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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: With no friends and the looming threat of losing custody of his son, Eddie's the lowest he's ever been. But you know what they say: “Rock bottom just means there’s nowhere to go except up."

Warnings: angst, visits from CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's

WC: 6k

Chapter 5/20

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

The phone rings as Eddie wrestles Harris into his jacket. He still hasn’t figured out how to break the news about his classroom change; at this rate, he’ll be dropping him off at school before he works up the nerve. Is there any good way to tell your kid that he no longer gets to spend his days with his favorite teacher?

“Keep that on,” Eddie instructs Harris, pointing to the navy blue sweatshirt. “I’ll zip it for you in a sec.” He jogs over to the phone, answering with an irritated, “Hello?”

“Ed?” Wayne’s voice drifts from the receiver. “It’s Wayne.”

Eddie nods before remembering that Wayne can’t see him. “Y-Yeah, hey,” he says, tone softening at his uncle’s familiarity. There’s a dull ache in his chest when he thinks of how he willingly shut him out over the last month. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Can’t complain.” Wayne clears his throat. “I’d love to see you and Harris. Whenever you get the chance.” Eddie can hear his concern, the unasked questions that dissolve on his tongue: Are you okay? Is Harris? Do I need to file that custody agreement?

He glances over at his son, who, despite Eddie’s promise, is unsuccessfully trying to thread the zipper with its teeth. He motions him over, cradling the phone to his ear and stretching the cord while he kneels to fasten the jacket. “We were actually about to head to the park if you wanted to meet us there,” he says. “This kid’s got way too much energy to keep him cooped up in the apartment. We’ll both lose our minds.”

Wayne lets out a kind chuckle. “Sounds like a Munson.” Eddie can hear the tinny jangle of his keys. “The park over on Porter Drive?”

“Yup.”

“Dad, let’s go!” Harris whines, twisting the doorknob back and forth to emphasize his impatience.

“We’ll be there in ten,” Eddie tells Wayne, catching a glimpse of the neon orange cast peeking out from under Harris’s jacket. It’s now adorned with his classmates’ names. Your signature seems to beckon Eddie, taunt him, even, and he tries to convince himself that it’s because it’s the only one that doesn’t resemble chicken scratch. “Oh, Harris broke his wrist, but he’s fine. I’ll explain everything when I see you.”

“Hoo boy,” Wayne breathes. “Definitely a Munson.”

Harris spends the short drive to the park bouncing in his carseat. “Is Grampa Wayne gonna play with me?” he asks, rocking back and forth excitedly.

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, keeping his eyes trained on the road. He nervously thrums his fingers along his jean-clad thighs. What if Wayne still didn’t think he was a responsible parent? What if he took one look at Harris’s injury and raced home to call his lawyer? “But I gotta talk with him first, okay? You can play by yourself for a little while.”

Harris hums his agreement, eagerly unbuckling as soon as Eddie parks the car. He starts to run towards the field, and all Eddie can picture is him tripping and hurting himself again.

“Harris, don’t–” he starts, but he then remembers those magic words: “Walking feet, bud. Don’t want you breaking that other wrist.” He grabs the soccer ball from the trunk and kicks it in Harris’s direction.

Wayne pulls up in his truck a few moments later, almost as exuberant as his grandson. “Har-Bear!” he calls out, opening his arms wide for a hug. Harris picks up his pace, slowing down when he remembers his dad’s instructions.

“I’m using my walking feet!” he chirps proudly, and though they’re fast walking feet, Eddie beams at him.

Wayne squeezes Harris so tightly that Eddie worries he’ll inadvertently cut off his oxygen supply. When the boy starts squirming, Wayne laughs and puts him down.

“Go ahead and play,” Eddie tells his son. “Grampa Wayne and I are gonna catch up real quick.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as the two men sit on the bench, waiting for the other to say something first. Finally, Wayne breaks through the tension.

“Missed you two,” he murmurs, not looking at Eddie. “‘S too quiet around my place without that little rugrat.”

“We missed you, too,” Eddie admits, chewing on his thumbnail. “Harris won’t stop asking for Grampa Wayne.”

Wayne preens slightly at this, shifting in his seat. “This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since…”

“I know,” Eddie cuts him off, not wanting to revisit the part of his past that Wayne’s referencing. “I, uh, started working at Rock Records,” he tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It sucks, but it’s a job.”

He feels Wayne clap him on the shoulder, pulling him closer to him for a brief side hug. “I’m proud of you, Ed.” He purses his lips before asking, “and no more of the…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I’m done with that. Returned the rest of what I had to Rick; told him I was out.” His gaze drops back to the ground, and he stares intently at the blades of grass as though they might disappear if he blinks. “But that might not matter anymore anyway, so…”

“The hell you talking about?” Wayne pinches his eyebrows together, adjusting his position to face his nephew.

Sighing, Eddie tells him about what happened at the hospital last week. Wayne’s eyes widen when he hears that they filed a report with CPS. “That’s some bullshit,” he mumbles, scratching at his gray beard. “Kids get hurt all the time. Can’t keep ‘em in a bubble.” He shakes his head incredulously. “They’re not gonna take him from you, okay? They’re gonna see how you provide for him, how great you are with him, and they’re gonna be sorry they wasted their time.”

“I’m not great with him,” Eddie mutters, standing up in a feeble attempt to exert some of his nervous energy. “I’m ruining his life.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “He had this teacher, and he adored her. Calls her ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’ And I was just…just a total asshole to her. I accused her of telling people about the CPS thing and said some really fucked up shit about her sick grandma and…fuck, Wayne. She had Harris transferred to another class just so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And now I have to say, ‘Hey, you know that teacher you fuckin’ loved? Well, she’s not your teacher any more, and it’s all my fault.’”

Wayne absorbs the information, contemplating what he says next. “So fix it,” he shrugs.

“It’s not that simple,” Eddie argues, plopping back down onto the bench in defeat. The wood digs into his lower back uncomfortably, so he stands up again.

“It’s not?” Wayne questions, digging a pack of Newports out of his jacket pocket and offering one to him. “Because it sounds to me like you owe this ‘Ms. Sweetheart’ an apology.”

Eddie takes a cigarette, toying with it before tucking it between his lips. It takes a few flicks of his old Bic lighter to get a spark, and he lets the nicotine calm his nerves before speaking again. “I don’t think she’ll forgive me.”

“Never said she would,” Wayne counters, plucking the Bic from Eddie’s hands and bringing the flame to light his own cigarette. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t apologize.”

Inhaling sharply, Eddie watches his son kick the ball around before letting out a slow, controlled exhale. “My boss asked if I could teach guitar lessons once or twice a week,” he says, using his empty hand to toy with the frayed holes in his jeans. “If…if you wanna, could you watch Harris? I can pay you.”

“Don’t insult me, boy,” Wayne scoffs, but a playful smile dances on his lips. “You’re not gonna pay me to watch my own grandson. Just let me know the day and time, and I’ll have a pot of mac and cheese ready to go.”

The pent-up tension dissipates from his body at Wayne’s easy agreement. An unspoken I love you floats between them, and he could cry from the sudden surge of relief.

“Daddy! Grampa!” Harris calls out from across the park. “Let’s play!”

Wayne stands up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders back to loosen them up. “You heard the man,” he jokes. “Up and at ‘em.”

It’s your first day off of work since the start of the school year, yet all you can think about are your students. Well, one particular student and his god-awful father. Eddie’s comment replays in your mind, cutting through you like the chilly mid-October air. The sting still hasn’t faded, despite it being three days since he’d said it.

You say goodbye to your grandma and Elise, her home health aid, grabbing your car keys and closing the door behind you. This morning was already overwhelming; Grandma had woken up at 5 AM, ready to start her day. The sound of her TV blasting at the highest possible volume jolted you from your sleep, and you’d spent the following twenty minutes trying to persuade her to go back to bed. Unsuccessfully, you might add.

You wince when you see your reflection in the rearview mirror. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, with pouches developing beneath them that only emphasize your exhaustion. You practice smiling a few times before starting the car, peeling out of the parking lot to meet Jess, Viv, and Jeff for lunch.

The pleasant aroma of burgers cooking on a grill wafts past your nose as you push open the doors to the restaurant. It isn’t too crowded when you arrive; you assume that the usual lunchtime rush is quelled by the Columbus Day holiday. Your new friends are already waiting at the table, waving you over excitedly.

“Hey,” you call out, forcing pleasantries into your otherwise flat tone. You slide into the seat next to Jess and across from Jeff. “How’s everyone been?”

“Better, now that I’m out of the first trimester,” Viv says with a small laugh. “Now that I have my appetite back, I’m definitely getting the grilled cheese.” She glances at the menu again, adding, “and a side of fries.”

Jess nods. “I think I’ll do the same.” She turns to you and her cheerful expression shifts to one of concern. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, just tired.” Your lackluster reply is unconvincing, but she doesn’t challenge it in front of Jeff and her sister. “Chasing after kids all day is wearing me out.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Viv exclaims, taking a sip of her water. “You’re a preschool teacher. The one with Eddie’s kid in your class!”

“Mhm,” you manage; the mere mention of Eddie’s name turns your throat into sandpaper. “Well, not any more, I guess.” Your throwaway comment is met with inquisitive stares, so you give the group a rundown of last week’s events, watching their eyes grow wide.

“He’s such a fucking douche,” Jess grumbles, resting her hand over yours. It feels like forever since you’ve experienced the simplicity of a kind gesture, and you have to swallow the emotion that comes with it.

“Seriously,” Viv agrees, looking over at Jeff. “Why were you even friends with him?”

Jeff lets out a terse chuckle and shakes his head. “Believe it or not, he actually used to be a good guy. The best, in my opinion.” Disappointment flashes across his face as he continues. “Something changed when he went to Chicago. He was always on-guard, had his walls up, but it used to be more of an ‘if you mess with me, I’ll mess with you’ attitude. But when he came back home, he was…different.”

“Different how?” Curiosity gets the best of you, and the question slips off of your tongue before you can stop it.

“It was like he was determined to hurt people before they could hurt him. No matter what I did, he never fully believed that I was on his side. I was constantly trying to prove that I wasn’t out to fuck him over.”

Viv drapes an arm over her fiancé’s shoulder. “How long did he live in Chicago, again?”

“Long enough to knock someone up,” Jeff muses, mind wandering for a moment before he brings himself back to the conversation. “About four years, I think? He left to chase his dreams of being a rockstar. Then one day, he shows back up in Hawkins with an infant, trying to act like nothing had changed.” He snorts at the very idea of it. “But it obviously did–I mean, besides the fact that he had a whole child, the rest of us had grown up, too. College, work, all that stuff.

“When he suggested getting Corroded Coffin back together, we figured, why not? It seemed like a decent way to chill out, blow off some steam at the end of the day.”

“Let me guess,” you chime in, cocking your head knowingly. “Eddie had other ideas.”

Jeff nods. “He still wanted to do the rockstar thing. And he’d always get angry at us because we didn’t. Not professionally, anyway. Kept mocking us for having 9-to-5 jobs, like it was the worst thing in the world.” He pauses, screwing up his face in contemplation. “Which, come to think of it, was weird. Because back in high school, he told me that it really messed with him, not having that stability growing up. Y’know, before Wayne took him in.”

There’s so much more you want to know, but the waiter striding over to the table to take orders brings the conversation to a natural conclusion. What you’ve gathered so far is that Eddie Munson is a many-layered man, each one more puzzling than the last. Despite your festering hurt and anger, you can’t help but hope that he untethers himself from his complicated past. If not for his sake, then for Harris’s.

“Daddy, what’s a new cents?”

Eddie’s taking the left turn onto the main road when he hears his son speaking from the back seat. “What’s new since when?” he asks, craning his head to check for oncoming traffic.

“Noooo,” Harris whines, letting out an exasperated sigh. Eddie has no clue where his new attitude came from, and he can’t say that he’s a fan. “A new cents.”

“That’s not a thing, buddy,” Eddie answers, starting to twist the radio knob.

“Yes, it is!” Harris insists, clearly growing frustrated. “Ms. Marion told Ms. Paula that I’m a ‘new cents.’”

It suddenly clicks for Eddie, and he grips the steering wheel tighter and hopes Harris doesn’t notice the edge in his voice. “You mean a nuisance?”

“That’s what I said!” Harris groans. “What does it mean?”

Eddie pushes past the question to ask one of his own. “What exactly did Ms. Marion say?” Maybe there was a misunderstanding, he reasons with himself.

But Harris’s answer only confirms his initial suspicion. “She looked at Ms. Paula and said, ‘this one’s a ‘new cents.’ An’ then she pointed to me.”

“Why the hell would she say that?” Eddie’s speaking to himself, but his son replies, still too young to grasp the concept of rhetorical questions.

“‘Cause of my shoes being untied. An’ she doesn’t like when I ask her to tie them.”

Eddie cringes. He’d meant to teach Harris how to tie his sneakers, but the lessons had to be put on hold when the kid had broken his wrist. Pausing before posing his next question, Eddie carefully selects his words. “Did…Did Ms. Sweetheart ever do that? Get mad about your shoes or call you a nuisance?”

“Nope,” Harris shakes his head. “An’ Mr. Will didn’t either.” And considering that his laces had always been tied in neat bows when Eddie arrived to pick him up, he can only assume that the two of you did this without a second thought. Jesus, why even bother to be a preschool teacher if you’re gonna bitch about tying shoes?

“So, what is it?” Harris snaps him from his thoughts.

“Huh?” Eddie’s right foot presses on the brake as he approaches a stop sign. “Oh. Um, I don’t know. Sorry, Har.” It’s the second time in as many days that he’s lied to him in order to spare his feelings. Yesterday, he’d waited until they were already in the school to tell Harris that he was picked for a super special project where he’d act as a secret agent in another class. He didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed that he’d spent all night thinking of that excuse.

“‘S’okay,” Harris shrugs, raising and dropping his legs so they bounce off the bottom of his carseat. His ankles are exposed, and Eddie realizes that he must’ve grown. Again. Which means that he needs to scrape together some money and buy him new clothes. Again. “How much more days until I get to go back to Ms. Sweetheart’s class?”

“Not sure.” Lie number three. He flicks on the radio, the sounds of Ozzy effectively distracting Harris for the remainder of the car ride.

If only it was that easy to fool himself.

A harsh knock on your classroom door and the formality of your first and last name draws your attention from the mountain of paperwork on your desk. Will left thirty minutes ago with the rest of the TAs, so you’ve been sitting alone, humming a song you’d listened to on the car ride to work.

“Yes, that’s me,” you tell the tall man standing in the doorway. His intimidating stature and sullen disposition juxtapose the orange and yellow hues of autumn-themed artwork lining the walls. “Can I help you?”

He flashes a name tag as he steps into the classroom. “My name is Andrew Smith. I’m here on behalf of Child Protective Services to speak to you regarding one of your students…” he checks his notes, “Harris Munson.”

“Oh, um,” you stumble over your words, “he’s–he’s not my student any more. Not since Tuesday of this week.”

“Right,” the social worker nods slowly, patience already running thin, “but I briefly spoke with his new teacher, and she said that she didn’t have enough information to answer the questions, and directed me to your classroom.” When you don’t respond, he gives the legal rundown about the process and your obligations as a mandated reporter. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s proceed with this, shall we?” He clicks his pen, eyes boring a hole into you as he speaks. “How well would you say you know Harris’s father, Edward Munson?”

More intimately than you know, you bitterly think. “Fairly well. He dropped Harris off and picked him up every day.”

Mr. Smith scribbles that down. “Was Edward Munson punctual? Did he drop off and pick up Harris on time?”

“Yes,” you confirm, and your mind flickers back to the very first day of school. “There was only one time he was late for pick-up, but it’s common for that to happen once in a while with any parent.”

“Right, okay. And how would you describe Harris’s disposition around his father?”

“He adores him. He’s a generally happy kid, but he lights up around his dad. Or even when he’s just talking about him.” One lunchtime conversation in particular centered around how his dad could play anything on the guitar, even “Old MacDonald.” Harris had been bursting with excitement to report that Eddie made the funniest animal sounds, and you’d be lying if you’d said your interest wasn’t piqued. “I’ve never seen Harris act nervous or scared around him.”

Pen flies across the paper, and you swear he’s writing more than you’d even said. “Besides the broken wrist, did you ever notice any injuries or abnormal bruising anywhere on Harris’s body?”

You shake your head before realizing he’s waiting for a verbal response. “Nope, never. Just the usual bruises that come with being a kid.”

Mr. Smith cocks his eyebrow, pressing his lips together. “And where were those bruises located?”

Shit. Did you say too much? Why can’t you just shut up when you’re nervous? “Knees and calves?” You point to the spots on your own body, as though the social worker needs visual aides, while silently berating your own stupidity.

“And based on your interactions with him, how would you describe Edward Munson as a father?” It’s a loaded question, and its magnitude is a weight on your chest.

“Caring, attentive, very loving,” you answer honestly. “Responsible. Harris always showed up with lunch and a snack, bathed, clean clothes, whatever supplies he needed. I never worried that Harris was unsafe or in an unhealthy environment.” You force yourself to meet Mr. Smith’s gaze when you say the next part. “We, um, actually were at the hospital at the same time. My grandma got hurt, and we bumped into them when being discharged.”

This grabs his attention. “And did Mr. Munson appear to be impaired or otherwise behaving out of sorts?” The way he looks at you could easily be mistaken for a glare. “Under the influence of any substances, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” You keep your tone firm and even.

He shoves the paperwork at you, pointing to where your signature is required. “Thank you for your time,” he says flatly, leaving the room before you have time to reply. It seems nearly impossible to go back to the task you were working on before the interruption, but you try to push away the intrusive thoughts about everything that could possibly go wrong.

An hour later, the heavy-handed knock raps on the door to the Munson’s apartment. Eddie knows the drill; unfortunately, this isn’t his first run-in with Child Protective Services. He’s double, triple, quadruple-checked that every electrical outlet is covered, the matches and lighters are far from Harris’s reach, and there’s no remaining product from his recently-abandoned dealing days. The visit is technically unannounced, but since he’s not getting many visitors these days, there are limited options of who could be at his door.

“Edward Munson?” The social worker asks, giving him the same opening spiel he gave you. “I’ll just need to take a look around your home and make sure it’s a suitable living environment for your son.”

“Of course.” Eddie hopes he sounds more confident than he feels, but he can sense the waver in his voice. “Yeah, come on in.” He opens the door a bit wider and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, drawing unwanted attention from the social worker.

“Something the matter, Mr. Munson?”

“N-No,” Eddie insists, shaking his head. If he confesses to being nervous, this Smith guy could mistake it as an admission of guilt, and that’s the last thing he wants. “Just, um, long day?”

Smith recognizes the response with nothing more than a disbelieving glance as he makes his way through the apartment. Eddie watches silently, pushing down his anxiety with a thick swallow. His mind races when the social worker rummages through the refrigerator. Are there fruits and vegetables in there? Did I throw out that container of leftover spaghetti that overstayed its welcome? His stomach sinks when Smith marks something down in his notes but doesn’t have time to ruminate over it before Harris pokes his head out from the bedroom.

“Daddy? You gonna come back an’ play Hot Wheels with me?” His big brown eyes instantly melt Eddie’s heart, and all he wants to do is scream at the man, See? See how much my kid loves me? See how happy he is? Now, why don’t you go deal with the parents who actually deserve to lose custody and leave me to play with him.

Before Eddie can stop him, Harris traipses out and sees Smith rifling through the pantry. “Who’re you?” he asks.

“Har-Bear, this is Mr. Smith. He’s, uh, one of my friends.” Eddie scrunches his face and shakes his head defeatedly at the blatant lie, but Harris doesn’t notice.

Mr. Smith gives a short wave, neither kind nor impolite. Just one slight movement to acknowledge the boy’s presence. He’s determined to get back to his job, but Harris has other plans.

“I like your glasses.” He points to the wire-rimmed frames on the man’s face. “My Grampa Wayne is s’posed to wear glasses, but he doesn’t. Daddy says it’s ‘cause he’s a mule.”

“Stubborn as a mule, Har,” Eddie gently corrects him, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “I’ll be in in a minute, okay?”

But Harris ignores his request, forging towards his dad’s friend. He lifts his arm and flashes an innocent smile. “Look at my cast! It’s from when I jumped on my bed and breaked my arm.”

“Harris!” Eddie hisses, trying to keep his cool. “Can you go play? In the room?” Pleading with him is like negotiating with a terrorist, and he knows his efforts are futile.

“Actually, I do need to take a look at Harris’s bedroom,” the social worker muses, tapping his pen against his lower lip. Eddie has to stifle a scoff at the charade that this just occurred to Smith. Like he didn’t have this mapped out, another bullet point on the list of uninformed judgments he needed to make.

“We, um, we share a room,” Eddie mumbles, as though there would be another possible reason as to why there’s a twin bed nestled into the same space as Harris’s race car bed. “I used to sleep on the couch, it’s just easier to be close to him when he has nightmares an’ stuff.” His heart races when Smith jots this down. “N-Not that he has nightmares a lot. I don’t let him watch scary movies or anything. Just normal kid stuff.”

The man nods, visibly irritated by his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut to inhibit the flow of unnecessary explanations that freely pass through his lips without a second thought.

Harris motions Smith over, using his uninjured hand to grab the stranger’s and leading him into the room. “That’s my bed,” he announces. It sounds like he’s giving a tour, and Eddie almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. “And that’s where I falled,” Harris points to the unassuming patch of carpet alongside it.

“Ouch,” Smith mutters, and Eddie swears he can see a semblance of a smile. Leave it to Harris to thaw the most hardened of hearts. “I bet that hurt.”

“Yeah, but there was no blood,” Harris says nonchalantly. “An’ I didn’t need a shot. Just this cast. All my friends signed it. Even Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Ms. Sweetheart?” Smith repeats.

“She’s my teacher. Well, she was my teacher. Now I’m a super secret spy in Ms. Marion’s class, but don’t tell anyone!”

Eddie scoops up a couple of toy cars off of the floor and hands them to Harris, determined to end the conversation before anything else can be revealed. Can you get your kid taken away for being an asshole to his teacher? He doesn’t want to find out. “Here ya go, bud. Why don’t you get the racetrack set up, and I’ll play with you as soon as Mr. Smith leaves.”

“Actually,” Smith says, “I’m about finished. Mr. Munson,” he says, his natural stoicness settling back in as he turns back to Eddie, “after completing this investigation and conducting our interviews, I’ve determined that Harris may remain in your custody. I’ll just need you to sign a few forms and I’ll be on my way.”

Eddie’s relief is palpable. He sweeps Harris into a hug, clutching him to his chest and wordlessly swears to never put him back down. “Th-thank you,” he mumbles, acutely aware of the tears leaking from his eyes. “Wait–what interviews? No one interviewed me.”

Smith nods. “Yes, we spoke with Harris’s teacher. She only had great things to say about how well you take care of him.”

She did? He barely knows the woman; Harris has only been in her class for two full days, and she never indicated any partiality towards him. He makes a mental note to thank her tomorrow at drop-off. For now, all he wants to do is treasure every moment with his boy.

Eddie doesn’t want to let Harris out of his sight, but he begrudgingly takes him to school, not wanting to add a truancy charge to his growing list of misgivings.

Ms. Marion greets both Munsons with a muted stare, harsh enough to drain Harris of the excited energy that typically buzzes through his little body. “Are we going to listen today?” she quips.

“Yes,” Harris says.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harris’s affect is robotic and monotone, and the uncharacteristic spiritlessness nearly distracts Eddie from thanking the older woman for her interview.

“The guy–um, the social worker–he told me that you said some nice things about me. About how I am with Harris,” he stammers. “So, uh, thank you.”

Ms. Marion crosses her arms over her faded pink sweater, pursing her overlined lips. Her forehead is marred with frown lines. “That wasn’t me, Mr. Munson. I directed him to speak to Harris’s previous teacher, since she spent more time with him.”

Ms. Sweetheart.

After everything he’d said and done, you’d still vouched for him. Spoken so highly of his parenting abilities that CPS allowed him to keep custody of his son. You could’ve easily ruined his life, but you didn’t.

What Eddie doesn’t understand is why.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to; at least, not immediately. Right now, he just needs to fix this. And he knows exactly where to start.

Friday marks one week since your blowout fight with Eddie. One week since he’d caught you pathetically crying in your car because of the venom he’d spewed. One week since you’d informed him that you’d had Harris transferred to another class.

Which is why you’re confused when the boy bounds up to your classroom door, shouting, “Ms. Sweetheart! Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Hey, Harris,” you greet him, unable to mask your confusion. “What are you doing here? You’re in Ms. Marion’s class now, remember?”

Harris nods, his curls bouncing with each movement. He drops his backpack to the floor with a thud and unfastens the zipper, tongue poking from between his lips as he digs through it to brandish a cassette. “This is for you.”

You take it from him, eyes widening as you take in Toni Braxton’s face staring back at you. “Harris…where did you get this?”

“My daddy put it there and said to give it to you. So I did,” he answers with a shrug. He looks up at you, innocuous and angelic as he adds, “I miss you. I wish you could be my teacher again.”

“Me, too,” you reply before thinking. Clearing your throat, you kneel down to meet him at his height. “Thank you for my gift. It was very sweet. Go ahead and head to class now, okay? I don’t want you to be late.”

“Mmkay!” he chirps, slinging his still-opened bag over his shoulder. “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart.”

Why would Eddie buy you a tape? Why this tape, the one you’d come in for when he’d said such malicious things to you? You can’t make sense of it, regardless of how many times you try to piece together the puzzle.

At dismissal, you find yourself waiting by the door, hoping to catch Eddie before he can dash out of the school. There’s no logic to his actions: he despised you enough to weaponize your grandma’s cognitive decline, and then he gives you a gift with no further explanation.

You distractedly hand parents the sign-out sheet, barely registering when Joshua Harrington’s dad asks you about any upcoming plans for a class Halloween party.

“Is there gonna be a list of things you need? Candy or cupcakes or something?”

“Oh, uh, I’m gonna send home information about that next week,” you stumble over your words as you try not to make it obvious that your mind is elsewhere.

“Great,” he says, stretching out the word as he tracks your gaze to the spot behind him. “Everything okay?”

“Yup.” You slap a smile on your face just as you spot the mane of frizzy curls you’d been searching for. “Um, excuse me for a second.” You call out to Will, letting him know you’ll be right back, before sprinting down the hallway.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris’s eager face twists into a frown. “You gotta use your walking feet in school. Or you could get hurt.”

Eddie moves to correct him, but you just smile sweetly. “You’re right, Harris. Thanks for reminding me.”

You allow your gaze to travel upwards, eyes locking onto Eddie’s. You can’t quite read his expression; his brows are furrowed in confusion but the flush in his face indicates that he knows why you’re here.

“Harris gave me the tape. The Toni Braxton one.” Like he’d gifted you myriad cassettes that required this distinction. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t mention it.” The right corner of his lips turns up into a half-smile. “Besides, I should probably be the one thanking you.”

“Me?” What is he talking about? As far as you know, you’re the bane of his existence.

“Yeah. For, uh, what you said to that social worker guy. Even after I treated you like a piece of…” he presses his palms to Harris’s ears and lowers his voice, “shit.”

That makes sense; he was relieved that you’d sang his praises when it had mattered most. This was an expression of gratitude; nothing more and nothing less.

“You’re a good parent, even if you’re mean to me,” you say nonchalantly. “I wasn’t going to make up lies and ruin your lives out of spite.”

The statement hangs in the air, gathering an awkward silence that has you and Eddie both grappling for ways to end the conversation.

He’s the one to interject. “Well, anyway, I hope you like the tape.”

“Mhm.” It’s all you allow yourself to utter in front of Harris. A thousand questions swarm your head, threatening to spill off your tongue, the first of which is simply: why? “I’ve gotta get back. But, um, enjoy your weekend.” You pivot on your heel before Eddie can wish you the same. With the necessary chaos of your life, you can’t invest any more time trying to unravel him.

“Daddy, when is Ms. Sweetheart gonna be my teacher again?”

Eddie knew it was inevitable that Harris would ask about going back to your class, but he thought he’d bought himself more time with the spy game he’d concocted. He can’t delay the truth any longer.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t think you can switch back.” There’s a pang in his heart when his son drops his hand, digging his heels into the parking lot asphalt.

“Is it because you were mean to her?”

His question catches Eddie off-guard. “Wh-What?”

“In there,” Harris points towards the school, “she said you’re mean to her.” He squints when he looks up at his father, the midday sun shining in his eyes. “Why were you mean?”

Eddie exhales, puffing out his cheeks and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes grownups accidentally hurt each others’ feelings.” Or purposely, in his case, but he omits the complexities from his explanation. He reaches out to once again take Harris’s hand, but the boy pulls back.

“Ms. Sweetheart says that when we hurt someone’s feelings, we gotta say sorry. Even if it’s on accident.”

“I did,” Eddie counters, raising his brows. “I gave her the tape.”

But Harris remains unconvinced. “That’s not saying sorry. You gotta actually say it. Or else it doesn’t count.”

“It doesn’t count, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue and puts his hands on his hips. “All right, I’ll say it the next time I see her.”

“And then you can be friends?” The question is posed innocently, but it rattles Eddie. Friends? Did he even know how to be a decent friend any more? He’d fucked it all up with Gareth, Jeff, and Danny, and he’s known them for forever. “Daddy?” “Uh, maybe,” Eddie replies meekly; this time, Harris grabs his hand when he offers it. “We’ll just have to see.”

taglist 1/2:

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

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loveburrowx · 3 months

Text

Portugal

Request - Joe goes to Portugal for a vacation and he meets Y/N.

Warnings - Smut (intercourse)

A/N - just wanted to make a fanfic with my country! Enjoy!

Joe, quarterback for the Bengals in the NFL, had been feeling the itch to get away from it all. The constant pressure of performing on the field, the endless stream of fans and media, the never-ending demands on his time. He needed a break, a chance to recharge his batteries and just be himself. So, he decided to do something drastic: he booked a one-way ticket to Portugal.

With his trusty travel guide in hand, Joe set off to explore the cobblestone streets of Lisbon, marveling at the city's stunning architecture and vibrant culture. One afternoon, while wandering aimlessly, he stumbled upon a soccer game being played at the Estádio José Alvalade. The game featured Sporting CP, one of the most successful teams in Portugal, and the energy in the air was palpable.

As he watched the players on the field, a familiar face caught his eye. There, leading the team as captain, was Y/N, a woman with long, flowing hair and legs that seemed to go on forever. The way she moved with grace and power, the way she shouted instructions to her teammates, it was clear that she was the heart and soul of the team. And to Joe, she was absolutely irresistible.

After the game, Joe mustered up the courage to approach Y/N as she was leaving the field. He introduced himself in his broken Portuguese, complimenting her on her skills and her leadership. To his surprise, she smiled warmly and seemed genuinely flattered. They exchanged numbers, and before he knew it, they were texting each other constantly, meeting up for dinner and attending local events together.

The more time they spent together, the more Joe became infatuated with her. Not just her beauty or her skill on the field, but also her charisma and her passion for life. He found himself unable to resist her sexy Portuguese accent when she would correct her teammates or shout encouragement to her friends. And when she gave him her jersey as a gift, he felt a thrill run through him that he hadn't experienced in years.

One evening, as they were enjoying dinner at his newly purchased home in Lisbon, Joe couldn't help but ask Y/N if she'd ever like to cook for him. She hesitated for a moment, but then smiled shyly and agreed. The next day, she arrived at his house carrying a basket of fresh ingredients and a mischievous glint in her eye. As she prepared a traditional Portuguese dish for him, Joe couldn't help but wonder what else she might have in store.

When she finally presented him with the meal, Y/N stepped back and revealed that she was wearing a stunning, all-white dress that showed off her perfect figure, including her toned legs and her perky breasts. The look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She wanted him. And tonight, she was going to make him feel wanted too.

As they sat down at the table, Joe couldn't help but wonder if this was all some kind of dream. Y/N was everything he had ever wanted in a woman, and the way she moved around the kitchen, serving him her delicious dinner, was enough to drive any man wild. They ate in silence at first, lost in their own thoughts, but eventually, they couldn't help but begin to talk. They talked about their lives, their families, their passions. And as they did, Joe felt a deep connection forming between them.

When dinner was finished, Y/N cleared the table and asked if he'd like some dessert. He nodded eagerly, his heart already racing with anticipation. She returned a moment later with a small platter bearing a decadent chocolate torte and two forks. As they sat down on the couch, she placed the platter between them and leaned in close, her breath tickling his ear. "This is my favorite dessert," she whispered. "I hope you like it."

Joe could feel the heat from her body as she sat so close to him, and the sweet aroma of the chocolate made his mouth water. He watched as she picked up her fork, the silverware clinking softly against each other, and took a small bite. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she chewed, and he found himself unable to look away.

When she finally offered him a bite, he took it greedily, their fingers brushing against each other as he brought the fork to his mouth. The chocolate melted on his tongue, releasing a rush of rich flavors that left him speechless. They ate in silence for a moment, savoring the sweetness and the intimacy of the moment.

"It's delicious," he finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "You really are an amazing cook." She smiled at him again, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "Thank you for enjoying it," she replied softly, her accent sending shivers down his spine.

The air between them felt charged with desire, and Joe knew that he couldn't resist her any longer. He reached out and took her hand in his, their fingers entwining as he leaned in to kiss her. She responded eagerly, her lips parting beneath his, and he felt the familiar heat of her breath as she moaned softly against his mouth. Their tongues danced together, a slow and sensual waltz that left him breathless.

As their kiss deepened, Y/N shifted in his lap, her body pressing against his. He could feel the softness of her breast against his chest, the warmth of her skin radiating through the thin fabric of her dress. His hands moved up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing across her cheekbones as he explored the contours of her jawline. She arched her back slightly, grinding her hips against him, and he knew that she wanted more.

He broke the kiss, needing air for a moment as he gazed into her eyes. They were bright with desire, and he could see the passion burning deep within her. "Tell me what you want," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "Tell me what you need." She smiled at him, her lips curving into a wicked little smile. "I need you," she breathed, her fingers trailing down his chest, "to make love to me."

The words sent a shiver through him, and he leaned in to kiss her again, more roughly this time. His hands moved down her body, unbuttoning her dress and revealing her perfect skin beneath. She moaned as he explored her curves, and he felt her hands fumbling with his belt, unbuckling it and lowering his pants. He stood up, kicking off his shoes, and she climbed up onto her knees, straddling him.

The feel of her warm, wet folds against his erection sent a wave of desire coursing through him. He grasped her hips, pulling her down so that he could feel the full weight of her body on him. She arched her back, her breasts spilling free from her dress, and he reached up to cup one in his hand, rolling the hardened peak between his thumb and forefinger. She cried out, her head thrown back in ecstasy, and he could feel her body trembling beneath him.

He thrust upward, feeling the hot, tight grip of her body as she enveloped him, and the sensation was almost too much to bear. He could feel himself on the edge, ready to release, but he wanted this to last. He slowed his movements, taking his time, savoring the feel of her body moving against his. She looked down at him, her eyes half-closed, and smiled, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Oh, Joe," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of their passionate lovemaking. "You feel so good."

He smiled back at her, feeling a sense of connection that went beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. He wanted this night to last forever, but as the tension built within him, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he lost control. With one final thrust, he felt the release wash over him, his body tensing as he emptied himself into her. She cried out his name, her body tensing around him in a wave of ecstasy, and as they came together in their shared climax, he knew that he had found something truly special.

They lay there for a moment, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. She leaned forward, her head resting on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this content, this at peace.

As their hearts slowed and their bodies cooled, they heard the faint sound of laughter from the living room. The party was still going strong, but for a moment, it seemed as if the world outside didn't exist. It was just the two of them, lost in each other's embrace. She turned her head to look up at him, her eyes filled with love and affection. "Thank you for the most wonderful evening," she whispered.

He smiled down at her, a lopsided grin that spoke of the happiness he felt. "You're welcome," he replied. "But really, I should be thanking you." She laughed softly, her breath tickling his skin. "Why is that?" she asked, her voice teasing. "Because you made me the happiest man alive tonight." His words were simple, but they carried the weight of truth. She leaned in, pressing her lips against his once more, a gentle kiss that sealed their connection for the night.

As the minutes ticked by, they lay there in silence, basking in the afterglow of their passion. Joe couldn't help but wonder where this night would lead them, but for now, he was content to enjoy the moment and the incredible woman who had shared it with him.

He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look at her. Her skin glowed in the soft light from the fireplace, and her hair spilled across the pillow like a waterfall of black silk. He traced his fingers along the curve of her jaw, feeling the gentle stubble against his skin. "You're beautiful," he whispered, and she blushed, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red.

She reached up, entwining her fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze. "Thank you," she said softly. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. It's... it's a little overwhelming." He smiled, feeling the warmth of her palm against his. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "I'm not going anywhere. I want to explore this with you, get to know you better."

Her eyes met his, and in them he saw a mix of hope and uncertainty. "You're serious?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't just want this one night?" He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life," he whispered against her mouth. "I want to see where this goes. I want to see where you go."

She smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that lit up her entire face. "Then I think," she said, taking his hand and leading it lower, "we should go to bed." Together they climbed beneath the covers, their bodies tangled and entwined. As they lay there, she traced the lines of his face with her fingertips, as if committing every detail to memory. "I feel like I've known you for a lifetime," she murmured. "And yet, I also feel like there's so much more to learn."

He pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck. "I feel the same way," he confessed. "But I promise you, tonight was just the beginning. I'm not going anywhere." She sighed contentedly, her body relaxing against his. "Good," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Because I have a feeling this is going to be one hell of a ride." And as they drifted off to sleep, he knew she was right. This was just the beginning, and he couldn't wait to see where the journey would take them.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #nfl #nfl football #nfl imagine #joe burrow x reader #explore #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow smut #football #like #smut #foryou

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pepsiboyy · 17 days

Text

HEARTSTRINGS. - p1

masterlist ⚜ p2

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!reader summary: after moving to massachusetts from florida, y/n lives with her half brother, nathan doe, who is part of a small garage band. their sassy guitarist, chris sturniolo, can't help but get on her nerves. but there's something about him. warnings: use of y/n lol, mentions of drugs, cursing a/n: rewrote the FUCK out of this, i hope this one is SO MUCH BETTER. love u guys. <3

"chris?"

"phone charger girl!"

"the fuck is he doing here?" my voice boomed in the garage, causing nathan to flinch slightly.

"woah, you two know each other?"

"sort of." chris responded with that stupid smug smirk on his face.

"not at all, actually." i responded quickly, immediately shutting down chris' disgusting expression.

my heartbeat was racing. i couldn't feel anything but anger in every fiber of my being. i couldn't help but remember to myself earlier today.

i had been living in massachusetts for about three days now. very interesting place, very different from florida.

after my mom's drug addiction became a major issue, cps was informed and i was sent to my dad's in boston, where i was completely unfamiliar with everyone and everything.

my dad's side, they weren't complete strangers if checking his status on facebook counted as being close.

shortly after i was born, my mom took me and left my dad in boston while we fled to live in florida. and as i get older, i can't help but feel more hatred towards the woman. my dad was a great guy, never deserved the way she treated him. he definitely did not deserve his first child being ripped away from his grasp a few months into my life.

when my mom and i moved to florida, my dad met another woman and had a child with her, whose name is nathan.

he seems like a really cool guy, an awesome brother to have, so i was looking forward to this move a lot, more than i probably should have.

the feeling of fresh air was appealing to me and the feeling of finally being there to reassure my dad that i want to be with him was even more exciting to me.

nate and i clicked pretty quickly, talking about our music taste on the way home from the airport. we talked a lot about video games, and he told me he was involved in a small garage band and plays the drums.

"that's so fucking cool!" i exclaimed with a bright smile, and nathan nodded.

"yeah! we mostly do covers now, but i plan on releasing some new and original music soon."

i nodded as i stayed focused on nate as he spoke, playing with my hands in my lap nervously.

the fact that this kid was my brother was so mind blowing to me. i couldn't wait.

the doe family had left to go to an event they had only bought three tickets for. i reassured them over and over that i was okay with staying at the house and continuing to settle in. and with that they left.

i dug through my bag and frowned when i came to a tragic realization.

"fuck." i cursed under my breath as i stood up and slid on my shoes.

time to go to that one gas station down the street we stopped at on the way here from the airport.

i left the house through the front door and slid my earbuds into my ears, playing my favorite playlist as i walked down the street.

boston was a lot more close together than florida. it genuinely made my heart happy.

about fifteen minutes into my walk and i find the gas station, pulling the door opened and look at the employee at the counter, smiling faintly to greet him. his eyes were glued to his phone though, so i turned to make my way up and down the aisles and look for the phone charger that works for my phone.

"eighteen dollars is fucking bizarre." i muttered under my breath at the charging brick box that i now have between my fingers. i carefully took it off the bar and grabbed a six ft long cord, making my way to the counter.

this is great. no job, new place, and i was already burning a hole into my savings for a fucking phone charger.

i set the two boxes on the counter and began digging through my pockets to find my wallet, the boxes hitting the counter a little harder than i had intended.

"woah there, sensing some aggression from 'ya. boyfriend start an argument with you or what?"

i finally found my wallet, but my eyes shifted quickly to the boy at the counter. "excuse me?" i asked, my face flushed at the thought. "it doesn't-" i blinked a few times. this kid was insane. "just ring me out please." i sighed as i inserted my card in the cardreader.

"relax sweetheart, just yankin' your chain." he stated defensively, skipping through the prompts on his screen. his hair was a little longer than average, and fairly wavy. he had a silver cuban link bracelet on one wrist and a few small handmade ones on the other, a ring or two on each hand. he had silver hoops in his ears and a plain black t-shirt on over his blue baggy jeans.

i stared at him in disbelief before i put my pin into the pad, yanking out my card as soon as it beeped and quickly shoving it into my wallet. chris set the charger boxes into a small plastic bag, placing it on the counter between us.

"i'm not your sweetheart," i narrowed my eyes at the nametag on his shirt, sucking in through my teeth, "chris."

i gripped the bag and left the gas station, and never turned back to see chris with his arms raised, and that disgusting smirk on his face.

my music was playing extra loud in my headphones in a desperate attempt to drown out the sound of nate slamming the drums in the garage.

i carefully sat up, my hand moving to run through my hair as i slipped on my shoes and stepped down the stairs. i was just wearing some pajama shorts and an oversized hoodie, but who even cares, right?

my hair was thrown into a messy bun, and i had one earbud in as my eyes were glued to my phone. i turned the doorknob to the garage carefully before stepping in and lifting my head as the music came to a halt.

and with that, my eyes widened.

and that's how we got here. with a finger pointed to my face.

"the fuck is he doing here?" my voice boomed in the garage, causing nathan to flinch slightly.

"woah, you two know each other?"

"sort of." chris responded with that stupid, smug smirk on his face.

"not at all, actually." i immediately barked back, crossing my arms.

nate looked between us both and shrugged it off quickly before he pulled a chair beside him. "come listen, y/n. i think you'd like it a lot." he told me.

i couldn't say no. i really was curious to hear nathan play. "okay, sure. just for a bit though." i reminded him of the time, and he smiled brightly and sat down in his seat.

i felt chris' eyes burning into the back of my head the whole time, his shaggy brunette locks perfectly draping over his forehead, which was a bit damp, while his eyes shifted to focus on his guitar again.

nate turned to me with a bright smile, grabbing his drumsticks as he glanced to the other two, making sure they were ready.

i watched the three and smiled as they began playing.

they were really good, actually.

better than i had expected them to be.

with nathan slamming the drums with his drumsticks and the boy i didn't know yet playing the bass, chris actually knocked his part out of the park.

chris glanced up for half a second, where we locked eyes. my eyes widened as he turned back to his guitar and a small smile grew on his face.

i hate this kid.

the song came to an end, and i turned to nathan, applauding happily.

"you guys sound great, genuinely. have you guys worked on any original stuff?"

nathan chuckled and shrugged, glancing between the other two. "a bit. chris writes phenomenal lyrics. we're working on it."

i glanced to chris for a moment, who was now gently strumming the strings of his guitar. i gulped as i stared at his hands, then turned back to nate. "i'm excited for you guys. let me know if i can do anything to help?"

nate nodded happily, and i stood up.

"alright, i'm gonna try and go to sleep. good luck to you guys." i waved at the three, and smiled at nate, my eyes quickly glancing at chris who waved softly back, no clear expression on his face anymore.

and with that, i opened the garage door and shut it, before taking a deep sigh and leaning against it.

"dude, you didn't tell me your sister was bad as hell," an unfamiliar voice rang, which i assumed was the bassist.

"wh- ben, gross! shut up dude," nathan quickly stated.

i cringed at the boy's comment, shaking my head quickly as if he could see me responding or something.

"invite her more often." chris stated blankly, standing up from his seat as he adjusted his guitar strap.

nathan turned to chris and narrowed his eyes.

i quickly stood up and made my way back to my bedroom, laying flat against the bed and turning up the music playing in my earbuds.

chris playing guitar and writing some lyrics.

it made me genuinely curious about whether or not this guy actually wrote good lyrics.

i hated being curious about him.

but i needed to know more.

masterlist ⚜ p2

comment to be added to taglist!! taglist;; @sturnioloshacker

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader #chris sturniolo fluff

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sunnitheapollokid · 21 days

Text

🏎️ ˖*°࿐ CP 1, may the best racer win!

🎤 mc’s notes : AND HERE SHEEE ISS!! yes,, i’ve been tryna cook this. THIS WHAT IVE BEEN SO EXCITED ABOUT. guys. racers are hot. like cmon. how could i not. AND REMEMBER WHEN I SAID LEO’S FAV MOVIE IS CARS? yep. this is it. GAH i hope you guys like this as much as i loved making it!!! enjoy! and see you again soon! >3<

🏎️ ˖*°࿐

LEO WIPED the grease off his forehead with the ends of his white tank. he’d been working on his car for the past hours, forgetting that it had been forever since he’d last eaten. he should probably get on that. he let out his last heavy breath before getting up. he patted the hood of his red racecar, “you’re almost as good as new flames.” since his last race, his car had been beaten up pretty good by one of the other racers, travis stoll. he was annoyed to say the least, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. that’s what regularly happens on the track.

“leo?” he slightly jumped at the sound of his name being called, since it was incredibly late at night. only hearing the crickets out of his garage door and the flickering of his broken light. “yo jace!” he clutched his chest in relief, not that he was.. nervous or scared.. or anything. jason chuckled, patting flames with his own palm. “not working yet?” leo bit his lip, “just a few more tweaks and she’ll be good.” leo mirrored the blondie’s smile.

jason nodded, “good. ‘cause we got another race coming up soon.” leo furrowed his brows, “wh-what? we just finished tour!” he shot back, gripping the wrench in his hand tightly. jason gave a kind of scoff-laugh, “you’ll change your mind once you find out who’s coming out of camp to race.” the emphasizing of jason’s choice of words brought leo curious to say the least. the curly-haired kept silent, watching his best friend leave and back inside.

“who??” he asked the darkness.

🏎️ ˖*°࿐

“ANNIE, i’m gonna get myself killed.”

“no you won’t! i’ve seen you out there (name)! you’re an amazing racer!” (name) groaned softly, throwing her head back in her chair. “no way josé!! i’m telling you!” annabeth exchanged the same expression, crossing her hands over her chest as she attempted to convince one of her very best friends to start racing. “piper and hazel would say the same! you’re amazing.”

“please don’t charm me.”

annabeth groaned, “okay fine. one race.” (name) continued her own work, rubbing her forehead as she focused. halfly on the words of annabeth. “you do one race, if you hate it, fine. no more racing. you like it, then keep. doing. it!” (name) stopped. it wasn’t an entirely bad idea. she did love racing. what’s the worst that could happen? she turned to annabeth, “one race. i’ll do one race.” annabeth practically jumped in place, clearing her throat she beamed. “it’s settled.”

they shook hands. “we need to get you some equipment little miss sunshine racer.”

🏎️ ˖*°࿐

VEGAS WAS never this big back then. at least to leo it wasn’t. he remembered wilderness school back in nevada with jason and piper, and vegas was never this big. but then again, they we’re always on some weird field trip out of the city.

“feels good to be back, yeah?” jason patted the shorter boy’s back. leo letting out a chuckle as he shook his head. “yeah. duh.” he replied a hint of sarcasm mixed in. jason knocked the back of his head with another laugh. “you never told me who this special guest racer was.” leo opened the pack of candy in the compartment of his car while some others polished the red car.

jason let out an ‘ahh.’ “i’d rather keep it a secret until we get on the track.” leo rolled his eyes, “jason c’mon! you know i can’t wait for shit like this!” he cried, his mouth full of rainbow-colored skittles. jason laughed again before being cut off by the host, “racers to your stations! the race is about to start!” the two began to double-check their cars, and greeting a few of the audiences. the half-blood racers had always been famous. especially leo. he was an automatic crowd favorite, for being one of the fastest, the one with the best car, and of course, the guy was attractive in a racing jacket.

“there she is.”

jason laughed as he high-fived the [hair color] haired under the yellow helmet. leo raised a brow, “who the hell?” he mumbled to himself, thinking it was just some other guy going to wreck his car on the track again. jason turned to leo, “oh leo, this is our special guest.” leo watched the stranger remove the helmet from their face,

“(name) (last name)?” his mouth hanged open at the sight of the girl. “nice to see you too lee.” the way that her hair fell out of her helmet and so gracefully on her shoulders sent him to the moon. she walked towards him, ruffling his curly hair with a smile. “i haven’t seen you in ages!! look at you! finally taller than me!” she cackled, her one arm hugging her helmet, the other on her hip. (name) wore a yellow racing suit that matched her helmet.

“you look..” leo trailed off, still shocked, his eyes glued to her as it was incapable of blinking. he shook off the thought, “i didn’t know you raced.” he smiled. “i—“ cut off by annabeth, she slinged her arm around (name), “(nickname)’s an amazing racer.” leo cocked a brow, the side of his lips twitching into a smirk. “amazing racer huh?” he tilted his head to her. (name) flushed, “i wouldn’t say amazing. but i do love racing.” she beamed again, now hugging the helmet with both her hands.

the noise of what a horn would make echoed across vegas, “racers!” the mc’s voice. “oh titan, we gotta go.” jason spoke, quickly hopping in his own purple racecar, right behind leo’s. (name)’s car was beside the son of hepheastus, hers was yellow and white. “they weren’t kidding about the whole sunshine title thing we’re they?” leo teased, running his fingers through his hair as he slipped the helmet on and hopped in his car.

(name), letting out one final giggle, slipped inside. her helmet in place on her head, she pulled the visor up to get a good look on leo’s face through his window across her. she winked through her visor, “they don’t call me the sunshine racer for nothing, hotshot.”

🏎️ ˖*°࿐

THE RACE felt like it lasted two seconds to both leo and (name). but really, it lasted about five laps, until someone had won.

and who won?

obviously (name).

“she broke your streak?!” percy cackled, throwing his head back on the couch of the racers’ lounge. leo scoffed, tossing his helmet beside percy forcibly out of frustration. jason continued explaining the race to frank, as they sat across one another on the small table they shared. “leo was in the lead for about three of the laps— until! ho, ho, ho,” leo groaned softly grabbing a bottled water and chugging it down as he listened to jason’s side of the story.

“(name) swooped! right beside him, totally catching all of us off guard. gods, she’s crazy fast.” frank’s jaw dropped, the remaining take out in his mouth falling out. frank shot leo a look, “listen, she lacks speed. that’s for sure. what she’s got is agility. i’m still the fastest on the track. of ANY track, for that matter. flames got nothing on that eye-sore of a car.” leo emphasized gulping down his water.

percy continued to laugh at leo, the water from his eyes now trailing down to his cheeks as he hugged his stomach, “COME ON DUDE KNOCK IT OFF IT’S NOT THAT FUNNY!” leo threw a pillow at his face, only for percy to be quick enough to catch it. “when you think about it, it is. not only we’re you beaten by a girl, but the sunshine racer who you happen to be in love with for like, centuries.” leo huffed, “i’m— not,” he scoffed, “in love with her.” he crossed his arms over his chest.

“oh yeah, very convincing.” jason leaned back on his chair. “y’all are assholes.” the boys’ racers lounge echoed with laughter as leo walked out with a churning feeling in his stomach.

as soon as leo walked out, continuing his habit of running his fingers through his hair, he caught a glimpse of (name) fixing her car. he strolled over, sassily clearing his throat to get her attention. he could hear her giggle under the hood, “hi leo.” she greeted, keeping her head under to fix the engine. she immediately knew it was the curly-haired racer. “you need a hot mechanic’s help with that?” he tried to play it off cool, looking away. she took the hood down to close it, “i’m okay. i’m a big tough girl.” she mocked a deeper voice, flexing her non-existent muscles. she laughed, leo smiled.

“i could hear the crowd cheer your name. fan favorite?” she asked, leaning her palms on the hood. leo psh-d, “i wouldn’t say fan favorite. but yeah- yeah, i guess.” he teased cockily, “ahh.. you know, i’m the fastest on the track, i got a nice car.. i’m good-looking, all in a days work.” he dusted off his shoulders with a smug smile. “but of course.” she shot him a scrunched smile, wiping her hands off. “why now (name)?” he suddenly asked, “hm?” she hummed. “what do you mean?” she stopped her tracks.

“why start racing now? i heard you have a nice club back at camp with rach.” he shrugged. she smiled again, walking forwards to fix the collar of his jacket. “wanted to see who’s the best racer. but we all know who it is.” she winked again, leo could feel his ears heat up, watching her walk away. “pfft, yeah. we’ll see sunshine.”

sunshine.(name) . .

guess who’s the new fastest on the track!!!

flamingleoval . .

buy me skittles and i’ll admit it

🏎️ ˖*°࿐ end of cp 1 . .

#— SHUT UP AND DRIVE! ೃ࿔₊•#— sunni adores leo (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡#leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez fanfic #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus #pjoverse #pjo fanfic #leo valdez pjo #percy jackon and the olympians

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thirstydiglett · 2 months

Text

@pinkished ITS HERE

Love is Poisonous

Summary: Zoro has been in love with Sanji for a long time. When Sanji is poisoned in a fight and truly needs him, will it be enough for their love to come to fruition?

Pacing: After Water 7, before Thriller Bark

Pairings: Zosan!

Warnings: Near death of a major character, seizures, vomiting, other symptoms of poisoning, kissing

Word count: 3k (I am incapable of short stories lol)

Author’s Note: First time writing Zosan and I’m so fucking excited!! These two are just so perfect together. A small disclaimer: in the story Sanji is poisoned by death-stalker scorpion venom. I have taken extreme liberties with the symptoms. If you get stung by a death-stalker scorpion and you use this fic instead of going to a hospital you will probably die. So don’t do that. Thanks to pinkished for requesting, this was so much fun to write. Anyway, onto the story!!

“Luffy, you idiot! Be more careful!”

Zoro watched as his captain was knocked back, the blow he’d sustained catapulting him high into a nearby tree. But with a glance upward, Zoro caught the dark-haired man’s signature smile. Luffy was going to be fine.

“Sorry Zoro! Let me just get myself down from here…”

Zoro was not normally the type to worry when it came to battles with rival crews. But this group was tough. Tougher than Lucci and CP-0, even.

The Death-stalker Pirates. The captain had eaten the Death-stalker Scorpion Model Zoan Fruit, giving him the lower body and sharp pincers of a massive yellow scorpion. And his crew was as tough as he was.

A burly bearded man was taking on Franky and Robin in hand to hand (to hand to hand to hand) combat. A pair of twins with perfect balance was expertly dodging Usopp’s stars. Chopper had had to transform into his Monster Point form and was indiscriminately kicking the shit out of the lesser crew members. Over his shoulder Zoro caught a young woman with bright blonde hair and long, sharp nails challenging Nami. Sanji, of course, was simping over her in between fending off blows from the captain—

Oh shit. The captain.

Zoro never should have let his guard down. The captain’s long scorpion tail wrenched Zoro’s swords from his grasp before he even realized he was behind him, bending the steel as if it was foil.

“Shit! My swords!”

He turned for a split second to watch as his precious damaged swords were tossed far out of reach. But a split second was all it took. In a heartbeat, the scorpion captain’s tail was plunging through the air, drops of some sort of venom oozing from the tip.

There was no time to dodge.

“Marimo!” A sudden flash of black suit and golden hair, and Sanji was in front of him, shoving him out of the way. Zoro could only watch, as if in slow motion, as the venomous tail stabbed deeply into the cook’s leg.

Zoro tried to shout, but no words came out. He stood motionless, his heart racing, his stomach turning.

Please, no… Anyone but the cook.

He’d kept his feelings about the young man silent for a long time—since the East Blue, really. Talented, smart, loyal. Handsome. God, so handsome…

How the fuck do you tell someone you’re in love with him when he’s clearly straight, when he annoys the shit out of you just for fun, when you fight every other day? When you know your feelings won’t be returned?

You do it with your actions, Zoro had always supposed. So he defended the cook when the cook needed defending (not often), he ate every bite of every dish the man made, and on the best days he would simply stand in silence next to him, listening to the waves hit the ship and gazing out at the moon.

Would he ever be able to do that again?

In a flash, he was moving, wrenching the scorpion tail out of Sanji’s leg. Holding tight, he mustered every inch of his strength and flung the man hard into the trunk of a nearby tree. A sickening crrrack reverberated through the area as the captain’s back bent unnaturally. Hopefully that would keep him down for a while.

“You idiot cook! Why the fuck did you do that?” He shouted, putting Sanji’s arm around his shoulders to help him up even as he did so.

“Dunno…” Sanji managed. Already his speech was beginning to slur.

“Sanji!” Luffy had made it down from the tree. “What happened?”

Robin, leaving Franky to take over their fight, came running over. “This doesn’t look good. That’s some of the most poisonous venom in the world.”

Luffy swallowed, for once seeming uncertain. “So what do we do?”

“I think Chopper has some antivenom in the sick bay. But he can’t administer it like that…” she gestured to Chopper, who was 30 feet tall and in the process of stomping all over a couple of lackeys. “Someone else would have to do it.”

“I’ll do it,” Zoro grumbled, trying to sound annoyed instead of terrified. “The motherfucker bent my swords, I’m useless out here anyway.”

Luffy nodded, his mind made up. “Zoro… don’t let Sanji die, ok?”

Zoro smirked a bit despite himself. “I couldn’t if I tried. Someone has to keep this idiot alive.”

“YOU’RE A IDIOT, MARIO!” Sanji grunted.

“You mean Marimo?”

“Heh. You admitted you’re a marimo.”

Robin turned to Zoro, her expression serious. “You don’t have long. First, the neurotoxins will start affecting his thinking—he’s going to act like he’s drunk. In fact, he most likely won’t have any memory of anything after getting poisoned. Then he’ll start seizing, vomiting and coughing up blood. If he experiences paralysis in his feet, you’ll know you’ve got only minutes left before it kills him. Find the antivenom and use it fast.”

Zoro nodded. “Come on, love-cook. Let’s go save your stupid life.”

“YOUR life is stupid!”

*****

The pair hurried through the woods. Thankfully Sanji was still coherent enough to give directions back to the ship, because Zoro would have been totally lost otherwise.

“Turn lef’ at that boulder..” the cook, now on Zoro’s back, commanded. “This’s fun… ridin’ you like a horse…”

Zoro flushed at the sudden thought of Sanji atop him, riding him in a very different manner. “Shut up! Fucking dumbass… getting yourself poisoned…”

A moment of silence passed.

“Why’d you… why’d you do that anyway?” Zoro continued. “I could’ve handled it as well as you can.”

Sanji didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, he spoke.

“‘Cuz we need you.”

Zoro’s cheeks reddened, and it took everything in his power not to look back at the man on his back.

“Yeah, well—we need you too.”

“Awwwwww!!! Little baby mosshead needs me!” Sanji teased. And with that, he promptly vomited the entire contents of his lunch onto Zoro’s shoulder.

“Fucking disgusting, dude! What’s wrong with you?” Zoro nearly dropped Sanji in his attempt to take off his shirt, forcing the blond to lean against a tree for a moment as Zoro threw the shirt to the ground and revealed his muscular brown physique.

“‘M poisoned, remember?” slurred Sanji. “Think we go left here…”

“You are going to owe me so hard when you’re better,” Zoro growled, picking Sanji back up and taking the turn.

“Damn, your skin is so warm. I’m really cold allasudden so that’s nice…” Sanji continued to ramble. Glancing down at Sanji’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, Zoro felt his stomach turn. The chef was slowly turning blue.

“Jesus Christ, Curly, we gotta get you back. Are we close to the ship?”

“Almost there. Jus’ past the tree line up here,” Sanji murmured, but his voice was softer now, and his grip weaker.

“Just hold on, ok? You’re gonna be ok.” As the words escaped Zoro’s mouth, a spasm wracked Sanji’s body, causing the man to cry out in pain. Zoro held him tighter against his back, willing himself to move faster. Please, please, please…

And then, like an answer from God, they broke through the tree line to reveal the rocky coast and the Sunny moored only about 100 yards away.

With a burst of strength, Zoro sprinted for the ship, holding onto Sanji for dear life. They cleared the gangway in record time and made it to the sick bay, Zoro dropping Sanji on the bed to rummage frantically through Chopper’s cupboards.

“Hey, be gentle, dumbass!” Sanji said weakly, unable to put any real force behind the insult.

“You can argue with me when you’re better, how does that sound?” Zoro said distractedly, reading the names on the vials and jars. Lyfitol, Wormwood, Queensblood… nothing even resembling an antivenom so far.

Sanji seized again on the bed, coughing hard. “Marimo…”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

Zoro paused, his heart pounding in his ears. “What do you mean you’re sorry?”

“‘M sorry you hafta go to all this trouble cuz I did something stupid. I’m not worth it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You could find a way better chef than me if you knew where to look. And a better fighter. Looks like you’re gonna get that chance…”

“Sanji!”

Zoro turned to the bed and grabbed Sanji’s shoulders, leaning over him to look him directly in the eyes.

“We don’t want anyone else. We want you. Just…stay alive for me, ok? Even if you don’t think you’re worth it. I do, you fucking idiot. I need you to stay alive, cook. Even if you annoy the shit out of me sometimes.”

Sanji was silent, his unfocused eyes attempting to take Zoro in. Finally, he managed to whisper. “Heh. You like me.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Zoro returned to the cupboards. After another silent moment of rummaging, his hand brushed a vial containing a silvery liquid. Turning it to reveal the label, Zoro’s heart leaped. The print was clear as day.

All-purpose antivenom. To be injected diluted with water at a 2:1 ratio.

Fuck, more to do. He grabbed a needle quickly and ran to the sink, getting some fresh water. His hands shook as he measured the correct amounts in the first small container he could find. Fuck, too much water. Better try agai—

“Zoro.”

He turned his head, annoyed at the distraction. “What?”

“I can’t move my feet.”

Zoro’s blood ran cold. Robin’s words echoed in his head. If he experiences paralysis in his feet, you’ll know you’ve got only minutes left before it kills him.

“I’m gonna save you, Curly, ok? You’re gonna be fine.” His voice broke even as he tried to comfort his friend, and he could feel tears streaming down his cheeks. God, he couldn’t lose Sanji. Anyone but Sanji.

Finally, blessedly, he managed to figure out the ratio. Drawing it into the needle, he ran to Sanji’s side, grabbed his arm. Finding a vein was easy—they were bulging all over Sanji’s body as the venom pulsed through him.

Taking a deep breath, Zoro leaned down, brushed his hand against the cook’s paling face, squeezed his arm

And

Injected.

*****

After Sanji’s color had evened out and the seizing had stopped, Zoro found himself sitting on the bed. He was somehow unable to take his eyes off the man. Near death’s door less than ten minutes ago, now as rosy-cheeked and handsome as he ever was.

Sanji’s eyes were closed, his sweaty hair swept back from his face, but he was breathing steadily. Zoro wasn’t sure he was even conscious until the blond suddenly spoke.

“I embarrassed m’self in front of Nami-swan and Robin-chan, actin’ all stupid like this, didn’t I?”

Zoro snorted despite himself. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“ ‘fcourse. My beautiful ladies needa see me as a proteccor. Not some kinda loser that gets poisoned an’ acts like a drunk moron.”

Zoro couldn’t help himself. Their usual casual animosity had boiled down into something entirely different in the last hour, and maybe…

He touched Sanji’s leg.

“You’re not a moron, curly. No one on the crew thinks you’re a moron.”

“‘Cept you.”

Zoro swallowed. “Nah. I’m no exception.”

Sanji opened one eye, appraising the situation. “What the hell do you think of me then?”

Zoro looked away, removing his hand. Why was it suddenly so hard to speak? “I told you, cook. We need you.”

A long silence floated pregnant in the air.

Finally, Sanji was the one to break it. “If I get married ta Nami I think it’ll be unner those tangerine trees on ‘er home island.” The chef smiled at the thought, closing his eyes. “Errything’ll be so expensive, bes’ of the best, jus’ how Nami-swan likes it…”

Zoro had no response. Sanji’s intellect was obviously still dulled from the poison, but why the fuck had he suddenly started talking about weddings?

“An’ if I get married ta Robin-chan, we’ll hold tha reception inna library, an’ all the guests’ll get books as wedding favors, an’ I’ll serve a hunned million types of sandwiches cuz that’s ‘er favorite…”

“Yeah, dream on,” Zoro managed, attempting to sound aloof, like he wasn’t bothered by the thought of the man he loved at the altar with someone else.

“But that’s never gonna happen.” Sanji suddenly propped himself up to look Zoro dead in the eyes. Zoro had the distinct impression of having been dipped in something very warm, feeling it drip over his body and seep into his bones.

“I’m gonna marry you.”

The earth stopped turning.

Zoro looked away to hide his reddening face, but he was aware of the chef’s serene smile boring into his being.

“Gods, cook, that poison did a fuckin’ number on you.”

“No.” So confident, so sure of himself. “Gonna kill ten different sea kings for a buffet jus’ cuz you like it. You wear a black tux, I’ll wear a white one. An’ we’ll exchange rings on the tip of your sword.”

Zoro turned back to meet Sanji’s gaze. “You’ve really thought about this?��

“ ‘f course. Isn’t that what you do when yer in love with someone?”

Zoro’s heart was pounding mercilessly in his ears again, his skin was flushing, his stomach flipping like an acrobat. And the chef was leaning closer, and Zoro should have stopped him but he wasn’t, and their gazes met like fire and water.

“You’re… you’re really in love with me?” Zoro breathed.

A small smile, and Sanji closed the distance between them.

The kiss was soft, gentle, but as unyielding as Sanji ever was. He brought his hand to Zoro’s cheek as their lips touched, the other snaking around to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck. Zoro was amazed by the sheer confidence in it, as if Sanji had been waiting an awfully long time to do this, as if every fight between them was just an overture to this moment.

And he knew it was wrong. He knew Sanji wasn’t in his right mind, knew the effects of the poison were far from wearing off. Knew he should pull away.

He couldn’t.

Finally, Sanji broke the kiss, his grey-blue eyes piercing into Zoro’s as he pulled away. “I gotta sleep.”

“….You just kissed me and that’s what you have to say?”

“Sleep with me, marimo.” That confidence again, that soft smile.

“Look, love-cook, that was…nice (amazing incredible otherworldly heavenly perfect), but you’re not even gonna remember this tomorrow. I’m not gonna fuck you when you’re like this.”

“Then just cuddle with me?”

Zoro should have said no.

But he always did make one hell of a big spoon.

*****

The morning sunlight, fresh and crisp, shone in Zoro’s eyes. He blinked for a moment, deliciously warm and comfortable, before he noticed it. The smell of good tobacco. The warmth of another body pressed close to his own. The blond hair tickling his face.

The events from the previous night came flooding back into his mind all at once. The poison, the antivenom, the talk about marriage, the…

The kiss.

“Mmm… Nami-swan, you’re so big and strong…” The cook, still snuggled closely into Zoro’s arms, was murmuring. Then he turned his head to look back.

“MARIMO!”

Zoro was shoved unceremoniously out of bed and hit the floor with a thud. Above him, Sanji had sat up and was regarding him with a mixture of confusion and disgust.

“What kind of freak are you, sleeping in my bed with me? Who—wait, why are we in the sick bay?”

“Christ dude, don’t be such an asshole! I saved your life yesterday, after all!”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” There was no spark of recognition in Sanji’s eyes, and Zoro could feel the disappointment washing over him. He really didn’t remember…

“SANJIIIIII!”

A voice from outside the door, and suddenly Luffy burst in, all but throwing himself onto the bed beside Sanji and flinging his arms around him.

“Sanji, we thought you were gonna die!”

“Ok, seriously. What the fuck is everyone talking about.” Sanji’s voice was serious but still confused.

“You really don’t remember anything, do you, cook?” Zoro asked, still rubbing his shoulder from where he’d hit the floor.

The rest of the Straw Hats poured into the room, each of them eager to tell Sanji about the battle, the venom, the way Zoro had saved his life. Sanji sat in silence and listened to everyone in turn, amazed that such a significant event had occurred. One that he had no memory of whatsoever.

Finally, he climbed out of bed. “Let me make you all breakfast then, as thanks for keeping me alive. I’ll meet you all in the kitchen in five minutes. How do omelets sound?”

“Yahoooooo!” Luffy cheered, leading the crew out of the sick bay and leaving Sanji and Zoro alone together again.

Sanji turned to face him, and Zoro prepared for a fight. After all, they’d woken up in a bed together—Sanji was doubtless going to be furious now that he was sober.

But instead, the man did something that took Zoro by surprise. Closing the distance between them, Sanji suddenly pulled him into a brief but heartfelt embrace.

When he pulled away, both of their faces were red.

“Thanks, Zoro. For saving my life.”

Zoro opened his mouth, but no words came out.

As the chef turned away and headed to the kitchen, Zoro stared after him. Maybe, after all this time, maybe there was a chance.

He moved to follow his nakama, and as he did so his foot brushed something on the floor. The vial of antivenom, empty and discarded. Not knowing exactly why, Zoro picked it up. On the back of the peeling-off label, the side effects were listed. One sentence in particular caught his eye.

Patients will lose their memory of the events that happened after their poisoning, but may recall them weeks or months after the event.

Please, Zoro thought as he left the sick bay, headed for the best omelets on the Grand Line.

Please.

__________________________________________

If you’d like, I can tag you the next time I write a story! Just send me a message!

#sanji #black leg sanji #zoro #roronoa zoro #zosan #sanzo #one piece #one piece fanfic #Diglett writes

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