#the sparkles are not too much op :)

[glass-clown]

[ID: A screenshot of tags by @faelovers that reads, "It's interesting seeing this as someone with a big interest in dolls and closely follows the market trends and companies, cause like if you follow these brands and their releases you know that toy companies have been struggling. The manufacturing costs are increasing and kids are less interested in physical toys and for a while collectors have been very disappointed in releases from Mattel specifically, while their rival company MGA has been very successful recently with the collector and tween market for their Bratz revival and with their Rainbow High brand which took a lot of inspiration from the success of Mattel's success with Monster High in the 2010's. This movie seems very much made to appeal to nostalgia and the 'kidult' market interested in Barbie again. After a long time of her being either the lame sister to Monster High or a brand collectors are giving up on, these corporations are really wanting adults to buy into their brands and Mattel's only play atm is nostalgia and the Barbie name brand because Barbie products haven't been on par with their competitors for a long time. This is so boring and corporate but I've been following these trends since I was like 12 lmao. Autistic gals got to be boring about something." /END OF ID]

is the creativity in the room with us right now .

[peachesofteal]

Light On - single mom/neighbor fic - PTSD, mentions of death, trauma Simon Riley/female reader

Simon’s boots are sticking to the floor.

He had scrubbed and scrubbed them, scratched a sponge against the sole and up over the toe, used coiled wool to try to scrape the bits and pieces from the bottom, digging deeply into the cracks to try to dislodge anything leftover from the last month. The heat made it a particularly difficult task, melting together the dirt and blood, sealing it to the rubber in a congealed mess that he couldn’t clean off.

It’s spring now, and his breath doesn’t fog through the air like it did before he left. The mornings are coated in a prickly frozen dew that sparkles just right in the sunrise, refracting orange and pink hues into the building’s front lobby, washing over the bland egg white walls and coloring them into a spectacle, cold shadows of night chased away by the long fingers of warm daylight.

His boots scuff along the hallway, squeaking like they’re trying to announce his arrival, trying to give up his position before he deems it necessary, before he gets inside the entryway, blasting a signal through the flat that he’s home, that he’s made it. The sound of his boots competes with the buzzing that’s bouncing around in the back of his skull, sawing through the soft, pink mush of his brain, trying hack away at the only good pieces he has left. It’s gotten louder since he parked the car, competing with the drum beat of his heart, the churning of anxiety and anticipation in his stomach. He’s so, so close, and still a thousand miles away from you, even though he’s in the kitchen. His fingers grip fast to his bag, canvas straps twisted around his wrist, and he holds his breath, world rotating in slow motion as he listens for you, catches the musical note of your voice in Emma’s room. His spine stays stiff, unsure, and the buzzing that bites at his synapses gets louder, fills his head with the low rumble of fear that’s been simmering beneath the surface since he stepped out this door a month ago. You’re safe. You’re here. You and Emmaline are fine. You’ve been texting him everyday. You’re safe. You’re-

“Simon?” He blinks. You’re in the kitchen with him, eyes sleepy, Emma in your arms. One of his t shirts sits at your hips, plaid robe half falling off your shoulder. She’s more awake than you appear to be, and he begs his mouth to work, encourages his tongue to move so he can talk to you, so he can say “good morning, sorry I didn’t call, wanted to surprise you.” Or “hi, good morning, I missed you so much.”

But he can’t. Because all he can see, all he can taste, is blood. He doesn’t see his girl, he sees you broken and limp on the floor. He doesn’t see his baby, he sees Joseph’s lifeless body. He sees the carnage of this last op, hears the dying draw of a last breath, over and over.

“Hey.” Your fingers tentatively skim along his forearm. “You’re still dressed.” You note, and he nods, locked up, trying to push the buzzsaw in his brain away. He didn’t change, showered at the safe house before the flight home, and then immediately headed your way, his uniform clean, untouched by the gore and misery, still starched and formal unlike his tac gear, all of it made to wring the blood from its stitching over and over again. “Simon, someone wants to see you.” Emma’s now half in his arms, cooing at him, carefully supported in your hands, and he instinctively curls around her, swooping low to nose along her scalp.

The reverberations cease. The buzzing and gnawing and stabbing into his brain silences, just like that, and he fills his lungs with air, one hand now cradling your face, the other warm beneath Emma’s weight.

“Welcome home.” It’s a whisper, the softest, sweetest thing he’s ever heard, and he smiles beneath the balaclava, pressing his lips to your forehead. “We missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He murmurs. He wonders if the moment has passed, if he should be stepping away now, and he flexes, testing- only to be pulled back, an arm sliding around his back, anchoring him closer, tighter.

“Just stay here for a minute.” Stay. Stay here with you, stay with his girls. His voice roughens as he croaks out an answer.

“Always.”

[wethotcrazy]

Tsunoda or Verstappen x princess reader where the media catches them?

Max Verstappen’s Mystery Girlfriend Revealed—She’s a Princess!

pairing: Max Verstappen x Princess! Reader

word count: 951

a little short fic im a little unsure of this but i think its cute. i have never written for max so i hope you like it.

The hum of engines filled the air as the Belgium Grand Prix roared to life, the energy palpable even beyond the track. It was in this electric atmosphere that Max Verstappen, Red Bull’s ace driver and reigning Formula 1 champion, first crossed paths with Princess Y/N of a small but wealthy European kingdom. She wasn’t there for pomp or ceremony, but for her unshakable love of motorsports. Her fascination with engineering had brought her into the paddock, under the guise of a “guest of honor,” though she was far more interested in torque ratios than champagne receptions.

Max had noticed her standing near the Red Bull garage, her eyes sparkling as she watched the pit crew fine-tune his RB19. She wasn’t like the other VIPs who came to the paddock for photo ops. She asked questions—intelligent ones—about the aerodynamics of the car and how it adapted to the tricky Spa-Francorchamps circuit. When she turned to him and asked, “How does it feel to handle Eau Rouge at full throttle?” Max couldn’t help but grin.

“Pretty thrilling,” he replied, his Dutch accent softening his words. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

She blushed but didn’t shy away. “I might’ve simulated it once or twice,” she admitted, and Max’s laughter was genuine.

From that moment on, they were inseparable that weekend. Between practice sessions and qualifying, Max found himself looking for Y/N in the crowd, her royal guards standing at a respectful distance while she chatted animatedly with engineers. She was intelligent, quick-witted, and refreshingly down-to-earth for someone who could probably claim ownership of a castle or two.

By the end of the weekend, they had exchanged numbers. What started as lighthearted banter and shared interests evolved into long, late-night calls discussing everything from racing to the struggles of living under the public eye. Max learned that Y/N had been fascinated by motorsports since she was a child, but her royal duties had always kept her at arm’s length from the world she loved. Y/N, in turn, found Max’s straightforwardness and his dedication to his craft intoxicating.

From then on, Max and Y/N were inseparable. Between races and royal engagements, they carved out moments just for themselves. Sometimes it was a late-night call after a long day, Max’s voice soothing as he recounted the chaos of the paddock. Other times, it was quiet afternoons strolling through parks in cities they barely knew, their laughter blending into the rustle of leaves.

Max was careful not to share too much in public, but he couldn’t entirely hide his happiness. In interviews, he would casually mention his “girlfriend” with a sly smile, never elaborating but always leaving fans buzzing. Clips of him dropping hints circulated endlessly on social media, fueling theories and debates about who the mysterious woman could be.

Their secret didn’t last forever.

It happened one sunny afternoon in Monaco, where Max and Y/N were enjoying a rare day off together. A candid photo surfaced online of them sitting on the edge of the marina, her hand resting lightly on his knee as they watched the boats sway in the harbor.

The internet exploded. “Max Verstappen’s Mystery Girlfriend Revealed—She’s a Princess!” read one headline. Others followed, speculating wildly about their relationship.

For a moment, the world seemed to close in. Reporters hounded them both, and social media was flooded with opinions—some supportive, others less so.

Max, however, remained unfazed. During the next press conference, when asked about the rumors, he simply shrugged. “We’re happy,” he said, his voice steady. “That’s all that matters to me.”Y/N faced her own challenges. Her advisors worried about the implications of such a public relationship, but she met their concerns with quiet resolve. “Max is kind, driven, and genuine,” she told them firmly. “He makes me happy. This is not up for discussion.”

Despite the noise, they didn’t let the spotlight dim their connection. Instead, it seemed to strengthen their bond. Y/N became a quiet force in Max’s corner, offering him calm reassurance during stressful race weekends. Max, in turn, encouraged Y/N to pursue her passion for engineering, helping her connect with teams and experts in the field. Their love only grew stronger in the face of scrutiny. Between the whirlwind of races and royal duties, they found comfort in each other. Y/N often joined Max in the paddock, where she quickly became a beloved presence. Mechanics respected her keen interest in their work, while Max’s team appreciated the grounding influence she brought to his often-hectic life.

On their quieter days, they escaped the chaos entirely. Max taught her how to kart, laughing as she spun out on the first few laps but cheering her on when she finally nailed a clean run. Y/N, in turn, introduced him to her world—showing him the intricacies of royal life and sneaking him into her palace’s private library, where they would talk for hours.

At the Austrian Grand Prix, Max took her on a private tour of the Red Bull factory. Watching her excitement as she examined the intricate details of the car made his heart swell. “You’re amazing,” he told her, his voice filled with awe.

Though their story seemed unlikely to outsiders, it made perfect sense to them. They shared a love for pushing limits, for the thrill of speed and the beauty of innovation. Most importantly, they found in each other a kindred spirit—someone who understood the weight of expectation but refused to let it define them.

And so, they continued forward, hand in hand, their hearts racing not just for the thrill of the track or the demands of the crown, but for each other.

[fanaticsnail]

Drinking Drabbles

Masterlist Here

Themes: Two of scenarios with a few one piece characters x reader, gn reader, suggestive in some, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, romance, friendship. Drink responsibly!

Characters: Rosinante/Corazon, Mihawk, Buggy, Sir Crocodile, Koby, Smoothie, Fukaboshi, Vivi

Notes: Trying to get my sparkle back. Expressing gratitude to Discordant's OP OC discord server for hanging out and suggesting characters for me to try for. Love the characters, and I adore writing for new ones to me.

Drinking with Rosinante / Corazon

Looks like: sharing a glass of wine over dinner, hearing the uproar of laughter at the head of the table - his brother cackling at a joke he told. Sharing subtle glances, pouring a new glass for one another while stealing a moment where your fingers brush together while reaching for the same bottle.

Also looks like: Sharing rum in the cold, willing your bodies to keep warm while caring for the sick child in the snow. The burn ignites in your throat, but the heat is makes the night pass in a more comfortable fluidity. The only blanket available to you is tucking the child in, but you both make do by sitting beneath the dark cloak. Shrouded in feathers, sharing those touches you longed for back at the dining table, the rum feels more like home now than that wine ever did.

Drinking with Mihawk

Looks like: a bottle of his private reserve label, uncorked by a methodological approach of a saber to the glass lip. Expertly decanted, rested for the appropriate amount of time, and shown how to enjoy the glass properly. He does not invite your glasses to touch, for fear it would disturb the wine with such a crude approach, but he does indicate for you to drink it with him in unison.

Also looks like: drinking straight from the bottle neck, poured by his hands and coaxed back into your lips by cradling your head and ensuring you don't spill a drop, before doing the same for himself. Anything to get through the voice of the clown at the table. He will have you closer to him for moral support, and will enjoy ensuring you are both equally topped up while glaring at Buggy for the duration of your stay with Cross-Guild.

Drinking with Buggy

Looks like: Something fruity, decorated with an outrageous amount of umbrellas and shaved ice dancing at the brim. It's too sweet, too bubbly, and too much all at once. Paired with a nasally cackle, lively music, linking his arms with yours and dancing a jig on the table, drink sloshing from the side, everything is perfect for the clown: the star of the show.

Also looks like: Aiding him to drink straight spirits as he sits on the bathroom floor, icing the bruises he's received at the hands of Crocodile and Mihawk while he openly sobs and apologizes for looking pathetic. A quiver to his lips, the swell in his bruised eye, he expresses his gratitude by silently whispering it as intimately as he can to you.

Drinking with Crocodile

Looks like: a circular short glass with a small cubic stone cooled by frost, drinking the most expensive and lush whiskey to ever be produced. Not dampening the flavor with water falling from ice, simply cooling it to enjoy over the palate. Everything is lush, filled with luxury, and likely paired with a cigar as he gazes at you with a predatory look in his beady expression.

Also looks like: Sneaking it in your clothes and fishing it out once below the cells in Impel Down, feeding him through prison bars and apologizing that it's not his favorite. He's looking up like it is his lifeline and an angel is offering him their tether to the great beyond. Those eyes that once looked like a predator on the prowl now humble themselves before you as he sits on his calves and drinks messily from the glass lip of the rum bottle.

Drinking with Koby

Looks like: Sitting at the table surrounded by Alvida Pirates, letting the pink-haired ‘chore boy’ fill your tankard from the barrel and giving him praise for it. Alvida chastises you for expressing gratitude to the smaller pirate, but you hush her with a crass joke and continue to dote on him while you drink. You offer him a sip from your glass that he throws back with practiced precision, causing you to laugh with him and invite him to sit with you for the remainder of the evening.

Also looks like: Bound in chains, on your knees and contained within the brig, a pink haired captain, once pirate from long ago, offers you a kindness of a drink while transferring you to Impel Down. He was not as quiet as he once was, but his kindness was still present as you knew it to be. You humored him by drinking all he offered you with your hands tied behind your back, as submissive as he was all those years ago. Your gratitude is on your lips, smiling as a drop is collected and wiped by the pad of Koby's thumb. He utters apologies, and you reassure him that you won't take it personally.

Drinking with Smoothie

Looks like: Sitting at the table, surrounded by her siblings, enjoying something a little on the sweeter side. Something mixed in with juices, a precious concoction that paired beautifully with the sweets offered at the table. Brushing glasses with one another, your eyes meet hers and she gifts you a rare, soft smile reserved for when he desires to showcase her sweetness.

Also looks like: Draining the life out of her enemies, blood gushing over her full lips and spilling down her chin, she bows her head to you and gives you a mischievous grin. Pulling up a cloth, you press the material to her lips and remove all blemishes of fluids from the human she drank from. You would rather watch than participate in this brew, but she enjoys watching you squirm as she presses her lips delicately to yours soon thereafter.

Drinking with Fukaboshi

Looks like: A room filled with tension, barely a look shared between you while negotiations between humans, mink, and fishfolk sit and discuss how to progress in a proper manner. Once decided, all raise their sake bowls and salute them with one another. Finally making eye contact with the mer Fishman, you both share a glance before pressing the sake to your lips and draining it of their contents to solidify your fresh alliance.

Also looks like: Tucked beneath the figurehead of the vessel you served aboard, sharing a moment with one another in the silence. All softness, all secretive, all in a world carved just for you, you both enjoy a swap of culture. He, a bottle from his homeland, you, a bottle from your own. Discussing the differences in textures and flavors, you both feel a pull in your chests as the sun slowly slips over the horizon.

Drinking with Vivi

Looks like: Sitting around a table, shrouded in darkness and surrounded by the vapors of sour cigar smoke, and raising your glass to your glorious leader a the head of the table. Bananawani in the corner, several of the members strike up conversation, and you and Miss Wednesday are no different. There was something in her tone and demeanor that seemed out of place, but you paid it no mind because you had secrets of your own. Drinking and cringing a little at the burn, you both drank and discussed the various interweavings of Baroque Works and where your missions would take you next.

Also looks like: An uprageous celebration for the return of Arabasta’s princess, drinks of all bubbles and honeys swirling in a variety of glassware. Watching as she flawlessly navigates the room full of her supporters, she gives you a look like the one not so dissimilar from your years serving together in Baroque Works. Catching you in the corner, she brushes her glass against yours with a hidden smile peaking at the corner of her lip: a silent promise that she will keep you by her side all the remaining of her days as ruler.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

@teddybeartoji @staryukis @dollsuguru @hayakawalove

stsg convenience store au!!

ignore my inconsistent coloring plz <\3

[lets-try-some-writing]

(For your Mr. Pax AU:)

Imagine the kids meeting Elita. It'd be so fragging wholesome XD

It'd more then likely be after the school day, too. Lmao.

It would and I have opted to answer the call for this ask.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

"So kids, how was school?" Elita grinned as the children settled on their platform, spreading out homework and other assignments for the cycle. She regarded their work with interest. It seemed simple enough in her optics, but then again, the human children were very small.

"Oh! You're Elita! Optimus's wife!" Miko shot up, a huge smile on her small squishy face. The urge to reach out and poke one of her cheeks was strong, but Elita refrained. It wouldn't do to go poking the children when it was far safer just to wait until later and do it in holoform.

"I'm his Conjunx, yes." Jack pointedly did not look in her direction. Elita could almost see the way his venting would have sputtered if he were Cybertronian. She may not have been well versed in all things human as of the present moment, but even she could see he looked a moment away from exploding.

"Woah, I didn't know Optimus was married." Rafael added his own commentary, closing his laptop to look up at Elita with wide eyes. She had to fight back an awed noise at how adorable he looked. He was tiny, his glasses only making him look more like a sparkling in her optics. She wanted to poke his cheeks as well, but that would have to wait.

"He's been my Conjunx for a very long time kiddo. Since before he became Prime in fact." Miko and Rafael made awed noises, and even Jack looked up at her in surprise, his embarrassment over the parent-teacher conference forgotten.

"Really? Optimus doesn't seem like the kind of guy to well... do that?" Jack was hesitant in his words, but Elita laughed in short order. She clutched her abdomen as she considered Jack's point of view, all but cackling. Her Conjunx could be quite stern when he wanted to be, especially when stressed. She'd already heard about how Optimus shut down any attempts at being introduced to humor. It was no surprise Jack was startled.

"He wasn't always such a stoic figure. Back when we were young, we got into all sorts of trouble." Resting a servo on her hip as he laughter died down, Elita watched as the children practically lit up at the reveal. Jack was quiet with his interest, but Rafael and Miko were not.

"Optimus in trouble? Oooh this is some blackmail material I need!" Miko did a little dance in place, the plushies on her belt shifting as she did an excited twirl. Elita again had to fight the urge to pick up and cuddle the squishy organic close. It probably wouldn't end well, but she hadn't been able to hold such a small creature since Bee was freshly forged.

"I don't think you can blackmail Prime with stuff that millions of years old." Jack, being so much like Optimus, tried to rain on everyone's parade with logic. Thankfully, his little black raincloud bounced right off Miko and Rafael who were still staring at Elita like she hung the moon.

"Married couples always have wild blackmail!" Miko flailed, throwing her arms up in the air as she grinned. Jack sighed and Rafael secretly adjusted his glasses to try and hide a smile. Elita could feel it right then and there as adoration settled in her spark.

Yes, she was keeping these squishies. She could convince Optimus later.

"I have quite a few stories for you. But only if you promise to not harass Optimus with them. He's got enough going on." Holding up a digit to her derma, Elita smiled as the children each agreed, some more enthusiastically than others.

"We won't bother him. Promise." Rafael's eyes only seemed to be made bigger by his glasses. Elita's spark leapt in its chamber, the cuteness of the scene overriding her usual serious attitude as mischievousness she had long left behind began to resurge.

"Settle down then children. Let me tell you all about Orion's first visit to the docks." Elita could see Optimus out of the corner of her optic looming in the nearby hall. He looked to be mostly uncaring as he waited there, listening in. But she could see the hint of a smile on his features. He wasn't opposed to her decision, giving her all the more reason to tell her tale.

It had been so very long since they'd had anyone who cared enough to hear their story.

[dumbslvtforethan]

♾ A HANDFUL PILLS, NO CHASERS ethan landry

— summary: you and ethan get horny- ops! i meant high sorry

warnings smut, degrading kink, use of drugs, dom!ethan, sub!reader, lmk if i missed anything! 1,046 words

navigate ! taglist

𐙚 mdni!! ↓↓ 𐙚༘⋆ೀೀ

ETHAN PASSES YOU THE JOINT, his eyes dark as he watches you inhale. You hold it in for a few seconds before slowly exhaling, your head spinning with a pleasant buzz. You feel his hand on your thigh, fingers trailing up towards the apex of your legs. "Mmm, this is some good shit," Ethan chuckles, leaning back against the couch. His hand is still on your thigh, absentmindedly rubbing circles over the fabric of your shorts. "I never knew you were such a pothead," he teases, taking another drag. "Hey, don't judge me," you retort, swiping the joint from his fingers and taking another hit. "You love it when I'm relaxed and mellow like this."

You nudge him playfully and exhale a cloud of smoke. "I'm a fun pothead. Ethan's eyes sparkle with mischief as he grins at you. "Oh, I think you're a fun pothead when you're horny too," he murmurs, his hand sliding up to cup your sex over your shorts. "Remember that time we got high and fucked for hours in my room?" He gives your clothed sex a firm squeeze, making you gasp and squirm. "I think it's time for a repeat performance," he says, his voice low and husky with desire. "You're so fucking wet already. I can feel it through these thin little shorts." "I've been thinking about it ever since you texted me with that little baggy," you reply with a grin, biting your lip as his hand continues to tease and rub.

"Let's get back to those days of fuck-ton of stamina." "You're so goddamn cheeky when you're high," Ethan laughs, pulling you onto his lap and pressing a deep kiss to your lips. You can taste the weed on his tongue and it makes your head spin, making you moan softly as he starts grinding up against you. "Fuck, your tits are so perky and perfect," Ethan slurs, his hands groping at your breasts through your top. "Gonna suck 'em so hard, make your nipples all hard and shit." He licks his lips, his pupils dilated and unfocused. "I love how high you get, makes your thoughts so much dirtier," you giggle, running your hand down his chest to the bulge in his pants. "Shit, look at this big ass dick," you say, staring at it with wide eyes. "Let me suck it though, gotta taste that dick," you blurt out, already reaching for his zipper. Your high thoughts mix together in a hazy bliss as he pulls out his throbbing cock, already slick with precum.

"Look at that fucking thing," "Fuck, it's so big and perfect for me to ride," you say, leaning down to take him in your mouth. Ethan groans loudly, his fingers running through your hair as you deepthroat him. "You're so fucking good at that, damn," Ethan's hand grips your hair tightly, forcing your head to bob up and down on his cock. "You're nothing but a fucking cock slut, aren't you?" he growls, spit and precum dripping down your chin. "Such a desperate whore for dick.""Yeah, that's right baby, take my whole cock in your mouth. You're nothing but a little fuck toy for me to use," Ethan grunts as he face fucks you with an intensity fueled by the drugs.

"Suck that fucking dick, slut.” You eagerly suck on Ethan's cock, feeling it twitch and throb as you deepthroat him. The drugs have made his ego soar and he starts to fuck your face roughly, his hands tightly gripping onto your hair. "Ethan blurts out a string of degrading comments as he continues to brutally fuck your face, each word filled with a mix of lust and contempt. "You're a fucking cum dumpster, a worthless little cock whore. I bet you'd even suck my dick raw if I told you to.” Ethan's body tenses up as he reaches his climax, his rough thrusts becoming even more erratic before he finally explodes in your mouth. "That's right, swallow every fucking drop of my cum," he commands as you eagerly swallow everything he has to offer. As the high from the drugs continues to consume him, Ethan's dominant and lustful personality takes over completely. He throws you down onto the bed, his eyes filled with hunger as he starts to strip off his clothes and yours. "You're mine now, slut.” "Fuck me, Ethan. I want your cock inside every hole I've got. I'm just a dirty fucking slut who wants to be used by you. Use me.”

@dumbslvtforethan on tumblr

a/n: this is the most degrading fucking shit ive ever written

taglist ♡ @snkling @esnypetal @pincheputaaa

@notoakay @generousobjectwinner @chqrryw4ves @softcore8

[belokhvostikova]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After five months of no reconciliation with the man whose lifestyle became too much for you to manage, you're met with your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar, after an accident leaves you in the hospital, and you face the realization that Eddie Munson is still your emergency contact.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, mentions of alcohol consumption, hard drug use, insecurities, minor jealousy, fighting, breakup, brief mention of infidelity (no cheating, though), hospital setting, head injury, concussion, mentions of stitches, mentions of blood, and mentions of seizures.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Y'all, I'm 19! So, as a gift to you (whatever logic that is) here's a fic that takes place around Christmas, so I guess, also a belated Christmas gift. Happy birthday and Merry Christmas! Also, the extent of my knowledge on injuries is purely based on the fact that I took both Health Science I and II in high school, and, well, that's it. So, if anything is inaccurate, NO IT'S NOT (because I said so).

“Will you-” so vividly, you heard his boisterous laughter dense the air sweetly, his face glowing with the ever peaking sunlight that glimmered the sparkling snow outside each time you peered up to his extended height. “It’s like you’re trying to make me fall!” His dramatic accusations were merely met with your fits of giggles, something he so gladly wished to always be met with, as the graze of your cold fingers buzzed his skin with the excitement of what used to be your touch. “Seriously, baby, I can’t finish this if you’re attacking me.” 

But you made no effort to stop, continuing your precise placement of delicate ornaments upon the belt loops of his jeans, the links of his chain, the pockets of his backside, perhaps even one snuggly secured in the threaded rips of his pants. With your boyfriend at your mercy—stuck a couple feet higher atop the fifth step of the ladder to fulfill your dreams of draping green garland to surround your high rise windows—you couldn’t help the ebullient urge to decorate him as you pleased, bringing some loving festivities to the black denim ensemble he regularly sported. 

Effervescent balls of sparkling reds and yellows accompanied the hanging bandana of his back pocket. “You’re like my very own personal Christmas tree!” You beamed upwards, watching a smile that was personal to himself, as he lavished in the innocence this holiday expelled from you. “C’mon,” a fatuous whine that had him chuckling with strings of fake green leaving his hand to secure around the window frame, “have a little spirit!”

And perhaps, that’s all you were trying to have now: spirit.

Because in the blink of an eye, the purity of crystalline, white snow had turned into sludges of watery dirt to meet the once twinkling hues to stringing lights that now simply became the bane of your existence. Because to you, everything embellished itself as a mockery to the happily ever after you now no longer had. 

But it never hurt to try, and yet, trying became the very literal thing that hurt you. 

“…What occurred in the midst of their fourth track, Corroded Coffin’s notable ‘Goliath’s Wrath,’ left fans in a frenzy, when frontma…” Your eyes blurred with exhaustion, attempting to fight back the heaviness of your eyelids that left your vision impaired by spotty shades of blacks and whites. Various pitches of ringing clashing with static voices began provoking that throbbing ache in your head that pounded your brain to mush. “…Information falls scarcely upon accuracy, though there were mentions of a family emergency as to the reaso…” One harsh breath for your dense chest left your nose to be invaded by the artificial, bitterness of antiseptic. All more of a reason for your eyes to screw shut in a brutal endeavor to appease the gnawing of your head. “…Demanding refunds for a set that had to go on without the leading m-”

“You’re up!” Your eyes shot open. His aging skin told stories of his life, crinkling into an abundance of creases that welcomed your startled awakening. “I know things may seem a little scary and confusing here, kid.” Heaving became an understatement when your eyes accepted the burning tiles of white around the room, and suddenly, whatever news outlet that was recounting the upheaval of 90s Hollywood from the tiny television that served its purpose of passing time was becoming drowned out by the abrasive beeping of monitors that clung to your body with tubes. “But just bare with me, alright, everything’s going to be okay.”

Okay? Your body felt cold under the roughness of hospital linen. “I-I…” A reckless try at sitting up left your mouth soaring with an agonizing groan from the pain, your sore body all too weak for the heavy lifting at your head, that suddenly felt the density of a dozen bricks that smashed together. 

“Take it easy, alright.” The older gentleman smiled, urging you to lay back against the flat pillow with his simple gestures. “I know things are a little hazy here, but my name is Dr. Rosenthal, would you be able to tell me yours?” Your brows scowled at the disparaging child-talk the man thirty years your senior was showcasing you. 

With a roll to your eyes—something instantly regretted because of the pain in your head—you dryly croaked. “Y-Y/N.” It was all too bright. God, what would it give to flip off the overhead lights? You never really were a fan of overhead lights, but his excuse of, “we have money now, these lights can stay on,” had a knack for making you giggle. It’d been five months since those overhead lights were ever turned on again. You wondered how often Ed-

“That’s great!” Dr. Rosenthal smiled, and you accepted the scraping scribble of his pen against his papered clipboard to satiate the buzz of your brain. “Tell me, Y/N can you remember anything about how you may have gotten here? Any recollections you may-”

“Where is- is she here?!” You fought the throb of your head to snap into the direction of the door, where Dr. Rosenthal mimicked your concern. In truth, the smell hadn’t been all too great; beads of perspiration coated his body in part with the concoction of spiced cologne and the bitter bourbon he regularly downed before coming face-to-face with thousands in a packed arena. “Y/N- she’s- what, what happe- oh, shit!” Cindy Jaurick had been a renowned makeup artist in Hollywood, but with the dryness of his skin, even she couldn’t conceal the bruising of his sleep-deprived eyes; splotches of alabaster cream became patchy upon his bags that smeared with the waxiness of black liner. 

Eddie Munson, all leather and chains that clashed with his truest self of denims and tees. A facade so greatly curated by the hands of top executives that in a span of three years, millions were acquired to his name. Such a stupid name, you now thought. 

A heavy step forward left his booted foot clanking against the white tiles, a movement too abrasive for your liking, as his incoming hand has you pushing back from his reaching touch. “Excuse me, sir, you need to step back and calm down.” Dr. Rosenthal proclaimed, a man of loyalty to his position, clearly perturbed by any bothersome that came to his patients. 

“I just- what the hell happened, are you okay?!” His jewelry—the real kind, far from the fake silver he once adorned that periodically fused his fingers green, but loved them more than anything—jingled to the admission of his distress, hands harshly raking through the chunks of sweaty hair over the sight of your damaged self. 

An audible clap came with the hit of Dr. Rosenthal’s clipboard to Eddie’s exposed chest, where the buttons of his designer brand had been deliberate to showcase the permanent markings of his tattooed skin. “Sir, unless you are a relative or partner of-”

“Yes! Yes, I’m her boyfriend-”

Your memory hadn’t served you right for the occasions that brought you to the hospital, but you knew enough that Eddie Munson no longer brandished the title of such, given the circumstances that occurred five months ago. “N-No, he’s, um, not… anymore.”

“Then, sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave-”

“No, I- do you even know who I am?” Eddie watched your face scrunch with disgust at his language to the doctor, but whatever damage control he attempted fell short on your solidified opinion of a distasteful eye roll against him. “Shit, no- like, I mean you called me. I-I’m her emergency contact! I swear it, I’m Eddie!” 

And you slumped back against your bed. Clear as day, you remembered the cursive handwriting that marked the page with the name and number of your ex-boyfriend. When a year ago, months apart finally came to a halt as Eddie’s touring schedule cleared for the coming holidays. It would suffice to say the bedroom of your quaint Indianapolis townhouse saw little abandonment, with silk sheets becoming imprinted with the weight of your bodies that refused to leave the warmth of each other’s depraved company. In doing so, your judgment became clouded from the usual routine of bathroom care that came after a heated rendezvous. But could you be blamed? Believe it or not, there actually was a time when Eddie’s embrace brought you comfort and peace. What eventually transpired into a run-of-mill UTI had actually worsened quicker than expected. Over-the-counter medication did little to relieve you from the infection, and when your back suddenly began to ache, you knew a trip to St. George's Hospital was in need. With a close call, your kidneys were able to stay intact to your body, and the use of dialysis was spared from your future. And yet, who knew the most haunting occasion of that experience would come with the boyish smile of Eddie Munson, as he watched with lovesick eyes as you entrusted him as the man you’d want in the case of an emergency.

My god, how times have changed… 

“Um, yeah, yeah, he is.” You swallowed the dryness of your throat, hoping the commotion of everything would finally settle to alleviate the stress of your head. 

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s up to you if you’d like him here.” Dr. Rosenthal sighed, a harsh click to his pen that surely cemented his dislike for the gaudy man upon him. “Your neighbor has already left, but I can assure you that the nurses will make frequent routines to keep you in care.”

Neighbor? “I- um, Trevor?” Your head spun with the lack thereof details that painfully tried to piece themselves together. 

Eddie's hair flew with the snap of his head to your doctor, as his scowl silently demanded the explanation you both were desperate to hear. Dr. Rosenthal cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N, you took quite the fall off a ladder in your home. After a while, your neighbor had found you, and did the deed of bringing you over. He mentioned you had borrowed his ladder to put up-”

“Christmas decorations.” What a wonderful feeling it was to have the epiphany that was as simple as regained memory. Where you no longer had a boyfriend to gladly bear the brunt work of Christmas decorations for your sole enjoyment, you now had to dish out yourself. Unloading dusty boxes had usually accompanied a teasing compliment to the muscles that bulged from his arms, though now, your back felt the strain of heavy lifting, because you refused to properly use your legs. “Um, y-yeah, I remember- well, I don’t remember falling, but, uh, I used Trevor’s ladder for the, um, y’know, what do you call them? The green, leaf stringy-”

“Garlands?” Dr. Rosenthal and Eddie spoke simultaneously.

And you perked up as best as your body would allow. “Yeah, garlands!” Your voice excitedly croaked. “You, uh, y-you remember?” For once, in five months, you actually acknowledged him. Eddie. “I-I like those garlands around our- my windows.”

He remembered. Your giggles ringing in his ears like magical sleigh bells. Your touch warming his skin against the burning cold. Your eyes twinkling over the simplicity of green garlands… something he couldn’t even provide you with now.

“That’s good.” Dr. Rosenthal smiled. “You’re recalling events and… history,” he pursed his lips against Eddie’s cold demeanor, “wonderfully. It’s a good sign of minimal memory loss, which falls quite commonly against those in situations as yours. When you fell, Ms. Y/L/N, your neighbor had informed us of a seizure-”

“Seizure?!” Eddie spat.

“Yes, seizure; fifteen seconds.” He clarified. “And with that, an immediate grade II concussion. We ran a necessary EEG and CT scan prior to your waking, as such classification can offer some findings. Fortunately, all we saw was the inevitable stretching of your neurons which caused a burst of electrical impulses in your brain explaining the seizure. Checking for any fracturing of the skull, or swelling, and bleeding, and you were quite lucky. Completely cleared.” His smile broke through his wrinkled face. “Though, you were brought in with quite the gash on the left side of your head, right between the parietal and occipital bone. Nothing too extreme on the severity scale, but in order to stop the bleeding we did have to repair the tissue damage with stitching.” A vapid explanation of the overly tight gauze that somehow felt like a ton of bricks around your cranium. “But other than that, your vitals are excellent.” Check, check, check off his clipboard. “It’s very likely you’ll continue experiencing a headache, perhaps some nausea, or dizziness. I do recommend an overnight stay to ensure secondary swelling doesn’t occur, and to guarantee your memory continues to function properly. But a morning discharge should be fine.”

A deep breath allowed your head to nod along. “Yeah, um, thank you… really.” You earnestly smiled.

But where you could muster a staid beam of politeness, Eddie Munson gleamed a smile so faux, even Dr. Rosenthal piqued him with a scowl—though miniscule for his professional aptitude. The heavy click of the door closing behind Dr. Rosenthal granted the heaviest breath to escape from Eddie before his attention scrutinized you. 

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!” He ambushed. Seriously, he knew you for seven years. Seven years of his fucking life, and not once had you ever dared to lift a finger for manual labor. Okay, call him old fashioned, but that’s exactly what he liked about you; you know, the whole damsel in distress that needed him whenever something fell loose or broken. That’s it, just the need for him. The need to want him around. “I-I mean, seriously, you- why couldn’t you just call me- or, or, like, Steve, or someone, so you wouldn’t get hurt?” Okay, so maybe calling him wouldn’t have been your first option. If the fact of being no contact for five months wasn’t enough, surely living across the country would have ruled him out. You stopped keeping up with his whereabouts weeks ago. But that wouldn’t stop him. It was you, for Christ sake! You wanted your garlands, Eddie would have given you your garlands. No matter the lack of communication. No matter the distance.

Eddie Munson would have given you everything. 

You dryly blinked. Twice. If only he felt like that when you both were still together. “Get out.” 

“Okay, no- wait, I’m not trying to blame you-”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Get out!” Your tired voice tried to muster. 

“No, sweetheart, c’mon, I-I know- I just worded it wrong, okay? Please, I just- I don’t know why you would try to do something that would get you hurt like that. You could have, I don’t know, asked for help, like called me up, I promise I would have answered to help you-”

Your eyes rolled against his sentiment. “What, so I’m just too dimwitted to use a couple of tools?!”

“Well, you did fall.” By your stare, Eddie Munson had two seconds to live. “N-No, I didn’t say that- I, look, I just wish you would have called or someth-”

“And I wish you would just get out!” But your rash endeavor to sit up and shove him away legitimized the pitiless reality of your gnawing head hazing your vision and dismantling your balance, forcing Eddie to rush to your assistance. 

“I- okay, I’ll shut up, just lay back, relax, please, sweetheart. I don’t want you hurting yourself more.” 

“I’m fine.” You gritted. 

“There’s a chunk of your head missing.” Eddie retaliated with a deadpan so infuriating mocking.

A huff of disbelief rippled from your dry lips. “Dr. Rosenthal just said it was no big deal.”

“Like I care what that old fuck has to say.” Your scolding eyes ripped him a new one. “Okay, geez, didn’t know you two were such close friends.”

With no energy to fight back, you permitted his touch to push you back against stiff pillows, where his ink-engraved hands worked swiftly to cover your frail body from the harsh chills of the hospital air conditioning. “I’ll be quiet, promise.” He whispered, adhering to his words, as he silently watched you close your eyes away from him, now that his presence has garnered a throbbing headache. 

By the seventh beep, you no longer found interest in counting the indications of your working monitors. But where your mind lost the simple activity, you also gained attention to the whirring voices of the television. Sat by your side on the hardened chair, Eddie’s tapping toes forced your eyes to tear back-in-forth from his stance to the static colors of live footage coverage. 

“Man, all I hope is for a refund!” Drunk out of his mind, as the lights of cameras began emphasizing the drugged redness of the young man’s eyes. “Like, seriously, we’re all here for The Freak, and for him to just run off like that, dude, we paid for a Corroded Coffin show, and we’re gonna get it, or else we want our money back!”

A pan to the well-dressed reporter stocked drastically to the metalheads on scene. “Well, you heard it here first, folks. As we wait for more updates on the events that occurred that left Eddie Munson running off stage to what would have been his biggest performance in his home state, fans are pressuring for a refu-”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere right now?” Eddie's head pulled itself from his intense stare that followed the grout of the tiled floors. 

“Huh?” His gaze followed yours which briefly led to the boxed television that delivered MTV’s insistent need to showcase a replay of Eddie “The Freak” Munson, lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin, running off stage in the midst of their newest single, ‘Goliath’s Wrath.’ “Oh, um,” his hand waved you off, “my team will rip me a new one later, it’s fine.” 

You sighed. “And just for the record, I am self aware, so I did have someone there to help me.” You muttered, leaving his brows to furrow. “Trevor?” 

“Oh.” Eddie’s lips maneuvered awkwardly. “Trevor, right.” Knee bouncing, fingers tapping, Eddie knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but the question burned his mind for too long not to suddenly blurt out. “So what, are you seeing him or something?” And perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, given the death glare you killed him with that had him reeling back his words. “I- sorry.” 

“Trevor has a girlfriend. And a ladder.” You scoffed. “And you of all people cannot be talking.”

Three weeks post the headlines that announced the separation between rockstar, Eddie Munson, and his longtime girlfriend, new reports were eager to air Hollywood’s newest romance between the amoral and Playboy’s finest, Lindsey Sawyer. To say you cried for weeks was quite the understatement, when your body physically impaired you from leaving the shielding comfort of your bed. While you rotted, Eddie danced on the grave of your love with his new girlfriend, whose six inch stilettos pierced your bludgeoned heart. Granted, it lasted nothing but a couple days, though it didn’t stop from the new pattern of recurrence in which Eddie found Hollywood’s new recycled “it” girl to accompany the image of a rager rockstar. Gisele Camarella, Pam Densely, Yvonne Huntsford; a new name, face, and body to compare yourself to. 

“I-” his shame flooded his cheeks crimsen, “those were never real- not, like- not like you, not you and me real. Just what management thought looked best.” Though, his quiet admission did nothing to soothe over painful memories. “I’m sorry.” Three scrapes of wooden legs scratching against white tiles was all it took to have Eddie Munson sitting by your side. “How do you feel?” His eyes fervently raked your face. “Honestly.”

“My head hurts.”

“About seeing me?” He clarified. 

Silence crept up in a suffocating manner, as Eddie watched your stoic lines revise his being. “I don’t like seeing your face anymore, Eddie.” How were you able to speak those words so calmly? Eddie’s throat choked him with unbearable bitterness that burned his insides. “You look stupid. You used to never look stupid.” 

Eddie Munson had a haunting past of failures; D’s and F’s marked such a bloody red over white papers, tainting any scribble of hard work he, at least, attempted at times. And what followed failed tests and quizzes only came with the taunting laughter of jocks and cheerleaders, jeering their distaste for his “kind” that branded his leather and denim as the epitome of all things they deemed nauseating. For a while, Eddie Munson believed himself to be nothing but stupid. The grades and reputation being all the evidence needed to solidify his self worth to him. Every compliment to your intelligence he gave you knew came with an underlying insecurity within him. Because you were smart, so smart. What was a smart girl like you doing with a stupid guy like him? 

So, yeah, your words hurt. As they intended to. 

Eddie’s eyes dropped with shame, his Adam’s apple following suit with a thick bobbing gulp of guilt. His eyes casted upon his tight leather jeans that felt insufferable under a building layer of sweat; too much eyeliner, at times clouding his vision from the very fans he loved seeing; sheer shirts waving in a draft of uncomfortableness, forcing him to long for prized t-shirts that gave him the movement to be him on stage; and a god awful personality detailed so preciously by management to make his name a headliner’s favorite. 

Yeah, Eddie Munson looked so fucking stupid. 

“I-I don’t like ‘em.” He stammered. 

“You used to.” 

-

July once brought Los Angeles, California a blistering heat. You hate heat.

Five months ago. 

“No, no, no, he’s full of shit, I was the one who came up with ‘Goliath’s Wrath!’” The cigar browning of Gareth Emerson’s scotch dribbled his lips wet with his drunken blubber, as men surrounding—all big money and titles alike—huffed out laughter worth millions to the men that provided them such wealth. 

Eddie’s nose burned with the ecstasy of white powder, dusting his beautiful features with the hedonism of all glory and power… for once, right in his hands. “Oh, fuck off, you were passed out drunk laying in your own piss when we wrote that god awful fucking song!” He laughed, joining in on the obnoxious cacophony of guffaws that held no sense of reality. 

A shoulder knocked into his. Greased slicked hair, gold rings, and a suit worth your car payment; Iverson Green. And Eddie had no fucking clue what he did. “You really don’t like the upcoming song?” He whispered.

And Eddie would never know. Information as such mattered little, as long as the man helped pay his check. “These braindeads approve of all this rock shit for the image.” Eddie bit back. “If I had it my way, I’d show ‘em real metal.” He smiled. 

A blood red stiletto acrylic stabbed at his shoulder before a cloud of Chanel °5 invaded his itching nose. “Got you booked.” She spoke, her breath tickling his ear over the sheer closeness needed over the vibrating base of stereos. 

Eddie turned his head to see her, a smiling Judy Carawan that had him beaming right back. “For what this time? I’m not doing some late night news bullshit again.” After the way Larry Parsons of Hollywood’s Friday Nights called out his delinquent behavior, executives were buzzing for another clash between Eddie “The Freak” Munson and talk show hosts to get the papers running. 

“Hilfiger.” Judy leaned in, a smirk of confidence for her work truly accomplished. “A fitting, then you wear one of his suits to the VMA’s, and that’s cash in your pockets. And mine.” 

Eddie’s face glowered with disgust, as he attempted to move away, her smell becoming too strong for his liking. “Save me a line.” He instructed to the man breaking rows of snow on the mahogany table. “Fuck no, I’m not wearing some posh-y model shit in front of the fucking cameras.”

“It’ll be one time, and a check worth a lifetime.” She rolled her eyes, a habitual stance against the troubles that came with personally assisting Eddie Munson. “Also, see.” Her slender finger pointed to the lengthy body of Cierra Kalahi, perched against the marbling chimney of your Hollywood Hills home. “Miss America’s Next Top Model will be wearing Hilfiger, too. You and some Shalom Harlow wannabe wearing the same designer is just enough to spark some attraction to your name.”

Eddie knew the venomous implications of her suggestion. “I’m not playin’ into your bullshit dating rumors.” A vicious cycle you two had to go through; you hurting more than the other, though. 

“Okay, fine, then we get your pretty, little girlfriend to wear a matching dress… that is if she’ll stop being a bummer.” 

“Don’t fucking do that, alright?” Eddie huffed, dragging his sweaty hands down the heat of his cheeks. His eyes felt like they were going to crack out of his skull from the dryness of being opened for the past forty-three hours. But the umpteenth swig of Old Fashioned was fueling him alongside the unstoppable fuel of crystalline cocaine. “She just- I- look, I’m not putting her out there where she doesn’t want to go. S-She’s too good- she’s too good for the cameras.” 

“She’s not good for your career.” Eddie felt her words echo into a repeated ringtone that irritated his ears. His vision grew blurred with his impulsive movements against her face. 

His hot, alcoholic breath fanned her bangs with each huff of his chest. “Remember who pays your fucking bills!” Nothing but the voices of Mötley Crüe tormented the background, as everyone but the music quieted to bask in the events of another Eddie Munson meltdown. “You say one more fucking word about her, and I’ll leave you to the fucking street.”

Judy Carawan cinched her eyes against his lost ones. Whatever bad boy facade he drugged himself into every night never scared her. Hell, she fed into it. “Eddie, I’m going to be quite frank with you, since no one else will be. You and your goody girlfriend will never last. If she truly cared for you like she says she does, she would do anything to keep your name in the spotlight. And if you truly cared for her like you say you do, you wouldn’t be snorting snow on your fucking anniversary.” Eddie's hardened muscles fell from realization. And Judy smiled such a sick smile. “And FYI, I was someone before you.” Eight years of work with Hollywood’s hottest clientele. “Can you say the same?”

Your lip wobbled under the harsh bite of your teeth to suppress the stinging tears from an embarrassing downpour. Despite his promises of a private evening, you braced your arms over your chest, where it became exposed from the strapless dress you uncomfortably endured, after too many magazine headlines criticized your lack of “looks” for the hottest rockstar in town. You’d never admit it, always brushing him off whenever he became concerned for your well being because of the tabloids, but he always noticed the subtle changes you made to look like the women in the city that felt like another plant from olde Indiana. 

And now, unwarranted flashes of cameras settled outside the Michelin Star restaurant that burrowed burdening humiliation into your skin, as a cautious peer around the setting allowed you to notice the pitying and gossip of the goers around you. 

Every minute that passed, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. But an hour and fifteen minutes just prevailed you to be a doormat. But could you be blamed? Seven years ago today, you ran into the man, himself, who turned the dreaded day of Hawkin’s High open house into a new adventure. Where you had the excuse of an actively involved mother, who became adamant on touring the unknown environment of the orange and green halls after your father’s relocation to the rural town, Eddie had an intransigent uncle who refused to watch his nephew lose another year of his life to failing high school, and imposed the young man to abide by the staff’s fake smiles, as they greeted parents and students for the coming school year. 

It’s funny how one sullen face can find another in a crowd of PTA parents and their goody-two-shoe children alike. Meeting eyes and a devilish smirk on his face was all it took for two strangers to find trust in one another, and sneak away in the depths of bushy, green woods. In retrospect, asking Eddie Munson to be your boyfriend after only three hours of knowing him was quite rash—he, himself, was quite taken aback, as well—but the worst that could happen was it didn’t work out. I mean, what high school relationship ever does? But his informative trek across lush grass, a shared cigarette, and talks that had your stomach cramping from fits of giggles was enough to solidify your decision at heart. And who was Eddie Munson to ever say no to a pretty face and soul like yours. 

And it worked out… surprisingly. 

It was quite the experience learning the ins and outs of someone you already called your boyfriend, but the pureness of it all bloomed into the most innocent love of two people navigating the world and finding themselves together. 

But suddenly, the world had a place in your relationship. The people had a say. In what you wore, what you looked like, who you had to be. And he allowed it. Allowed everyone to measle their way in. After the first promise to you that nothing would change, every single one to follow became a lie. 

Because he changed. 

You mustered the will to sniffle away any tears. He no longer became worth it to you. And it broke your heart. Your heels clicked their way out of the restaurant, where your being was blurred under the paralyzing flashes of people who invaded your life, capturing and exploiting your lowest moment for a check, and branding you the girl that held the greatest rockstar back.

Eddie stumbled back on wobbly feet, his mind too disorientated to care about the bodies he shoved that consequently left glasses of cocktails to shatter against the polished flooring of his home. Though, nothing mattered as long as he got to the door. But your crying self had beat him to it from the other side, swinging the grand doors that were always too heavy for your liking, and entering your home that was invaded by strangers and their substances, and Eddie… your Eddie standing in the middle of it all. 

His red, beclouded eyes had disallowed him the privilege of blinking your beauty straight, but through the haze of blear lines, he saw your face so clearly fall from disappointment.

From pure defeat. 

“W-Wait!” Eddie fought the incoordination of his legs to follow you outside, leaving his guest to watch in awe. “Baby, I- fuck! I-I’m sorry- ugh, I just- I forgot!”

Los Angeles’ humidity suffocated his airways that were already constricting from his sobbing chokes. His insides burned from the concoction of drugs and sweltering heat that only fueled at the sight of your broken face. “You forgot?!” You cried, swinging your body around to face the man you no longer recognized. “For the past seven years you’ve never forgotten, but now you do! What, is it no longer important for you?!”

Spit blubbered with his words, as his lips moved a mile a minute to keep your love preserved. “N-No, I mean- yes, of course, it’s i-important-” 

“Then why weren’t you there?!” Mascara stained the softness of your cheeks, now too darkened for Eddie to ever kiss the pain away. “Why aren’t you ever there?! For me!”

“I-It wasn’t my fault.” He heaved. “J-Jude, she-she said this s-stupid thing was scheduled, and-and she said it’d be quick-”

“Of course, it’s never your fault!” You bit back with the deflation of your arms. “It’s always the alcohol, or the drugs, or Judy, but it can never be your fault, can it, Eddie?!” His fist balled into his eyes, as snot caved down his nose. 

“N-No, it is my fault! I’m sorry, Y/N- I’ll fix it! I’ll do anything, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Don’t you get it?!” You marched up to his wrecked body. “Your promises mean nothing to me anymore!”

“Don’t, please!” Eddie sobbed. Shameful embarrassment ate him alive in the middle of your Hollywood Hills driveway. “I-I’ll stop all this, th-the drugs,” his arm smeared away the remnants of snot and cocaine against his nose, “the drinking, partying, everything, I mean it!” Because something deep within Eddie Munson knew this was the last straw.

You were done.

“Stop lying to me!” Your eyes stung with tears. “Why are you so comfortable lying to me, and h-hurting me?!” His head adamantly refused your words with a harsh shake to his head, but the history of abandonment that brought you to your wits end weighed more than his inebriated actions. “You touch me and it feels like a lie. You k-kiss me and it feels like a lie. E-Everything you do has become bullshit, Eddie! I don’t trust you. I-I just worry. Worried that anytime you’re not next to me you’ve drugged yourself dead, or-or knocked out somewhere, or… with women-”

“Don’t fucking say that! I’d never do something like that to you!”

“The Eddie I knew would never leave me to snort coke with strangers, but here we are!” You bawled in retaliation, forcing his mouth quiet in disbelief. “You’re not Eddie anymore! So, don’t stand here and tell me you wouldn’t do these things, when everything you do leads me to believe you are capable of doing something like that… something to hurt me! Because you do, Eddie! You hurt me.”

“I’m so fucking sorry! Please, Y/N, baby, I fucking love you, everything’s just been too much, a-and I forget things, I’ll be better!” You scoffed at his utter patheticism that grossed you out, turning your heel, but his large hand caught a tightening grip to your wrist. “No, I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ll change! I-I’m still Eddie!”

“Get off.” You quietly pleaded, exhausted from the sobs that wrecked your body. 

“Y-You can’t leave me, Y/N, no, I-I need you.” He choked. “I love you. So much. With everything in me. Please. We don’t do this to each other!”

“Then why do you keep doing this to me?!”

“Darling, Ms. Y/L/N?” Yours and Eddie’s head parted to the soft voice of Debby Weiser. Nearly a year ago, your elderly neighbor—who came into stardom in the 50s for her acts that revolutionized the spreading use of colored television—welcomed you into the gated neighborhood with a gluten-free muffin basket that had tasted like pure shit. But the kindness of her effort garnered a budding friendship with the mature woman who offered her wisdom on enduring Hollywood’s notoriety. “You alright there, sweetie?” Her southern accent never had assimilated to the Valley. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You turned to his eyes, staring down the saddened roundness that no longer held the precious life they once used to. “I was just leaving.”

That night, you left to your shared Indianapolis townhouse that became your starter home when Eddie’s career was first taking off. You were so happy then. 

And he hadn’t seen you since. 

Until now.

-

Eddie Munson had fallen quiet. 

Everything had, in fact.

The constant beeping of your medical instruments drove him to madness, but he figured the insanity was substantial punishment for the hurt he caused you. He’d been suffering for five months already, what’s a couple more minutes? If anything, he’d be suffering for the rest of his life should it continue without you. 

But it didn’t have to. 

Eddie knew he had no right to gain your love once more, and the vulnerability of your state worsened the situation tenfold, but there was a reason Eddie received that call. A reason why his heart sank amidst a phone call that identified your beautiful name in an emergency, that left him dropping everything in front of thousands that cheered his name. Whatever cynicism that tainted his heart had long left upon your sweet arrival; a ‘thank you’ filled with such gratitude towards his uncle, when Eddie busted into the trailer with a smile too large to be because of Hawkins High’s yearly open house. Wayne Munson had never asked, mostly due to the fact that his nephew locked himself in his bedroom, where the nineteen-year-old worked endlessly for his new upcoming Dungeons and Dragons campaign that followed the grounds of fate and destiny. 

In the mere three hours of your presence, you gave Eddie Munson hope.

He’d be damned not to devote his eternal life to you. 

“Y/N, I…” his eyes laid low, examining the threads of linen that covered you, as his fingers twiddled with his rings to appease the constant bounce of his anxious knee. “I need you to know how terribly sorry I am for everything I did. All the times I hurt you.” He sighed, as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “I- uh, I just really need you to understand that everything that happened to us was not your fault. At all. You-” his breath shook with a tremble, “You really were so fucking perfect during everything. So patience, so communicative, and I-I never listened to you the way you deserved, I just- I don’t know, I thought maybe-maybe if I gave it my all to this career, I could finally give you everything you deserve.”

His eyes attempted to blink away searing tears, but his emotions were getting the better of him. “A-And I know how fucking selfish that is, I had- fuck, I had no right to assume what you wanted from me, and-and put you in a position where you had to go through all my bullshit, all because I thought that in the end it would make you happy… without even speaking to you about it.” Eddie's voice cracked with a harsh sniffle to gather his strength. 

“I-I’m getting clean, um, it’s been really fucking hard, but I-I got the boys s-setting me straight everyday. Especially after I practically tortured them with my cries after you left.” His pity laughter softly broke through. “B-But yeah, sweetheart, I-I’m doing pretty good for myself- well, tryin’ to, at least. Still kinda always, constantly, forever feel like shit,” Eddie chuckled, “but I’m managing. T-The drugs n’ everything flushed n’ all, n-now just trying to hold off the booze, y’know? But fuckin’ hell does a beer get me through it.”

A smile began etching upon his face, where the history of all the laughter you provided him with creased his face with the lines of joy that only truly showcased in your presence. “Talked to our manager, he sure as hell was pissed when I insisted on getting rid of Jude. And she sure as hell went out with a bang, and smeared by name to the tabloids, but, uh, you probably already read about that- or not, I don’t, like, expect you to keep up with me or anything, honestly I kinda hope you didn’t, because, well, those first couple of weeks after everything real-really, uh… brought the worst out.” A deep breath escaped his mouth, as his fingers dug into the temples of his head to alleviate the dull pain. 

“I-I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really… trying.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “F-For my fans, the boys, myself, a-and you, Y/N. And I c-can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking, y’know, taking this long t-to get better, and for not trying better before, for having to h-hurt you just to learn, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. A-And I’m not askin’ for a second chance- well, I know I don’t deserve one, not now or-or ever if you feel like it, I just need you to know I’m Eddie, somewhere inside- I’m working really hard on just being me- oh, but, of course, I do want to be with you. T-That wasn’t me saying I didn’t. I do, I-I always wanna be with you, I just- I, okay, I’ll shut up now.”

The deliberation was excruciating. 

The process of his words that rambled on for an eternity was too much to process, especially with a head injury, and he understood that to the fullest, but the quietness was becoming deafening, as he waited for your words… your rejection… your reciprocation. 

Anything.

And he couldn’t dare look you in the eyes, the ones that pierced his soul so deeply, and he desperately urged you to say something. Anything!

“Y/N?” Beep. Beep. Beep. “Sweetheart…?” His eyes fluttered forward. “Jesus H. Christ, Y/N!” Your peaceful sleep had garnered a frightful reaction from Eddie, as he jumped to his feet to urgently caress your face awake. Of course, when doing so, your eyes tiredly awoke to his face all too close for your liking, and a frown broke your face, as you attempted to move from him. 

“Christ, Eddie.” You debilitatingly rasped. “What are you doing?”

“Me?! What are you doing? Are you okay? You shouldn’t be going to sleep, you have a concussion! I-Isn’t that, like, something you shouldn’t do?!” He cupped your face straight to the blinding ceiling light, that had you mewling with annoyance. 

“Eddie, I can remember Reagan’s speech, and the fall of the Berlin Wall.” You dragged, prying his concerned hands off your face. “I think I’ll be just fine going to sleep. God, did you just expect me to stay up all night?”

A shuddering breath left his strangling throat, as his hands flexed at the electricity of the touch of your skin. His body tensed, as his round eyes worriedly followed the contours of features. “You didn’t- did you hear me, like, anything that I just said? B-Before you- I woke you up?” 

Your brows concave with a furrow of confusion, as you peered up at him through wispy lashes. “What’d you say?”

A deep sigh left his dry lips, as he flashed you a small smile filled with sincerity. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It was nothing.” His hands gently worked to cover your body further with blankets to keep you warm, as your suspicious stare hesitantly nodded in acceptance to his words. “Y-You hungry, or-or need more blankets? Painkillers, anything?”

You delicately rejected his help with a shake of your head. “Just tired.” You softly answered. “And you should probably leave, too. Get some sleep.”

Despite his mind refusing your proposal, he knew your rest was vital for recovery, and he watched you slowly turn your back to him, as his slow steps marked his way to the door. So lonely, he gazed at your tired body curl up into itself like it once did when his presence was actually yearned by you; all safety once found in his embrace, as he promised to never let go. And though he never did, his actions forced you to let go, as he now had to bear witness to seeing you become content with yourself. Something he could never imagine doing so. 

His finger flipped the switch. You never were a fan of the overhead lights. And once so, a peaceful sigh buried its way from your parted lips, as your mind rested in tranquil darkness. 

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the doorknob that allowed the hallway light to bleed in. But his eyes couldn’t dare leave you once more. Five months of deprivation killed him every passing day, and one glimpse of your beaten self made him feel like an addict breaking their withdrawal. There was once a time in which he was beckoned with the devastating occurrence of you leaving him no choice but to watch you walk away. Now, he had an opportunity. A chance. To walk away. Or stay. Leaving you alone, hurting, in a cold, empty hospital room was too heartbreaking of an option to ever endure, and he was vowing to his words of never hurting you again. 

He gently closed the door with no intent to deceive you, but rather care for you. Right now, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. And his mind felt at peace knowing he could watch over you; his heart dissipating to the rhythm of calmness only you could bring him to. His quiet steps guided him back to the stiff chair that numbed his bottom and stabbed at his back. But it all became worth it, finally seeing you at peace, after the last weeks he ever got to see you your face had been permanently etched in distress, because of him. 

Despite being awake for nearly twenty-two hours now, Eddie Munson spared a couple more just to look at you.

The morning to follow, Dr. Rosenthal had commented greatly on the normalcy of your brain. And Eddie felt envious. You could take thirty more blows to the head, and your brain would still function far better than his ever could. You, unfortunately, had no chance to question his lingering presence, since your body had been awakened by the prodding of a nurse who kindly checked if your vitals were up to par. You figured you’d save her the awkwardness of interrogating your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar.

“If necessary, just some acetaminophen of your choice once every four to six hours depending on the instructions. But if your pain seems to not be improving, I’ll surely write you a prescription for a triptan, whichever one we can work out best for you.” You nodded along, subtly watching Eddie in the corner of your eye, who was listening too intently for someone who was bound to leave in a couple minutes. “And for your stitches, twice a day, remove the old coverage, clean off, and apply a new gauze. After a while, you should be okay with doing it once, and by the two, two and half week mark, I’ll have a referral to remove them when the time comes.” You sighed, taking a minute to let your head process the instructions of the older gentleman before you. “Alrighty, any questions?”

“No, really, you’ve been so helpful with everything-”

“She can’t drive, right?” Eddie butted in. 

Dr. Rosenthal took a long second to peer at him, before clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t recommend it under your symptoms. Nausea and dizziness can impair your ability, so we can call someone, arrange transp-”

“I already got that covered.” Eddie spat a smirk back in retaliation. 

“As long as it’s okay with you.” Dr. Rosenthal sympathetically smiled at you.

You drew out a defeated sigh, and watched Eddie react like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Fine.” You begrudged. 

“Alright then, you go ahead and take the time needed to gather your things, and you can check out at the front desk.” Your trusted doctor assured you. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns, and I’ll gladly help. You have a Merry Christmas, Ms. Y/L/N.” Eddie was spared from a polite holiday goodbye. 

You gently smiled. “Thank you, have a Merry Christmas, as well.” 

With a click of the door behind him, Eddie was quick to let out a breath of relief, as though Dr. Rosenthal lifted a burden off his shoulders. His hasty movements brought your bag of clothes from beneath your hospital bed to plop against your legs. “These yours?” He pried the drawstrings open. 

“No, they’re the lady’s who gave birth before this became my room.” Eddie deadpanned, continuing to rummage through your belongings.

He snorted. “Psh, no pregnant lady would wear an Anthrax tee.” Something that very much still belonged to him, as he threw your t-shirt to your chest. 

“Did you stay here after I told you not to?” Your eyes glared in a deadly squint that challenged his snarkiness. 

“N-No.” A big, fat lie. His gaze was avoidant of yours, as his hands worked hurriedly to empty the bag of your pants… a brown flannel… your right Reebok… then the left, of course… an earring that stabbed him… the other that didn’t, because he learned his lesson… and some pretty, pretty pink panti-

“Stop looking at those!” You snatched the lacy material from his hands, as he threw his arms up in defense. “And if you didn’t stay, why are you still wearing the same clothes?” You prodded further. 

“Oh, my god, I didn’t stay.” He huffed. And you hated the portion of your heart that allowed his words to hurt you, because how come he didn’t stay? “Just headed back to the hotel, took a nap, and came back here early.”

You allowed your hurt to bite back. “That’s gross, you smell.” But he’ll permit your chastising insults if it meant you wouldn’t be angry at him for going against your wishes. 

“Can you just hurry up and change, so I can take you home.” He rolled his eyes. “I arranged a car to have us picked up, and take you home.” 

“I hope you know how pretentious that sounds.” And Eddie Munson stared and stared, as you balled your clothes into the sanctity of your lap. “Well, don’t look, turn around.”

Eddie’s mouth gaped, laughing in disbelief. “Please, sweetheart, I’ve been staring at you naked for the past seven years of my life.”

“You know what? Just for that, you can go to the bathroom and wait, until I say so.” You smiled, so pleased to watch Eddie scoff incredulously. 

Eddie turned on his heels with an exhale of exasperation to match, as he strutted his way into the tiny bathroom. “Can just close my eyes, and picture you naked.” Luckily with his back turned, he wouldn’t dare notice the small smile that cracked your face. 

Eddie’s mind had been buzzing with thoughts for the entire forty-five minutes it took for the chauffeur to pull up and parallel park in front of your townhouse. Like clockwork, your brow arched upon seeing the movements that followed yours: Eddie clicking his seatbelt. “Look, don’t give me that look, I already know what you’re about to say, but please, just let me come in, and help you.” You huffed, letting your eyes bounce from the window to his face that was hardened with determination. “C’mon, let me make it up to you this one time.”

Another defeated ‘fine’ was murmured under your breath, as Eddie made the quick trip to help you out of the car. “Just head back, man, I’ll call you when I need to.” Numerous bills were discreetly slid into the hands of the driver, before he took his cue to leave the neighborhood. 

“Hey, Y/N!” The blizzarding winter left the precisely planted trees along the sidewalk to lose their green shrubbery; your one shield from the sun that still blazed its light down the Demember wind. But through the glares, you matched that voice to the friendly neighbor who lent you his ladder… and subsequently took you to the hospital once you fell off. 

“Oh, hi, Trevor!” You waved to him from atop of his stairs, as you caught sight of the reusable bags of groceries in his hand. 

“Hm, Trevor.” Eddie hummed quietly beside you. 

Despite the cold, he took the needed steps down to speak to you at a volume that didn’t require yelling. “Hey, I’m sorry for leaving you at the hospital so suddenly, Andreas’ car broke down when she tried to leave from work, and I had to go help her-”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it, it’s okay!” You reassured him from any guilt. “Seriously, I was out for most of my time there, and you already helped so much with bringing me there.”

“Yeah, and I was going to head back to check on you, but they told me your partner-”

“Yeah, me! Y’know…” Eddie interjected with a wave, as you suppressed the roll from your eye, watching him proudly identify himself as such with an eager point of his finger. 

“Yeah, hey, Eddie, been a long time since I’ve seen ya, man-”

“Oh, Y/N! Trevor told me all about you!” Andreas' voice echoed from the front door, as her robe clung closely to her body in an effort to house any warmth she could. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about, just a couple stitches and a concussion.” As polite as they were, your flannel was only doing so much to shield you from the cold, which was already in hand causing that throb to return from the sharp blinding of the sun. Why wouldn’t they shut up?

Eddie watched the twitch of your eye succumb to your expression. If anything from the last seven years taught him anything, it was that you were two sentences away from a fully engraved scowl chiseling your face; always so unaware of how blatant your emotions showcased. ���Speaking of which, I should probably go get her to lay down, and rest!” Eddie smiled, as he took your hand up the stairs to your front door. 

“Of course, no problem.” Trevor kindly smiled. “And, hey, keep my ladder as long as you need, don’t worry about it.” 

An exchange of ‘thank you’s’ finally allowed your neighbor to leave you be, as the key slid into the lock of your door. “That was Andrea, his girlfriend. Are you gonna be jealous if I speak to her, too?”

His laughter warmed the chilled air that smoked his breath. “Fuck off, sweetheart.”

Your house had been all but welcoming upon the first steps. A puddle of blood had stained your wooden floor with the injuries of your head, as fallen garlands messily draped down your walls from your lack of skills with a hammer and nail. You’d never admit to him in a lifetime, but Eddie Munson was surely right that you, personally, were too dimwitted to use tools with no guidance. Turns out a leveler and stud sensor were actually quite useful in keeping your house from being hammered with the countless holes that now decorated your walls. You watched Eddie take in the amateur scenery, his will working overtime to stifle the chuckle that quivered his lips thin. “You make any comments, and I’ll kick you out.”

His hands flew up in defense. “I wasn’t going to say anything- although, how gnarly would a photo of your blood be as our next album cover?”

Giggles of shock coming from you rang in his ear like a catchy melody. “Listen, you came here to help, so please do. I want to shower, and sleep-”

“And eat. That hospital food was shit.” He prioritized. “Go shower, I’ll make you some breakfast,” his watch proved otherwise, “or lunch, I guess, and you can eat before you sleep- oh! And take your medicine, as well. I’ll switch out your bandages when you’re done showering. Don’t worry about anything here, okay? Just relax for me.”

And you did just so, following the words of his advice brought you to the warmth of your shower, where your limbs fell slack from destressing. You worked around the stitching of your head that stung under hot water, as you maneuvered your hair through the rainfall of the showerhead. But too much steam was beginning to blur your vision, and your shower was cut unfortunately short after you swiftly rid your body of any lingering antiseptic smell that clung to you. 

“Ow, Eddie!” Your hand squeezed his, as your forehead became cushioned by the tone of his torso, where he stood before you. 

As you sat on the toilet, he looked down, and caressed your head gently. “Sorry, sweetheart, just gotta get it clean, ‘s all.” A new square of gauze concealed your wound, before a long strip of bandage secured itself around your forehead. Your head lifted from the comfort of his belly, and he bent at the waist to examine your face. A smile grew so naturally. “There… beautiful as always.” There was no denying the lunge in your heart that soared at his words, but your stubbornness withheld the swoon that would have usually followed with a new inure look to your face. Eddie guffawed at your pertinaciousness. “Fine, I hope you know you have a bald spot on the back of your head.”

And he devilishly smiled at your sudden movements to feel around your hair. “It’s only because of the stitches.” You gruffed in protest. “Plus, what the back of my head looks like is none of my business.”

“Still, you’re balding before me.”

And you wanted so desperately to wipe that smirk off his face. “Push back your bangs right now.”

Touche. “You should really eat your food before I spit in it.”

You had the liberty of delving into Eddie Munson’s personally made lukewarm tomato soup, and a sandwich so untimely perfect, the burnt bread did little to match the cheese that surely did not melt. And yet, it did everything to fill that little hole in your heart, as one bite brought you back to the cozy trailer, where endless nights were spent concocting meals from ingredients that scientifically went together, but for some reason refused to work when Eddie touched them. 

He left you alone in the comfort of your bedroom that was once shared with him, as you quietly endured enjoyed your meal, and sat with the events that came about. Seeing Eddie had tumultuously screwed with your already bruised head, and set you back a mile on the path to peace. Where you blamed yourself over the rise of bubbling feelings, you also gave yourself the grace of remembering this man had been the love of your life for seven years. Facing him would be anything but peaceful, and yet, his stupid, round face managed to conjure that settling tranquility of deep contentment within your heart that only ever built under his hands of love and care. But he also managed to tear it, and that was something beyond the repairs of five months apart. No matter how brutal. Your pillow still stained with the tears of endless cries over the insecurities of no longer being good enough for him. But if you sniffed deep enough, his burrowed cologne would fume into your nose at night that allowed you to gain a safe sleep during the dark hours. 

How polarizing he could be was beyond the study of any scientist. 

Between the last slurp of your soup, your eyes succumbed to the heaviness of your eyelids, as what was intended to be a half an hour nap prolonged into a five hour doze, until the sun decided to rest for the evening, bleeding its red into a darkening sky. As advised by your doctor, a couple pills were to be popped to alleviate that ache that would haunt you for days to come, so with a march to the kitchen ahead, you called for the man you needed most. “Eddie!” Drowned by your tiredness, your voice did little to amplify his name from the second floor. “Eddie!” But a second call of his name proved to be useless when nothing followed in return.

Dr. Rosenthal surely hadn’t been lying about the aftermath of dizziness, as the simple event of walking down your staircase had turned into an olympic sport that nearly caused another blow to your head if it hadn’t been for the obscene tightness of your grip on the railing that descended. “Eddie, seriously! I’ve been calling you, can’t you hear?!”

The quietness of your home answered back, as you approached the bottom steps of the stairs, where suddenly soft lights straightened the blurred lines of your eyes to the clarity of a beautiful glow. Warm lanterns and sticks of candles kindled your chimney and center table, where red bows of various sizes decorated themselves along your living room to match the ribbon of your Christmas tree that had not been put up prior to your waking. Sweet scents of cinnamon and pines worked magically to calm the agitated nerves of your head, and your eyes dragged in awe to the breathtaking display of green garlands that dressed your home to the Christmas perfection you always dreamed of. 

Your eyes watered, and though you knew he wouldn’t answer, you still quietly spoke. “Eddie?”

So simple, yet so fulfilling, your heart soared at the work of his hands that ached for your happiness. While it did not amount to the pain he once dragged you through, a meaningful smile that hadn’t been flashed in months finally etched its place onto your face where it perfectly belonged.

And much to your dismay, but simultaneously your biggest hope… it was because of him. 

While it broke your spirit for his efforts to take so long to return, you smiled through your hurting cries, as you finally gained the wish for your Eddie—once lost, now running through the wooded path to be found—to return. And with it, a note to keep your heart content with the soundness of peace. Whether it be with Eddie. Whether it not be with Eddie. 

At the very least, you got your Christmas spirit. 

Management wants to bitch me out, I’m sorry I had to leave you :( but I’m gonna convince ‘em to let me stay in Indy for a while. Kinda hard to say no to a face like mine, you know? You know. Call me to make sure you’re okay, sweetheart, or I’ll break into your house! - Love, Eddie

P.S, gave Trevor his ladder back, so don’t speak to him :)

[sea-of-dust]

Hello. Could you do a headcanon or story about Yandere Acheron x Reader (gender neutral).

The reader doesn’t care about Acherons yandere-ness.

Example:

Acheron: I killed someone.

Y/n: Uh-huh.

Acheron:…you… don’t care?

Y/n: No. I don’t know the person anyway. Soooo what now? Wanna game?

Yandere! Acheron x GN! Reader

"So if I were to-" "go for it"

N: thank you for the request annon!! First yandere request 🎉

Warnings: mentions of death, murder, stalkers, murder, most you'd expect with a yandere fic

Acheron isn't a yandere that would usually kill. She is, at most, a scary dog. Always lurking over your shoulder in public and sitting closely to you. This apparent part of her nature is why you rarely catch onto her yandere like habits.

The fact that when there were obvious signs like her staring down a person that looked at you for longer than she'd like. You just didn't care. She could plan something about how to get rid of someone she saw as dangerous toward you out loud, maybe on a pen and paper, and stick it to the fridge. You'd look at it for two seconds, "must be a new hobby" and then go on with your day

Acheron, however, was non the wiser. Even though she already has you, she's afraid you'd leave her because of what could be considered a major overreaction. Even though you could have reported a stalker of yours to the police wouldn't it be quicker to just take them out? She isn't gonna take any chances after she killed them, turning off the news to a different channel, saying that it's always the same thing, not wanting to take the chance that maybe the family didn't cover this one up, her being unable to make eye contact with you for a short while is also telling that, she knows what she did would benefit you, but how would you feel if you had known?

So another fated event, another person eyeing you with glints of admiration, obsessing over every muscle that moves in your face to make words, to blink. nearly drooling over you. At the very least, she would be annoyed, leaving the cafe and hearing "I think that guy's on a wanted list" from you, inspired maybe too much looking over your back while walking home and then doing enough research to know his whole family. As soon as he was an established threat, she had already known his route home, sneaking away from you to cut him off. All she had to do now was go back to you and-

"Acheron?" You narrow your eyes. "Y/n." She froze, it would be strange to leave the scene now, she tries to think of a way to leave only for her thoughts to rage on about how you had caught her. "I gotta start paying more attention to you, how do you get so far?" you exhale grabbing her hand "let's go I finally found a couch co-op game" you tug at her hand, finally getting her to move, walking away you lean onto her shoulder. "You killed him didn't you" "what makes you think that?" She remains calm, walking at the same pace she always did, her hand as firm around yours as usual.

"There was a strong smell in that alley, not to mention" you poke her finger "there's a red spot on the hand you wield your sword with" you hum but she stays silent, continuing to walk with you. "What will you do?" Her response is low squeezing your hand subconsciously. "Nothing" you reply to her, holding her hand reassuringly. "Knowing you, they were probably bad news to begin with" you unlock your phone to show her the game you were telling her about. "Now let's get home and play this!" Your eyes sparkle going on about the game. Acheron smiles as a wave of relief crashes over her, thanking every Aeon known to man. She'll enjoy seeing that precious smile of yours, till the day you care about how far she's willing to go for you

[jellyclogs]

how op men react to you calling them darling prt.2

characters: Zoro, Sabo, Sanji, Marco, Buggy

y/n has she/her pronouns

Zoro:

“Excuse me?” Zoro laughed.

Your face was suddenly on fire. You hadn't meant to call him darling. You had meant to just ask, “Have you eaten.” you repeated. He looked way too much like the leading man in the romance novel you were reading. It wasn't your fault you called him darling it was the dam books.

“You're missing a part,” Zoro smirked, he was enjoying how flustered you were, it was pretty dang cute.

“Did you eat or not?” you huffed crossing your arms.

“Yeah I did,” he shot you a teasing look, “Darling.”

You thought your face was on fire before… well now it really had to be. You turned and rushed away from him. You might burst into flames from the intensity of your embarrassment. You were going to burn that novel.

“Something wrong darling?” he called after you in a laugh.

Sabo

“Hay Darling could you pass me those papers,” you called to the blond as he was passing your desk painting to a stack of paper across the room from you. You were so engrossed in your work that you hadn't even realized what you'd said.

Sabo froze, a smile coming to dance across his lips, “No problem sweetheart,” he said without skipping a beat. He grabbed the stack of paper before setting them on your desk.

You glanced up at him a puzzled look on your face, “Sweetheart?” you hummed, “What with the pet name Sabo?” you quirked a brow

Sabo’s smile grew, “You're the one who started it.” he wished he could snap a picture of the look you had on your face, it was priceless.

You tilted your head to the side. It took an almost embarrassingly long time for you to relize what you had said to him.  You bit your lip before smiling, “I guess your right darling. I did start this,” you purred.

Sabo's face flushed, “Don't use that voice on me, sweetheart,” he leaned down resting his hands on your desk, “and don't start a game you can't win.” his voice had dropped an octave, it was now low and sultry.

“I'm not sure what game you're referring to darling,” you leaned forward laying on the seductive tone even harder, “But if I did I'm sure I'd win.”

Sobo leaned even closer, his eyes were very intense, “Come on sweetheart, you know you'd lose.”

Before the game you two were playing cold get out of hand Kola stepped in. She slapped the back of both of your heads hissing, “Oh cut it out both of you.” she shook her head, a small smile on her lips.

Sanji:

You smiled to yourself as you baked. You were in the process of making marbled brownies. You made a dark chocolate batter followed by a pumpkin batter before swirling them together. You popped your creation into the oven before beginning to clean up your mess. It was currently 1:30 a.m., so you knew you had plenty of time to leave it spotless. Sanji would not wake up till 5 am

 You knew that using the kitchen without Sanji's approval could be a dangerous game but you just had to. You would ask Sanji to forgive you later. There was no way you could ask him to use the kitchen not when you were trying to surprise him. You were making him a birthday treat.

You spent the 40 minutes it took for the brownies to bake to clean the kitchen till the floor sparkled. You pulled the pan of brownies out of the oven, they were perfectly baked nice crunchy corners and an ooey gooey center. You were no professional but you could bake like one.

You set the brownies on the counter along with a box of expensive black tea you bought him from a few islands ago. You spent the next ten minutes debating whether or not you'd leave a note. Finally, you gave in to yourself and left a note.  “Happy birthday darling,” you wrote out in your nicest handwriting before singing it in the bottom right corner.

Glancing at the clock you read the time was 2:25 am. You skittered out of the kitchen and headed to bead. You sent a silent prayer to whatever god was listening Luffy wouldn't get hungry for a snack before Sanji woke up.

######

Sanji got out of bed at Five a.m. sharp. It may have been his birthday but he would not skip out on his job. He was the ship's cook and he'd be damned if he didn't cook them a proper breakfast. His birthday would be mad special when he saw the look of delight on Nami’s, Robins's, and (y/n)’s faces when they ate the breakfast he made.

He pulled on clean clothes before heading to the kitchen. He needed a cup of nice strong black tea to wake him up. He almost slipped into his normal routine till his eyes landed on a pan on the counter. He rushed over to it wondering which member of the crew had left him a dirty dish to deal with.

He stopped in front of the pan when he saw it was full, someone had made brownies he felt confused. He then noticed the box of tea next to it. The tea looked expensive. He picked it up and read over the container. He realized it was a tea that he'd put back after he realized he didn't have the budget for it a few islands ago. His eyes finally landed on the little slip of paper resting on the top of the brownies. 

“Happy Birthday Darling” he read glancing down to the signature. He felt his heart raced as he read (y/n)’s name. When had she had the time to make this? He looked around the kitchen trying to find evidence of her baking but it was spotless. 

He hugged the note to his chest, feeling tears in his eyes. He hadn't expected much for his birthday. This was so much more than what he expected. He decided to not start his prep for breakfast yet. He brewed himself a cup of his new tea, cut himself a brownie, lit a cigarette, and sat down. He could take a bit of time to appreciate the gift.

######

You were pulled out of bed by Nami at  7 a.m. You were honestly in no mood to be awake, that was until you remembered that it was Sanji’s birthday. You got up stretching and yawning.

You and Nami walked to the kitchen together. You couldn't wait to see how Sanji had reacted to your little surprise. Before you entered the kitchen you whispered into Nami’s ear, “Don't forget to tell Sanji happy birthday.”

 She rolled her eyes at you… hard.

Then the two of you walked in. “Good morning Sanji.” You smiled at him.

Sanj slowly and deliberately walked across the kitchen to stand in front of you. He stared into your eyes for a long moment before hugging you. “Thank you, princess,” he whispered kissing your forehead and walking away, A trickle of blood running from his nose.

Marco:

You were sick, you had a fever, your nose was running and you had the chills. You stumbled from the room you shared with Marco to the infirmary. You knew he had to be there since he wasn't in the room with you. You always got needy when you were sick.

You made it there to see Marco working on paperwork. He was slumped over at his desk working like there was no tomorrow. You knew his work was important but at the moment you couldn't care less about it. You just wanted your lover to come cuddle with you and make you feel a little better.

“Darling,” you whimpered as you made it to his desk, “Will you come cuddle with me?” you sounded absolutely pathetic. If your voice alone had not convinced him to come to bed with you then the way you looked forced his hand. You had a pout on your face the comforter of your shared bed wrapped around you. 

Marco looked up from the paperwork he was working on, “You really shouldn't be out of bed.” he said a smile on his lips as he shook his head.

“I don't wanna be alone. Darling, please come to bed with me.” The pout on your face mixed with the flush of fever made you look more than cute.

Marco laughed, you only ever called him darling when you wanted him to do something for you. He wanted to pretend like it wasn’t an effective strategy but couldn't. Whenever you called him darling he was putty in your hands, “OK my little bird I'll come back to bed with you.” he sighed.

Your pout turned into a smile as you heard his words, “Thank you.” Even with your slightly scratchy voice, Marco found your voice soothing.

Marco stood up from his desk and walked over to you. He easily swept you off of your feet, carrying you bridal style, “Let's get you back to bed before you share this cold with someone.” he had no worries about getting sick himself, ever since he ate the phoenix phoenix fruit he was immune to most colds and illnesses.

“If you leave me there I'm gonna follow you.” You leaned into his chest closing your eyes already feeling sleepy.

Marco just shook his head. He knew for a fact you weren't joking. He sighed, for the sake of the crew he’d better stay with you. He tried to be upset about having to stay in bed with you but he couldn't manage it.

Buggy

You laid in bed next to Buggy. Your lover had his back to you as he slept You had had a nightmare and couldn't get yourself to fall asleep. You didn't want to wake him up, but you really wanted him to hold you. You didn't need to talk about the nightmare you just needed to be in his arms. You hesitantly reached a handout and shook his shoulder, “Please wake up darling.” you whispered.

Buggy was usually a heavy sleeper but the fear in your voice made him instantly roll over. With sleep still fogging his senses he asked, “What’s the matter, honey?” he looked at you with tired but concerned eyes.

“I'm sorry to wake you but would you please just hold me?” you asked in a soft and apologetic voice.

Buggy studied your face for a long moment before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest. It didn't take a genius to tell you were upset. The look you had on your face was heartbreaking, “Don't be,” he mumbled, “Do you want to tell me what's wrong now or in the morning.” his voice sounded grumpy but you could tell he truly did want to make you feel better.

“In the morning darling,” you close your eyes already feeling like you could sleep again, “please just go back to sleep.” You kissed his cheek.

He grunted in response holding you tighter. He would sleep now, but in the morning he'd find out what had upset you. You were his flashy little partner and he would not neglect you. It did not take him long to fall back to sleep.

The sound of his heart and the feeling of his chest rising and falling quickly calmed you down. You found it much easier to sleep. You found yourself falling back to sleep rather quickly.

[staticnonapus]

Mmmmm I thought of something juicy as Knockout would say

Imagine this:

SG!OP goes into heat in the middle of a battle

Instead of retreating like someone with their sanity intact would do he lunges at poor SG!Megatron and they tumbe away from th battle which soon after finishes with both sides retreating while waiting for their respective leaders to come back.

On the other side Optimus is furiously riding Megatron's spike and Megs just let's him, too entranced to realise what he was actually doing.

And here's the kicker:

After a few rounds Megatron’s rut coding activities and Optimus, who had planned to ride and run after a few megacycles, finds himself trapped beneath a very enthusiastic Megatron who was currently making sure that neither of them will be able to walk after that.

He has a hard time fighting back - not that he wants to anyways - because Megatron has his wrists pinned down, making sure that he won't get more scratched up than he already has.

Optimus is having the time of his life but would never admit it even under the threat of torture.

They may or may not have accidentally created the first sparkling in 4 million years (up to you to decide)

:]

hghnnnn hot…

Good for megs for having that much stamina, op would ride his spike like he’s crushing that pelvis…moaning and laughing in the most unashamed manner that ratchet rolled his optics on the other side of the battlefield. Megs was rather quiet but he was holding on for dear life XD waiting for the chance to strike

Optimus was stunned for a few nanoclicks when his helm smashed onto the ground. Megs was usually less violent than this so he really got on his nerves this time. Megs was panting heavily while wrecking op’s forge, the rut coding suppressed part of his processor and he couldn’t form a thought other than filling this hot steamy valve. He wanted to spark this smug slagger, crush his ego, and make him cry for mercy.

Optimus probably tried to punch him but only managed to flip himself over instead. That’s good enough for op, since he got to watch megs’s helplessly lustful face as the waves of overloads fried his processor. He couldn’t remember what he screamed or when did it end. He’s gonna get random cramps for a few days afterwards, but it’s worth the price.

I feel like sg Optimus would be a borderline okay mama. He would say ‘I chopped the kids up and ate them for breakfast.’ while the sparklings (outside the camera frame) were sucking on his refineries. He would tell megs that his refineries were clogged and bursting and it hurt so so much (with a faked 🥺 face) just so megs can reluctantly suck them out. Megatron found it weird and humiliating but op found it hilarious.

[spookitapes]

Hello, i love your fics! Im a bit embarassed but i had an idea earlier today. Imagine beig on a relationship with Ted while hes a trip visiting every margaritaville or rain forest, whatever you prefer and you miss him a lot so when you can finally go visit him on the trip he shows you how much he missed you by fucking you so good you barely walk the next day. Okay thats all, thank you bye!

a/n: oh my gosh don't be embarrassed! pls send me more stuff I love it !!! and thank you so much for the support< 33 it's mainly RFC buuuut i did a little bonus of margaitaville ft. schlatt at the end :))) sorry it took me a minute to see this in my inbox!! but I hope you enjoy it bc this was actually super fun to write !!

!! 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI !!

surprising ted on his rainforest cafe roadtrip hc's

❧ getting the trip schedule from eddy so you can pick which days works best for you

❧ planning it weeks before they even leave

❧ ted having literally no clue what’s happening

❧ stuffing his face with safari fries when he hears an all too familiar “teddy!” coming from behind him

❧ thinking he’s finally going crazy bc why is he imagining your voice amongst the animatronic themed restaurant's ambiance ??

❧ almost tackling him out of his chair when you finally reach him bc you didn’t realize you were full-on sprinting in the rainforest cafe

❧ a very sweet reunion that takes ted entirely by surprise

❧ (don't worry eddy gets a good angle) it's some nice behind-the-scenes footage for you two :))

❧ “jesus christ honey i didn’t know you’re that strong!”

❧ ted laying his head on your shoulder anytime he can

❧ sharing a sparkling volcano for the memory of it

❧ getting back to the hotel and making out in the elevator on the way to the room you booked

❧ him immediately pinning you to the door when it closes

❧ he's missed you so much

❧ missed your body so much

❧ he'd been having to take cold showers

❧ and that worked until he found the nude polaroids you had left him in his luggage

❧ he's been reduced to jerking off, switching to hot steam instead of a standing ice bath

❧ so you can't really blame him for taking you right there

❧ stripping you of only what's necessary

❧ if your wearing jeans? gone. pants of any kind? bye bye. shorts? across the room...but a dress or a skirt? he's just pushing it up your hips

❧ pulling your panties to the side (if you're wearing any op-)

❧ hiking one of your legs up onto his hip as he barely gets his cock out of his pants before pushing into you

❧ both of you letting out a gasp as he bottoms out

❧ him holding your hand against the door with one hand and rubbing your clit with the other

❧ eventually bringing your leg around his hip up over his shoulder so he can hit deeper

❧ him fucking you so rough the do not disturb sign's swinging on the other side of the door

❧ once you both cum he'll carry you over to the bed so he can finish stripping you

❧ slowly peeling the clothes away as he kisses your skin that appears

❧ him pushing your face into the sheets to muffle the porn star level moans leaving your mouth

❧ "god baby, you're gonna get us kicked out if you keep screaming like that."

❧ but how can you stay quiet when he's balls deep drilling you from the back giving you the best dick of your life ??

❧ him getting fed up so he puts one of his big ass hands over your mouth as he fucks you harder

❧ just the sounds of skin on skin slapping, ted's groans, and your muffled sobs fill the room

❧ going at least three more rounds before he's carrying you to the bathtub to clean you up

❧ begging him to get in with you and getting him to after pulling out the big eyes and jutted out bottom lip combo

❧ scooting up so he can slide in behind you

❧ just holding each other in the warm bubbley water

❧ "i love you so much baby, remind me to never go on a trip without you again."

❧ it's followed with a tender kiss on your forehead

❧ you pause a moment before shifting your head so you can catch his eyes, a smile overtaking your features

❧ he thinks you're gonna say something sappy, something that'll probably make you tear up

❧ "you can go on as many trips as you want if that's how you're gonna fuck me."

❧ he splashes you with the bath water...

❧ the next day he's calling you to hurry up and get ready, something about needing to be back on the road

❧ he gets met with a long, loud, angry groan in return

❧ "uuhhhh honey, you alright?"

❧ him being met with your pouty face looking up from the mound of pillow you had it buried in

"i don't wanna talk to you. you did this to me!"

❧ he's about to question you before you throw your legs off the side and go to stand...only to go tumbling over before ted leaps across the room to save you

❧"your hero," he's smirking down at you, hands around your back and hip as you dangle mid-air

❧ "...more like my murderer." you murmur it out

❧ "oh and who exactly did i kill? you look alive to me."

❧ "MY WHOLE LOWER BODY YOU BIGDICK ASSHOLE!"

(bonus)

you two definitely fuck at jschlatt's during margaritaville

❧ setting it up with schlatt bc you promise him a gift (WINK)

❧ you jump out and surprise them when they get to schlat't's place

❧ him almost tackling you this time

❧ "i fuckin' told ya! HA mother fucker now you owe me $50!" schlatt's laughing maniacally as usual

❧ ted fucking you in front of schlatt as a thank you for the surprise

❧ "this is way fuckin' better than on facetime." (read my other work to get the refrenceeeee)

❧ making you ride him as schlatt records it on ted's phone

❧ reverse cowgirl to get good angles of your pretty face and so ted can watch your greedy hole swallow up his big cock

❧ schlatt shoving the camera in your face when you start getting sloppy, thighs burning from riding your lover for so long

❧ "go on and look at me, angel," he's using his free hand to grip your throat to look at him but your eyes are still closed

❧ ted's interrupting him for a second, "do ya wanna cum? keep on bouncin' then. I'll rub your slutty lil clit if you keep takin' my dick so good."

❧ "be a good little bitch and smile for the camera—thaaaaat's it, honey."

[ziinesso]

He was one of your older brother's friends. The one you loved.

"My little Y/N, how are you?"

Every Saturday, he would come to pick up your brother. He would arrive unexpectedly, politely smiling at your parents before pinching your arm as a greeting. He would playfully tease you until interrupted by your brother's arrival. Then, he had to leave. But never without one last joke. One last wink.

"Stop calling me that. I'm not a child anymore."

These little moments fueled what you had classified as a disillusionment. He was much too old. Much too cool. Much too charming. He was too much. He was perfect.

"I'm well aware of that, love. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I should hurry."

In the evening, he would come back to drop off your brother. He always got out of his car to greet your family again. He took his time, making himself comfortable. He would pass through the kitchen to have a drink. He passed through the kitchen because he knew you would be there. A playful pinch on your arm. His eyes filled with mischief, he would ask you about your day, always on the lookout for a remark to make you smile, to make you blush.

"For what?"

He would lean slightly on the kitchen counter, bringing his face closer to yours. From that distance, you could admire that sparkle in his eyes. From that distance, he could admire that same sparkle in your eyes. That glimmer. That spark that reflected your bond.

"I don't want some kid stealing you from me. We wouldn’t want that, right my little Y/N?"

He was one of your older brother's friends. The one who loved you.

- wakasa, ran (tr) ; suna, kuroo (hq) ; geto (jjk) ; ace (op)

[happybunny999]

A complete arsenal magical girl in Gotham

Part 1

(Fem Reader is a magical girl and was born in Gotham and fight monsters and collect relics from them try’s to avoid the batfam and the villains but what will happen when they notice you and start to become obsessed?)

Gotham, filled with dangerous, evil,crazy,scary and villainous people which always scared me to talk to other people due to my timid nature and with defeatist attacking I have to push pass my meek and timid mind as I try to make Gotham a little bit safer for my mother, father, and friends with my powers

Let me explain. My Mother is a meta human with the ability to control everything and has immense magic (tho not as strong as mine ) and my father is a assassin (but he is not with the league of assassins clan but from another similar) with impressive ability of flexibility, speed, agility, and weaponry. But they are kind and humble people with strong morals and raised my siblings and I to be good people in a city full of a bad people so we could make a difference one day

I have a sister and brother but they are away at college and took after our dad with have jet black hair and black eyes and an being assassins and have amazing agility and endurance as well as high level of strength

While I took after my mother with being born with pink hair and pink eyes (that turn rose gold when I use my full power) and a power that my mother called “complete arsenal” and OP magic and that she told me that I have also have the power of a “magical girl”. She even gave me a pretty and pink device that I use to activate my transformation and powers and to stay under the radar from the batfam and supervillains of Gotham since the one and only Batman forbidden any meta human to come to Gotham so I was taught to hide my powers and identify from the rest of Gotham for my own and their safety as I work in plain site at night and day fighting childish monsters that due pose a threat to people and I have stop them with magic. I even have enmities from the darkness that try and defeat me but fail every time(but there were times that they did come close).

And things are about to get out of hand when I saved a supervillain from a defeatist and they start to tell their gang about me as well as others too

-

As I walk home from school my hoodie covering my hair and face as I thought about my 18th birthday coming up tomorrow as a huge smile came across my face because it will be at the Gotham carnival fair

As I made my way along the worn down streets and pass people I felt sad seeing how much Gotham is gotten even more grim in the morning when I was a little kid but is much dangerous at night with the many villains and vigilantes of Gotham and since I couldn’t do much when I was just a kid but now that I’m older and almost an adult I can help my people now but must remember to stay hidden to the world.

And as I walked down another path I heard a scream from an alleyway close to me and sensed a monster corrupted aura. I wasted no time in going behind a building and making sure no one is looking a you use your magical device and call out your hero name as sparkles start swarming around me.

“Precure magical time!” And as I say that the sparkles grow around me as I transform into my magical uniform ( a fusion of cure heart, cure lovely, and cure happy outfit) and my pink hair and eyes become more natural, long and vibrant and as my transformation ends I quickly take off down the alleyway and see the monster called defeatist and the person who was trying to fight it was non-other then Harley Quinn who was frantically swinging her black and red bat/Hammer at the defeatist as it try’s to attack her

I Quickly running behind the defeatist and fly kicking it in the face making it hit the side of the wall with immense force as I landed on the ground with elegant and grace as Harley looked on in awe and with a slight blush on her face at the sight of a beautiful face in front of her

And as the defeatist tried to get up I called out my “precure pinky attack” as pink glow shot out my hands and onto the defeatist and making it vanish and all that’s left in it’s place is a pink relic to which I pick up and put in my magical bag

I turn around to check on Harley and tried to ask if she is ok but when I tried to ask she pulls me in to a huge that shocks me a little bit but I did hug her back and ask in a small and shy tone if she was ok and if she is hurt anywhere

After talking to her and telling her my magical name was “cure Pinckney” and after making sure that she was okay I quickly used my powers to fly away and to my house since I was running late and didn’t want to be out in the open for too long since it made me nervous

Unknowingly to me this would start up something big and dangerous within Gotham with vigilantes and villains because Harley would go back to her puddin and tell him about the girl(woman) who had saved her and how powerful and beautiful she is

-

As I finally made my way home and landed on the front door of my parents and quickly changed back into regular clothes as my hoodie and mask covered my face so no one would be able to see me

Has I slowly opened the door to the house it was quite since it was already late at night because I didn’t use my super flight so it took me longer to get home

I walked up to my room past by brother and sister old room and past my parents bedroom and closed the door behind me and after some time to change and get ready for my birthday tomorrow I couldn’t help but think of the amazing day and people as I drift off to sleep









[somanyratsinthewalls]

2 Years Later (+18)

2 Years Later (+18) (Zoro x Reader)

Summary: You finally decide it's time to tell Zoro how you feel. Too bad he's a fucking idiot.

Pairing: Zoro x afab!reader

WC: 1500 OPE

Ageless Blogs and Minors DNI you WILL be blocked immediately

TW: angst, hate sex, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, romance, pining, pet names, once again so much plot with also porn, idk help!

“Stupid, stupid, stupid…” 

Zoro muttered to himself as he firmly rapped his head on the back of the wall he was sitting against. He was out on the deck staring towards the bow of the Sunny, leaning up his back against the wall to the galley. How could he be such a fool? He hadn’t seen you in 2 years and he wasted the sweet moment of your reunion by accusing you of sleeping with someone you had met during your time away from everyone. Zoro let those insecurities of not be able to find you or protect you bubble up to the surface and he came off as an asshole instead of someone who deeply cares about you. Loves you, even… 

But now here he was, alone, physically thrown out of your room and not daring to return. He couldn’t believe he wasted his big chance to confess and made you hate him in the process…

— 12 hours before The Fight — 

Your stomach was in knots, couldn’t believe you were really about to see your crewmates again after 2 years. Everyone had been through so much, and so had you. You snapped out of your anxious thoughts and hitched up your backpack and made your way into the market on Sabaody. 

You heard him before you saw him, the sound of his deep voice clearly frustrated with whoever he was talking with. You heard it in the marketplace and instinctively whipped around to see a pair of broad shoulders and the sparkle of 3 earrings above his left one. You flew towards him and instinctively wrapped your arms around his strong back, not missing how much larger he had become. 

“What the hell? Why are-“ Zoro looked down, he knew those arms. Your arms, the ones he wished so often to place kisses on their soft skin… the ones he imagined gripping his biceps as he plowed into you… 

“Y/n?”  

Zoro din’t hug you back, but you didn’t expect him to. It wasn’t his style. You didn’t care, you liked him that way. But of course… you’d never tell him that…

— 2 hours before The Fight —

You were so excited to see everyone again, but also excited to celebrate with them. Your evening was filled with lots of delicious food and tons of booze. You gaze across the table at Zoro, catching his eye before he looked down at his glass. Now that he was no longer staring at you, he realized it was empty and rose from his stool to refill his cup. Maybe it was the alcohol or the endorphins in your brain from seeing your friends after so long, but you thought tonight would be the night you tell Zoro how you really feel. You rise from your own chair and follow him into the kitchen. You sauntered in and found your swordsman pouring himself another hefty glass of liquor. 

“Some things never change, huh.” The words came out far more sultry than you expected, perhaps it was the booze talking. 

“Hmm,” he smirked and lightly chuckled. “I could say the same to you, you haven’t exactly stayed sober all night.”

You laughed at his remark and sidled up to him putting your glass on the table next to his, gesturing to pour one for you as well.  He silently nodded and poured you a large shot in your cup. You looked into each others eyes, and without breaking contact clinked your glasses together. You both take your drinks and you wince. He doesn’t. 

“Come to my room tonight, Zoro. I have to talk to you about something.”

His eyes blew wide. What did you need to talk to him about? Had you met someone on your journeys? Were you going to break it to him that you were leaving the crew and running off with some pirate blow hard and nev-?

“Zoro?” You prompted him when he didn’t respond.

“Hmm? Uh. Yeah. I can do that.”

“Right. See you later then.” You smiled at him and returned to the festivities. Leaving him in the kitchen alone again. He poured himself another drink. He was going to need it.  

— The Fight — 

You paced in your room. You brushed your hair out, applied your favorite perfume, it was going to be perfect. Still imbued with a little liquid courage, you knew this was the moment you were finally going to tell Zoro how you feel. You had so much time over the past 2 years to think about your feelings for him.

He wasn’t the kind of man many women would fawn over. Of course he was handsome, but he had his quirks. Very little went though the brain rattling around under his green hair other than the thought of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman. But still, he always made a point to check in with you during hard battles, more than he did with anyone else. It was those little things he did that sparked your romantic feelings for him 

*knock knock* he didn’t wait for a response, since the knob turned immediately following the second knock. He gingerly peaked his head in the door, “Y/n?”

“Hi Zoro, you can come in.” 

He walked in and you sat down on your bed and patted the space next to you for him to sit. 

“I prefer to stand.” He responded nervously. What the hell had gotten into him? He had sat next to you on your bed so many times before while you sharpened your blades together. He was so comfortable then, so strange now… What had happened to the laid back swordsman you knew? Had it really been that long?

“ok…” you started. Figuring you were in for a penny, in for a pound on this confession thing, you might as well do it. It was eating you alive. “Zoro… I know you and I care about each other, but it’s just been so long…” You were stumbling over your words, unable to meet his gaze. “Um.. and I’ve had so much time away from you… and I just can’t help that I just…”

“Who was it? Who is he?” Zoro raised his voice at you. He had never done that before in all your time sailing with him. You’d only even seen him do it at enemies or at Sanji during their fruitless arguments. 

“Zoro what-? What are you talking about? Who is who?” You heart started pounding even harder and there was a pit in your stomach forming. He was upset with you? You hadn’t even said anything yet!

“The man that you’re leaving us for! Isn’t that what you’re here to tell me? Try and let me down easy when you tell me you’ve found some pirate asshole boyfriend and you’re shoving off with him at dawn?”

You were stunned. What the hell was he talking about? You had nothing of the sort. You spent 2 years training with a vicious crew of bandits. He thought you were on vacation and getting laid?

You scoffed. “You’re so fucking unbelievable.”

“I’M unbelievable? You’re the one abandoning m- us for some filthy low life bastard!”

“You’re delusional! Zoro you really think you were the only one who trained miserably hard for 2 years to try and make this crew better? You think I would sacrifice my loyalty to this crew for ANYONE? You think while you all broke your backs getting stronger, I was on a beach somewhere getting fucked? How DARE you accuse me of that. I thought I knew you, Roronoa Zoro, clearly I was wrong. I had no idea you were so fucking insecure. Get out of my room.”

Tears started welling up in your eyes and threatening to spill over. Zoro looked up at you. He really had fucked up this time. 

“Y/n wait-“

“Fuck you Zoro.” You huffed out while you pushed him hard out of your room and slammed the door. 

— Currently —

Zoro continuously beat his head into the wall he was leaning against, trying to ignore his feelings. “Fucking, stupid, idiot, moron…” he punctuated each with a slap against the wall. On the last one he felt something cradle his head…

“Seis fleur..” 

 Robin’s hands acted as a barrier between Zoro’s head and the wall. 

“ You know this won’t help anything, swordsman.” Robin’s silky voice told Zoro off. “You need to go back down there and tell her how you really feel.” Her body appeared behind the mast in front of him. Her eyes were serious. 

Zoro acted like he had no idea what she was talking about, but acting was never his strong suit. 

“Just go. I don’t have time to hold both of your hands through all of this. You need to figure it our yourselves.”

Zoro realized what Robin was implying. She had already said something to you, clearly. He nodded and turned to face the hallway that included your door. He stood at your doorway for a few moments and took his last deep breaths before he opened the door without asking. 

Upon barging in, he could see you sitting at the edge of your bed in a robe sobbing. You were crying over him. It broke his heart into one thousands minuscule pieces.. how could he let this happen?�� You saw him enter your room and you stood up to shove him out again. 

Zoro immediately fell to his knees. He pressed his face into the wooden floor of your bedrooom. He laid his white handled sword on the ground in front of him The cherished blade that Kuina had left for him... his last hope to enjoy a happy life...

“Y/n… I am here to do nothing but apologize." Zoro spoke with his forehead touching the wooden floorboards of your bedroom. “You have shown me nothing but grace and mercy, far more than I deserve. You are the light at the end of my tunnel. You are the song of the sea against my hard-worn ship. I have thought of nothing but you over these two years. I simply love you so much that my largest fear is that you find someone else. I’m so sorry. I am immature and insecure, you were right. The thought of anyone taking you away from me again…” Zoro wracked a violent sob… unlike anything you’ve ever hear from him… “I just… I love you…”

He was knelt, sobbing uncontrollably at your feet. Your heart was the fullest it had ever been. He had never shown anything like this as long as you've known him. You looked at his pathetic form around your legs. 

“Rise, Swordsman.” you firmly order.

Zoro took a few moments but eventually he raised his head and his body  to meet your gaze.

“Roronoa Zoro… my heart…” your gripped his jaw in your hand. “… has always belonged to you…”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You felt the same way? This whole time? He had spent 2 years being insecure for no reason?

You grabbed his face and kissed him with fervor. He grabbed your torso and flipped you over onto your back. Zoro exhaled deeply and kissed down the side of your neck to the sides of your breast. His hands experimentally squeezed and kissed at your nipples as you sighed and squeaked under his touch. 

“Zoro I-“ You tried to get more out but he cut you off.

“Y/n let me make you mine forever, please.” 

“Oh- okay…” your were apprehensive at first but his hands felt like a warm, comforting hug every time he slid them up and down the sides of your torso. 

"Y/n.. I promise to make you feel good..."

"Zoro yes.. I trust you..."

He heard your affirmation and dove into your body like a man starved. He sloppily kissed and sucked at your nipples before he tore your panties off in one piece with his massively strong hand. You writhed underneath his touch as he slowly stroked his thumbs on the sides of your clit. 

“Zoro please.. it’s been so long…” You begged for him. Your pussy was so wet and aching that even oblivious Zoro could tell you needed help.

He heard you begging for him and instinctively latched his lips onto your clit. He saw it throbbing, he needed to relieve it. You gasped loudly as he brings you to the precipice of pleasure. “Oh my god? Zoro I can’t! It’s incredible, please!” You could hardly believe that this man of few words was bringing you such intense sexual pleasure.. He was sucking and touching your sex at just the right pace that had you gasping and gasping under his hands and mouth. 

“Zoro I promise I’m right there just a bit more PLEASE…” He heard your promise to him. His brain short circuited. All Zoro could think of was promising to make you cum. He craved the feeling of making you cum, he needed to know he was the man making you scream out in pleasure. 

“Please sweetheart, cum on my face for me?” He was a man of few words, but these were the ones that finally sent you over the edge. You screamed and folded your body into yourself as you came against his lips. After a few moments, you tried to catch your breath. 

“Zoro my love…” You choked out as you backed up and flopped against his chest. 

“My sweet love, please let me prove to you how much you mean to me.”

You looked up at him hovering above you. He had one eye. You wondered why. It wasn’t right to ask right now. What happened to your tender swordsman over the past 2 years? He hadn’t mentioned his injuries. You hadn’t mentioned the massive scar over your left knee. Tonight wasn’t the night. Tonight was the night he proved to you he was the only man for you. 

“okay…”

Zoro slipped off the rest of his clothes and resumed his position on top of you. He lined his cock up with your soaking entrance when he made eye contact. 

“tell me this is okay…”

You gazed up at him. His always serious eyes... eye... god, fuck who took it from him? Mihawk? The government? He stared right into your soul but you still had so much worry for him..

“Zoro… please… I need you inside of me now…” Zoro heard your plea and slowly pushed his fat cock head inside of your drenched pussy. You moaned out loud, finally feeling your swordsman inside of you. It was a few brief, strained moments before his cock was fully seated inside of you. He tried his hardest to not make a sound but as soon as he bottomed out he released a long, drawn out sigh. 

Zoro pulled his fat cock out of you at a painful pace, pushing it back in again. You eyes were slammed shut underneath him. “Baby please… I need more…” You whined, wanting more.

For the second time tonight he was told he was being too gentle. It was more than enough for him. Zoro grabbed your hips and spread them farther than he ever needed. His insecurity addled brain needed you to confirm his feelings before he could ever achieve release. 

“You are mine. Tell me you are mine.”

“Roronoa Zoro…” You stopped bucking your hips in need, You grabbed his face with your right hand, ignoring the sparce and short hunter-green facial hair that grew on his chin. “I want every part of you. I want to belong to you. You’re my everything, love.”

Zoro lost it. He grabbed your hips and slammed them into his with reckless abandon. 

“Zoro yes, more! It’s so good, just like that!” He was so fueled by your praise that he slammed into you like a jackhammer.  He made no moans, just heavy grunts and sighs, just like you imagined he would.

“Oh my god honey yes, please just exactly like that! A little bit more!” You were shrieking on his cock at this point, drool forming at the corners of your mouth, just chasing your high. Finally your orgasm ran through your body and you wracked your tremors on Zoro’s cock. 

“FUCK-“ you squeezed Zoro so hard with your gorgeous pussy that he pulled out too late and painted your clit and hole with his white slop. 

He collapsed on top of you, never experiencing such a powerful orgasm in his life, nuzzling his nose into the valley of your full breasts. 

“Tomorrow… love.. love you…”

And just light that, Zoro was asleep…

You laughed…

“Some things never change…” 

[sgiandubh]

Flaunting the narrative

I just came back from a nice dinner & drinks in town, with friends who visit from Athens. Lo and behold, my DMs are on fire again, but my (in)famous Inbox is, as expected, resoundingly quiet. [Later edit: not for long].

It would seem S's latest interview for yet another one of those glossy magazines one usually spots untouched in any random Main Street dentist's cabinet or real estate office did manage to raise a couple of eyebrows, after all. With very few data publicly available, Flaunt Magazine is the kind of media outlet with four times less Instagram followers than S, so this begs the question to whom the murder interview really profits:

There is very little out there about Flaunt Magazine, indeed. Other than it was founded in September 1998 by three amigos (Alex Barajas, Jim Turner and Long Nguyen), all of whom were also part of the editorial team of the (now defunct?) Detour Magazine, there is virtually nothing else. This does or should ring a bell about the real importance and relevance of this media stunt - not much to add here, either. Other than that, past issues of Flaunt seem to be traded between fans of celebrities who (more or less) regularly grace its pages, in what I do think are paid/in kind op-eds written by people with no clear professional print, in agreement and by prior arrangement with the talent's PR:

Compared to Flaunt, a real lifestyle press behemoth such as Harper's Bazaar (this blogger has subscribed to for many years, ahem) has a quite different audience level and marketing approach:

Six times more Instagram followers and a clearly more friendly pricing policy:

[Sorry, what I managed to find is the UK offer - blame it on their regional settings, I suppose: however, I think the US offer might not be that different].

In other words, I am beginning to suspect more and more Flaunt is that kind of vanity/hybrid press product, where costs and risks are more or less evenly split between the printer/publisher and the client. Therefore, you would be naive to expect anything else than some tightly controlled, neat-o narrative aligned content. Especially considering the targeted audience, which is (of course) the American fandom, albeit with a tinge of 'sophistication' and a totally artificial 'whimsical twist' (California, here I come).

Onwards to the candid bullshittery.

The article opens with a precise timeline reference:

[Source: https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cy0g2p47xd5o]

Therefore, the interview happened somewhere between 11 and 14 October 2024, just about the time S was overseas and C was spotted having dinner in London with the Rothschilds and no Tracula in sight. And there is another thing that immediately screamed at me from that pixelated page: George Mallory. Which brought me exactly here:

Yes, absolutely. The Golden Goose that never was. That still hurts, judging by the melancholy with which S talks about Everest, not climbing it after all, still planning to visit next December:

Perhaps with Jake Norton, a reputed Scottish American mountaineer (I think you were right on the money, darling - you know who you are, 😘😘❤️), S met and stroke a friendship with since 2023:

The December reference is not innocent at all. It is there to sparkle endless speculation about what S will be doing on Xmas and Hogmanay, too (and with whom, of course - and there you have all the factions dutifully served with an extra side of bullshite to dissect). Fan wars galore, fuming and flaming DMs and inboxes to boot. He/his PR know that and apparently they still need that Idiotenspiel at play for a while. Also, December's got 31 days, something that Stans worldwide seem to suddenly ignore.

Once the proper tone is set and given, the rest flows almost naturally: zero reference to C (1500% expected) and what is a clearly tailored, yet fizzling, bomb:

'I'm really on the precipice': now that is some extraordinary choice of words, isn't it? This and the 'I don't know' are probably the only authentic reactions in the very strange quote I underlined.

'Being on the precipice' is almost always negatively connotated. It logically has nothing to do with the idea of starting a new journey, but it has everything to do with the idea that he is now confronted with the lack of security and comfort and with the potential loss of notoriety the end of OL might bring. Something he very clumsily tries to disguise as 'I feel I'm no longer tied by Outlander', which must also be the counterfactual understatement of the year, really. There is legally and factually no way he wouldn't still be tied by Outlander, irrespective of how tedious that might feel. He still needs the Mommies' hardcore clientele pool, while he is commendably trying to diversify his sales and marketing strategy. These things do not happen in the blink of an eye and he knows it very well. However, he also really needs to portray himself as something else than a one trick pony, in order to remain bankable in Hollywood and elsewhere. Hence the 'I am not tied to OL anymore', I am able to do bigger and better things, and in the long run I would also like to make a springboard, not a dead end out of it.

Finally, there is no way he would be legally untied from OL. Contracts are still contracts. They include clauses and obligations that will be enforced most probably until after the show's last season will be aired. There is very little to zero leeway around it, for the time being. By the time those clauses and obligations will be rendered obsolete, very few of those Anons and Stans and Mommies and Onlies will still be around to even give a flying duck about the whole life situation.

And then, we have the 'maybe I'll start a family'. Despite what all of my Anons are shrieking right now in my inbox, this is not even the first time he hints at it, and I seriously do not understand why the sudden hysterical surge. Anons probably think I am amnesic, or something:

That is a direct quote from Waypoints. He announced nothing. It's been there, in plain sight, for a long time already and if anything, it is consistent with the narrative.

The rest is borderline irrelevant, visually and conceptually incoherent ('nude scenes are difficult and even dangerous to shoot, when dealt with in a non-professional way, but here is a shirtless bucolic pic that will make my Onlies drool and buy collector's issues at extortionate prices'). The overall impression it gave me was of a hastily cobbled and not very clever circumstance paper. Nothing more, nothing less.

There is no amount of wishful thinking that is going to immediately and magically change the current state of play. Reasonable people should expect mild, but constant turbulence ahead, with a sprinkle of cuteness and innuendo just to keep all the fandom's factions engaged and present, which translates to S/C/SC being relevant for potential employers, agents, the press, etc. In a nutshell, absolutely nothing new. You can screech, you won't change an iota of what I know is true and my position is firmer than ever, no matter how ridiculously hard you try to intimidate or harass me. That's all.