bed.

"are you sad Y/N??.." Beel asked softly, focusing his attention on you. As you sighed his expression softened further. "do you still...like me? at all? i mean, i feel so unattractive sometimes Beel" you replied quietly.

Beel furrowed his brows as soon as he heard you talking negatively about yourself. "Y/N. did someone make u feel this way?" he asks, his vibe shifting from concern to serious.

"No..just myself i guess" you'd reply, staring back at the guy. His expression softens again as he pulls you into his arms up onto his lap. Beel wraps his arms around your figure, resting his chin onto your shoulder, his hold firm.

"Yes, i do still like you. you make me feel warm on the inside. You make me feel full, but in a different way than food does and when im with you i always feel better Y/N. And i think you are very attractive, you're so soft and i love holding you...i love you Y/N..a lot, please do not feel this way, i will always like you" Beel replied, his firm hands softly caressing your stomach and sides as he continued to hold you. He kissed your shoulder and smiled when he heard you let out a soft sigh, relaxing into his hug.

He would spend the rest of his day around you and making sure you know he only has eyes for you! (and food of course)

— Mammon .

Mammon and you were together in his room like usual, hanging out. He counted his money he had earned from his recent modelling gig. He got up and stretched, letting out a happy sigh. "Y/N!! Your oh-so very great and amazing boyfriend earned 7,000 Grimm! aren't ya proud of me?" He said, turning around to face you.

You looked up, lost in thought as you forced a quick smile nodding as Mammon waved the bills around. "mhmm, good job" You'd add, your tone slightly upset, which Mammon took notice of.

"What's got ya so down?.." He asked, plopping down onto the couch next to you. You sigh and shake your head, telling him it's nothing. Mammon didn't let go of it and got closer towards you, speaking in a soft manner. "cmon..what's wrong??".

"Do you still like me?? i mean..im not even remotely as good looking as the people you're constantly surrounded with" You said, staring at Mammon. He furrowed his brows, his hands moving to your face to cup your cheeks.

"How dare ya believe the great Mammon wouldn't like you Y/N. i very much like you...you're the most attractive looking person in all 3 worlds to me. I wouldn't dare think otherwise, your my human, and you always will be....i love you.." He replies, muttering the 'i love you'

Mammon pulled you closely, hugging you tightly as he softly petted your head. "I wouldn't wish to have anyone else in my arms rn...your beautiful/handsome Y/N, i mean it." He added, placing a kiss onto your head. You looked up at him, noticing his cheeks flushed red. You smiled, hugging him back as he denied his blush.

thank you sm for reading! have a great day or night ♡

#requests open #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #headcanon #x reader #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub x reader #obey me nb #obey me x reader #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me #om x reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #gn reader

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alyswritings · 4 months

Text

pitch perfect

Request: could you write a jj maybank and sister reader where her depression and anxiety has like gotten worse recently?? Love your writings!!!

Summary: JJ helps his sister when she isn't doing well.

Warnings: depression, anxiety

a/n: back from the dead! idk for how long lmao

(gif not mine)

JJ gets back to the chateau after getting some stuff from his house. He throws the two bags onto the couch, getting a beer out of the fridge.

"Hey." John B walks out of his room.

"Hey." JJ nods, taking a sip of his beer.

"Hey, so, um..." John B purses his lips, getting a beer. "Uh... Y/N -- to my knowledge -- hasn't gotten out of bed all day."

"What?" JJ asks, frowning in concern.

"Yeah. Uh... tried to, but she just-- she wouldn't move. Barely even said anything." John B says.

"Uh..." JJ scratches his head. "All right. Thanks, man."

"Yeah." John B says, walking off.

JJ sighs, putting his beer down. He grabs a water bottle out of the fridge and a granola bar before going into the bedroom. His heart strings pull at his sister's curled up form underneath the covers. He gently knocks on the doorframe, but she doesn't turn back to him.

"Hey." JJ quietly calls. He shuts the door and walks over to the bed. "You get up at all today?" Y/N only groans. "You eat anything?" He asks. He glances at the nightstand, seeing the unopened package of peanut butter crackers that John B must've put in there earlier.

"You should eat something, Y/N." JJ says. Y/N doesn't respond. "Was there a trigger?" He asks. Y/N gives a small shrug.

JJ quietly sighs, wishing he could magically heal her. Wishing he could take all of this away, it killing him that he can't.

"C'mon, Y/N/N." JJ gently shakes her. "Say one word."

"Go away." Y/N mumbles.

"Okay. We're getting somewhere." JJ says. "I'm not going anywhere, though."

"Jayje--"

"You need me. I'm not leaving you alone, dude. Nice try, though." JJ says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Why don't we get you into the bathroom and you can take a shower."

"Don't wanna." She mumbles.

"It'll make you feel better." JJ says. "I swear, it will. Even just a little bit. Come on." He stands up.

"JJ." She sighs.

"Up and at 'em." JJ rips the blanket off.

"JJ." She whines.

"Shower time." JJ says, picking her up and carrying her to the bathroom. He puts her on her feet, Y/N leaning against the wall. "Be right back." JJ goes back to the bedroom.

He comes back with some clean pajamas and puts them on the counter.

"Shower. Take as long as you want." JJ turns the radio on, giving her some music to listen to while she showers. "When you get out, I can brush your hair and if you want, you can go back to laying down and I'll put a movie on or something."

"You suck." Y/N frowns.

"Love you, too." JJ kisses her temple. "Shower." He orders, leaving and shutting the door.

- - -

Y/N walks into the bedroom where JJ is, the boy having the TV set up and a pile of DVDs to choose from on the bed.

"Hey." He gets up when he notices her. "I got you some water and made you a sandwich. Plus, JB had some grapes. Figured it's better than nothing."

"Thanks." She mumbles, taking a sip of the water.

"Pick a movie." JJ encourages, nodding to the DVDs. Y/N sighs, looking through them.

"Pitch Perfect." She holds the DVD out to him.

"Yeah. Of course." JJ mumbles, taking the DVD. He puts the movie in before grabbing his sister's hair brush and sitting behind her on the bed.

"You really don't--"

"Shut up." JJ tells her, grabbing the plate. "Here. Eat a little, at least." He puts the plate in front of her.

Y/N sighs, sticking a grape in her mouth. She relaxes a bit as JJ starts to brush her hair, his fingers combing through it afterwards. He soon finishes and puts the brush up, moving to sit beside her.

"You feel better?" JJ asks. Y/N just shrugs.

JJ frowns, rubbing his neck as he thinks of how to help her. He knows he can't do too much since there's no cure all to her depression and anxiety. Plus, if he pushes too much, she can tend to push him away.

He knows he just needs to keep a closer eye on her and make sure she's eating and taking care of herself somewhat, at least. JJ kisses his sister on the head before moving his attention to the TV, watching the riff-off.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x sister reader #jj maybank x sister!reader #obx #outer banks #outer banks jj #obx jj

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hqbaby · 8 months

Text

twenty-five — you don’t mean it

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.4k content. swearing, more feelings

“Ya good?” Atsumu asks, sitting down beside you and placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “Ya didn’t eat much.”

You smile at him. “I ate a bunch at breakfast,” you say. “You made sure of that.”

“I know how much ya love ‘Samu’s omelets.” He shrugs, grinning. “Couldn’t let ya go without ‘em.”

“Yeah, but stealing Aran’s was a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“What can I say? I live to serve my girl.”

You chuckle, curling into his side as you watch your friends play Twister in the middle of the living room. You’re all heading back to campus tomorrow morning and everyone’s made it their mission to do as much as possible before returning to the drudgery that is school.

You’ve been a little out of it since last night. After your mini-breakdown and your cryptic conversation with Ayame, you haven’t been able to focus on much else.

It doesn’t help that everywhere your turn Suna and his girlfriend just so happen to be there, touching, talking, sitting, messing with your head.

“You should talk to him.”

The words are stuck in your head, repeating on an endless loop.

Talk about what?

What is there to talk about?

“The boys wanna play volleyball on the beach,” Atsumu tells you, standing up. “Ya wanna come?”

“But it’s freezing outside.”

“It’s fun!”

You shake your head, still smiling faintly at your boyfriend’s endless fountain of enthusiasm. “Think I’ll stay here,” you say. “I’ve still got that budget request to finish for the team.”

He pouts. “Will ya come swim with us later then?”

You gape. “It’s cold!”

“That’s half the fun!”

The look on his face tells you that you’re not winning this argument.

“Fine,” you groan. “Five seconds.”

“Minutes?”

“Three minutes.”

That seems to cheer him up, his features bursting into a smile as he takes your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your forehead. “Fuckin’ love ya.”

You giggle at his antics. “Love you too.”

The words come naturally to you now. When you said them the first time, you had to admit that you weren’t quite sure if you were just saying them in the heat of the moment or if you were just trying to get out of a tough situation—but time seems to have softened them. They make more sense now.

You love Atsumu. You aren’t lying when you say that.

When you wake up beside him, a little drool spilling from the corner of his lips, you know you mean it. When you find him regularly giving you his sweaters before he wears them so he “can smell like you,” you know you mean it. When you find your mind drifting in the middle of class, the only thought on your mind being his goofy little grin, you know you mean it.

After lunch, your friends start filtering out of the house and heading to the beach, all admittedly freezing but looking to savor every bit of your weekend getaway.

You head to the little study in the house with your laptop to go through the budget reports of your team's past expenses. It’s boring work and you wish you could be doing anything else, but it’s better than witnessing Suna and Ayame get all touchy-feely with each other.

“Hey.”

You look up from the screen, trying your best not to look so surprised. Speak of the devil.

“Suna,” you say quietly. “Hey. W-what are you doing here?”

He shrugs, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “It’s way too fucking cold out there.”

You hum in agreement. “That it is,” you murmur, awkwardly tapping your hands on the table. “Where’s, uh, where’s Ayame?”

He furrows his brow as he makes his way to one of the bookshelves. He picks up a knock-off Spongebob figurine, turning it over in his hands. He doesn’t dare look your way.

“You don’t like her.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t like her,” he repeats, putting the figurine down. Suna’s head turns in your direction, but his eyes don’t exactly land on yours. “You don’t like it.”

“Like what?”

“Me being with Ayame. You don’t like it.”

You furrow your brows, closing your laptop and looking at him from across the room. “What are you talking about?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “You have a problem with us.”

“What? Come on. I think she’s nice.”

“Oh, nice, right.” He nods. “That’s why you’ve been so weird around her. Ignoring her. Ignoring me. But, yeah, sure, you think she’s nice.”

An uncomfortable laugh spills from your lips. What the fuck is he getting at? “I’m sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to be weird. I’ll be nicer.”

He looks at you, finally. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is twisted downwards. “You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

He’s being impossible. You know. He knows it. You know that he’s prodding things neither of you should even be going near, trying to uncover truths that will only hurt you both. He’s being dumb. He’s being stupid.

What did you expect?

“We don’t talk, we never talk,” he says, pulling up a chair and sitting at the desk across from you. “I wanna know what you’re thinking.”

You shake your head. “You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Suna—”

“What happened to Rin?”

Fucking impossible.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask hopelessly. “I’m sorry, okay? Things worked out well, though, didn’t they? I have Atsumu, you have Ayame.”

He scowls. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Being weird about her,” he says stubbornly. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He knows, but he’s not stopping anytime soon. “Why are you so weird about me having a girlfriend?”

You scoff. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

There are two ways this conversation can go. You can continue to beat around the bush, never address the real questions that are hanging over your heads. Be civil. Be polite. Like mature people, sensible people. Or you can blow everything up.

And the decision to choose between these two paths seems to be entirely up to you.

You never did consider yourself to be mature or sensible.

“I think it’s mean,” you say. “I think you’re being mean.”

His eyes widen at that. He hoped you’d finally be able to talk about it, he just didn’t expect that you actually would.

“How am I being mean?”

You chuckle humorlessly. “Who the fuck is Ayame?” you ask. “You don’t even know her.”

“I do.”

“No! You don’t!”

“You don’t know everything about me.” He’s adamant even if he doesn’t believe that himself. You probably know more about him than he does himself. “What’s your deal anyway? Why are you so bothered by her?”

“I’m not bothered by her.”

“Then what is it? Why are you so against her?”

“I’m not against her!”

“Honestly, it’s a little hypocritical. You start dating Atsumu three days after you call things off with me, and I can’t start dating someone three months later?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

You put your face in your hands and groan. This is so childish. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“No.” Stubborn. So fucking stubborn. “What’s your problem, huh? Why are you so against my girlfriend? Why are you being so—”

“Why wasn’t it me?”

The words seem to be sucked out of Suna’s mouth. He swears his heart has stopped beating, his lungs have stopped breathing. Did you really just say that? Did you really—

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

There’s a sad smile on your face. You don’t look mad or upset or anything like that—you just look resigned. Like you already lost this fight a long time ago and all you can do now is face the aftermath of the carnage. Like you don’t even want him to answer, like you already know the truth.

“Why does she get to be introduced to your friends? Taken on a whole trip with us?” you ask, each dispirited question sticking a knife in his heart. “Why does she get to be your girlfriend and all I got to be was a secret? Did you hate me that much?”

The last question makes him shake his head furiously. “I didn’t hate—”

“No, you didn’t hate me. You would never,” you say, shrugging. “You just didn’t care enough.”

“Of course I cared. I still do.”

You look at him, unbelieving. “Then why?”

“Because I—”

Atsumu’s voice booms in his head. “If ya ever hurt her again, I’ll fuck ya up.”

“—I love you.”

Fuck.

Your face falls. “No.”

“I love you.”

“Fuck you.” You laugh, getting out of your seat. “You don’t love me.”

He just stares at you, all earnest and empty. As if this is all he has left to give. “I love you.”

You go to the door, keeping your head low the whole time, eyes away from his. You know you should be mad or terribly sad or something, anything, but you’re not. It’s like all the emotions are lost somewhere inside you, somewhere you can’t seem to understand just yet.

Right before stepping out of the room, you look at Suna one last time. “You don’t mean it,” you say before walking out and shutting the door behind you.

He just stares at the empty space across the desk, suddenly alone.

“I love you.”

notes. 😳

#hqbaby.fyi #hqbaby #haikyuu #suna rintarou #suna #suna rintarou x reader #suna x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou fic #suna fic #miya atsumu fic #atsumu fic #haikyuu fic

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munchmemes · 10 days

Text

taylor swift lyrics, the tortured poets department edition, part two

guilty as sin?

▸ my boredom's bone-deep. ▸ am i allowed to cry? ▸ i'm seeing visions, am i bad? or mad? or wise? ▸ one slip and i'm falling back into the hedge maze. ▸ oh, what a way to die. ▸ i keep recalling things we never did. ▸ how i long for our trysts. ▸ how can i be guilty as sin? ▸ i keep these longings locked inside a vault. ▸ someone told me there's no such things as bad thoughts, only your actions talk. ▸ they're gonna crucify me anway. ▸ what if they way you hold me is actually what's holy? ▸ i choose you and me religiously.

who's afraid of little old me?

▸ the "who's who?`" of "who's that?" is poised for the attack. ▸ you don't get to tell me about 'sad'. ▸ if you wanted me dead, you should've just said. nothing makes me feel more alive. ▸ who's afraid of little old me? you should be. ▸ the scandal was contained, the bullet had just grazed. ▸ at all costs, keep your good name. ▸ you don't get to tell me you feel bad. ▸ is it a wonder i broke? ▸ let's hear one more joke. then we could all just laugh until i cry. ▸ i was tame, i was gentle till the circus life made me mean. ▸ they say they didn't do it to hurt me but what if they did? ▸ i want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me. ▸ you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. ▸ isn't that what they all said? that i'm fearsome and i'm wretched and i'm wrong. ▸ you lured me and you hurt me and you taught me. ▸ you caged me and then you called me crazy. ▸ i am what i am 'cause you trained me.

i can fix him (no really i can)

▸ the jokes that [you/they] told across the bar were revolting and far too loud. ▸ they shake their heads, saying "god help [them]" when i tell 'em you're the one. ▸ i can fix him, no really i can. and only i can. ▸ i could see it from a mile away. ▸ you had a halo of the highest grade, you just hadn't met met yet. ▸ come close, i'll show you heaven if you'll be an angel all night. ▸ trust me, i can handle me a dangerous [man/woman].

loml

▸ we were just kids, babe. ▸ i don't mind, it takes time. ▸ i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed. ▸ i felt aglow like this. never before and never since. ▸ you and i went from one kiss to getting married. ▸ you said i'm the love of your life about a million times. ▸ a conman sells a fool a get-love-quick scheme. ▸ i felt a hole like this never before and ever since. ▸ what we thought was for all time was momentary. ▸ i wish i could un-recall how we almost had it all. ▸ the coward claimed he was a lion. ▸ i'll still see it until i die. you're the loss of my life.

i can do it with a broken heart

▸ i can show you lies. ▸ i'm a real tough kid, i can handle my shit. ▸ they said 'you gotta fake it 'til you make it' and i did. ▸ you said you'd love me all your life but that life was too short. ▸ i can do it with a broken heart. ▸ i'm so depressed, i act like it's my birthday every day. ▸ i cry a lot but i am so productive, it's an art. ▸ you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart. ▸ i can hold my breath, i've been doing it since [you/they] left. ▸ i'm miserable and nobody even knows!

the smallest man who ever lived

▸ was any of it true? ▸ now you know what it feels like. ▸ i don't miss what we had. ▸ in public, you showed me off then sank in stoned oblivion. ▸ you didn't measure up in any measure of a man. ▸ were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? ▸ good riddance 'cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden. ▸ i would've died for your sins. instead i just died inside. ▸ in plain sight you hid but you are what you did. ▸ i'll forget you but i'll never forgive.

the alchemy

▸ this happens once every few lifetimes. ▸ these chemicals hit me like white wine. ▸ what if i told you i'm back? ▸ the hospital was a drag. worst sleep i ever had. ▸ ditch the clowns, get the crown. ▸ what if i told you we're cool? ▸ honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy? ▸ where's the trophy?

clara bow

▸ all your life, did you know you'd be picked like a rose? ▸ i'm not trying to exaggerate but i think i might die. ▸ this town is fake but you're the real thing. ▸ take the glory, give everything. ▸ promise to be dazzling. ▸ you're the new god we're worshipping. ▸ beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours, demanding more. ▸ it's hell on earth to be heavenly. ▸ them's the breaks, they don't come gently.

#rp meme #rp starters #sentence starters #lyrics rp starters #lyrics starters #roleplay meme #lyrics rp meme #lyrics meme #taylor swift lyrics rp meme

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celestialholz · 9 months

Text

The Resurrectionist (or 'Crowley's dying briefly because character-building, and here's why')

I should start off by saying, friends, that I have written exactly zero books. (Bloody lot of fanfiction, but no actual novels). And I like coffee, but not particularly with oat milk. (The poison's metaphorical, not physical), but... well, you guys can keep both of 'em, because they're just not relevant to this conversation. I am also, as you may have already guessed, not Neil Gaiman. A chick can only speculate, but she does like to back it up with actual evidence.

No, I'm simply here to ask you a question.

What's the single worst thing Heaven could ever do to Aziraphale?

What would drive our angel so far from the clutches of Heaven that he would never, ever wish to return? What would set him unequivocally free from six millenia of assumed responsibility; what would make him realise that God can never change? What would strip everything away from him?

Because of course, this is what we have to do next series. This is Aziraphale's whole arc. If he doesn't try and change things and fail, he will always wonder. Always have a 'what if.' Will never be able to truly move on, will never be free from the eternal abuse cycle.

And so the severing has to be monumental, and everlasting. Then we get our happy ending. Storytelling, loves, done flawlessly. (Again, not a novelist... just a girl who's been writing for over half of her lifetime.)

And so, I ask again:

What's the single worst thing Heaven could ever do to Aziraphale?

And, well, it's a manifold question isn't it, with lots of potential ans - no I'm just kidding. Very simple question, very simple answer.

So congratulations to the very likely hundreds of you who have just said 'murder Crowley,' because a. you're very much correct and b. we've all just predicted the end of series three.

(... I mean, probably not the very end. But the emotional crux, definitely.)

And naturally, I'm not talking discorporation. I'm talking 'wiped from the universe altogether, leaving our angel eternally alone' kinda murder. The real shit. The good shit. Never mind any of this 'editing the Book of Life leading to an ineffable paradox' kinda bullshit - this is Heaven, the natural source point of holy water. One miracled Supersoaker and our demon's ancient history, friends.

Because y'see guys, severing Aziraphale's connection isn't the only problem we face in terms of narrative romance. We've also got Crowley, who has spent six millennia being in love with a guy who just takes, takes, takes... him for granted.

And this is NOT to say that Aziraphale gives him nothing back - he so very clearly does. (I am a consummate Aziraphale apologist, Crowley's just as much of a fool post-series two as our angel is, and Aziraphale needs this, as I've mentioned.) But... Crowley is his teacher. His moral guide. His protector. It mostly goes one way, and despite all of that and him being happy to be that guy for all this time... right when it matters most, Aziraphale (to Crowley, at least) has abandoned him. He's told him he isn't good enough.

(... Which is bollocks. That's not what Aziraphale's said at all, they're both as overprotective as each other and have a desperate, painful longing to keep one another safe in their own best way. But it sure fucking looks like it to CROWLEY, which is what matters.)

And so, we have two issues in achieving our happy-ever-after.

Sundering Aziraphale from Heaven forever;

Ensuring Crowley trusts him fully and knows completely that he is Aziraphale's only choice.

(And also by GOD do they need to have a proper conversation, but that one kinda goes without saying. It'll happen.) We have to even up this relationship; we have to make it absolute narrative equilibrium, and I am absolutely sure Neil knows this probably far better than I do.

... And so, how do we achieve both these things in one hit, whilst also telling a Second Coming story and holding a celestial war?

Well, we kill Crowley. Obviously. Not until episode five or six and after an emotional, romantic reunion of mutual understanding, but... we kill Crowley.

... And then Aziraphale brings him back. Yes, from complete death.

I would like at this juncture to remind you that miracles, apparently (and this is a thing we've just learned guys, almost like it's suddenly going to be relevant ongoing) are measured in Lazarii.

(Great thanks to the Aziraphale to my Crowley, @porgthespacepenguin, for these few screenshots I'm showing off here today. You'd never leave me, not even for my own good. <3)

Lazarii is very obviously named after Jesus' apparently greatest miracle, of raising Lazarus from the dead in the book of John. They managed to achieve twenty-five times the necessary amount of energy it takes to bring someone back from death... without actually fucking trying.

Let's take a look at the book of John a sec. Or more specifically, its eleventh chapter and twenty-fifth verse.

Jesus told her, "I am the resurrection and the life. The person who believes in me, even though he dies, will live."

My thanks to Neil once again for murdering me like Heaven's going to murder Crowley. Cold blood, point-blank.

'Who believes in me.' Huh. Only for the past six thousand years, Aziraphale dear...

Here's a little of what the internet has to say about the number 25 in numerology, by the way.

And may I also remind you at this stage that there is a pub in this series called The Resurrectionist, and only Aziraphale goes into it.

I mean sure, Crowley's booksitting and trying to make the ladies hilariously like him and Aziraphale fall in love in the same way he himself did, but the fact remains... one relevant pub name. One guy. (We all need a narrative excuse sometimes Neil, I get you.)

Considering all this, friends, let me ask you another question. This one's a little more wordy, that's on me.

What do you think would happen when a being capable of raising someone from the dead twelve and a half times over for the sake of his beloved's protection loses said beloved beyond all doubt?

... And this will be after he gains the ultimate celestial power-up, by the way. In case we'd forgotten that that alone is also about to boost Aziraphale to the fucking stratosphere, and finally put him on an equal footing with Crowley. (Who is clearly an ex-archangel, but not Lucifer, so Neil's since said.)

... And I think we know the answer, don't we? The kind of miracle that

(You can't see me, but I'm staring into the camera like I'm one of The Office main cast right now.)

This is the kind of power that fucks with reality - the kind of power that scares Heaven and Hell to absolute death, hence Metatron being in the DMs. And crucially, this miracle was boosted because of love. Because of a desire to keep the status quo, their 'own side'. You amplify both those conditions to the nth degree by destroying one of them? It's over, lads. Resurrection is the beginning.

Resurrection evens up a playing field. It destroys Aziraphale and renews him in one hit; it proves to Crowley once and for all that Aziraphale loves him exactly as he is.

... It's a no-brainer, pals.

And what do they do after this? Well, fuck up the celestial order, naturally. I have theories, the main one of them being that they're going to be God and Satan respectively and unite Heaven and Hell in eternal marriage, but... that's just a theory. A television theory.

The resurrection thing? Not so much.

... See, this is the thing, my friends. You don't need to have written a 16k essay to predict the future.

All you need is the ability to tell a story, an observant eye for that which is already present, and a simple question. (Followed by a mildly more complex one. It's a working allegory.)

... I'm just going to leave you with this one shot of Aziraphale picking up his own destiny. Because poetic cinema.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #and even a little bit of #good omens season 3 #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #the nice and accurate prophecies of celestialholz #good omens meta

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rookiesbookies · 4 months

Note

Seeing your hc of greek god!ghost made me think of how much of a disaster it'll be if he found someone he's into only for them to get cold easily and wears like 5+ layers everywhere they go

So I have bad circulation and a neurological condition that makes my extremities get very cold, which is why I believe I am qualified to write this. There’s nothing I love more than grabbing my partner with my cold fingers or touching him with my cold feet, my friends are also victims. As I write this one of my hands is ice cold and the other is a completely normal temp. Wish he was here so I could rub my hands over where he’s ticklish and make him shiver (im evil)

I had a lot of fun writing this ask, I do want to do more with this AU later so I love getting asks about it but I do need to clean up my master list😭

Fic under the cut

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

Price was sent a younger maiden one other time. She had been just under the age he liked and he truthfully believed she would work better with someone else.

SO he delivered her to Simon’s doorstep in the underworld. Simon looked through the peep hole to see you holding a pie and a note from Price. When he opened the door and read the note (something along the lines of : she’s too young for me but seems more like your type) he tried to shut the door. Luckily for you, the future mother in law was there - Persephone was not having any of her son’s shit.

She quickly read the note herself and set you down, sending Simon to go make tea while she got a good look at you. Poor thing, so nervous, dropped on this doorstep, she wasn’t having any of it.

Then she noticed how cold your hands were and cursed her husband for giving their son such cold hands, he was always so clammy he just had to pass it on.

She quickly yelled for Simon who rushed in with the tea, telling him to start a fire.

You tried to tell her it wasn’t a problem with a nervous smile and laugh but she wouldn’t listen. So you told both you didn’t want to be a bother.

“Ya think yer cold?” Simon said sharply before grabbing your ankle with an ice cold hand from the floor where he was sitting trying to start the fire, the sudden chill made you let out a soft shriek. He giggled behind the mask.

Persephone saw that. She heard it too.

“I'm calling Hades and we’re planning the wedding!”

Simon’s eyes bulged out of his head.

“I can’t marry someone I’ve just met,” you awkwardly laughed between sips of tea.

“Well it takes time to plan a wedding, you’ll both know each other quite well by the time it comes around!”

Simon groaned, “just because you and Hades-”

“Shush!” And Simon shut up quickly.

And with that, Persephone fled the house.

“I would have thought because of how she was taken by Hades-”

“Stockholm syndrome, I'm sure of it,” Simon grumbled. Pulling off his fur cloak and throwing it over you. “I’ll sleep on the couch until I can sort this out.”

“Oh but I can’t take your bed from you-”

“Did I ask?”

You shake your head and quietly sip your tea.

Now lets time jump just a bit. Assume they both bond at some point and a month or so passes, they’re trying to cuddle, right?

There’s nothing that brings Simon more joy than torturing you with his cold hands. Making you whine and shove them under your arms to warm them.

“You’re colder than a dead body!”

“Why do ya think the lads call me Ghost, love?”

After more time, he chooses a new favorite place to warm his hands.

“Simon, we are at dinner! You can’t do that in front of others!” You hushly yelled at him.

“Come on, they’d be jealous that's all, not judgin ya!” He laughed.

“Simon this is so embarrassing,” you mumbled. His hands gently holding your tits. One hand over each.

“It’s my favorite place to warm em.” He shrugged then grumbled. “Plus Johnny made a comment about ya rack and I gotta remind him whose it is.”

You let out a whine, “your hands are so cold! I didn’t sign up for temperature play!”

He chuckles, “here, I’ll distract you. Two goldfish are in a tank-”

“You’ve told me this one so many times,” you giggled as he massaged your chest with his cold hands. You smacked his hand, “I'm only doing this to warm up your hands, this isn’t touchy time.”

He groaned in disappointment. “Price wouldn’t notice or care!”

“Oh he definitely would, especially if it was at his dinner table!”

“What are ya love birds whisperin on about?” Johnny holard from the other room.

“SHUT.” Was all Simon had to yell back.

#cod x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod

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punk-in-docs · 11 months

Text

🕷️ Girlfriend is Better 🕷️

Eddie Munson x reader

10.9k words

Summary: Eddie x Pencils hit a bit of a hurdle in their early relationship. But she puts it to rights - and then hits the sweet metal head with an offer he can’t refuse- tw violence, past assault: in this chap folks - sorry its taken so long to get this done - enjoy

Eddie can feel their eyes on him.

He feels it’s undeserved and let’s be honest, a little odd. It’s not as if he’s not doing anything out of the ordinary here. He’s just being- normal.

His version at least. His wheelhouse batshit normal. Eddie-like.

They’re looking at him like he’s grown a new head.

Munson Motor mouth, rabbiting on its usual mile a minute as Motörhead shreds through the van speakers with Lemmy’s choppy and tasty riffs.

Early morning cigarette that he lit before he hopped in the van for the drive to school, curling smoke held between two fingers.

He’s batting the saggy steering wheel in time to the song. Ba-da-da with his other open palm to coincide with drum clashes that pound through like falling rocks and crashing thunder.

He still takes the corners way too fast like a coked up maniac. Some things will never change.

He looks the same. Smiles the same. But there’s a new breed of manic warping his usual calamity of a nature.

He’s not grumbling about this morning. Or a test or pop quiz he had coming up. No miserable sluggishness. Toothpaste breath. Not slumped and still yawning. With nothing but a weak instant coffee, two sugars, as his one and only source of breakfast. Gritty coffee that still catches the grounds between his back teeth.

Hair that mushed dry state that’s hard to tell if it’s met with a brush or not yet. Possibly this morning. It’s a maybe. It’s a not really.

Leather and battle vest showed up for duty on his lanky torso as per usual. Hellfire shirt of course. The ripped jeans. The wallet chain that swings and jingles and clatters to denim when he walks and makes him sound like a jangling six foot cat with a little tinkling bell on its collar. It’s all there. The jangly jacketed freak is all assembled.

But there’s this newness to the way he’s smiling.

So wide it dimples his cheeks. Creases the corner of those intimidating wells of eyes. It’s like someone’s fuel injected him with something to make him wilder. More swirly. Practically floating. Any higher he’d be in the big blue stratosphere. Sun grazed and heady. Icarus soaring too close to the sun. Not yet plunged to earth. Melting gold spattered on milk white swan feathers as he tumbled to earth.

Jeff makes a joke about him toking up before school. Eddie reached over and ruffled his hair. Making that demons smile. Rings flashing from his fingers in the meagre sun. “Man, I wish.”

“Got new pills from Rick or something?”

Eddie frowned. “Hell no. Besides. Wouldn’t be wasting those beauties right before first period English class.” He scoffs.

Dustin and Mike share a furtive glance that begs to know what’s up. Dustin mumbles What the shit, man?

He’s finally cracked. I’m calling it.

He didn’t have far to go.

He judders the van along the lot at school. Rumbling tyres over the loose gravel. Head bobbing to the metal as he lurches the wheel and swings into a space.

“Be seeing you. Little hellions. Be free. Give em hell.” He chuckles. Lumping the van into park. Watching them open doors and frown. Scurrying away to class. Gathered close and whispering. Hiking backpack straps up their shoulders and clutching chunky math books and still regarding him like more of an oddity than he actually is.

Of course there is a reason for the golden sunshine visibly sneaking out his pores, and bouncing the soles of his happy feet today. And it’s his wonderful secret.

Eddie shakes his head, and shoulders all his jagged chips and hatred for this place.

The amount of chips he’s got shelved there, worn on his shoulders, about this stunning educational penitentiary, frankly, he could very realistically wear like scales at this point.

He puts a cigarette to his lips and slips around the corner of the lot, jacket and wallet chain clinking as he goes, sneaking to the smokers spot.

A balding patch of grass skimmed to mud, and a graffitied brick wall, snugly hidden around the side of the squat building where some go to steal a quick smoke before class. He usually occupies the spot alone and has to haul ass like a frightened racoon if a teach clocks him.

No sooner had he come within an inch of the corner, cig almost to his lips, and he is yanked around it by a sturdy hand yanking him fully out of view - by his wallet chain. He feels the tug on the denim around his hip, pulling taut.

He wants to yowl and start squirming away from the grip, slinging fists into faces at this ambush. When really he wants to turn tail and leg it in the opposite direction. Flight not fight.

His back collided with graffiti breeze block and before he could turn out his pockets, show them holding lint and nothing else save for a quarter and a D20, screechily proclaim his dispensary is clean out man, back off-

Then some warm lips mould to his.

A gentle artists hand, faded blue polish on the nails, knuckles scraping bricks, is cupping the back of his wild mane and cupping him for a kiss he slowly melts too.

He honest-to-god goes fully boneless with the way you kiss him. The scrappy fight and shock slowly leeches out those gangly poky limbs. Sparks shoot to his fingertips.

He smiles. You can feel his dimples and a cold leathered arm comes folding around your back. The bracelet and the jangle of those zips up his wrists. Settling at the dip of your waist and his fingers slide into the back of belt loop of your jeans.

When you pull back for breath that you’re not sure you want more than him, he has the dopiest grin skated on his face.

“Morning.” You beam finally.

Because that kiss seemed way more important. You can’t help the feeling he instills. Feels like your belly is birthing a wild jungle crammed with winking wings of butterflies. Brilliant blue. Wicked electric yellow. Gossamer pink. They all shimmer.

“Hey hot stuff.” He smiles. Not restraining himself whatsoever.

Oh, they shimmer even more to the sight of that. Mad. Wild. Unhinged.

His cheeks kissed a little pink. He doesn’t even care that he dropped his cigarette in the mud. He’d rather chase the taste of your lips and let that sustain him all morning. Better than pills and nicotine. This static-fizzy-starburst feeling he gets big lungfuls of when around you.

“Didn’t mean to grab you like that. But I must admit that chain is certainly a handy hook.” You flick a fingertip to it. Sway that lolling chain into his thigh. Biting your lower lip in a smile.

He cups one side your face. If anyone got to chew that lip, it’s gonna be him. Leans in to gently smooch you again.

“Goddamn. I was reaching for my attack whistle there, pencils.” He rubs his hand over your hip. Rings chafe against your denim waistband.

“Maybe I was overzealous. But I do have a stunning defence.”

You lean up on tiptoes to smash a polite smooch back to his mouth. He mumbled a curious sound into your lips.

“Which is?” He seeks. Lips chasing yours for more. Even through speaking. Insanity catches.

“I missed you like crazy and it’s been barely 12 hours since I last saw you, and kissed you. And etcetera…” You flirt.

He can see these little delighted pips in your eyes. Like sowed little seeds of pride. The etcetera being all the dirty things you finally got to indulge in last night. Threaded in moonlight at skull rock.

No regrets. He doesn’t see any tint of regret in you.

Seeing that kicks his rocker heart right up to the moon, and sailing on over it. Like those old songs. Moonbeams and old soft tinkling pianos. Ladies with gardenias in their hair crooning about moondance, love and seeing stars.

He gets it now. He totally gets all of that sappy shit.

“I hereby decree that is far too long, and way too stupid of us, actually.” He finishes your thoughts for you. They were symmetrical to his own after all.

“So stupid. We’re just like, a complete pair of morons right now.” You concur. Linking your fingers into his. Standing toe to toe and just drinking in how it feels to be near again.

“So I’m thinking, we should cease all impending stupidity and uh y’know, catch a movie tonight or, grab a bite at Benny’s. Something like that. Anything.” He says. Smile all limned in excitement.

Shaking that big moppish mane of hair as a grin splits his mouth when he speaks, makes him look like an out and out excited little kid.

Fidgeting with your hands and immersing himself in the tactile deliciousness of your hands being held in his. Little touches that stayed with him all night.

Kept bugging him even in dreams he’s sure thoughts of you crept at the oil slick lining of his mind like wing tips of persistent gentle moths. The dusty old ones the colour of sour grey milk. Ones that they get flapping around the trailer porch light at night in balmy summer. The soft blink as they hit the glass shade.

“Burgers at Benny’s sounds so good.” You grin. “Loaded chilli fries?”

He scoffs. “Naturally. I’m not an animal.”

You run your hands through his wild hair. Listen to him talk. Heart entirely bloated with love of this boy. You swear it’s knocking all giddy up against your ribs like some deformed roaming creature seeking release.

“Shall we head out after class? I’ll drive.” He offers. His stomach zig-zags in vicious excitement.

“Catch you after class, handsome.” You grin.

“Ohh, whoa. I never said I was done with you yet.” His eyes flicker with something you think is cheekiness.

Swooping in to slow kiss you for a beat too long. An embrace that makes him hum softly. Makes you mewl. Right at he back of his throat. Lips roaming gentle and soft and your bodies rock together. Gets him cupping your back to keep you near.

“Fuckk gimme another one of those, pencils. I’m not below begging.” Cups your face again. He wants another kiss. Eyes wide as bourbon brown saucers

Chuckling in the muggy space between your smiles, cheeks fired all warm, sharing the same breath, you lean in and give it to him. Giving him the deep messy kiss you’d been craving.

When it’s time to pull back to guzzle air and maybe some reality again, Eddie chases your retreat with his mouth. His lips bruised a stunning cupid pink. Taking a breath that he’s not sure he needs more than he does you.

“Jesus H Christ. How the hell am I gonna even attempt to concentrate today-“ He asks. Voice all raspy and slow gravel.

“What usually stops you?” You sass him. He bites his lip all naughty and softly jabs you right in the stomach; a move designed to tickle.

“Blasphemy. Dear one. I mean, how dare you.” He grins. Chocolate drop eyes all crinkled at their corners. You cover his hand on your stomach, with your own. He likes the soft warm pouch of you there.

It’s tactile. It’s touch. It shoots right to the roof of Eddie’s brain and does something so funky to him he can’t even describe it in words. Actions maybe - Beer on an empty stomach. The first hit of some really silky smooth strain Rick gives him to try. The home made warm sugary scent of that peach cobbler Wayne makes him on his birthday.

They haven’t designed or discovered enough appropriate words to put to this feeling. None that even his whip smart nature can grasp at.

“I’ll soothe that wounded ego and buy you a chocolate shake later if it pleases.” You offer. Tilting your head. Offer placed on the table.

“An ego bruise is a problem I will gladly allow you to throw chocolate and ice cream at.” His fingers worm their way through yours. Knuckles locked. You could do this all day.

“Can be swayed with chocolate. Good to know.”

“And candy. Pizza rolls are good too.”

“Noted.” You beam. Snuggling to his front. Hands still joined. Fused as one.

The sound of the bell ringing for first period is a rude interjection into a morning that’s shaping up to be stellar.

Eddie didn’t seem best pleased by this. Judging by the way he takes advantage of that split second of your distraction hearing the bell, to snatch his hands at your shoulders and loop you round so your back is to the wall instead of his. Sneak attack.

His arm is a leather band over the back of your waist and he gently cups your chin and deepens a silky melting kiss that is, just, so many elements of perfect it should be outlawed that just kissing can be this good.

The plush of his deeply plump lips, with the scraping push of some stubble on his upper lip. It’s delicious. The way he kisses is better than any hit off any joint. You don’t care what he says. Better than purple haze. Better than fucking anything. Backed by sheer dopey sized crushes that take you both, head to toe. Crushes taking on a life of their own. Wearing your skins whole and making you desperate. Make you ache.

You kiss him back. Desperately. Drenched in want. But also knowing that you should be hot-footing it to your first class lest you get a tardy slip. To turn up late, with a very very kiss worn mouth like that would be about as obvious as the nose on your face.

“Eddiii-mmmmm.” You plead to his bewitching mouth. Smoky minty breath and the faintness of his morning coffee on your tastebuds. He’s cupping your face like your some sacred relic he has to handle gently. As if he had corrosive fingertips. Strychnine laced touch.

When he pulls back. Hands two big gangly paws holding your neck, there’s this sweet dazed look all over his expression. Drugged on you. The way you kissed him like his tongue is made out of cherry candy and you only want more- oh lord.

How’s that for irony. The Hawkins High school dealer and here he is getting a huge hit, from kissing you. Nothing that comes pre rolled in a baggie making his mind fuzz like hot molasses, or circled into a wild little chalky pill that makes his head all bright and fuzzy sharp like cotton candy.

Making out before class he can gladly get hooked on. He thinks he’s there already. DT-Ing for more. Make him shake and rattle on all fours like a rabid dog.

“One for the road…” He explains inbetween raspy pants for breath. A silly smile all yours for the keeping.

You pat his chest. He could honestly whimper at the tactile feel of your hand resting on the meat of his pectoral. So dangerously close to skin on skin.

“I better go.” You sigh. A drop kick to your mood to leave him. You take a step back.

He can’t allow that. He whines like a kicked puppy. Button eyes all round and shiny with whatever amount of sadness it would take to root you here, with him.

“Don’t. Pencils. Stay here. Stay uneducated and stupid with me and let’s just make out, all day.” He waggles some filthy intentioned brows at you. Pleading threaded onto his voice. Trying his best to yank you back.

“You could easily tempt me to play hooky any day, Munson. But I’ve been studying for this test all week.” You point out.

“Well. I can’t deny that dorky chicks turn me on.” He sighs nicely. You can’t help smiling.

“Really? I figured tiny pleated little cheerleader skirts and peppy bouncy pom-poms turned you on.” You tease. Voice all sultry.

He leans in and smacks a kiss to the end of your nose.

“Nuh-uh. I like em’ covered in paint and jeans and artsy, and working in record shops with old hippies. And hopelessly in all consuming love with me.” He grins.

“Kiss ass.” You smirk. Smacking a kiss to his cheek. Stepping back. His hand slithers to find yours again. Links fingers. His rings glitter. They’re all warm where he’s been holding hands with you. On you.

“Hey, my girlfriend is a damn fox. This is a hill I’ll die on.”

You bring your joined hands up and kiss the back of his for that.

“Class beckons.” You roll your eyes. Shouldering your bag. Unwilling to unlink hands until you absolutely had too.

“See you at lunch?” You ask. His brows creased. Makes him look like an upset puppy.

“Can’t. Got a drop to make in the woods.”

“Parking lot after school?” He counter offers.

“You bet.” You agree. And you cannot even handle the wait.

You walk away around the corner. Eddies eyes trail over you as you go.

“Enjoy the smoke.” You turn over your shoulder and call back.

He saluted you with a flicking motion, with that million dollar grin pleasured all over his face.

“Brutal babe. You know what I’d enjoy more…” his inflection at the end of his words lets you know what he’s referring too.

“Down boy.” You play as you head off. Smile all secret and wide for him. Grin so wide it makes his heart pulse.

He’s grasping a hand over his mad heart as you slip away. One knee bent up. Sneakered foot flat to the wall behind him.

He reaches for that cigarette and his lighter. Though he doubts this little stick will do any damn thing that kissing you didn’t. He lights up. Grinning. You left his heart thrashing about and kicking inside the shell of his denim and leather like a damn drum in a cramps song.

Way, way across the field, sat high up on the bleachers with some of the girls on the cheer squad. In full view of the back brick wall where you had just been. Supposedly around the corner and concealed from view-

Linda snapped her binder shut. Eyes packed in venom. Huffing as she picked up her books.

Lipsticked lips pursed together in a grim hot pink line. Annoyance fills her chest and rams up against her ribs. Sour in her stomach. Nastiness curdled up on her tongue. She’d seen enough.

You and the freak. Just like Jonny said.

No fucking way.

Eddie bapped along to some rock that had been trapped in the lining of his crazy head since this morning. Head bumping as he hummed along, sang under his breath to Rattlehead. That mane flicking every which way.

Metal lunchbox swings from his hand and clatters as he bounced along the familiar route. Feet trained for the way. Leaves cushion his rustling step. He drags his eyes over the foliage spread high above.

Dappled with gold sunshine of the afternoon that chips down. The odd scurry of a bird flapping around the treetops. Nature and the soothing crash of wind lacing through wide apple-green leaves. He darts his eyes around, seeking and searching for the shape of anyone to come crashing through the trees.

He arrived at his little decaying stoop in the woods. The table that’s so carved and scarred with crude drawings and initials it’s chipped and falling to bits. Cig butts littered everywhere and Eddie shamefully admits some of them are most likely his. His place of business is well reputed.

Swinging his leg over the bench seat and slinking himself up onto the table to take a pew. Sneakers resting on the seat. Cause when has he ever approached anything normally, or fallen into doing anything that comes into the category of usual.

He throws the lunchbox lid open with no gilding the lily, and braces his scattered mind into this deal. Shoves through the bags to find the semi-decent stuff. Wave of heady green hits him in the nose as he rummaged and carried on humming to himself.

Though really for the preppy guy who propositioned this drop, he’s tempted to charge way too much for a thin little roll of ditchweed.

Alas, his reputation is too important. One bad sale and he’d never touch profits on it again. He will unwillingly part with some decent sativa for the knucklehead.

He thumbs through his papers and rustling bags and makes a note of exactly what he’ll put his fistful of measly dollars from the sale towards; another date with you.

He’s heard of this great alt store a couple towns over. Super your style. Record store in back, cool clothing, apparantly a rock n roll kinda vibe that you would appreciate. Posters, merch, jewellery, you name it.

He can’t think of a better place to take you for a date. He’s keeping it under wraps even though, god knows, his blabber mouth which runs and rants away from itself, wanted to yell and shriek about it to you nonstop.

How he wanted to scrape together some dollars to buy you something. A handful of punk style patches, a tee, a poster for your bedroom door that needed some anarchy or some goth Siouxsie. Maybe a little Joan and some Blackhearts action.

He’s heard you crank them up on your headphones to blaring when you’re trying to concentrate on a sketch. Like the loudness lifts you out your mind and transcends into the paint.

How he wanted to make a mixtape for you, of all the metal songs - and to his embarrassment some of the less tacky love ballads - that bring you to the forefront of his mind when he hears them. Even some older crooning songs that Wayne likes.

The stuff he was drip-fed on in his early days, sweet and crooning, like slow gold honey melting into his ears. Listening to them and snatching pieces of melody that breezed through the trailer. Warm and sunny to listen to. Softly swaying Don Henley, Woodie Guthrie, and Jim Croce. Even some Ella or some Julie London and her smokiness.

He smiles to himself as he comes to Rattlehead’s chorus. Toes tapping the rotten old bench and creaking the wood, as he scrunches bags aside this way and that to find the pre-rolls. Fingers drum the beats off the side of the tin. Clacking out into the woods.

The brutal snap of a twig makes him peer around.

Eddie swims his eyes through the trees and eventually drags them to find a Jock with his hands shoved in his pockets.

It’s not someone he’s on a first name basis with. He’s lost amongst a sea of sensible jeans and varsity two tones. Sea green and blinding white with the lion gold yellow Hawkins H proudly blazoned on his front.

Crazy how differently they wear their allegiances.

He’s the anti-thesis of Eddies style. Shirt tucked in. Sensible white sneakers that aren’t beat up to shit. Preppy. Hair brushed. Some square jawed Ryan or Chad or whomever, pads towards him.

The look in his eyes twists Eddie’s gut like wet flannel. Scathing.

He’s seen hatred and distain before. Of course. It’s poured very freely his way.

Thats nothing new to him. Distaste. Eye rolls louder than claps of thunder and tutts coming stabbed under breath peppered with nasty words.

This is that crowd at its ugliest. The tribe this guy is happily a part of. Supposed fuckin’ Normalcy. They scar the word ‘Freak’ into him over and over again. Stomp it into his messy maned head over and over with their feet.

Finally he got tired of the brutal raining down kicks and just took it. Weened the power of it. Stole it from them and flipped it. Made it his shield. Propped it up with that DIO patch on his back. Let their hatred sink into that and roll away useless.

Let them know it doesn’t sink down to places where they want it to hurt.

Eddie swallows. Throat suddenly a sticky chasm. Tried to soften the blow and put away whatever the fuck this guy was trying to scowl and throw at him.

“Hey, man. You’re my 1 o’clock right?” He asks. Tapping his knee still and fiddling with his hands.

The guy swerved his jaw before he spoke. “Yeah.” Spine held poker rigid as he answered. Like it offended him to have to be here and talk.

He came into the clearing. Sneakers rustling leaves. Something feels sour about this whole thing.

“Okay. Well- um.” He awkwardly clears his throat. Reaches into the box that he gently sets beside himself. Grabs the joint and fidgets with it for a second.

“It’s uh, it’s twenty bucks for a pre-roll.” Eddie tells him.

“Great.” He watches the guy nod. Curt. His expression steely. Eyes glassy in a way that’s beyond unsettling.

“Ohhhkay.” Eddie nods. Eyes a fraction too pinched at the corners. Concerned frown dragging down his brows. Wondering what the stitch up is. His eyes dart around. Bordering on panic.

He stands to get off the bench, the guy doesn’t so much a muscle to reach across and take the joint off him. Hands still shoved deep in his pockets.

Eddie holds the joint. The guy doesn’t even move to take it.

“It won’t bite man. Smooth as silk and just, hits you like a cool wave when you smoke that puppy. Trust me.”

Something flickers like a sneer across the guys mouth. He looks at the innocuous rolled joint Eddie’s holding out to him. Looks at the brown paper all rolled in his palm.

Eddie shrugs. Wide open. Leather crinkles over the jutting movement of his shoulders.

“You want it or not?” A razor edge starting to creep into his tone.

If this is someone who hasn’t made their mind up, he’s got other places to be. Better times to be had. Than waiting on whether or not the preppy jerk is gonna take the goods off his hands. Or use more than two syllables.

“If you don’t want it. I’ll go right now. Forget it. No hard feelings.” He takes the edge off for him.

Despite the fact that actually a little simmering front of annoyance bubbles at his belly for the guy wasting his free period he could have used to kiss you senseless with wandering hands, right up against the side of his van.

He turns around and throws the joint back into the box. Shaking his head. Making his hair do that wild kicky thing it usually does.

“Maybe you should go. Freak.” Comes spat his way. Drawn in a snarl.

“Whatever, dude.” Eddie puts his back to him. Folds his product back into his box.

More snaps. More rustled leaves. Eddie drifts his eyes up and sees three more guys coming through the woods to the clearing. Walking slowly, picking over nature to come to the bench all menacingly slow. Like he was a deer they were in danger of spooking.

All wearing Hawkins letterman jackets. Sneers writ on all their faces. Intimidation carved into every step they take. They look way too happy to see him here alone.

Suddenly Eddie feels small. Feels like he’s right back in middle school. Being tossed around and bashed up by the bullies. Coming home with stinging scraped knees and a cheek that feels swollen hot, itchy like bloated meat. The crust of dried rust scabbing under his nose.

This feels exactly like that. Some things never change.

“The fuck?” He asks. He won’t lie. His voice wobbles to a croak. Set on shaking sands.

“Where you goin’ loser?” One of them huffs out. Eddie turns his head.

Strutting towards him like the bullshit cover of macho magazine. Or J-Crew, is Barbies boyfriend. The blonde ape.

One of them he doesn’t recognise proudly comes up and slaps the lunchbox out his hands.

Eddie flinches back. Shrinks away. Puts distance between every step they eat up eagerly to come towards him. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want whatever’s coming barrelling his way. He hasn’t done anything except sell some reefer.

“Alright. Alright-“ Eddie stumbles back from the table. Hands high and empty. Voice jittery. His head and gut yell in sync - telling him to run the hell outta there.

“Clearly you guys have some sort of agenda I’m not aware of so why don’t we all just-“ His smile is all tremulous and shaky.

A fist drags his collar into a yank. A curled up punch swings into his face and knocks him clean to the ground before he can chew out his next words. His jaw snaps together. Hot pennies comes flooding his tongue where his teeth cut his cheek.

Stars and bursting black galaxies accompany his artless tumble to the ground.

And then some more fists come raining down. A sneakered foot planting square into his side to kick the wind clean out of him.

They leave him crumpled on the ground. Cushioned by rotting dry leaves. Smeared in mud, blood leaking from two places in his face. Spotting down to his dark shirt.

As a parting gift one of them empties his lunchbox over the floor and stomps its contents into the dirt.

He knows the feeling only all too well.

You clatter into the bathroom after your last class.

Let the bustle of crowds fall far behind you as everyone rushes to the lot to leave. Afternoon summer sun stripes its sneaking glory across the halls and slants the window ledges in gold.

You cross to the sinks and set your sketchbook crammed with new drawings on the side. Leafs of the paper and all the dried paint crinkling, as it’s wedged partially open by the sheer number of crammed pages all skated on dusty pencil or charcoal.

You’d need to buy another pretty soon. One with thick cloth like paper pages for you to fill up.

You go through new books like running water. Never stop sketching. You’d wanted to take Eddie to the funky art shop you grab your supplies from. You’ve a feeling he’d love seeing the paint sets and the sheer number of spray paints they got.

Creativity seemed to flourish from him. His imagination permanently running wild. Could never stop it. One of your favourite things about him in fact.

He would talk about your sketches. Ask you about them. Ask you what the best paint would be for decorating some new figurines he’s got.

He’d twirl the pen you’re using out your hand and tell you all about the way he’d sit in the library for hours drawing fantasy maps for his campaigns on graft paper. Drawing rolling green islands. Mountain caves with trolls. Boggy muggy swamps with draping trees and hidden dangers. Vast seas with coily sea serpents hiding in the waves.

He’d chat to you about your ideas. The ones you’re struggling with for art class. The things you need to study and learn about. The theory of colours. The use of them all dotted in a Poussin or swirled in a Van Gogh.

You could talk to Eddie about anything. For hours and hours. The mere fact of going to grab a huge greasy meaty junk fest of a dinner with him has you walking on clouds.

You want your evening with him already. It can’t come fast enough. You want salty loaded fries and a cold shake and relentless plush Eddie kisses. You wanna climb into the comfy ratty seat in that tired old van that you love. Listen to whatever blasting metal cassette he’s been humming along to all day.

Hell- even just seeing his whole face light up with a smile as you saunter up to his van. The way he’d look at you - the way he always looks at you - with those big shining brown eyes all haloed in golden sun. Brimming with mirth. Cheeks split wide and crow-eyes all bunched up at the corners in glee.

He burns so bright to see you, it’s like he’s swallowed the sun and stars combined. You feel so lucky to have that.

The way he links his fingers with yours. Lopes your fingers together as one and doesn’t even mind if your all paint spattered or your hands are too dry. Palms all hard from scrubbing off acrylic smudges.

He kisses your fingers and acts like you’re draped in diamonds.

Acts like you weren’t wearing a ribbed worn Henley. A large - borrowed - Berkeley blue varsity sweater knotted around your waist, or your straight worn baggy jeans, cuffed up hems and patched at the knees that you mended. And your truly awful red sneakers that are so beat up with age they’re almost a sad faded pink.

He still looks at you like you’re a holy revelation. Each time.

You heap your bag next to the sinks and scrub the last of the charcoal off your hands. Sticky pink soap making a lot of lather around your fingers as you washed the smudgy grey away from the creases in your knuckles. Watch the way it circles down the drain.

You pull up and dry them with the crinkly paper tissues sat on the side.

Take a second to look back to the mirror. Centred all around the ugly squiggles of old sharpie doodles etched on the walls. Contemplate your reflection.

You smooth the hair away from your forehead. Attempt to neaten some of the crazy fluffy bits that kink down around your ears. Fuss with it for a minute or two. Smudge the charcoal away off your cheek.

“Who you trying to look so nice for-“ Comes a cutting tone from behind you. Tone dredged through revulsion and back out again.

A twist over your shoulder reveals Linda. Stood there in her oversized acid wash denim jacket and too-short purple skirt. Hair all bunched up and piled on her head in a half up style wound with a magenta scrunchie. She stands with one hip cocked. And her eyes are frosty daggers.

Heat licks your spine in the shame that you’d been caught preening. “No one.” You say too quick.

Try and inflect some humour on your voice. “You know I don’t exactly have anyone to preen for.” You lie.

Looking down at your hands as you dry them. Scrubbing water away with damp paper. Crush it into a fist and ball it in the bin when you’re done.

You can feel her stare embedding itself into your skull. Like an engraving. Sharp. Scratch of a knife on hollow bone.

“I saw you with him. So don’t try and come at me with your bullshit.” She spits. Words tired and clipped.

You turn over your shoulder. She stands there seething. Looking as bitchy as she usually does. Pink lips pursed.

“Saw me…” you check.

“Yeah. You and Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson?” She poses the words like they’re offensive. Mocking.

Anger furred the back of your tongue. Like feasting on too much sugar. Or a chalky jagged pill lodging itself in your throat.

“Look. I know you’re like, a lonely little virgin or whatever, and you wanna pop your cherry and all, but there’s way better guys out there to screw-”

Your venom stops her words dead.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You bite.

You see her face fall into shock at your tone. Snappy and sudden. She looked stunned. As if you’d wheeled around 360 and slapped her.

“Oh my god. Don’t tell me you actually like him? Are you serious?” She gapes like it’s illogical.

“He’s a loser with ratty hair who sells weed and lives in a shit hole trailer park.”

“I do like him. I more than like him. We’re dating.” You tell her with steel. “We’re going out tonight as it happens.”

“I knew you had a screw loose but this is just another level of low. Even for you.” Linda bitches.

“How do you never get tiredwith that constant tirade of shit that spills out your mouth Linda.” You snipe.

She rallies to respond. Scanning you with hard eyes backed with new levels of poison.

“I’m not the one dating the King of the freaks.” She hits at you, real low.

“No. You’re dating a two-bit jockstrap who doesn’t even like you, unless you blow him. At least Eddie wants me for more than my pussy.” You point out.

She swallowed. Eyes glimmer. You know that one bit deep.

“Don’t come crying to me when that trailer park asshole dumps you like a cup of cold poison.”

You shake your head and try to remember how to breathe. Snickering cracks of bones in your throat as you swallow. You want to fly into rage and slam your textbook into her stupid scathing face until it dents one of her precious cheekbones.

“You don’t even know him. None of you do. You don’t even know the first two things about him.” You defend loud.

“I know he’s weird as shit and sells skunk. What a catch.”

You bite your tongue. Plenty of insults about Jonny come crawling to mind.

“How long have you two been-“ She sniffs.

“Couple of weeks now. Since Kyle’s party.” You hurl at her furiously.

Her face fills with an expression you can’t read as everything comes to make sense. Falls into place. Puzzle pieces clicking.

“You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

“Yeah. And you’re so self centred look how long it’s taken you to even notice or give a shit about what’s happening to me or my life.” You finally say all the things you should have voiced long ago.

“You’re only interested now because you care what other people are gonna say on Monday, and what they’ll gossip about.”

“He’s trouble, and he’s gonna get you hurt. Probably gonna give you a filthy rash or something too.” She sneers. “Lord knows what he’s riddled with.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” You grit your teeth. Emotion gets the better of your voice. Tears bubble at your lash line. Red hot.

“Not gonna be my problem to have you trailing round after me anymore. Cause by the way, we are no longer friends.” Linda spits. Eyes narrow to slits.

You nod. Resigned. Tears of anger prick the corners of your eyes. You’re too angry to let them loose.

“What a goddamn relief.” You hit back. Chew your lower lip.

“I’ve had to listen to you bitch at me, and whine and snipe, and moan, for years. I’ve had to endure your tantrums and your cutting comments, and every play-by-play of every unsatisfying Friday night screw around, with your shitty dirtbag of a boyfriend who treats you like garbage. And who you run back to each time he fucks you over. And I’m so sick of you.” Your voice comes out raw.

“So yeah. You’re right. We’re not friends anymore. I don’t think we’ve been that for a very long time.”

You put your back to her and grab your books.

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Freak.” She sideswipes nastily as you shoulder your way past her.

Catching her on purpose. Shoving her with your shoulder to catch her teetering in those heels.

“Have fun with your trailer trash.” She snips.

“Word of advice. Make sure Jonny wraps it first. Word is he’s been screwing Tina on the cheer squad behind your back every Wednesday.“

You watch her saunter up past you to get to the mirror and touch up her lipstick. Ignore ignore ignore.

Her too sweet Revlon perfume making your stomach roil. She looks at her reflection. The thing she loved most. It’s amazing you ever got a look in. She scrunches up sections of her hair to make it bounce. An indifferent mask on her face.

Trying to ignore you already so the tears don’t come. So what else is new.

You pause at the door. Hand on the handle. Books piled on your arms.

“Sad thing is. I never expected you to act any different when you found out. Turns out you’re just that shallow vain bully I always suspected you to be.”

She pretends not to hear as you slip out the door. You’re sure to slam it as loudly as you can.

Coming out into the partially empty hall. Quickly skating a hand down your cheek. Taking a gulp of a deep breath. Starting down the hallway to come to the doors at the end.

Letting the distance to that girls restroom salvage some of your anger. Let it ebb away and let the savage venom words roll down your skin like blunt razors.

You wait to see if they feel like they’ve drawn any blood.

Maybe just a raking deep black bruise. Perhaps the confrontation has lifted a rock solid weight off your chest. Cut your ties to something corrosive.

You storm to the doors at the end, and push your way out. Into the midsummer air. Afternoon sun washing over you as it creeps it’s golden-fiery way by. Slanting ochre across the parking lot.

A gaggle of people clutched around one of the sticky lunch tables stops you dead in your tracks.

That weight comes crashing back with all the subtle tact and grace of a tank storming a building.

It’s Hellfire. The crowd. It’s Gareth, Mike, Jeff and Henderson. They’re all clutched around someone sat on the bench seat. Someone who is leaning forwards with his elbows resting on his knees. One hand held up to his head.

Your mood plunges even more. There’s a sour shift as some of them twist to look at you.

Big childlike eyes full of something that approaches wariness. Sadness dashed with insecurity. The kid-like uncertainty of how to deal with this very gruesome and very real situation.

A cold can of tab, now warm, for the crescent bruise taking shape around his eye socket.

One of them fishing around in the bottom of their bag for crumpled blue band aids. Anything to help.

A wad of crinkly and loveless paper towels snatched from the boy’s restroom and wadded into a wet lump for the blood pouring under his nose. The fresh red that’s staining his tee like big gruesome poppy petals.

His free hand is wrapped around his side for the bruise he can already feel like a dark cloud of cherry red and blue cobwebbing up his skin and over each slat of his ribs on his left side.

They shuffle away from the table and you finally get to see what they all look so grim about.

Eddie is hunched over with a black eye and a bloodied face and nose. He’s muddy and dirty and scratched up and when he meets your gaze, your world shudders on its axis, to a grinding halt.

The way he’s looking at you shatters your damn heart into huge glassy shards. Diamonds and sprinkles of it, sharp and chunky, cut into your chest. Daggering.

He’s hurt.

He swallows and keeps eye contact. Looks at you with such fear and sorrow emanating from those big round bourbon eyes. You see the apprehension in his body.

It doesn’t get any better when he winced and tries to stand. Body bowing as he slowly eased himself off the bench seat. Hand cupping his ribs as he inched his way to a full stand. You hear him groan.

You see as pain flickers across his face. The usual springy frolicking gait is muted. It’s etched with pain and writ with ache.

He wishes he could read your expression right now. As it is he’s struggling to sort it into one emotion.

You look hurt, tear stained, livid and clenched rigid with something that could only be bone deep anger. Venomous, mind numbing, anger. And it was just bubbling and clawing it’s way to a fever pitch.

“Pencils-“ He wets his lips. Looks meek as he watches you carefully. Tenderness in his voice.

You dump your books where you stand and turn on your heel. Sketchbook cast to the floor and heaped atop your bag. You slam back through the doors and into the school - mind set on one salient thing.

The doors slam not seconds after you. The creaking jolt as the metal crunches back into place. Footprints scatter after you on the lino. The squeak of muddy sneakers. The gusting air of a sigh bred with a wince.

Eddie chases after you with all his might. Hooks his hand to your elbow. Tries his best to stop you.

“Hey. Pencils. Babe. Please, let’s get outta here. Let’s just forget this. I don’t know who it was- I didn’t see them.”

He’s really a terrible liar.

“With all due respect Eddie. I know who did it.” You explain bitterly, as you wander along. His touch turns to a tug on your elbow. Pulling at your shirt.

“Because he’s not smart enough to juggle two thoughts at once, much less try and hide the fact he beat you up. And second his jagged pill of a girlfriend just tore me to strips in the girls restroom for finding out.” You say. Possibly louder than you intended.

His face falls.

“Hey, hey…” He says softly.

You turn back. Tears springing down your cheeks. His hands are all over you. Cupping your neck. Your shoulders. You can smell the blood coming off him. Sour pennies. Desperation laced his voice. Comes off him in waves.

Desperate for you not to to this.

“This isn’t stupid shit to me Eddie. This is not okay. Not something I’m gonna let get brushed under the rug-“ your lip wobbles. You shake your head. You rub your nose. Chase the tickling tears away.

He mimics you. Shaking his own head so his hair flicks out. Eyes wide and terror stroked words pour out his mouth.

“Don’t go getting into trouble for me. I don’t want that for you.” He begs. His eyes are wide with it.

“Good thing I want it then.” You resolve.

He looks apprehensive. Choked by it. Scared by your resolve. He doesn’t want to let you do this. This is a doomsday territory.

“Pencils-“

You continue down the hall. He follows. Still doing everything in his power to convince you, or try to stop you. Credit to him, his list of reasons are pretty excellent.

Babe. Please. It doesn’t have to be a thing.

You’re on track. You have your grades. You got Indie state in your future to think of. I don’t want you jeopardising that for me.

I don’t want you going and getting in trouble for this.

He doesn’t stop you from making your way to the gym. But he is right there at your back as you push open the doors, shove your way inside and you don’t care if your entrance is loud.

The idiot jocks practice in the gym after school. Basketball mostly. Some dotted in the bleechers. Long suffering girlfriends sat with bubblegum pink coloured files, shaping their nails to the side and chatting and trying not to look too bored whilst the guys play. Linda sits chattering to one of the cheerleaders.

You wrinkle your nose at the stench. Whole place smells like musty sweat, floor polish and old socks.

Jonny has his back to you as he dribbled the ball. The ricochet of it pangs across the court.

You race across the floor to him like a hell fury. Fists clenched at your side. Eddie still trying in vain to get between you and your stubborn brain. To try and talk you out of this before it’s way too late.

Your entrance with him hot on your heels and whispering pleas at you, draws laughter and sniggering sneers from some of his dirtbag friends. Shouts come aimed your way.

Hey, look who it is. It’s the freaks.

Closed practice, morons.

Jonny doesn’t turn back but you make your presence known.

“Hey. You dumb fuck stain.”

You march right up to his sweaty back and shove him hard with both hands. Wrinkle that goddamn white basketball jersey.

The guys around him make mocking noises. Chorus of awes and exclamations.

The room slowly dawns quieter. The squeak of shoes muffled. Everyone’s eyes centre court where you stand seething. Panting for breath and trying to look as livid as you felt.

He turns back to you all slow and condescending. Like he’s some golden haired Apollo flouncing down from Mount Olympus to grace you with his presence. He’s limned in sweat and dissects you both with conceited arrogance.

“What’s your damage?” He sarcs. Looking down at you like you’re an ant. Or a mangy mongrel.

He flicks his eyes across and landing on Eddie.

“Munson. How’s them ribs.” He sneers.

You’re about ready to topple over the edge and spit nails. Anger gently creeps to a boil.

“Just peachy, thanks for asking.” Eddie answers. Mouth is a grim line. And his eyes look stern coal black. He turns his attention back to you.

“Pencils please. Let’s just let it go. There’s no point…” He whispers. Standing with his hand gently cupping your forearm.

“What do you want? Teams full. We don’t accept weirdos anyway.” Jonny pushes at the both of you.

“I’m not leaving this spot until you tell me why you attacked my boyfriend.” You steel. Voice low and even.

You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you like lasers. Burning holes in the back of your head.

His mouth gapes a little. If it weren’t for the fact he’s terrified off his ass stood here, his heart would flutter like a fledgling baby birds wings, to hear those words admitted aloud.

“No reason. Just don’t like him.” He shrugs all honesty. Passing the ball over to his friend. Standing with his hands on his hips.

“Careful hefting those big thoughts around. You might hurt yourself.” You fire out.

Your fight with Linda left sharp scalpel words on your tongue and now you ache to use them to their fullest.

He doesn’t look happy. Dark gold hair beading sweat down into his cenote blue eyes. Rigid anger on his frown as he glares at you.

“Linda didn’t like the idea of him being around you. She told us we were teaching him a lesson. To stay away from you. We were protecting you, moron.” He says like it should be obvious.

“How fucking considerate. Your girlfriend couldn’t think her way out of a damn paper bag if she had a map, Jonny.”

You feel Linda’s scowl all the way across the room. The weight those slitted eyes and a bitchy scoff. You know those echoing words found their target. Slammed right into bullseye red making their mark. You hope it truly hurts. As much as she hurt you

“She didn’t reserve the right to presume any fucking thing about me. And not one thing gave you not the right to hurt Eddie. Not under the guise of some macho-stupid ‘protecting-you’ crap.” You snarl.

He bounces the ball. You slam forwards and bat it out scathingly out his hand. Send it rolling away.

More chorus of noises scattered around you both as you stepped toe to toe with the guy who almost towered over you.

“You acted out of pure hatred. So don’t try and dress it up at something else. You useless. shithead.” You insult.

“And what are you going to do about it, freak, huh?” He jabbed. Nostrils flaring. Lips pressed together unattractively thin. Looks like a provoked silverback in his enclosure. About the beat his chest.

He turns to guffaw laughter and sneer with his friends.

When you speak it’s so reed thin it even makes a shiver run up Eddie’s spine. Slices of jagged metal.

And he’s not even on the receiving end of this frightening ire of yours. The one that’s bursting out of you like raw lightning. Like it can’t fathomably contain you. Love and fierce packed rage tight in situ.

“This…” You remark with a clenched fist. Thumb wrapped over your knuckles.

Your nail polish glints blue in the light like steely-inky beetle wings. Your eyes barely smother down live-wires. Danger, danger.

You thought about how they would’ve laughed at him.

Kicked him into the dirt like wet leaves and muck that drifts off the trees in fall.

How they would have laid into him and left him there. On the floor. Blood soaked.

Shown the freak who’s in charge.

It flashes when you rear your arm back. Putting full force into your right shoulder, feet taking a firm stance. You channel everything you have into this fearsome right hook;

You swing your fist straight into Jonnys face.

It’s powerful enough to hear a loud crack, you feel the blow shudder into bone. Catching his nose, which spurts blood.

He recoils and staggers. Knocked off balance. Sound punctured out his mouth. Clutching his bleeding face as red streams drip on his pretty white shoes. Stains his pristine uniform. Good.

Try explaining that one to mommy and daddy dearest.

You don’t even let him swing back around. You grab the shoulder of his disgusting sopping jersey and ball it in your hand. Using that as leverage to drive your knee high - hard - into his balls.

Before you let him slump to the floor in a bleeding pile of sweat glazed limbs. You mutter words just for him to take caution of.

“Come near me or Eddie again, and believe me I will break your goddamn jaw, Lopez.”

You let him crumple this time. Flag to the floor in a heap of collapsing bones and sweaty jock uniform.

He looks up at you, trembling. Blood skirting down his arms and past his cupped palm. Tears streak down his cheeks. You step back and let him crumple.

He’s spitting and snarling crude insults in between wails of pain, and a sticky mouthful that smears his teeth red, and stains his tongue with metal.

“You broke my nose, you crazy fuckin’ bitch.” He spits. It sounds wet. Words sluiced in crimson.

“Finally. A nickname I can warm too.” You scathe.

When you look up, guys around him flinched back a good few paces in case they fell into the category of your rage. Wariness edging their expression. Eyes wide and mouths caught suspended open, like brain dead guppies at feeding time.

Eddie stepped forwards and gently laid his hand on your shaking arm. His fingers urge you closer. Get you following him to haul ass outta there.

You scan the room and find Linda gaping at you just as dumbly as everyone else. She’s risen to a stand. Face like she’s just swallowed a painful poison pill. Apparently in no rush whatsoever to get to her boyfriend.

“It’s ok. I’m done here.” You tell him. Gritting your teeth. Meeting Linda’s eyes.

You turn and walk away. Back to this whole affair Amazed how scarily easy it is. Leaving your supposed friendship in the dust. Bleeding crumpled on that floor.

You feel an enormous sense of relief walking out that gym.

Your hand killing you. No doubt about it. Shooting mad red hot fireworks up and down your forearm. Your knuckles feel like hell. Sparking furious with pain.

You reach for Eddie’s hand anyway. Screw the pain. You slip your fingers into his. Turn and catch his eyes.

He’s watching you with so much cautionary care and concern.

You breathe. Lungs shivering around new calm air. Words come easy but you feel shaky with them.

“C’mon. Let’s go get you something for that eye.”

He agrees with a nod. Then that hopping spark that’s truly skated in usual Munson mischief, comes springing back full force into his eyes. Lovely happy bourbon again.

“Wouldn’t dare refuse you, Pencils. Not after seeing what you’re capable of.” He grins. Nudging you with a shoulder to get a smile out of you.

“Damn right. Those idiots just cost us a date night. He deserved all that and more.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” He smiles. Eyes still stuck on your face.

He lopes alongside you. Hand clutched in yours. Shoulder rolling to yours. It feels whole. It feels like trust.

You sit in Eddie’s van in the parking lot of the Fair Mart. Despite your protestations, he fully insisted he was fine to drive. He rolled into park out front just about as the sun began to set.

The night started to pull in. All lilac and periwinkle skies, soft as a vintage eiderdown that made you think of bluebirds feathers as you watched that solemn shade of blue overtake the sky.

Making the all too yellow lights within the dingy place stand out proud. Blinking a little. Humming along with the huge freezers inside. All the twee touches of home made signs telling you about the canned goods on offer. Written on card with flicky show-manly italics. Some easy friendly music sparkles out the speakers.

The plump clerk is smiling and jolly and bubbly bright, even when you unload for a whole armful of some medical supplies on the counter. Eyeing your now purpling knuckles with sparky perception. Ringing things up, you throw in a bag of jolly ranchers and a couple of ice cold cans - they suggest a rattling jar of aspirin.

“Take away the sting, honey.” He wafts a knowing hand. “That’ll be $11.90.”

You pay with a watery smile and walk out with a paper bag full. It crinkles in your arms as you go back to Eddie. Who’s sat with his legs dangling out the driver side of his van. Fidgeting with his rings all skittish. Legs swinging to an invisible tune. Still Rattlehead, actually.

You’re the only people in the place. Talk about lulled and sleepy Hawkins. This clearly isn’t a place for two teenagers on a Friday night. They’re all off sucking face at the quarry or skull rock. Or gathering at the arcade.

You come back and get to work cleaning him up.

Lump the bag down beside him, close to his hip, and you stand between his spread legs. Hand fiddling with your belt loop so carefully. He feels you gently brush sweeps of his bangs off his forehead to get at his skin and smudge away a bit of dirt. He lets you. Sat there and losing himself in his gazing.

He winced a little when you gently dabbed some antiseptic cream on the cut at his cheek.

“There’s Jolly ranchers in there you know.” You supply.

“Is that a bribe for me to sit still?” He checks. “Cause it will definitely work.” He dives his hand into the crinkly paper and searches for the candy. He finds one and holds it in his palm until you’re done.

“Who, um.” He swallows. Looking too intently at his ripped jean kneecap. “Who taught you how to—“

You draw back and let him find his words. Let him come to you with it.

“Who taught me how to throw a punch?” You smile.

Still dabbing his cheek. Fingers slipped under his chin and tilting his head up to you. When he could stay still enough.

“My sister. She bought me self defence lessons after-“ The words die and wither up all grey and ashen in your mouth.

You break eye contact for a second and rub at your brow.

It slowly creeps over his head like some dreadful tide. After what?-

Eddie knows he doesn’t like the look settling over your features. One bit. He doesn’t care for it at all.

“It was the summer before junior year. Around the time Linda and Jonny started dating. We went to this party. She didn’t want to go alone so I was roped in. Dressed me in one of her stupid mini skirts, planned to set me up with one of his buddies, Alex.” You pause and chew over the words.

“It was stupid as shit, looking back now, but we got so stupid drunk. Teen freedoms and lite beer. We thought we were so cool. So much so I didn’t notice that my drink was spiked with something. I don’t even know what. All I can remember is just, blackness, and then waking up with Alex sliding his hand up my skirt.”

Eddie blinks. Shuts his eyes for a second. His voice sounds so far away. “Shit. Pencils.” He rasps. Upset and angry on your behalf. He looks more hurt than all those bruises scattering his face.

“Nothing else happened. I screamed blue murder, and shoved him off me and just turned tail and got the hell out of dodge. Walked miles home in heels til I got blisters all over. Charlie was so so pissed. First time I’ve ever seen my Mom go full apocalyptic angry.” You explain.

“She wanted to bring charges but Alex’s family lived on Loch Nora, and his dad was a bigwig in local council so naturally he just chalked it up to underage kids having too much drink and touting it around town that a ‘misunderstanding’ occurred. Transferred their golden boy to a private school. And it just got, quietly swept away.” You accept.

All the pieces slowly floated and formed together to clarity in Eddie’s head.

“Linda stayed with Jonny even after all that shit you went through…” He asks. You nod.

“Stuck like glue.” You infer.

He can’t stand it any longer. wraps his arms around you fully and tugs you into a bold hug. Burying his face in your chest. Listening to the tick of your heart, and feeling you hold him back. Smiling and pressing a kiss to the wild nest of his hair. He smelled like sour-sweet green apple shampoo and earthy papery leaves.

“I’m so sorry.” He rumbled into your arm. His hug says so much more than that.

I’m here and I’m not leaving. Whatever you need - I’ll give it. Carve it out of my chest because you own every piece of me - in full.

“Not your fault, Eddie. I stopped being mad a while ago.” You tell him. Pressing another kiss to his head.

That’s why he’d been so unsuccessful in being able to stop you today. Because you’d let one bout of assault go, like hell were you about to let that happen all over again. And not to him. Drew some blood of your own to partially settle an old debt. To quiet some old violent ghosts.

He lets go of you and plonks the red wrapped jolly rancher in your right hand.

“I think you need and deserve this more than I do. And I’ll keep on being mad on your behalf - if that’s ok.” He says honestly. Fingers slithering through yours. He twists your hand over and sees the bruises wrapping around your knuckles.

You smile.

“I’ll take that.” You answer in reply to his offer. “The candy and that kind offer.”

Cause this is exactly what you need. Him. Him in all his unusual and funky glory.

Metal head with a heart so pure you’re actually certain it is made of solid gold. He whom proclaims to the world he’s nothing but a devil worshipping Satanist, made up of cynical death metal, and pot smoke.

Yet, he’s the guy who puts wrapped candy in your hand. Plies you with kisses and tried to hard to keep you out of tumbling headlong into trouble for his sake. Wanted to take you for a greasy burger and just share every silent soaked moment with you. No matter what you’re doing as long as you’re shoulder to shoulder.

He’s springing up before you can stop him. Sits you in the seat he occupied and told you firmly to ‘wait here, toots.’

Then, he’s scampering across the grocery store lot all jangly jacket and mad frizzy rocker hair bouncing as he goes. The soft pad of his feet on the doormat and the swish of the door he pushes open.

He drifts around the aisle for a few minutes before you see the top of his head bounce as he jaunts to the checkout and pay with a load of coins and a crumpled bill dug out his pocket.

He’s out the doors and whirling back to you in no time at all.

Hand on his ribs as he winced and realised that moving around all silly like he normally does would have its consequences. Ode to a bruise.

He comes over and crouched in front of you. Proudly showing you his purchases. He holds them up like he’s won an award.

bag of frozen peas and a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

“For you, my most dangerous slash badass weirdo.” He grins. Even under that black eye, and the cut limned with purple across the bridge of that nose, his brightness and joy is infectious.

He takes your hand and you smile as he settles the peas on it. Settles his hand on top of it and stays crouched. Looking up at you with literal stars in his eyes.

You’re hit with such a fierce wave of love it shocks you from the inside out. Punching into your ribs and mangling and mashing your heart and lungs together with something that burns all mean like static. Words trip off your tongue like a smudge of sugar. You feel drunk on them; fever and maddening realisation in a shockwave.

You put your hand over his. Ice cold and shifting crunch on the bag.

“Eddie, you’re free tonight right?”

“Well the beauty pageant will have to take a hike with these shiners.” He plays. Tilts his head.

“What would you say if I asked you to spend the night?” You check.

His brain seems to crunch and churn through the cogs to answer.

“The night?” His eyebrows almost swoop up and disappear into his bangs.

“Not sure your mom would be too wild about that.” He says.

“She’s in San Francisco. Short haul. Not back til Monday.”

“Oh.” Eddie nods. And then it hits him.

“O h.”

You keep eye contact and smile. “I'm game. What’s say you, Munson?”

“Holy shit. Pencils.” He wets his lips. Grinning.

T A G S darlings

@ceriseheaven @indouloureux @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @greenishghostey @svenyves @sammararave @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831

@hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos

@edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @quinnsmunson @bkish @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-eddie @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx @s-u-t @alyssaaaaa-r @wayward-rose @usedtobecooler

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thesupreme316 · 9 months

Note

hi i don’t request stuff so bare with me how would aew boys react to you having a big return like Kris Statlander ex: you lost your title and left and you come back and win the title again sorry if this makes no sense i’m not good at requesting 🫶🏼😢

yall gotta stop apologizing for being CREATIVE CUTIES

AEW Stars React to: You Returning and Winning Your Title Back (Fem!Reader)

Pairings: Hook x Fem!Reader, Ricky Starks X Fem!Reader, Dante Martin X Fem!Reader, Darius Martin X Fem!Reader, Eddie Kingston X Fem!Reader, MJF X Fem!Reader, Christian Cage X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Supreme Speaks: thank you to anon for requesting (yall keep em coming), sorry that this took me so long (shit happening). But please enjoy this and p.s you are loved and appreciated

Warnings: not proofread, my regular react wrestlers, GIFS AINT MINE

Taglist: @hooks-martin @wwenhlimagines @sheinthatfandom @hookerforhook @triscillal @cassiesworldsworld @eddie-kingstons-wifey

Backstory:

Either you were injured and surrendered your title (you never lost it technically) or you lost it in a fluke to your opponent (just do whatcha want)

For months you spent away from the company, trying to gain your strength and feeling back

But now, you were back and better than ever

And you were owed a rematch

Right when the so-called champion called out for an open challenge, you were the first to answer that call that night

To your surprise, the whole arena rose to their feet and loudly cheered you on when hearing your theme (ex. Kris Statlander and or AJ Lee)

And after the match was over, you stood tall with your title high above your head again as the crowd again screamed loudly

(Or you can skip this and have a great segment like Trent with Sue’s van)

The entire moment/match went viral

However, they weren’t the only ones happy to see you tho

Hook

Mans had no idea that you were here

Was stunned into silence; with a big ass smile on his face

You were picked up into a hug by him; would definitely whisper sweet things into your ear or skin

“I’m so happy to see you back”

I think this will encourage him to try to win back his title quicker

Hook is the type of person (whether you're his best friend or girlfriend) to take this return personally as it is a start of a new era for you

Wants to celebrate with you in private ;)

HE WOULD ALSO WEAR YOUR MERCH TO SHOW HIS SUPPORT

Ricky Starks

OOOOOO THIS MAN IS SO COCKY RIGHT NOW

I also think he would be that person who would almost spoil your return out of excitement

You thought he was arrogant after he won the Owen Hart tournament? PUH-LA-ESE

Would reference you in his promos

“I’m a part of the winning team. I mean have you seen my hot ass champion of a girlfriend (or best friend; whatever you prefer)?”

Would book a photoshoot just for you to show off your championships

Defs would make you guys match in outfits and would get you in a storyline with him

I def see you as his manager/valet (IMAGINE THE (eventual) HEEL HEAT)

You two would take over AEW as the new IT couple or duo

Darius Martin

Tbh, it gives him kind of a nostalgic feeling when he returned during the tag team battle royal

He would be so incredibly happy for you

Would keep up with all your appearances and matches afterward

“I am the president of the Y/N protection squad *poses with lads*”

Genuinely hopes that everything goes well for you

Will do your signature move to show his support for you

Also, expect a celebratory dinner or movie night

But don’t get it twisted this man is mad at you for not telling him about your return

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME? I was just joking when I was gonna carry the cutout of you to the ring”

He was in fact not kidding (he was just a lil goofy)

Dante Martin

THE BABY

With him on the shelf, he is emotional for you

“That was amazing! The crowd really went wild for you!”

Has multiple emotions tbh; happy, anxious, a little sad

Wishes he could really celebrate with you

I also think because of the fact he has been out of action for a while, he’s dreaming of a return like yours; especially with a championship in his mind

I think he would be a little sad because you’re gonna be busy as hell

“I’m gonna miss the off days with just us two.”

To which you promised to drag him all around to wherever you were wrestling

He didn’t have a choice

Eddie Kingston

“THATS RIGHT DAWG!! YALL SEE THIS SHIT?”

Makes a post about you on Instagram

He’s genuinely happy about the two of you being champions at the same time

Will brag to everyone backstage

“YOU SEE THAT BRYAN? I HAVE FRIENDS THAT ARE CHAMPIONS, SORRY YOU CAN’T SAY THE SAME!”

Eddie, just like how I always say, is a very emotional person (even though he doesn’t wanna show it)

But he will make sure that you know how proud he is; even if he gives you a shoulder tackle

I also think Eddie sees every win as a win for the whole crew

Like Darius, he is upset that you didn’t tell him about your return but it made him excited about wrestling again

MJF

THIS MOTHERFUCKER PART 496792466

Would make a backhanded compliment about you

“Although it wasn’t as epic or spontaneous or memorable as my return last year, congrats to Y/N Y/L/N for making her return to the ring! BAY BAY”

After some choice words, he updates his Twitter again

“I reviewed my tweet after Y/N confronted me (with dice, a wooden spoon, and a lighter) I realize that I made some errors. I meant CONGRATULATIONS TO THE WONDERFUL AND ABOVE AVERAGE GENERATIONAL TALENT Y/N Y/L/N!”

Will ask you to shout him out occasionally (imagine having a friendship like him and Adam Cole)

No but for real, he’s happy for you

I think this man would shower you with gifts in private so you can fully get the MJF experience

Will bring you up in interviews; especially about people he can kind of give props to (his words not mine)

Christian Cage

THIS MAN IS MY SUGAR DADDY AND-

I feel like this man would be very proud of you

Would not dare hold your championship as you threaten him about that

But he would announce himself with your title in the same sentence (ex below)

“I AM THE TNT CHAMPION AND I am the significant other/best friend of the AEW Women’s Champion! Therefore, you all should respect me!”

Definitely would tell Luchasaurus to protect you as well

Loves how confident you became since winning

Also remember how I said he’s a sugar daddy?

Mans would buy you anything just for holding the championship at one point it almost becomes an accessory

Even if you didn’t have a championship, Christian would splurge on you just because

YOU DESERVE IT BIATCH

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ghoultrifle · 7 months

Text

Phantom's Top Surgery

@autumnblooms made a post asking about top surgery ghouls and I couldn't resist. So here is 1.8k words of they/them non-binary Phantom having top surgery and the pack loving them so much (like SO MUCH). If you couldn't tell, I have never had surgery, let alone top surgery (I wish!) so any medical inaccuracies are on me! Minor mentions of scars (medical) and dysphoria, nothing heavy though, this is a fluffy fic :) Enjoy!

They opened their eyes, the halo of the ward’s fluorescent bulb assaulting them before their eyes fluttered shut again, straining. They could feel their right hand had a warmth to it, almost burning. It was Dewdrop, his hand enveloping Phantom’s as he sat at their bedside.

Dew had been waiting nervously for the young ghoul to wake. Their summoning went awry, they were given the wrong vessel and today was the day Phantom would finally know peace, even if just a little.

“Hey sweetheart, you’re safe, it was all a success. Can you open your eyes for me now?” Dewdrop whispered, shielding their eyes from the light with his hand, careful not to startle the groggy ghoul.

Their eyes twitched open, bracing for the light that never came. “You stayed, Dew?” They asked in awe. “Of course I did, honey. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here with you.” He replied, “In fact I’m honoured to be able to share this story with you.” Dew brought Phantom’s hand to his chest as he traced his own scars, faded now, but still textured.

Phantom smiled, their lips parting to reveal their fangs, an action unconsciously reserved for those they trusted most. “Are they really gone?” They questioned. Dewdrop didn’t reply, only moved their hands over the quintessence ghoul’s bandaged chest. The wraps were thick and the drains were in the way but even so it was clear to Phantom that they really were gone, once and for all.

No more back pain from binders and sports bras. No more slouching and rolling in their shoulders. No more refusing to go swimming with Rain on account of their vessel. They were free.

Well, not quite yet. The next two weeks were going to be tough, confined to a bed and relying on their packmates for everything. They weren’t looking forward to it. Being a relatively new summon they felt bad that all attention had been on them since they were summoned, all because Secondo never properly taught Copia Latin.

It made no sense for them to be worried, the pack loved to dote on them at any chance they got. Pampering them with spa days and Swiss even created a countdown calendar for Phantom’s surgery date, bringing out a cake with ‘Take ‘em away, boys!’ written in icing on the morning of. Even Aurora, who was summoned with them, had no qualms about the attention they received; she preferred to stay out of the limelight as she assimilated.

There was a knock at the door, more of an announcement than a question, as Aether entered. “Hey Bud, how you feeling? Thought I’d pop along in case you needed a little quinty help!” The older ghoul asked, making jazz hands as his fingertips leaked magick into the room.

Now they thought about it, it did ache. It wasn’t painful, they were on so many meds it couldn’t have been, but there was a pressure to it, a dull ache around their chest. It wasn’t quite what they’d been expecting, to feel worse than they did with their tightest binder but it was worth it, they reckoned.

Phantom turned their head towards the door, eyes unable to focus, “Aches, Aeth.” Was all they could manage, head still swirling from the anaesthesia; it takes significantly more to knock out a quintessence ghoul. They willed their hands to make a grabbing motion at Aether. They’re not sure if it worked but either way Aether was soon approaching the bed, hands tingling with quintessence.

“I bet it does, Baby. This feel better?” Aether hummed as he held his palms to Phantom’s collar bones, the closest exposed skin to the fresh scars. Phantom murmured an affirmative response that no one could quite make out, they were too blissed out at the relief their packmate was offering.

Aether moved his hands to affectionately mess Phantom’s hair before returning them to his lap, now sitting opposite Dewdrop. “That should be enough for a few hours, Bug.”

“‘m sleepy, Dewy. Cuddles?” Phantom asked, successfully grabbing in Dew’s direction this time. The young ghoul attempted to roll on their side, ready for Dewdrop to spoon them. Aether placed a firm but loving hand on their shoulder, “Oh honey you can’t be rolling over, your chest will come out lop-sided!” He joked, chuckling as Phantom whined before giggling.

“Alright, Ant. How about I use some magick to keep you warm now and I’ll give you all the cuddles once the bandages are off, huh?” Dewdrop propositioned, stretching out his hand to the ghoul’s bare arm. They closed their eyes just as Aether sparked some quintessence to give Phantom the feeling of a warm, embracing hug.

They awoke once again, hours later, for the nurses to do their final fit-for-home tests: blood pressure, check they’ve pissed, and check their bandages. Phantom was barely awake for this, the surgery having destroyed their energy. They just about made out a kind man talking to them, “Alright Tom, looks like you’re good to go. The doctor will be in touch about your follow up appointments shortly!”

Who’s Tom?, they thought, forgetting their human name. It didn’t matter though as Aurora and Dewdrop helped dress them in joggers and a button-up shirt, Aether at the abbey cooking a ‘welcome back’ lasagne with Swiss.

The short ghouls plopped their subject into a wheelchair before racing them down the hallway, seeing which of them could propel Phantom the furthest on a single push. Phantom was having a great time until they were accelerated toes-first into a wall as the chair decided it wasn’t going to play ball, “Ow! I thought you were meant to be taking care of me!” They whined, not really minding, Aether’s magick still in effect.

Dew and Aurora exchanged a smirk before apologising and wheeling Phantom to the car at a reasonable pace. Mountain was parked outside, ready for the special delivery. The front seat was pushed right back so Phantom could easily slide in, already wearing their neck pillow. Their bandages provided just enough padding that the seatbelt was bearable, it was only a short ride anyway.

On getting out of the car, Phantom was carried bridal style by the earth ghoul straight to their bed where Swiss was waiting with a trolley full of food. The young ghoul was starving after being nil by mouth and only snacking post-surgery. Mountain settled them on their wedge pillow, a soft tubular cushion placed under their arms like a pool noodle, and an in-bed tray placed over their waist.

Mountain turned to leave as he was accosted by Phantom weakly pulling him back, “Mwah” they exaggerated as they kissed him on the cheek, miming a hug they couldn’t quite give with their t-rex arms. Mountain smiled and blew a kiss back as he left the multi ghoul to serve their dinner.

“Made your favourite, Ant, lasagne!” Swiss exclaimed trying to keep Phantom awake enough to eat without falling asleep face first in the pasta. He placed the food on the quintessence ghoul’s tray and handed them their favourite fork, it had plastic casing with bats on it. Phantom took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the freshly cooked meal, “Mmm thanks Swissy, smells good!” They replied.

They scoffed the lasagne in no time, asking Swiss for seconds, and then a dessert. Swiss had come prepared, with a quick text on his phone Cumulus was entering the room, apple pie in hand with a spoon to match the set. “Lussy! You came! With pie too?!” They were getting excited now, Cumulus often took a back seat when it came to Phantom’s transition, struggling to reconcile with her own. But she couldn’t resist coming to see the freshly flat-chested ghoul before her, she remembered what her first gender affirming surgery was like. It was cold and lonely, before she was a band ghoul, there was no one there for her. She couldn’t bear to think Phantom would have the same experience. So she turned up, she was present, and she did what she does best: baked.

Phantom slept well that night, but the following evenings proved more difficult. Sleeping upright, unable to move and stretch was difficult for the young ghoul. They were often found curled up in a ball of a morning, so staying still was a challenge. The post-op binder was so tight, their back hurt and their chest ached. Cirrus caught wind of a hrmmph coming from Phantom’s room, gently opening the door to check the ghoul hadn’t injured themself.

“You OK, Bug?” She asked, fresh concern in her voice as she saw the discomfort they were in. Phantom just shook their head with a disapproving chirp. “Oh I know, it’s hard isn’t it? Dewdrop really struggled with this bit too.” She replied, “I can always try what I tried with him if you want?” She offered tentatively.

The quintessence ghoul nodded, trying not to rouse themself anymore than Cirrus had already. She nodded before she started singing a lullaby, soft and sweet in that tender voice of hers. Phantom felt sleep pulling over them, drifting from consciousness with every line she sang. They could get used to this.

It became a routine, Cirrus’ charming voice accompanying them on their journey to sleep. As days turned into weeks they found it easier, the wedge pillow’s angle decreasing as they became more horizontal at night. Being able to lift their arms enough to shower and make their own cereal in the morning. It was the little things that made everything that little bit more bearable.

Of course they brought the whole pack to their chest reveal, excited chirps and trills from the crowd as the nurse removed the bandages to reveal fresh red scars outlining their pecs and small suture lines around their nipples. Many tears were shed that afternoon, not least from Phantom themself.

That summer, the pack were down at the lake, cooling off by the shore. Phantom and Dewdrop were sporting their scar strips as they sat shirtless on the wooden dock, feet swinging idly in the water, swimming shorts on. Suddenly a rush of air passed them as Rain ran behind them shouting “Last one in the water’s a rotten egg!” as he broke the surface of the peaceful water.

For the first time, they wanted to join Rain. Phantom looked at Dewdrop before scrambling to their feet, desperate not to be the rotten egg, before jumping in. The water hit their scars, cool and fresh, just like the realisation that they were finally free.

This is what life was meant to be.

#my entire heart belongs to trans ghouls #trifle writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #aurora ghoulette #rain ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #swiss ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #phantom ghoul #trans ghouls #the band ghost fanfiction

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mimi-ya · 1 year

Text

spotted ~ shanks x reader

2,700 words | f!body, she/her reader | nsfw summary: it's the thrill of being seen masterlist | kinktober masterlist

“Not the first time I caught Captain with his pants around his ankles either!”

The men around the table spit out their drinks, choking on laughter. Said captain in discussion sends a pointed hand gesture to his mate, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re just a little voyeur Roux!”

“Definitely wouldn’t be to see your freckled ass!” Lucky Roux shoots back.

Shanks spins in his seat towards you, betrayal written across his face, “You didn’t tell ‘em about my beauty mark, did ya?”

Instead of answering you chose to raise your mug to your mouth, covering a poorly concealed smile.

“We’ve all seen it by now, captain.” Benn interjects.

“Doesn’t stop (Y/N) from gushin’ about it when she’s three sheets to the wind.” Yassop gestures to you, ignoring your cry of protest.

Benn scoffs, “Or him from showin’ it when he’s had more than a swig.”

“Speaking of which.” Shanks downs the rest of his drink, slamming the cup on the table, “I think it’s about time you all got a look since you’re so desperate!” His hands move to his belt, starting with the buckle.

“Alright!” You cut him off over the jeers from the rest of the crew, “There are virgin eyes ‘round here.” Nodding to the rest of the bar patrons who are having a hard time ignoring the Red Haired Pirates.

“Told ya already!” Luck Roux shouts, “That’s what he likes!”

Shanks falls back against his seat, throwing an arm around your shoulder to pull you against his chest, “If you had my ass, you’d be showin’ it off too.”

“Don’t know how you put up with him.” Benn mutters to you, “Don’t know how I put up with him.”

You pat Benn’s shoulder sympathetically, “It’s the freckle for me.”

“Tryin’ to get a look at it now?” Shanks waggles his brows.

And how can you say no to that?

You drum your fingers against Shank’s chest, curled around his side as the sweat dries on your skin. He has a content smile on his face, hand sending shivers down your spine as it dances across your back.

“Bit of an exhibitionist you used to be.”

“Not jealous are ya?”

Your fingers still, “And so what if I am?”

Shanks cracks an eye, looking down at you with a frown, “You know you’re the only one I have eyes for, don’t ya?”

“Not of them. But why don’t we ever do something like that?”

“Oh?” He quirks a brow with a teasing smile, “That’s what’s got you up in twists?”

An irritated huff escapes you, “Never mind.” You mutter, flipping yourself over to hide the embarrassment on your face.

“Hey, hey now.” He coos in your ear, hand dancing down your arm, “Don’t get all shy on me.” Shanks presses a kiss on your neck, “Tell me what you want.”

You shrug, chewing on your lip. Still a little embarrassed by his reaction.

“Want me to take you up to the crow’s nest right now? Hope no one sees us sneakin’ up there?” His hand slips under the blanket, groping at your breast, “Or do ya want everyone to take a peak? I could bend you right over the ship’s edge if that’s what you want.”

“Shanks.” The whine is so needy, and the sound is stirring Shanks back to life, “Quit teasing.” You huff, pressing your ass against his cock.

“Don’t need anyone looking at what’s mine.” Shanks whispers against your neck, “You’re my treasure. My one piece.”

Your eyes fly open, “Oh my-” You elbow Shanks off you and onto his back, turning over to see his cheeky grin, “You did not just call me your one piece.”

“I’m tryin’ to be romantic!”

“Well, you sound like an idiot.”

“Got it.” Shanks nods, lips pulling into a smirk, “Less romance, more fucking out in the open.”

You cross your arms, “If you’re going to be a dick about it, I wish I had never brought it up.”

“Don’t be like that.” His fingers reach for your thigh, “I like hearing your dirty little dreams.” His hand rounds your back side, “I’ll make ‘em all come true.”

“Oh yeah?” You lean forward, breath mingling with his.

“Mhmm.” His eyes flutter close, “Whatever you want.”

“Well right now,” Hand cupping his cheek, “I want you to shut up.”

A grin stretches across his face, “How about you climb on up here and give my mouth somethin’ better to do?”

You think Shanks forgets all about the conversation. He doesn’t tease you about it the next morning, doesn’t even mention it the following night after he’s had a few too many rounds back at the bar.

No matter, it’s not like you were that interested in the idea.

“But the log post set.” Benn taps the globe resetting on the table.

“And there’s a festival tonight, Beckmann.” Shanks grabs his first mate by the shoulder, rounding him back toward the island, “Think of how much fun it’s gonna be!”

“Didn’t know you cared for the local festivities.” Benn shakes off Shanks, popping a cigarette into his mouth.

Shank’s eyes slide over to you, as if he could tell you were watching him, “I think tonight will be worth it.”

“Think we lost ‘em?”

You glance over your shoulder before meeting Shanks’s stare, “Were we trying to? Yasopp still owes me some mochi after I wiped the floor with his ass at the coin game.”

Shanks leans forward, taking a nip at your cheek, “I’ll get ya all the mochi you can eat.”

“Shanks!” You giggle, pushing his face from yours as he continues to assault you with nips and kisses, “Knock it off!”

“C’mon love.” Shanks teases, wrapping an arm around your waist, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “Thought this is what you wanted.”

An immediate chill runs down your spine and you straighten up, “Wait, are you serious?”

He raises a brow, “Serious as a heart attack.”

With the offer suddenly presented to you, the nerves start creeping in. “But.” You glance from side to side, looking over the hundreds of people enjoying the festival, oblivious to what you’re considering, “There’s so many- I don’t think. I mean what if-”

Shanks presses a finger to your lips, “Shh, shh.” His thumb running across the seam, “Yes or no?"

His eyes are burning into yours, an almost electric current crackling between your bodies.

“Yes.” Your answer is as breathless as you feel, only amplified when Shanks drags you down the street. He weaves between stalls, taking you further and further from the main square. The joyous voices and music fade into the distance when he pulls you into a deserted alley.

“Here oughtta be good.” He says causally, as if he isn’t about to fuck you behind some building.

You look nervously back to the street. Just the turn of head would give someone a clear view into the alley.

“Don’t worry.” Shanks presses a kiss to your neck, “We’re far enough that no one will hear your wailing.”

His jab breaks you from you thoughts and with an offended huff you slap his shoulder, “I do not wail.”

“Good.” He nods, a hand grabbing under your thigh to wrap around his waist, “Would hate to be caught ‘cause you can’t hold it in.” Any retort is lost on your lips when Shanks presses forward, his bulge making contact with your covered center.

“Shit.” You wrap your arms around his neck, biting back your groan as Shanks pushes even harder.

“Well look at that!” He comments cheerfully, “Seems like you were right.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You hiss, digging your nails under his shirt and sharply clawing at his skin. A conceited smirk pulls at your lips when Shanks lets out a loud moan, “Now who’s wailin’?”

Shanks gives you his answer with a furious kiss, sliding his tongue against yours. With fingers under you chin he repositions your face to easily take control.

Your heart is beating so fast and loud you fear that might be what draws a passerby. Eyes squeezing shut even tighter when Shanks’s hand slides up your side to grope your breast.

His fingers leave a trail of fire on your skin even over the fabric. His sixth sense of being able to perfectly tweak your nipple without even seeing it pushes you into a frenzy.

“Shanks.” You whisper urgently, wanting this more than anything but still very aware of your vulnerability.

“Hmmm.” Shanks hums, his lips pecking kisses along your jaw.

Your hands reach for his belt, “Shanks, c’mon.”

Before you can get too far his hands swoop down to grab your wrists and pin them against the wall, “What’s that baby? Why you in such a hurry?”

The colds stone cuts into the back of your hands, and now you feel pathetic squirming in place, trying to get some relief with the shifting of your thighs.

“I know I’m good, but I’ve never seen ya so desperate so quick.” Shanks grins, “Like you want someone to catch a glimpse of this, hmm?”

“Quit teasing.” You whine, glaring off to the side. With your face turned you see a clear view of the street just as someone strolls past the alley.

Shanks doesn’t miss when your voice hitches, quickly looking over to the person just before they disappear behind the wall.

“Shame.” Shanks mutters, “A second earlier and they would have heard your pathetic moaning. No matter.” He spins you around before you even realize it’s happening, “Maybe we can get the next one to take a look.”

A gasp is ripped from your throat when cold air hits your ass, his fingers wasting no time to pull down your pants and get a feel between your legs.

“Well would you look at that.” Shanks comments as if he were discussing the weather, “And here I was hoping I’d have to work you up a bit.”

“Shanks.” Your head thuds against the wall as his fingers slide through your soaked folds, catching briefly on the little nub that has you keening into your arm.

“I know, I know.” Shanks dismiss you, “Hurry up, don’t wanna get caught and all that.” But his words are in contrast to his movements as he continues to play with you at a leisurely pace.

You push your hips back, pressing your ass into his groin, hoping to entice him.

“Little minx.” He growls, pulling his fingers away with a whimper from you. You can hear the rustling of fabric, “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all night.” Shanks breathes into your ear, his cock pressing against your ass and smearing the bit of cum.

“Pervert.” You mutter with an eye roll. Most of the time you loved Shanks’s filthy words, but right now you wish he would just get on with it. Frustration only building when his patronizing laugh reaches your ears.

“Always so mean when you’re desperate.” His hands grasp your hips, pulling your ass up just a bit, “How ‘bout I fuck that outta ya?”

Your head snaps back to shoot him a glare, “How about you fucking do it th- oh fuck.” You feel your eyes go a little cross when Shanks sinks into all in one go.

“There it is.” Shanks smirks, leaning forward to press a kiss on your cheek, shifting his hips and pushing deeper, “Fuckin tight.” He grunts, pulling back to thrust back in but your cunt isn’t making it easy.

“Please.” You whine, craning your neck back to try and capture his lips but instead Shanks’s hand quickly covers your mouth. The taste and scent of your slick overwhelming your senses and pulling a moan.

His hips pick up speed and your thankful for the fingers now shoved in your mouth because there’s no way you’d be able to stop the cries from spilling out on your own.

How could you when he’s moving so skillfully behind you and hitting all the right spots? And the thrill of someone getting a peak only heightening your senses and pushing you closer to the edge.

“So good.” Shanks groans, “Wish everyone could see you like this.” He babbles, “You’d like that, huh? Let everyone get a look at what a good girl I have here?”

The warm praise washes over you as you nod along to his words, only imagining what it would feel like to be so exposed.

“They can look.” Shanks growls, “But that’s it.” His fingers dig harder into your hip and his teeth scrape along your neck, “Mine. Only-” His words abruptly cut off, hips stilling.

You try to look back, but his hand is still holding your jaw in place.

“Shhh.” He breathes into your ear, gently turning your head to look down the alley. The voices carry from out on the street. Three, maybe four people coming this way.

You’re so distracted with the thought of someone catching you in the comprising position that you almost miss when Shanks begins his movements again. Deep and slow thrusts.

“Mmanks!” You try to cry over his fingers, but he pushes them further into your mouth, eliciting a gag that makes your eyes water.

“Remember what I said about keepin’ quiet?” His words are laced with a threat that sends a chill down your spine, “This is what you wanted, ain’t it?”

His eyes bore into yours, hips stilling for a moment and waiting for you. When you give the small timid nod a feral grin splits on his face.

It seems he isn’t going to make it easy on you as his hands sneaks from your waist to round your front, immediately rubbing circles into your neglected clit.

Your entire body jolts with nowhere to go, truly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Quit squirmin’.” He grunts, fingers picking up speed along and his thrusts returning to their previous pace.

The voices from down the alley are getting closer and you’re thankful for how far back you are. Casted in the shadows so even if someone did look it might not be too obvious, right?

Maybe if not be for the noises.

The we squelch of your cunt and slapping of skins is downright explicit. Your poorly concealed whimpers and cries just as telling as Shanks’s moaning who seems to have no problem with drawing attention.

Your eyes are still focused on the street, the shadows of those approaching finally in view.

“Wanna finish for ‘em?” Shanks asks, tongue dancing on the shell of your ear and sending your eyes rolling backwards, “Give ‘em a show better than the festival? C’mon, I know you can do it.”

His fingers finally pull from your mouth just as a foot comes into view and a mixture of a gasp and squeak are pulled from you as Shanks’s arm wraps around your stomach. He quickly repositions the two of you so his back is towards the street without once breaking his rhythm.

Keeling over you finally feel your orgasm overtake you, only being held up by Shanks’s arms as he continues to work you through your pleasure.

The world goes a little darker than it already is, noises muffled by the sounds of your own pants but the gasp of surprise from the street is clear as day. Hot embarrassment floods your cheeks just as your cunt clenches down on Shanks’s cock, a second wave of pleasure flooding your veins.

“Ah, fuck.” Shanks chokes out, his own release quickly following as you pull him over with you, “That get ya there?” He pants, giving a few more half-hearted thrusts as he empties himself into you.

You can only moan in response, reaching for the wall to find some balance if only to keep yourself from falling to your knees.

The wet sounds of Shanks pulling his cock from your dripping center echo in the alley and it’s lewd enough to have Shanks feel a stirring in his belly. Seeing you bent over and too fucked out to even answer his question makes him want to carry you back to the ship and have his way with ya all over again.

But first-

“Oi!” Shanks calls over his shoulder while pulling your pants up since it seems you won’t do it yourself. The bystanders seeming to be paralyzed with shock at what they just walked by, “This ain’t a free show!”

#shanks x reader #red haired shanks x reader #op x reader #one piece x reader

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therealcocoshady · 3 months

Text

Recovery - Chapter 10

Eminem x FemReader (Y/N) fanfiction

Summary : Y/N tells Talia and Jamal about last night's events.

Tags : Angst, Comfort

CW : Mention of SA, mention of miscarriage, mention of drugs

I can’t believe it ! Talia exclaimed after you told her about the events of the night before. I can’t believe you !

I’m so sorry, you whispered. I was stupid.

Stupid is an understatement. How could you do something like this, Y/N ?!

She was mad. This was to be expected, of course, but there was still an element of surprise, as your best friend was not someone who gets angry easily. If anything, she was one of the most chill persons you knew.

Babe, calm down, Jamal told her.

Calm down ? Calm down ?! she shouted. Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. Tell Y/N to tone down the stupidity. But don’t tell me to calm down, Jamal.

You didn’t even dare to look at her. Instead, you hid your face in your hands as Marshall gently stroked your back. The two of you were sitting on the sofa and Jamal was sitting in a chair while Talia was pacing the room.

Your bag, she said coldly.

What ? You asked.

Give me your bag. Right now. I am not kidding, she said.

What do you want my bag for ? You asked as you handed it to her.

Why do you think I want to see it ?! I’m making sure you don’t have shit on you !

She didn’t bother searching in the bag. Instead, she spilled the whole content on the floor. It was a clutch so it didn’t contain much anyway. There was only your credit card, your phone, a lipstick and the vial, which you hadn’t gotten rid of yet. As soon as she spotted the vial on the floor, she picked it up and held it in front of you.

Is that it ? Is that the shit you took ?!

Yes it is, you mumbled.

You felt like a kid being told off by their parents. You still didn’t dare to look her in the eyes. You were still exhausted from last night and your most recent anxiety attack. If this kept going, you’d probably cry soon.

Go ahead, she said as she placed it in your hand.

What are you… ?

Take some, she ordered as she forced you to look at her.

Babe ! Jamal yelled. That’s enough.

What ?! She snapped. You heard her story, right ? Y/N wants to get fucked up. Let’s see it.

I don’t…, you began.

Give me that thing, Marshall ordered you as he grabbed the vial from your hand. Talia, don’t do that sh-

You, Em, you better shut the fuck up, she said curtly.

Her tone made yours and Jamal’s eyes open wider. Talia was usually a sweetheart. She was nice to everybody, and especially to Marshall, whom she liked a lot. Not only did she have affection towards him, she respected him, as a person, as a rapper and, obviously, as her boyfriend’s friend, boss and collaborator. You half-expected Marshall to respond, but he didn’t. You could tell that Jamal was starting to look uneasy. Yet, he knew better than to contradict his girlfriend at that point.

Why didn’t you bring her home immediately ? She questioned him.

She was with me, he said. She was safe.

That’s why you didn’t even bother getting rid of that shit ? Because she was safe ?

Look, he explained, she was shit-faced, she could barely stand, so I took her to my place. I gave her a bath, put her to bed and I spent the whole night checking on her. Once again, she was safe.

You’ve known her for three seconds and you think she’s safer in your bed than with her best friend ?!

I didn’t say that, he sighed. For the record, she wasn’t in my bed. But whatever… I’m 51, ok ? And I’ve been there before. I managed. I handled the situation and she’s fine now.

You don’t know that, she scoffed. You and Y/N, you might be all close and lovey-dovey or whatever, but you do not know shit about her. You haven’t seen her after her miscarriage. You have not listened to her tell you time and time again that she wished she died the day she lost her baby. You did not see her decay day after day after that. You didn’t have to answer a call from Simon in the middle of the night informing you that she overdosed on pills that she hid from everyone around her. You haven’t seen her lay in a hospital bed with tubes hooked to her body, wondering if she was going to make it. I did. You have no idea how to care for her. The day she overdosed, I almost lost my best friend. You have no idea what that is.

Suddenly, Marshall got up and faced her. His eyes were dark and you could tell by his posture that he was angry.

You’re right, Talia, he said. I didn’t “almost” lose my best friend. I fucking did. I lost Proof. So believe me, I know exactly what it feels like. One day, I could tell you all about the shock, the funeral, the crying, the depression, the emptiness, if you want… All of it. Because I fucking lived it. Believe me, I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. But guess what ? Your best friend is alive. And I would never let anything harm her. You should know that.

He was seething To his words, Talia’s look softened a bit. Still, you knew her well enough to tell that she wasn’t going to apologize. Not yet anyway.

I’m going to your room, she said as she turned to you. If I find anything in there, whether it is a cigarette, a pill, a bottle or whatever… You are out of this house. And if I don’t… Consider this your warning. I will not tolerate any destructive behavior in this house. I will not have you waste your life.

There’s nothing, you said in a small voice. I promise.

You better pray there isn’t, she said in a threatening voice before going upstairs.

You and the boys exchanged looks but didn’t dare speak. You could hear Talia rummaging in your room, probably making a mess. You ducked your head, on the verge of tears.

I’m sorry about Proof, man, Jamal said sheepishly. She didn’t mean to say it like that…

I know, Marshall replied. We’re good.

You glanced at him. You didn’t know he had lost his best friend. He had never mentioned that before. You could tell he was triggered by the memory, as his fist was balled up. You gently brushed his fist with your hand. He seemed to ease a little, though his jaw still seemed clenched. About ten minutes later, Talia got back to the living room. She didn’t say anything, only grabbing her jacket, handbag and car keys.

Today was your Christmas, she said coldly. One misstep and it’s your Halloween, understood ? Now, you have some cleaning to do in your bedroom.

Yes, you muttered.

Tomorrow, we’re finding you a new therapist, she added.

That’s taken care of, Marshall said.

It is ? You asked surprised.

Yeah, I made a call while you were confronting that bitch, he explained. You’re seeing a psychiatrist and an addiction management counselor.

Thank you, you said. But I can also stick to my old therapist and meetings…

You can do that too. But the people you’re meeting tomorrow actually specialize in the management of relapses, he said.

You nodded as Talia shrugged.

Good. I’m leaving, she said.

Where are you going, baby ? Jamal asked.

Out, she simply said, not bothering to add details. I’ll come back later.

Do you want me to come with you ? He offered.

Someone has to keep an eye on the Queen of Bad Judgement, here, she said. She’s not staying alone for one second until I decide otherwise. That’s final.

I’ll stay with Y/N, Marshall offered.

No. Em, you’re coming outside with me.

He looked at her with surprise but nodded. You and Jamal stared at each other as the two of them walked out. You were left with Jamal who came to sit next to you.

I’m sorry, Jamal, you said sheepishly. I ruined everything…

You didn’t ruin “everything”, he sighed. You were stupid, yes. But what matters is that you’re alright now. I mean, I’d rather look at the bright side. You’re not in the hospital this time.

You’re not mad at me ? You asked.

Honestly, sis’, I think the boss is mad at you for the both of us, he chuckled.

You giggled as he referred to his girlfriend as “the boss”. In a way, it was true : she was the one who wore the pants and had all the authority in the relationship. The two of them were absolute sweethearts, but Jamal happened to be a bit softer. Especially with you, and you knew it. You had met him through Talia, and the two of you had formed a genuine friendship of your own. You kind of saw him as your big brother.

Besides, you know I could never be mad at you, he shrugged. I’m just happy you made it home in one piece and that you were taken care of.

I was, you said softly. Even if Talia doesn’t trust Marshall…

She doesn’t trust anyone when it comes to you, he chuckled. I’m not even sure she trusts me. So Em is not even in the conversation…

Of course she trusts you ! You said.

For usual stuff ? Sure. When it comes to taking care of you ? Nah. That woman is like a mama bear !

She is like a mama, sometimes, you giggled softly.

Just be glad she didn’t change the Wi-Fi password, he said playfully. Or take your TV privilege…

I do have the feeling that I’m grounded, though, you pointed out.

Oh, I’m pretty sure you are, he said. But I can’t say I disagree with her on that one. But it’s ok, sis’. But we’re here. We’ve got you. You’ll be fine.

You nodded and he playfully nudged you with his shoulder.

I don’t want to be a burden, you said.

You’re not a burden, Y/N. You’re family. And we take care of our own. That’s what we do.

The simple, kind words brought tears to your eyes. First of all, they came from Jamal, who was the most genuine and honest person in the world. You knew he would never say something like that if he didn’t deeply mean it and cared for you. Plus, that was quite unexpected, as he wasn’t one to make big declarations - other than to Talia, obviously. In Jamal language, telling you you were family was basically a 20-page love letter. And it meant even more to you as you didn’t really have family. Sure, you had your Dad, but you didn’t hear much from him, except from a phone call three times a year (basically for birthdays and Christmas). The two of you were basically estranged.

I love you, you said in a breaking voice. You’re the best.

I know, he replied with a smile.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulder. Another unexpected gesture. Apart from “hello” and “goodbye” hugs, he wasn’t one to show much physical affection to his friends. You let your head roll on his shoulder and he chuckled.

Easy there, sis’. I’m not your personal pillow. I’m not Em !

Sorry, you said as you sat up straighter.

I’m kidding, he said as he put your head back to where it was. I mean, I’m sure you'd rather cuddle with him, right now, but…

What ?! No ! You exclaimed as your face turned bright red.

You’re a terrible liar, he giggled. Whatever, it’s none of my business.

A couple of minutes later, Marshall came back to the living room.

Where is Talia ? You asked.

Went for a drive, he shrugged.

What did you talk about ?

Nothing, he said in an emotionless voice. I mean… she put me in my place.

Jamal and you grimaced and he let out a chuckle.

I should go, he said. You’ll be alright, Y/N ?

Sure, you said with a soft smile as you got up. I’ll walk you out.

See you in the morning, Jamal said.

Afternoon, Marshall corrected him. You’re taking Y/N to her appointment in the morning. Talia said so.

You shouldn’t miss work for me, Jamal, you said.

Don’t worry about it, they said in unison.

He said goodbye to Jamal in his usual way, by dapping him, and you walked him to his car.

Thank you for today, you said. And yesterday. And… Well, everything.

Anytime, he said with a soft smile. Take care, alright ?

You nodded before taking off the medallion he had given you and handing it to him.

Put that back on, he said.

I fucked up, you explained. I shouldn’t wear it anymore… Plus, it’s yours.

Keep it, Y/N. It was mine but I gave it to you. It’s yours now.

Are you sure ?

Of course I’m sure, he scoffed.

He shook his head and hugged you.

Now go and get some rest. You need it.

You nodded as he got in the car and you did exactly as you were told. Or at least, you intended to. When you got to your room, everything was upside down. Talia had emptied every bag, every drawer, searching for evidence. You sighed and started to clean everything, wondering if your friend would come to forgive you.

The next day, Talia was already gone to work when you woke up. You hadn’t seen her the night before, as you fell asleep before she came back. It was unusual for the two of you not to have breakfast together on a weekday. It broke your heart. You knew you were at fault and you were ready to face your responsibilities, but you didn’t want to lose your best friend. Jamal drove you to the appointments Marshall had made for you. You met with a psychiatrist and an addiction specialist. You were a bit stressed out, but both made it easy for you to talk. They were also reassuring : they used the term “slipping” instead of “relapsing”. It was just words, but somehow, it brought you comfort. They said it was not a fatality and that slipping does not equal relapsing and catching bad habits again. All in all, the appointments made you more confident in your ability to move forward. They suggested that you come once a week and you agreed. They also informed you that everything was already paid for. “Anonymously”, they said, though it didn’t take a genius to know who did that.

From : M. “Good luck for today. You got this !”

To : M. “Just got out of the appointments. All good ! Also… Thanks ???”

From : M. “What for ?”

To : M. “For taking care of the bill… You didn’t have to, you know ?”

From : M. “No idea what you’re talking about. :)”

To : M. “I’ll pay you back.”

From : M. “New phone. Who dis ?”

You rolled your eyes and let out a laugh as Jamal picked you up.

You’re in a good mood, he pointed out. Everything good ?

Yeah, you said with a smile. I’m happy I went. Thank you for taking me.

Anytime, he replied. Who’s got you smiling into your phone like this ?

Oh, nothing. Just Marshall.

He chuckled.

Of course it’s him, he said as he shook his head. I should have known.

What do you mean ? You asked.

That’s your “Em” smile right here, he explained.

Can’t a girl just… smile ? You asked as you playfully rolled your eyes.

Oh, a girl can smile. You just never smile like that when you’re not around him.

Whatever, dude, you chuckled.

He likes you, you know ? Jamal said.

He told me, you replied.

No, he actually likes you, he explained. As in… You know.

Not like that, you said as you shook your head. We’re friends.

You know, I’ve worked with Em for a few years now, he said. I know him pretty well.

Yeah ? So ?

So he is not like this with his friends. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he is great. He is there for people. But not to this extent, you know ? Jamal tried to explain.

Jamal…, you said as you sighed. I don’t want to get into it but… He had a chance with me a while ago and he didn’t take it. He doesn’t want me. He said so himself.

Oh yeah ? He asked in shock.

Yeah… we’re close and I think he is the most amazing human ever, right behind you and Talia, really… I guess I get why you’d think there is something between us. But there isn’t, you said.

Now, you were sounding a little sad. The truth was, you knew you liked Marshall a bit too much for your own good. But you also knew that nothing could ever happen between the two of you because he said so himself. And you had come to understand that he said things like he meant them. After all, he had built an impressive career, an empire, on being good with words. If he wanted you, you would know.

I’m sorry, sis’, Jamal said softly.

I’m fine, you said. Being friends is good, you know ? He might be the best friend I have…

Well, thanks, he chuckled. We’ve known you for nearly five years and welcomed you into our house, but he gets the top spot in three minutes ?

I thought we were family ? You grinned.

You got a point, he said.

Now can we stop somewhere to get food, bro ? You asked as you batted your eyelashes.

Sure, he chuckled. We’ll get takeout and eat at the studio. We might as well bring food for the others.

I should really get to uni, you said.

You’d be stuck all alone in your office on campus, he pointed out.

Well, that’s my job, you replied.

I’m just saying you could write your dissertation from anywhere…, he began.

You don’t trust me to be alone, you said.

No, I do, it’s just…

Talia put you up to this, didn’t she ? You asked.

Yep.

You sighed. You could understand how Talia felt, and her worry for you, but you couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off. It was your job.

For how long are you on babysitting duty ? You asked.

I don’t know, he said. You know I can’t say no to her, right ? She is just worried for you.

No, I know, it’s just… you shouldn’t have to do that. I know I fucked up, but I don’t want to interfere in anyone’s life, you know ? You explained.

I know, sis. But… Ok, I gotta be honest… we got to talking last night…

Yes ?

It was either that or have you committed to an institution.

WHAT ?! You yelled, almost causing him to pile.

We agreed on the fact that it’s a little extreme, he said.

A little ?! Jamal… I fucked up, ok ? I know it. No one knows it more than me. But it’s not as if I did crack, you know ?! You said, feeling like you were about to cry. I am fine. I did not harm anyone.

I know, I know, he said reassuringly. Look, we just want to make sure that you’re alright. How about we try it for the week ? You come with me to the studio, and that way, you won’t be alone, you can hang out with us and you can have your computer. Just try it, ok ?

Ok, you whispered.

You were silent for the rest of the drive. Knowing how bad Talia’s lack of trust in you was was hard. When you arrived at the studio with takeout food for everyone, you found Marshall, Royce, Paul and Porter in deep conversation. They barely acknowledged your presence.

What’s wrong ? Jamal asked.

You haven’t heard the news ??? Porter asked back.

What news ? Bad news ?

A motherfucker dropped a diss track on Em about an hour ago, Royce explained.

Oh, Jamal said.

You sat on the couch and listened to them argue. You tried to gather information but you had no idea what a diss was. From what you heard, it was not good news. Plus, Marshall looked pissed off. You listened as they played the track for Jamal to give his opinion. You’d never heard of the artist. Apparently, he was up and coming with a huge following. In the track, he went for Marshall’s family - his mother, ex-wife, even his daughters - he criticized his career, went for Proof and, to top it all off… he went for you. Well he didn’t exactly go for you. He went for « Em’s girl », that he kindly referred to as, « the tiny bitch in the shiny dress ». With the pictures published a few hours after you had exited the party, there wasn’t much mystery as to who the rapper referred to. As soon as you heard that part, your eyes were wide open.

Are you going to answer ? Jamal asked carefully.

That’s the whole debate, Royce said.

Let’s eat, Marshall sighed.

He got up from his chair and sat next to you on the couch, giving you a side hug.

Hey, he said.

Hey you, you said softly.

Sorry you have to come to this, he said.

That’s quite the war council you have here, you joked.

You have no idea, he sighed as he put his head back. So… What do you think of the track ?

I don’t know. It’s… Something, that’s for sure. I’d say it’s aggressive and pretty much uncalled for, you said with hesitation.

Well, welcome to the world of diss tracks, he chuckled.

I don’t even know what that is, you admitted.

He let out a laugh and a smile crossed his face.

Ok, he said. I think I can spare a little time to give you a lesson while we eat.

That’s mighty of you, you joked.

Well, if this is a war council, I can’t have you hang out here and not know the first thing about diss tracks, right ? Anyway, diss means disrespect.

No shit, you giggled.

Shut up and listen, he said with a smile. Usually, when an artist drops a diss track on someone, it’s the result of an existing feud between them and the artist they diss.

Ok, you said in a confused tone. So… When you told me about your beef with other artists and you mentioned songs, those were disses ?

Absolutely, he said. Simply put, the purpose is to verbally attack someone.

Ok, you said between two bites of your burger. So… What’s the feud about, with this one ?

That’s the thing : there is no feud, he sighed. I’ve never heard of this son of a bitch before.

Then why would he come for you ? You asked. I don’t get it.

Because he knows that when Em responds, he’s going to get some massive attention, Royce explained. He’s using that as a publicity stunt.

If he responds, Paul corrected in an annoyed voice.

We’re still arguing about whether or not he should, Porter told you.

Who thinks what ? You asked, curious to see what everyone thought of the situation.

I don’t really care, Porter said. I mean, if he chooses to end this guy’s career, I’m here for it, for sure. But I don’t think the guy deserves attention anyway. Royce, on the other hand…

I think you should respond, man. Absolutely, Royce said. I mean, he didn’t just come for you saying that you haven’t dropped an album in years, you know ? He came for Proof, Kim, Hailie… And Y/N.

You hummed and heard Paul scoff. Everyone looked at him and Marshall rolled his eyes.

What do you think, Paul ? You asked.

Oh, everyone knows what I think, he said.

Paul, Marshall groaned. Don’t start.

We’ve had this discussion earlier, Marshall, he said. I think I made my opinion on the matter pretty clear.

And I think I told you it’s none of your business ! Marshall snapped.

You looked at them throwing death stares at each other. Paul was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and Marshall was sitting next to you, in a very “I don’t give a fuck” stance. You threw a glance at the other three, trying to make sense of the situation.

You don’t want to know, Porter said.

Ok, you said in a small voice.

Well I think she might as well know, Paul said.

His tone made you feel small and intimidated. The man himself was intimidating. He was much taller than everyone else in the room and, as he didn’t spend all of his time in Detroit, you hadn’t really had the opportunity to get to know him. If you had come to be at ease around everyone else, it was not the case with Paul. And something in your gut told you it wasn’t going to happen.

Paul, Marshall warned.

She was there, wasn’t she ? Paul scoffed. So yes, Y/N, I think you might as well know that making a public appearance with Marshall and holding hands in front of photographers was pretty stupid. I think the two of you should know better than that.

That’s it, Marshall groaned. Paul. Office. Now.

The two of them left the room to go into Marshall’s office. They closed the door but you could hear that they were having a pretty heated conversation, though it was hard to decipher the words.

I… I just wanted to know what he thought about the diss track, you defended yourself.

I know, Porter said. But Paul thinks that the photos from Saturday's party is what prompted the guy to drop the track.

So you think it’s my fault ? You whined.

We don’t, Royce shrugged. Paul does, though.

I don’t think it’s a matter of “fault” here, Porter replied. I mean, from what I gathered, you guys just ran into each other at the event and decided to leave together. It’s not like you planned for it to happen.

From what Porter said, it sounded like they didn’t know about what actually happened. You were a little relieved to say the least. You got along with them, but you had never talked about your past struggles or your sobriety. You weren’t ashamed of it, but it wasn’t something you absolutely wanted to discuss upon meeting people. Then, the subject never got on the table when they were around. You glanced at Jamal who gave you a reassuring smile, as if he could read your mind.

Yeah, you said. It definitely wasn’t planned. I could have done without my picture all over social media, you know ?

That was quite a dress, Royce said teasingly. You usually don’t dress like that.

Oh, well, you know… I think I wanted to try something, you said shyly.

Feel free to try again, he grinned. I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we’d enjoy that very much.

Jamal gave him a friendly smack on the back of the head, causing all of you to laugh. You knew he was just saying that to be funny and didn’t mean to hit on you. He was happily married anyway.

What do you think, Jamal ? You asked.

About the fact that Royce should keep his mouth shut ? He joked. I’m all for it.

You know I would never hit on someone who isn’t my wife, man, Royce said with a smile. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be crazy enough to hit on Em’s girl.

The sentence prompted you to choke on your soda, most of it going through your nose, and spilling the rest on your clothes. It was unpleasant to say the least. “Em’s girl” ? Did they actually believe the two of you to be something ? That couldn’t be right. Surely, Marshall had told them there was nothing between the two of you.

You alright, sis’ ? Jamal asked as he handed you a napkin.

Yeah, you groaned. Sorry about that. Caught me by surprise, I guess.

What did ? Porter asked.

Before you could answer, Marshall and Paul were back in the room, everyone’s attention going to them.

I’m sorry, Y/N, Paul said as he looked at you. I happen to have misread the situation.

It’s fine, you said shyly. Thanks.

Everyone’s faces suddenly turned to you.

What situation ? Royce asked.

I thought they were together, Paul explained.

Wait, you guys aren’t together ? Porter asked.

No, of course not ! You replied. You guys thought…?

I mean, the pictures surely lead to this interpretation, the manager said.

Well, now that the air is cleared up… Can we get back to work ? Marshall asked with a groan.

We’re not done eating, Jamal said.

Then eat instead of talking about my personal life, he groaned.

He sat back next to you and looked at you with a grin.

Still haven’t learned how to drink properly, I see, he commented.

Shut up, you groaned.

Come in my office, he chuckled. I’ll give you something to change into.

How are we supposed not to read into that ? Paul sighed.

Marshall rolled his eyes and led you to his office. You had never been in this room before. It wasn’t big by any means, but it was cozy. It had a big desk, a chair, shelves full of awards and a couch.

That’s a cool office, you commented.

I don’t use it a lot, he explained. I spent most of my time in the rest of the building. But yeah, it’s not too bad.

So, I take it that you haven’t told them that we’re not…?

They didn't ask, just jumped to conclusion, he shrugged. They know I’m not big on talking about my private life.

He rummaged through a closet and grabbed a couple of tee-shirts for you to choose from.

These are merch prototypes, he said. You can wear that.

Do you have a smaller size ? You asked as you looked at the fit - you could actually have worn them as dresses.

Sorry, he said with a laugh. That’s the best I can do.

You chuckled and chose one of the tee-shirts. You turned around and changed.

How do I look ? You asked.

Like a cute house elf, he joked. Seriously, it’s the first time I’ve seen these worn. I like it. Mind trying the other ones ? I have a meeting with my team about these at the end of the week. That way, I’ll give them notes on color, comfort…

Sure, you said with a shrug.

You grabbed the other one and proceeded to change, forgetting to turn around.

Wow, he said in a strange voice.

What ? you asked as you put on the other tee.

Nothing, he said as he looked elsewhere. You just… Sort of flashed me ?

Oh my god, I’m so sorry !!! I didn’t mean to !

It’s fine, he said with a chuckle. That’s a nice bra… I mean… No. Fuck… I-I mean that it’s nice that you are wearing one. As opposed to… uh… Yesterday. You know. Nevermind.

You could see him blush slightly - a first. You couldn’t help but grin at the idea that you were making him blush.

So, what do you think ? You asked.

Yeah, I like the black lace. It’s really sexy, he replied.

No. Not the bra. I meant… The tee-shirt, Marshall, you giggled. For the notes you want to give on merch ?

Oh, that, he said as he looked at you with visible embarrassment. Yeah, it looks nice. I like the logo.

It’s really comfortable too, you said. More than the other. It’s softer, I think.

Yeah ? He asked as he gently touched the fabric on the shoulder.

The contact made you blush and you bit your lip. The idea of him being attracted to you was incredibly satisfying. Arousing, even. He was staring at you, not letting go of your shoulder.

I should try the last one, you said.

Sorry. Sure.

This time, you made sure to turn around. When you turned back, you saw Marshall looking at the floor.

You can look, you said softly.

Ok, he said in a neutral tone that almost made him sound shy.

Do you want to touch ?

Y/N… I don’t think we should…, he replied as he stared at your lips.

The fabric, you reminded him.

Oh fuck, he groaned as he pinched the area between his eyes. I-I…

What’s with you today ? You mused.

I’m sorry. I’m tired, he said. And pissed off about the dude. But mostly tired because of the weekend. Didn’t even hit the gym today.

Oh, that’s why, you giggled as you were reminded of his comment on how exercise helped dealing with the horniness.

Why what ? He asked, not understanding.

Uh… Nothing, you said as you tried to keep a straight face. So… Do you want to touch me or what ?

He let out a soft sneer and gently touched the fabric.

Thoughts ? You asked.

I like it, he said. I think the second one is my favorite, though.

Mine too, you said softly, still chewing on your bottom lip.

Don’t do that, he whispered. Please.

Don’t do what ? You asked.

Don’t tease me like this, Y/N, he said as his eyes got darker.

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