storiesbyrhi
Stories By Rhi
Hi, I'm Rhi. She/Her. 30s. Mobile Masterlist.
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I agree with @munson-blurbs - just a lil' kiss! Kiss kiss! I love this so much @rosewaterandivy <3
tightrope across the table
Summary: Abandoned at the bar and left to your own devices, what's the worst that could happen?
Pairing: e.m. x fem! reader
WC: 1.4k
Warnings: NSFW 18+, drinking, cursing, & the perils of dating in the 21st century
A/N: For my beloved Luna, @abibliophobiaa - I love you and I hope this brings a smile to your beautiful face! Reblogs, likes & feedback are appreciated - reposting is not. Enjoy! 💜
What had begun as a promising New Year's Eve out with your best girl was quickly devolving. Nursing your now lukewarm beer, you watched as your friend laughed with the latest acquisition to her horde. She really was the worst kind of fag hag. Sipping the last dregs of beer from the glass, you tap through your phone and open the app that’s been taunting you all evening.
It’s not that you enjoyed being on the apps, because who in their right mind would? It was, unfortunately, a necessity now because meeting someone at a bookstore or your local coffee joint just didn’t happen anymore, not with everyone’s nose buried in their phone.
Much like yours was now.
The messages were the exact same as the last time you’d checked— nothing new. You sighed and tried to push back the swell of disappointment. This guy you’d been chatting with seemed decent but not eager to continue the line of conversation. You forced yourself to close out of the app, but before you could, a notification popped up: ‘New Message.’
Looking around to see where your friend had gotten to, you let out a sigh of relief finding her at the bar ordering another round. She sends you a wink and mouths something unintelligible. You shrug back with a smile and glace back down to your phone.
Not to be *that guy* but you wouldn’t happen to be at the bar right now, would you?
Heart kicking up and pulse racing, you calmly scan the immediate area trying not to draw attention to yourself. Finding nothing of concern, you prop your elbow on the table and hold the phone aloft in an attempt to stay alert to your surroundings.
Meant that in a totally not creepy way, fyi!
Despite yourself, you were smiling. You’d had a few conversations with this guy before and always found yourself grinning and laughing in equal measure. It was you who’d initially asked him to a movie a week or so ago, deeming the chemistry enough to warrant an in-person meeting. But he’d regretfully had to decline because of work or some other bullshit excuse, you couldn’t recall.
Things had understandably cooled off since then.
It wasn’t as if he’d stood you up or anything, he’d given ample notice, but it hurt all the same. And there was no shortage of hurt in your life at present.
If it wasn’t an engagement or bachelorette party, it was a wedding or christening. All your friends had apparently gotten the memo and paired up accordingly, while your invite to the Grow-Ups party was apparently lost in the mail.
Why is it that they were all married or already parents and you couldn’t even get a second date? Was something wrong with you? How had you become the designated single friend?
You were happy for your friends, of course you were, it’s exciting moving through the high points of life! But you could still be overjoyed for them and throw a pity party for yourself, the two weren’t mutually exclusive. And sure, people tried to get you out of the house with trivia nights and dinner dates with the girls but it inevitably wound up with them talking about their spouses or babies, cooing over pictures as phones were passed around.
And sure, they celebrated your milestones too. But was a graduate degree going to keep you warm at night? Was a promotion going to cuddle with you on the couch as you fell asleep to Gilmore Girls for the millionth time?
But things were fine, things were good even, if you could just forget the apps and failed first dates. Besides, you had your Emily Henry books and pints of Ben & Jerry’s— things could be worse.
Okay, so I def creeped you out. Just gonna go back to my cave, pls forget this ever happened.
He then sends a gif of Harry from Harry and the Hendersons sadly sulking off. Again, you find yourself smiling.
Mayybeeee a little creeped. You type back, Just caught me off guard is all.
There’s a minute or two before he responds.
You sure? I can totally fuck off, just say the word.
Crossing your feet beneath your chair, you weigh your options. It was you who asked him out after all, so clearly some part of you was interested. And he’s still talking to you now, even while he’s apparently out at a bar.
Potentially the same bar you’re at now…
Okay, fuck it.
After sending a quick text to your friend explaining the situation and asking her to standby, you toss your hair behind your shoulder and take another look around.
The bar is pretty packed, the weather is decent so the picnic tables outside are quickly filling up too. It’s loud but not deafening and from your current location, you’re within sight of the door for a getaway if needed.
You hoped you wouldn’t need it.
Sparkly boots.
And with that, you lock your phone and set it to the side. You figure, if this guy is worth his salt he’ll figure it out and find you. If not, oh well, at least you tried.
The waiting is torturous. Minutes trickle by and you’re about to pack it in for the night when there’s the jangle of a chain against the metal chair and a man swathed in black denim and leather all but pours himself into it.
“Fucking christ, d’you know how many people are wearing boots tonight?”
For a moment there, you’re speechless— eyes wide and pretty lips opening to say:
“Okay, but how many were wearing sparkly boots.”
His lips, pink and full, pull into a winning smile.
“Just you sugar, but I think you already knew that.” He leans back in the chair, fingers locked behind his head as he stretches back.
His shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of skin at his hip. You try not to lick your lips.
“I’m Eddie, by the way,” He says offering you his hand to shake, fingers bejeweled with silver rings.
He’s warm to the touch as you palm slots against his. His lips part to in a soft gasp as your thumb grazes a knuckle and shake his hand, introducing yourself. His brown eyes flit from your hand to your face and back again, as if he can hardly believe you’re real.
Reluctantly, you pull your hand from his grasp.
His fingers trail after yours, drumming along the tabletop. Your hand rests mere inches from his, close enough to reach out and touch.
You cock your head to the side assessing him. Eddie’s not all that different from his pictures on the app— scruffy in that attractive masculine way. Long hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, a few errant curls falling to frame his face.
A vibration to your left breaks the moment.
You mutter an apology and check to your messages:
How we feelin?
This from your friend by the bar who's standing steadfast with her retinue, keys swinging from her fingers if you need her.
Another swoosh sound signalling a response. You glance down once more, this time it’s a photo of you and Eddie taken just after his arrival. You’re looking down, lips rolled between your teeth even though it’s clear as day you’d rather be smiling and he’s looking at you like… Well, like you hung the moon.
“So, uh,” He ducks his head to cough and clear his throat. “Have I passed the test?”
“What’s that?”
“Y’know, the test verifying that I’m not gonna abscond with you to an undisclosed location or whatever.”
“How did you—”
“Your friend’s not very subtle.” He nods in her direction and follows it up with a wave.
“Well, Edward, if you must know—”
“It’s Eddie.”
“Shut up, you know it all!”
His laugh and your retort takes him by surprise, it’s loud and probably the best thing you’ve ever heard.
“As I was saying, that all depends.”
Eddie leans across the table, all loose limbs and big doe eyes.
“Depends on what, sugar?”
You give a subtle nod to your friend at the bar who flags down the bartender and places an order.
“If you’ll let me buy you a drink.”
He smiles and the rest of the world could drop dead for all you care. For a night that was beginning to look a bit disastrous, with the arrival of Eddie it was starting to have some possibilities.
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I'm really stretching out these last chapters because I don't want it to end! What do we do without domestic bat Eddie?!
Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson
Series Masterlist
The Grimoire
The Timeline
Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.
Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?
Chapter Summary: You are wide awake. 2340 words.
1986
Every day Eddie watched the jar. He watched how the moon water moved, alive and with a viscosity different from regular water. He watched the apple slices dry and the sprigs of lavender go stiff. He thought if he watched closely enough, he’d see the magic working, but he never caught a glimmer of craft.
When it was time, you let him plant the enchanted seed in the new coven neighbourhood. Your home would grow furthest out, close to the shade of the woods. A spell later, you were traveling back to Forest Hills to begin packing the trailer up.
It had been months since you’d moved in, therefore you had accumulated a lot of items.
“Do you need all of these?” Eddie asked, holding up one of five shoeboxes, all packed with feathers you had found. “And is this a normal amount of feathers to find? What is wrong with the birds in Hawkins?”
“Yes and no and a lot. I told you that if you are gonna help, you can’t question every single thing you pick up,”
“I’m doing no such thing,” he rebutted.
“Eddie, you told me to cull my jar collection,”
“I stand by it. There are too many. You can collect more,”
“I use them! Frequently! And I don’t just keep any jar. All the ones I have are, like, uniquely shaped or extra sturdy!” you whined. “Asking a witch to not collect jars is just…” You shook your head, not able to find the words to express the atrocity.
Eddie smiled at you softly. “Perhaps I am not the best helper,” he conceded. “Perhaps my time would be better spent doing something else,”
“Something else like use your vampire speed to clean the bathroom, or something else like turn into a bat and sleep?”
An hour later, Eddie was asleep in one of the boxes containing clothes, and you were wrapping more empty jars in bubble wrap.
…
A monument to witchcraft and love. That’s what Eddie thought when he saw the house. It had the glorious drama of Ev’s Victorian home and the softness of the other witches’ cottages. Expansive stained glass windows. Detailed architraves, the wood so dark it appeared black. Red brick. A single-story structure, but the dome of a conservatory was visible over the roof. It extended back into the woods, settling into the landscape as if it had always been there.
Eddie thought back to all the places he had lived in. The house his father’s rage felt the brunt of as much as he did. The farm he came into adulthood on. The colony caves. The cold and lonely hotel rooms. The trees above Forest Hills. He’d never had a home, apart from your arms, but there it was. Real and in front of him.
The sun was setting over the valley as Eddie stood before the house. You’d seen it early that day, doing your final checks before okaying the move. It was your magic the house grew from, so naturally you were less awestruck by it. The floorplan and aesthetic had been born in your mind. Still, it was a beautiful thing.
“Think it will do?” you asked Eddie, coming to stand beside him.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “It’s…” How many different words were there for ‘home,’ he wondered. What language could fully communicate the depth of emotion?
“Enchanted seeds create homes, not houses,” you told him as you walked towards the front door. “Come and see.”
Eddie followed, almost expecting something to happen as he crossed the front door threshold. Once inside, Eddie clenched his jaw. It was more perfect than he could have anticipated.
The furniture was plush and comfortable, an eclectic mix of antique pieces and modern amenities. Bookshelves stood tall and waiting, ready for the library to arrive. Potted ivy trailed up and around curtain railings and along the walls.
“You never got to see my place in the Catskills. A lot of the furniture comes from there. The rest comes from the seed… It’s the kind of magic that makes me wish we could study it, you know? I want to know the science of it. How does it work?”
“It seems to me that part of the power of magic is in the unknowing,” Eddie replied, as wise as any of the Witches Who Came Before.
“It does appear to be the case,” you agreed.
For a while, you let Eddie wander aimlessly through the house.
He marvelled at the bath, huge and round, like a pond and definitely big enough for two. A huge wardrobe door that opened into a secret library. The conservatory full of thriving plants, flowers, herbs, and other living things Eddie did not have a word for. Every window a different shape but never square. Strange detailing like cat shaped doorknobs and pink quartz basins.
Eventually, Eddie sat on the end of the huge bed, its four posts grand and its linen crisp. He looked over at you and held out his hands.
“Come.”
You walked to him, taking his hands, and standing between his legs. Eddie looked up at you with those sparkling brown eyes, the adoration radiating from him.
“It’s an irrational idea, this fear I have that I’m dreaming. That I am still cursed, haunting this town until the end of time. But a vampire cannot dream. The cursed cannot dream. But still…”
Gently, you let go of Eddie’s hands and leaned into him, snaking your fingers into his hair as he pressed himself into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist.
“You are wide awake. Alive… kind of… But definitely here. With me. In our home. Soon-to-be, with our friends. Our family. And just in time for Halloween.”
He purred a happy sound, nodding into you. “A witch’s favourite holiday?” he hazarded a guess.
“Hmm, not all of us. Most of the witches I’ve known tended to find more obscure holidays to worship at the altar of. New Years is a big one, too. Alas, I am but a cliché All Hallows witch,”
“With much respect, I see that,” Eddie said. You laughed, shrugged. He looked up at you again. “You did fall in love with a vampire, after all.”
…
Far away from the rest of the world, you and Eddie spent almost a week settling into the new house. Grimoires were catalogued into one of the three library rooms. Dandelion puffs were jarred and shelved. Every trinket found its home.
Eddie tested the rainbow light that flooded the rooms, discovering that in the magic there was safety. Sunlight that filtered through the windows did not burn him. He could be free and at ease.
You explained to Eddie the importance of representing the elements within the home. Earth in the plants, wooden carpentry, and the grounding crystals. Fire in the candles, ever-burning incense, and roaring fireplaces that only ever emitted the exact level of heat you wanted. (“In summer, the flames burn cold,” you told Eddie and watched his smile grow.) Water in the mirrors, seashells, and small fountains found in the glasshouse room. Lastly, air in the wind chimes, feathers, and windows that could remain open without upsetting the temperature inside.
During the day, you began work on your garden, creating flower beds in the shape of pentagrams and sewing seeds. Borage for the butterflies and bees, primrose – I can’t live without you; angelica in case you need to break any future hexes; and yarrow, amaryllis, and polypodies.
One evening, just before sunset, you found Eddie rummaging through the apothecary pantry. As you entered the room, his manic smile told you he’d had an idea.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” you asked him, perching on a stool.
Eddie sunk to his knees and shrugged. “The fires are out… The Shire is no longer burning,”
“The Shire being… Hawkins?”
“Yes. And us. We’ve sailed to the Undying Lands,”
“You’re really making Tolkien your whole personality, huh?” you joked.
Eddie smiled up at you. “Until the next book… But what I’m saying is, now that we do not have a battle to prepare for. No conflict upon the horizon. What do we do with all of eternity?”
“Oh… My plan was to eat a lot of Meg’s cinnamon rolls… Try to get Steve Harrington to stop haunting Mel… Maybe work on a spell to make myself teeny tiny so I can ride around on you when you’re a bat…”
“Wait, seriously?”
You gave him a sly smile. “Maybe,”
“Well, I would love that… But, I was thinking a little more introspectively. Back to things we have thought about before. Like, why I am the way that I am… What that means…” He ran a finger along the leaves of the mimosa pudica plant beside him. The leaves felt his touch, curled inwards on themselves. It was one of Eddie’s favourites, the way it reacted to the world around it.
“Any new insights?” you asked softy.
“No… But… If I believe in you and in your magic and the way you make sense of the world… then I… I have to do something,”
“Do something?”
“We get back what we give, right?”
“Yeah,” you agreed. “It’s not always obvious or direct. Or timely. Or even equally fair… But, yeah… There is definitely something like the concept of karma at play. And even if there isn’t, living as if there is can only be a good thing,”
“Then I must show more grace… and gratitude… Even if I am a monster, maybe especially because I am… I can give goodness too.”
Without thinking, you slid off the stool and joined Eddie on the floor. “You already do. You don’t owe the world anything.”
Eddie smiled, first a small soft thing, almost sad, but then it twisted into something else. Ear-to-ear and full of teeth. “I owe it more than one life,”
“But if we count all the lives you have saved. Both by killing what plagued this town, and by preventing deaths at the hands of bad people-”
“Morality cannot be simple addition and subtraction. There is no math that can quantify goodness or righteousness. You know that,” Eddie cut in. He watched your face, saw the pensiveness blossom across it. “Don’t worry, my little witch, my plan is not as life-or-death as this all makes it seem… I just want to do something good for your friends,”
“Your friends,” you corrected quickly. “They’ll be your friends too. Your family. You’re part of this coven.”
Eddie reached out to cup your face in his hands. “Your coven is yours. But I will take the friendship. I have years of loneliness to make up for,”
“Then what-”
He cut you off again, this time with a kiss. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, draping your arms around his neck. Eddie pulled you into his lap and you curled into him like the leaves of the mimosa.
His mouth kissed and sucked at your neck between sentence fragments. “I’m-” kiss “going-” kiss “to plant-” lick “them-” kiss “flowers.” His punctuation a kiss that wanted to be a bite.
You were hardly listening to his words. His words and ideas and introspective musings could all wait.
Eddie laid you down on the floor, the smell of the oak still new. You arched your back and pulled him down by his collar.
“Bed,” you mumbled into his mouth.
“Why build a house if we’re not gonna use it,” he answered.
One hand splayed next to your head to keep him up, the other tickling its way under the hem of your skirt and up your thigh.
“Besides,” Eddie said. “Doesn’t feel like you can wait.” He was sliding your underwear off, throwing them across the room. He rested a hand on you, sliding an index finger through your slickness.
“I can’t,” you agreed, breathy and impatient. “Now. I want you now.”
Eddie didn’t have to be asked twice. With his pants still hanging from an ankle, he was fast to set up and slow on approach. You felt the tip of him follow the path made by his hand, gathering wetness, and shooting electricity through your body.
You melted into jelly beneath him, bliss written all over your face. Eddie loved you like this, pliable and prone to tears of ecstasy.
He held himself back, keeping his pace slow and steady. His vampire muscles screamed to go faster, to rail you into next week, but he liked pulling you apart. Liked how you unconsciously uttered strings of words like ‘full’ and ‘please’ and ‘can’t.’ Liked when you clawed at him to come closer, bit down on his shoulder.
“I love you,” he told you, mouth on your ear, tongue licking. “So. Fucking. Much.”
There was a seemingly endless amount of ways Eddie had learned could make you cum. Talking to you was a favourite for you both.
“You’re so perfect, so perfect… You feel so perfect… You’re so warm and soft and I… I want to eat you whole…”
Your response was in the pooling tears and the nodding and the slack jaw. The begging, “Please. Please.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.” It was all it took. Your orgasm exploded moments before his. Eddie’s thrusting getting harder and faster for the few seconds he took to follow you. He had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from ripping into your neck.
You kept your eyes closed, not aware of your surroundings. When you felt Eddie’s arms slide beneath you, you smiled and hummed. He carried you to your new bed, cleaning your skin with a warm washcloth before curling himself in behind you.
With the last of your day’s energy, you tangled your fingers through his, falling asleep happily.
As Eddie listened to your breathing find its mellow night rhythm, he saw a vision of you in his mind. Hands full of flowers and foliage. A coven of audience. Glorious and beaming.
End Note: I made a small Pinterest board with inspo for their house - click here to view.
I hope you are all as well as any of us can be at a time like this. I hope this story continues to provide comfort, escapism, and fuel for daydreams. xo Rhi
Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @moviefreak1205 @pastel-pillows
All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner
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I want this house toooo. I want vampire bat Eddie. I want a coven neighbourhood. I want it alllllllll.
Thank you, as always <3
Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson
Series Masterlist
The Grimoire
The Timeline
Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.
Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?
Chapter Summary: You are wide awake. 2340 words.
1986
Every day Eddie watched the jar. He watched how the moon water moved, alive and with a viscosity different from regular water. He watched the apple slices dry and the sprigs of lavender go stiff. He thought if he watched closely enough, he’d see the magic working, but he never caught a glimmer of craft.
When it was time, you let him plant the enchanted seed in the new coven neighbourhood. Your home would grow furthest out, close to the shade of the woods. A spell later, you were traveling back to Forest Hills to begin packing the trailer up.
It had been months since you’d moved in, therefore you had accumulated a lot of items.
“Do you need all of these?” Eddie asked, holding up one of five shoeboxes, all packed with feathers you had found. “And is this a normal amount of feathers to find? What is wrong with the birds in Hawkins?”
“Yes and no and a lot. I told you that if you are gonna help, you can’t question every single thing you pick up,”
“I’m doing no such thing,” he rebutted.
“Eddie, you told me to cull my jar collection,”
“I stand by it. There are too many. You can collect more,”
“I use them! Frequently! And I don’t just keep any jar. All the ones I have are, like, uniquely shaped or extra sturdy!” you whined. “Asking a witch to not collect jars is just…” You shook your head, not able to find the words to express the atrocity.
Eddie smiled at you softly. “Perhaps I am not the best helper,” he conceded. “Perhaps my time would be better spent doing something else,”
“Something else like use your vampire speed to clean the bathroom, or something else like turn into a bat and sleep?”
An hour later, Eddie was asleep in one of the boxes containing clothes, and you were wrapping more empty jars in bubble wrap.
…
A monument to witchcraft and love. That’s what Eddie thought when he saw the house. It had the glorious drama of Ev’s Victorian home and the softness of the other witches’ cottages. Expansive stained glass windows. Detailed architraves, the wood so dark it appeared black. Red brick. A single-story structure, but the dome of a conservatory was visible over the roof. It extended back into the woods, settling into the landscape as if it had always been there.
Eddie thought back to all the places he had lived in. The house his father’s rage felt the brunt of as much as he did. The farm he came into adulthood on. The colony caves. The cold and lonely hotel rooms. The trees above Forest Hills. He’d never had a home, apart from your arms, but there it was. Real and in front of him.
The sun was setting over the valley as Eddie stood before the house. You’d seen it early that day, doing your final checks before okaying the move. It was your magic the house grew from, so naturally you were less awestruck by it. The floorplan and aesthetic had been born in your mind. Still, it was a beautiful thing.
“Think it will do?” you asked Eddie, coming to stand beside him.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “It’s…” How many different words were there for ‘home,’ he wondered. What language could fully communicate the depth of emotion?
“Enchanted seeds create homes, not houses,” you told him as you walked towards the front door. “Come and see.”
Eddie followed, almost expecting something to happen as he crossed the front door threshold. Once inside, Eddie clenched his jaw. It was more perfect than he could have anticipated.
The furniture was plush and comfortable, an eclectic mix of antique pieces and modern amenities. Bookshelves stood tall and waiting, ready for the library to arrive. Potted ivy trailed up and around curtain railings and along the walls.
“You never got to see my place in the Catskills. A lot of the furniture comes from there. The rest comes from the seed… It’s the kind of magic that makes me wish we could study it, you know? I want to know the science of it. How does it work?”
“It seems to me that part of the power of magic is in the unknowing,” Eddie replied, as wise as any of the Witches Who Came Before.
“It does appear to be the case,” you agreed.
For a while, you let Eddie wander aimlessly through the house.
He marvelled at the bath, huge and round, like a pond and definitely big enough for two. A huge wardrobe door that opened into a secret library. The conservatory full of thriving plants, flowers, herbs, and other living things Eddie did not have a word for. Every window a different shape but never square. Strange detailing like cat shaped doorknobs and pink quartz basins.
Eventually, Eddie sat on the end of the huge bed, its four posts grand and its linen crisp. He looked over at you and held out his hands.
“Come.”
You walked to him, taking his hands, and standing between his legs. Eddie looked up at you with those sparkling brown eyes, the adoration radiating from him.
“It’s an irrational idea, this fear I have that I’m dreaming. That I am still cursed, haunting this town until the end of time. But a vampire cannot dream. The cursed cannot dream. But still…”
Gently, you let go of Eddie’s hands and leaned into him, snaking your fingers into his hair as he pressed himself into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist.
“You are wide awake. Alive… kind of… But definitely here. With me. In our home. Soon-to-be, with our friends. Our family. And just in time for Halloween.”
He purred a happy sound, nodding into you. “A witch’s favourite holiday?” he hazarded a guess.
“Hmm, not all of us. Most of the witches I’ve known tended to find more obscure holidays to worship at the altar of. New Years is a big one, too. Alas, I am but a cliché All Hallows witch,”
“With much respect, I see that,” Eddie said. You laughed, shrugged. He looked up at you again. “You did fall in love with a vampire, after all.”
…
Far away from the rest of the world, you and Eddie spent almost a week settling into the new house. Grimoires were catalogued into one of the three library rooms. Dandelion puffs were jarred and shelved. Every trinket found its home.
Eddie tested the rainbow light that flooded the rooms, discovering that in the magic there was safety. Sunlight that filtered through the windows did not burn him. He could be free and at ease.
You explained to Eddie the importance of representing the elements within the home. Earth in the plants, wooden carpentry, and the grounding crystals. Fire in the candles, ever-burning incense, and roaring fireplaces that only ever emitted the exact level of heat you wanted. (“In summer, the flames burn cold,” you told Eddie and watched his smile grow.) Water in the mirrors, seashells, and small fountains found in the glasshouse room. Lastly, air in the wind chimes, feathers, and windows that could remain open without upsetting the temperature inside.
During the day, you began work on your garden, creating flower beds in the shape of pentagrams and sewing seeds. Borage for the butterflies and bees, primrose – I can’t live without you; angelica in case you need to break any future hexes; and yarrow, amaryllis, and polypodies.
One evening, just before sunset, you found Eddie rummaging through the apothecary pantry. As you entered the room, his manic smile told you he’d had an idea.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” you asked him, perching on a stool.
Eddie sunk to his knees and shrugged. “The fires are out… The Shire is no longer burning,”
“The Shire being… Hawkins?”
“Yes. And us. We’ve sailed to the Undying Lands,”
“You’re really making Tolkien your whole personality, huh?” you joked.
Eddie smiled up at you. “Until the next book… But what I’m saying is, now that we do not have a battle to prepare for. No conflict upon the horizon. What do we do with all of eternity?”
“Oh… My plan was to eat a lot of Meg’s cinnamon rolls… Try to get Steve Harrington to stop haunting Mel… Maybe work on a spell to make myself teeny tiny so I can ride around on you when you’re a bat…”
“Wait, seriously?”
You gave him a sly smile. “Maybe,”
“Well, I would love that… But, I was thinking a little more introspectively. Back to things we have thought about before. Like, why I am the way that I am… What that means…” He ran a finger along the leaves of the mimosa pudica plant beside him. The leaves felt his touch, curled inwards on themselves. It was one of Eddie’s favourites, the way it reacted to the world around it.
“Any new insights?” you asked softy.
“No… But… If I believe in you and in your magic and the way you make sense of the world… then I… I have to do something,”
“Do something?”
“We get back what we give, right?”
“Yeah,” you agreed. “It’s not always obvious or direct. Or timely. Or even equally fair… But, yeah… There is definitely something like the concept of karma at play. And even if there isn’t, living as if there is can only be a good thing,”
“Then I must show more grace… and gratitude… Even if I am a monster, maybe especially because I am… I can give goodness too.”
Without thinking, you slid off the stool and joined Eddie on the floor. “You already do. You don’t owe the world anything.”
Eddie smiled, first a small soft thing, almost sad, but then it twisted into something else. Ear-to-ear and full of teeth. “I owe it more than one life,”
“But if we count all the lives you have saved. Both by killing what plagued this town, and by preventing deaths at the hands of bad people-”
“Morality cannot be simple addition and subtraction. There is no math that can quantify goodness or righteousness. You know that,” Eddie cut in. He watched your face, saw the pensiveness blossom across it. “Don’t worry, my little witch, my plan is not as life-or-death as this all makes it seem… I just want to do something good for your friends,”
“Your friends,” you corrected quickly. “They’ll be your friends too. Your family. You’re part of this coven.”
Eddie reached out to cup your face in his hands. “Your coven is yours. But I will take the friendship. I have years of loneliness to make up for,”
“Then what-”
He cut you off again, this time with a kiss. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, draping your arms around his neck. Eddie pulled you into his lap and you curled into him like the leaves of the mimosa.
His mouth kissed and sucked at your neck between sentence fragments. “I’m-” kiss “going-” kiss “to plant-” lick “them-” kiss “flowers.” His punctuation a kiss that wanted to be a bite.
You were hardly listening to his words. His words and ideas and introspective musings could all wait.
Eddie laid you down on the floor, the smell of the oak still new. You arched your back and pulled him down by his collar.
“Bed,” you mumbled into his mouth.
“Why build a house if we’re not gonna use it,” he answered.
One hand splayed next to your head to keep him up, the other tickling its way under the hem of your skirt and up your thigh.
“Besides,” Eddie said. “Doesn’t feel like you can wait.” He was sliding your underwear off, throwing them across the room. He rested a hand on you, sliding an index finger through your slickness.
“I can’t,” you agreed, breathy and impatient. “Now. I want you now.”
Eddie didn’t have to be asked twice. With his pants still hanging from an ankle, he was fast to set up and slow on approach. You felt the tip of him follow the path made by his hand, gathering wetness, and shooting electricity through your body.
You melted into jelly beneath him, bliss written all over your face. Eddie loved you like this, pliable and prone to tears of ecstasy.
He held himself back, keeping his pace slow and steady. His vampire muscles screamed to go faster, to rail you into next week, but he liked pulling you apart. Liked how you unconsciously uttered strings of words like ‘full’ and ‘please’ and ‘can’t.’ Liked when you clawed at him to come closer, bit down on his shoulder.
“I love you,” he told you, mouth on your ear, tongue licking. “So. Fucking. Much.”
There was a seemingly endless amount of ways Eddie had learned could make you cum. Talking to you was a favourite for you both.
“You’re so perfect, so perfect… You feel so perfect… You’re so warm and soft and I… I want to eat you whole…”
Your response was in the pooling tears and the nodding and the slack jaw. The begging, “Please. Please.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.” It was all it took. Your orgasm exploded moments before his. Eddie’s thrusting getting harder and faster for the few seconds he took to follow you. He had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from ripping into your neck.
You kept your eyes closed, not aware of your surroundings. When you felt Eddie’s arms slide beneath you, you smiled and hummed. He carried you to your new bed, cleaning your skin with a warm washcloth before curling himself in behind you.
With the last of your day’s energy, you tangled your fingers through his, falling asleep happily.
As Eddie listened to your breathing find its mellow night rhythm, he saw a vision of you in his mind. Hands full of flowers and foliage. A coven of audience. Glorious and beaming.
End Note: I made a small Pinterest board with inspo for their house - click here to view.
I hope you are all as well as any of us can be at a time like this. I hope this story continues to provide comfort, escapism, and fuel for daydreams. xo Rhi
Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @moviefreak1205 @pastel-pillows
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Currently, most fics get bookmarked for me to read when I am in the mood/have energy or whatever, but I read this as soon as I came online and will probably keep refreshing your page until there is more (not in a pressure way - I would wait one hundred years happily).
I'm just so obsessed with them?
The Ink Shop Part 2
Description: After your encounter with Eddie, things are beginning to get a bit more complicated; especially when you ask him for another little favour. But, will Eddie go for it?
Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI this ain't for you, angst, tiny bit of fluff, smut, fem oral receiving, male masturbation.
A/N: OK when I said this will be in 3 parts I lied, it's totally going to be at least 4, maybe 5! Thank you for the love you've shown the first part, it's incredible! You're superstars.
❤️ If you like it please comment and reblog, it really makes my day!❤️
7k words
Masterlist Part 1
For some reason, the shop seems more welcoming today than ever. It might be the fact that the sun is shining, it might be the radio seemingly playing all your favourite songs, or it might be last night. Either way, you feel loose and free, laughing at jokes, smiling at everyone, and genuinely just happier.
Eddie saunters in thirty minutes late and you barely notice, apart from flashing him a bashful smile.
“Well hello there sweetheart, you seem chipper today.”
You roll your eyes at the obvious insinuation, but your smile is warm. “I had a good night's sleep, that's all.”
“Bet you did,” he grins, “you look real pretty.”
Looking down, you consider your outfit; you'd decided enough of the corporate clothes, this is a tattoo shop after all. So, you'd paired a roll neck sweater with a short jean skirt and sneakers. A more relaxed outfit to go with a more relaxed attitude. Before you can say anything in reply he strolls over to his station.
Right, so a few jabs, but he's being nonchalant. So put it out of your mind.
The morning moves quickly, a messy blur of clients and phone calls. After a fast lunch, the shop finally calms down a little. When you're focusing on sorting the mess of the heavy bookings tome in front of you, Eddie approaches, mischief glinting in his eyes.
“I see London, I see France…”
You follow his bowed head and cross your legs in sheer embarrassment, realising a sliver of your panties must be on display.
“Eddie!”
He simply laughs, throwing his head back far enough that your gaze drifts to his Adam's apple.
“Sorry, I couldn't resist, I'm a big fan of this skirt,” he says, drinking you in with his eyes, “anyway I wanted to ask-”
His sentence is stopped however by the loud ringing of the old corded phone. You and Eddie share a look, yours begging and his smug. Before you can grab it, he picks up the phone, putting on a ridiculous British accent.
“Good Afternoon, London Underground Airways, this is your captain speaking- Oh shit Mac- Yeah she's- I know I'm not supposed to answer- Sorry I- Fine, here.” He brandishes the phone at you.
“Hello? Oh, of course I'll let them know- I understand- It'd be my pleasure- see you soon.” replacing the receiver, you make a note on the pad at your side.
“What'd he say?” Eddie asks, hovering over you.
Not giving him the satisfaction of a look, you continue to make your note, however perfunctory it may be. “Mac's going to be a little late, he told me to tell his next client.”
“He said my name, I heard it. What'd he say?”
Placing your pen down with a loud click, you turn to him.
You tell him as you smile smugly. “He told me to hit you for answering the phone.”
If anything, his grin grows broader. “Oh? Go on then princess, I'd hate for you to break the rules.” He turns his face, no doubt expecting a cuff to the back of the head.
Spinning on your stool, you slap him right across the cheek; not with all your strength, but certainly hard enough to remember. Eddie's face is a picture of shock, pink handprint already flushing his cheek.
But that just makes his smile wider.
“Harder.” He asks, eyes flashing arousal at you.
“Eddie!” you shout, pushing him away, but his laugh echoes through the shop. Before he has a chance to continue, a burly biker type walks right in the door.
“Good afternoon, can I help you?”
“Yeah, It's Jimmy, I'm here for Mac?”
“He's running a little late, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. Can I get you a coffee or something while you wait?”
You can't help but hear a huff from Eddie, but before you can question it he's drawing in his book, entirely oblivious to the outside world.
At the end of the day, you're tired, but still in fairly high spirits. It's the first time you've seen everyone in the shop at once. There's an edge to the air though, as if an expectation hangs over everyone.
So… bar?” Mac asks in a defeated tone, although he's smiling. Everyone reacts; Eddie woops, pumping his fist, even the usually reserved Miranda is clapping quietly. You smile and nod, finally understanding what the atmosphere was about.
As you all enter the dimly lit bar, chatting and laughing, you hear a low huff.
“What did I do to deserve this?” John is standing behind the bar. An imposing figure, his arms crossed and face surly, but there's a kindness in his eyes. Mac leans straight over and hands him a card.
“Easy John, I got this,” he chuckles. The card is accepted gratefully, the gruff demeanour lessening with the promise of payment.
You accept a bottle of beer and slide into a nearby booth, the rest of the group filtering in. Mac walks over, eyes the space next to you, then grabs a stool to sit at the head of the table. It throws you for a minute; surely he knows he can sit there? Before you can tell him so, Eddie waltzes across the room with a tray of tequila shots and all the fixings with a cheeky look in his eyes. He slides right in next to you, tray and all, and places it on the table with exaggerated care.
“Ladies, gentlemen.” He says, gesturing to the tiny glasses like an old timey butler. There's a succession of groans from the party, but despite this they all grab a shot. All except you.
“I don't think I-” you begin, but he's waving a hand in the air.
“Come on, you drink. It's a shot. Never had tequila before?”
Fixing him with a sharp look, your cheeks begin to redden of their own accord. Eddie smirks and tosses his head back, hiding his eyes with one hand.
“Shit princess, what did you do at college?”
“Study.” You say primly, but take a glass tentatively and place it in front of you.
“Right, so for the new guys…“ Eddie smiles right at you and licks his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. That hint of silver mesmerises you, the ball of his tongue piercing catching the light. It's almost sensual the way he does it, your eyes automatically following the movement of his tongue. “salt right here…” he sprinkles some on the spot he moistened, “then, lick, shoot, suck.”
In a few fluid movements he licks the salt from his hand, downs the shot, and sticks a wedge of lime in his mouth. As your brain finally engages after that display, the little show that shouldn't have heated your insides up, you follow along, and take your shot with everyone else. It's easier than you would have thought, the lime easing the burn somewhat.
Eddie squeezes your thigh under the table and whispers low enough for you to hear.
“Good girl.”
Shooting daggers with a simple look, he just smirks, leaving his hand on your bare leg as if challenging you. Dimly, you hear the echoes of a conversation in front of you; it's Julio, arguing about good tequila not needing salt and lime, but you're lost in the deep pools of Eddie's chocolate eyes.
For a moment, your body flashes red hot and you regret your choice of the high necked sweater. Tearing your eyes away you look at something, anything, but Eddie.
The conversation drifts between all manner of subjects and you start to relax, the beer and tequila swimming in your belly loosening your tongue. It's nice, having a chance to chat and giggle with your coworkers in a setting not interrupted by the constant buzzing of tattoo machines.
Julio and Chloe end up in a full scale argument about the karaoke machine in the corner. Before you're subjected to the horror of having to sing in public, you get up to grab another beer. Perching on a stool by the bar with your purse in hand, you're waiting patiently to be served.
Eddie strolls over. You see him in your periphery; that confident walk as if he owns the very ground he walks on. Casually he hops up on the stool next to you, making no effort to hide the way he undresses you with his eyes.
“Quit staring Eddie,” you say testily as you knock the bar with your bank card.
“Now I can't look at you?” He asks with an amused grin.
“I said quit staring, not quit looking,” you huff out.
“What's the difference?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his nose at you.
You groan, turning on your stool to face him. “You are impossible,”
He sticks his long tongue out childishly, flashing his piercing at you.
Thankfully, John's voice cuts through the squabble. “What can I get you?”
“May I have a beer, please?”
“You certainly may.” John cocks his thumb in your direction, addressing Eddie, “I like this one, she's polite. Don't scare her off.”
Eddie dramatically holds his chest. “You wound me, sir!”
Two beers are placed on the bar and John waves your card away. “Don't worry about it, Mac's treating you guys tonight.”
As you swig your beer, you contemplate for a moment, trying to work out something.
“You're staring, sweetheart.” Eddie grins, as he gulps his drink.
“I wasn't staring, I was thinking! I know that's a foreign concept to you.” It's catty, you know that, but he just seems to bring it out in you. No one else has annoyed you so much in your life just by… being.
“That was rude. I thought we were playing nice?” he pouts playfully.
“Sorry. I- Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, shoot.”
Turning to him, you speak what's on your mind. “Why do people get their tongues pierced? No one really sees it. I get like, nose and eyebrow piercings and stuff, but the tongue one I don't understand.”
Eddie's grin is wide as he bites his bottom lip and stares at you. Well, you couldn't call it a grin. It's a flash of teeth, almost wolfish in its delivery.
“Oh princess, you are too cute.”
Staring at him with your brow furrowed, you try to work out what he means, but the longer you take, the more amused he looks.
“What? What is it?”
Sighing, he leans closer, the scent of aftershave, cigarettes and man clouding around you. “It's got a purpose, sweetheart.”
“What, like, kissing?”
Shaking his head, he looks you up and down. “Kinda. Kissing somewhere… specific.”
Realisation breaks across your face, followed by a fierce blush that you can feel to the roots of your hair. Laughing, Eddie pulls away a little and takes a mouthful of beer.
Voice an airy whisper, you lean over to him as you speak. “And girls like that?”
His laugh is so loud it reverberates around the bar.
“Yeah, a lot, in my experience.”
“Oh.”
Well, the thought is there now, and you're pretty sure it won't ever go away, not without some sort of mind bleach. Eddie's head between your legs, his long tongue exploring your sex. The image is burned into the back of your brain, playing on a loop.
“You're looking a little hot there,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. It's fair to say it wouldn't take a psychic to know what's rattling around your head right now.
“I'm fine, this sweater is too warm,” you shake out, pressing your thighs together.
“Liar.”
Mouth opening and closing like a fish, you finally snap it shut with a crunch. Curiosity is eating away at you, and it's too easy to say what's on your mind after a couple of drinks.
“Eddie, could you… tell me, what- what it's like?”
He chuckles lightly and scoots closer to you. “you know I can't, I've not exactly had the pleasure.”
“I know that, I mean…”
For a second he just gapes at you.
“Wait, princess, are you asking me to tell you or… show you?”
Flustered, you turn away a little. “Sorry that's- that's too much isn't it. It's just you… did such a good job with the, you know, the other thing, I was just curious.”
Eddie bites his lip, puffing out a little breath. “You know, flattery works with me. I did a good job, huh?”
“Well, yeah. I can imagine you'd be really good at… that too. I could, owe you a favour?” It's bold, especially from you, but the way he's looking at you, the slight flush to his cheeks, you'd put money on him agreeing.
Eddie stares at you incredulously. “Wait, you're saying you want me to stick my tongue in the holiest of holes and then you owe me a favour?”
“Yeah? Like a little… arrangement.”
He rubs his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he speaks. “I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you.”
That confuses you for a moment. Surely you were the one who asked him? Hesitantly you reach out and touch soft fingertips to the back of his hand.
“Please?”
“Fuck.” He looks around, and turns to you, gazing into your eyes for a moment.
“Fine. Right now.”
“Oh I didn't-”
“Listen, before I change my mind. Meet me out back. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well and I'm taking you home.”
Wordlessly, you grab your purse and head to the back door, heart hammering in your ears. It's a little dank out here, with the sound of a dripping pipe and moss covering the cement. Eddie comes out a moment later looking more serious than you've ever seen him.
“You sure about this?” He asks, searching your eyes.
‘Yeah, but…” you look around the small yard, gesturing vaguely.
“Oh. Oh! You thought- oh Christ no, not here. I'm not a complete asshole. Come with me.”
Letting out a relieved breath, you follow him. He walks over to a gate in the fence and opens it, which leads down a narrow alleyway, a little shortcut between yards. That eventually opens up to another road with a couple of apartment blocks. The one he moves towards looks mostly clean, if a bit lifeless, with a creepy looking van parked out the front.
“This way sweetheart,” he says, leading you through the courtyard and to the stairs.
For a second you stop in sheer surprise.
“Wait, you live this close and you still manage to be late for work?”
He chuckles, looking at you over his shoulder. “I have a condition, you know. Chronic tardiness; I'm afraid there's no cure.”
You bat him on the arm playfully and he grasps your wrist, stopping on the stairs briefly, giving you a look that is wickedness personified.
“If you're gonna hit me, do it properly.”
“Eddie!”
He laughs loud and grabs your hand, holding it in his until he reaches his door. That alone is enough to shut you up. It's warm and rough, and the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how tiny, sends bolts of sensation through you.
“Right, here is my castle,” he says as he opens the door and lets you inside.
Chaos. That's the first word that crosses your mind. It doesn't look dirty, there's just things everywhere. A bookshelf stuffed with books and weird little trinkets placed any which way dominates one wall, and another on the other side with a huge music collection. There's a poky little kitchen with a couple of pots still in the sink, and a big couch with mismatched cushions takes up the remaining space. A tower of board games is precariously leaning next to it, and on the wall over the TV is an honest to goodness sword.
“It's nice,” you say as you walk in, as if you're not mentally organising it in your head.
“You hate it.” He scoffs, pulling his boots off and dumping them by the door.
“No, no, it's very… you.”
“I stand by my previous statement.” He grins at you, clearly indicating he wasn't being entirely serious.
“This is the bedroom.” He walks over and nudges the door open with his foot. Surprisingly, apart from an open clothes rail, an overflowing laundry hamper, and an enormous bed, there's not much in it. The wallpaper is a pretty purple colour, and looks oddly familiar.
“Eddie isn't that the same wallpaper-”
“-As the shop? Yeah. Mac let me have the leftovers. I was broke and this room was fucking pink.”
You snort out a laugh; the thought of Eddie with a pretty pink bedroom was rather unbelievable.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I can live with purple.” He roots around and grabs a pair of sweats. “Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna change real quick.”
Then he walks out into another doorway, you assume the bathroom. The urge to snoop is real, but you resist. It looks like he spends less time here anyway.
The question is, how comfortable are you supposed to make yourself? Nerves start settling in, the thought of what you've asked him to do is finally sinking its way into your mind and down your jangling spine. What if he doesn't like the underwear you're wearing? God, you've been at work all day, what if you smell bad? Or taste bad? What if-
“You can sit down, princess.”
Eddie saunters back in, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you see his cut groin. A little squeak hiccups out of your throat at the sight. You stay standing, ready to make your excuses and leave, but the signal hasn't reached your legs just yet.
“What's wrong?” his eyes are brimming with concern as he steps toward you.
“No I- I was- maybe this-”
“Hey, look at me,” he says, grabbing both of your hands. You stare up at him, his face gentle.
“Whatever you're worried about, I'm sure it's nothing.”
“But i haven't showered-”
“When did you last?”
“Well… this morning.”
“You're fine. Trust me.”
He backs you up onto the bed, your knees folding as you flop down. The air around you feels full, humid with anticipation. He's so close, your bodies almost pressed together.
“I wanna kiss you.” He says softly, stroking a lock of your hair out of your face. Heart leaping into your throat, you try to suppress the urge to lean forward. The last thing you need is to fall for this man. Chloe's words echo in your head; he's not boyfriend material.
He'll break your heart.
“That's not part of our deal, Eddie.”
A frown flickers across his face. It's just for a second, a flash of vulnerability, before his usual cocky smile returns.
“That's not where I wanna kiss you.” He winks and tugs at your top, “can I take this off?”
Nodding wordlessly, you help him and wriggle it up and over your head.
“God damn.” Eddie props up on an elbow, running a finger between your breasts, before following the edge of your black cotton bra.
He looks up at your face, grinning wide, and points at your neck; little purple marks adorn it. “That why you wore that sweater today?”
Flushing crimson, you run fingers across your neck.
“Yeah, you marked me Eddie. Not exactly discreet.”
He chuckles, stroking the side of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I won't do it again. Well, not anywhere that anyone can see.”
Heat floods your stomach, the stark realisation that you want him to mark you clings to your insides. If he notices your reaction he doesn't say, instead he leans toward you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.
“You're really pretty. I don't know if I said that before.”
Awash with a new heat in your cheeks, you smile bashfully. “Thanks, I don't get told that very much.”
Staring at you, he shakes his head.
“You should. You should be told every fucking day.”
You open your mouth, but before you can reply he kisses your jaw, running his tongue down your neck, before he presses his mouth to the top of your breast, sucking roughly. A gasp flies out, and your hand makes a decision entirely on its own to grab his hair.
It seems it was the right thing to do, judging by the deep groan that comes from him. It seems to spur him on, and he yanks the cup of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue teases it, rubbing his piercing over the pebbled nub.
“Oh Holy fuck!” Back arching with the foreign sensation, you revel in it, wriggling underneath him. He smirks against your skin, and takes your nipple between his teeth. Moaning loudly, you pull his hair.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” He looks up at you, pupils blown to black, “can’t hold back if you do that.”
It's not a dare, but it tastes like one, and before you can think you're tugging at it again. Eddie's eyes roll back, and a hard look crosses underneath his eyes.
His actions turn a little feral, pulling you up so he can unhook your bra, practically ripping it off you before his mouth is all over your chest, firm fingers digging into the flesh of your hip.
“Fuck, Eddie” you stutter it out, voice laced with need.
“Yeah?” He whispers out breathlessly between urgent kisses, making his way down your stomach. Suddenly he takes the flesh of your hip in his mouth and bites down little before sucking a bruise as you writhe under him.
He reaches your skirt, hooking fingers into the waistband as he looks up at you, his tone urgent. “Can I?”
As you nod frantically, he reacts immediately, yanking it down along with your underwear.
“Fuck, look at you.”
The urge to close your legs is real, embarrassed at the way he's ogling you right between your thighs. They quiver with tension, but Eddie forces them open with his large palms.
“Don't hide from me. You still want this?”
You nod, and his head snaps up to look at you. His voice is hard, swirling around your insides with an intensity you're not used to from him.
“Say it. You need to say it.”
‘Yes, please Eddie.”
That satisfies him. He leans forward, breath ghosting over your clit. You're waiting for his mouth, his tongue, but that's not what happens. He inhales you, nose so close it's almost touching your sex.
“Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good.”
“Eddie!” you cry it out, cringing at his words as you bury your face in your hands.
“Relax princess, it's a compliment.”
Before you can retort that it's not a compliment, it's weird, and he's a freak for saying it, it no longer matters. He's licking a fat stripe up the length of your pussy, long tongue pushing against you hard in an animal-like gesture.
The noise that expels from your chest is inhuman, a choked, guttural breath that belongs in a cave somewhere, not a bedroom.
He doesn't relent, his mouth exploring every inch of you with a ferality that has you tingling all the way to your toes. His fierce movements, accentuated by the bump of his piercing, have you nearly leaving the mattress. You're not sure if you're trying to get more, or move away. Not that it matters. His hands are holding you so firmly that all you can do is wriggle helplessly like a fish on a line.
Fingers trace the outside of your entrance before they slide in, beckoning your release. Whimpering, you grasp the bedsheets in a need to keep contact with something real.
“Talk to me,” he says between mind numbing messy kisses to your clit, “good, yeah?”
“Eddie, f-fuck, its incredible, please, oh God, k-keep going!”
You can practically feel the smirk on his face as he dives back in, suckling at your clit with an unmatched fervour, his tongue piercing flicking expertly as he does so. Suddenly, you're not creeping toward your release, you're being hurtled toward it, thrown into the depths of absolute pleasure.
Hands finding their way into Eddie's hair again, you hold on tight, buckling up for the ride. It's almost violent the way he pulls your climax from you, and you scream loudly, almost folding in half before you fall back onto the bed.
Eddie sits up, hands placed on your thighs, as he grins proudly, face shining with your slick.
“You OK princess?”
OK doesn't seem to cover it. You're panting wildly, each breath shallow and ragged, brain melted into soup.
“Think you can go again?”
That gets your attention. You sit up, gaping at him. “Again?”
Chuckling, he runs a finger up your slit and circles your clit in a teasing manner. The slight touch has your thighs trembling.
“I think you've got at least one more in you.”
Without a further word he presses his tongue against you. On instinct you grip his hair once more, bucking your hips up.
“Fuck, that's it sweetheart, ride my face.”
This time he slips his tongue inside as his nose nudges at your clit, the thick muscle curling and writhing. Holding on tight, your hips know what to do, your body reacting and rolling to meet him.
You're yanking his hair hard as you grind against his face, pulling deep grunts and moans from him which vibrate inside of you. It feels primal, sheer need clouding your mind, a fog that rolls into every limb and leaves no part untouched.
“Eddie, fuck!” You moan loudly as your walls clench around his tongue, another climax bubbling its way to the surface. He doubles down with his efforts almost as if he needs this as much as you do.
With one final thrust of his tongue you whine out your orgasm, back finally touching the bed once more. There are no thoughts, only your heavy breath and beating heart keeping you in the moment.
After a few seconds that seem to stretch on for a year, he hovers over your face. He's wiped off your release, but nothing could wipe that smug grin.
“So? Good?”
It's not like he doesn't know. You pat blindly at his arm, words stuck in a puddle on your tongue. In an unexpected tender gesture, he swipes his thumb over your chin, his gaze pensive. You stare back, fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek.
“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, the words pooling from you unbidden.
For a split second you think he's going to lean in and close the gap, but he flashes his teeth at you and flicks the tip of your nose.
“That's not part of the deal.”
Disappointment leaks into your stomach. Which is entirely unfair. He's using your words after all. Fighting the feeling, you force a smile.
“I think I'll need a wheelchair to get home.” You chuckle, indicating to your still twitching legs.
“Stay here. I'll take the couch.”
“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn't kick you out of your own bed thats-”
“Hey, it's fine, honestly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.” He shrugs and rolls off the bed and onto his feet in one quick movement like a cat. “Here. If you want something to sleep in.” He hands you a faded t-shirt. Hesitating for a moment, your hand hovers over it, but he stuffs it into your grip.
“Honestly, it's fine. I can drop you home before work so you can get changed and stuff. No big deal.”
“What about your chronic tardiness?” You joke, smiling softly at him.
“You're here, I'm sure you'll whip me into shape.”
“You'd probably like that,” you tease.
“More than you know.” He winks again, and walks to the doorway. “Night, princess.”
“Night Eddie.”
When he's gone you shrug the shirt on. It's clean, but there's an undercurrent of pure Eddie still there that's more comforting than you'll care to admit. Then, you lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Well. You certainly weren't expecting to end up in Eddie's room, in his bed, but here you are. You're not sure what this all means just yet and processing it is just hurting your brain. A part of you is saying that you should get out now whilst you can. Another, louder part is telling you this is where you should be. The only problem: is this message coming from your heart, or much lower down?
Chloe drifts into your mind whilst you lay there. Did they hook up in this bed? Are you in the same place she was? And how did that end? Clearly it was on good terms, considering how friendly they are, but how many girls have been where you are right now? A few? A dozen? A hundred?
After a while your thoughts just start to ache, leaving a migraine behind your eyes. Shifting on the bed, you try to get comfortable, but it's no use. You wonder if Eddie is still awake. After all, he's the only one that can answer your questions.
Sitting up a little, you listen intently for any signs of life from the next room, but no matter how hard you strain your ears, you can't hear anything.
As you quietly get up and creep to the door, you press your ear to it. Maybe that was a word you heard, a loud breath, or the signs of an overactive imagination. Turning the doorknob like a safecracker, you inch the door open ever so slightly to peek beyond.
There he is, laying on the couch, eyes tight shut and face contorted in concentration. Odd. You slowly guide the door open a little more and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.
Eddie's laying there, hand down his sweats, tugging at himself like there's no tomorrow.
You almost cry out in shock but manage to swallow the noise just in time. For what feels like a full minute you stand and stare, mouth gaping open. It's like you're hypnotised, unable to tear away from his urgent movements.
A particularly good stroke has him bucking into his hand, and he lets out this strained whimper that shoots directly between your legs.
Right, stop. This is wrong. How would you feel if he caught you? …OK, bad example.
Reluctantly, you close the door again as quietly as you can before climbing back into his bed to stare at the ceiling once more.
It looks like it's going to be a long night.
********************
“You look really great,” Chloe says as she strolls into the shop, handing you a coffee, “like, happier, more relaxed.”
It's a few days after your impromptu sleepover at Eddie's place, and she's absolutely right. You do look more relaxed, even you've noticed the change. There's more confidence in you, and a smile that was once a little forced is warm and genuine.
“Thanks, I think I'm getting more comfortable here.” It's not a lie, exactly, but it's certainly not the whole truth.
“Good, glad to hear it!” She beams at you and heads to her table.
The bell over the door chimes once again startling you. Miranda and Mac are already here and it couldn't possibly be Eddie this early.
“Um… Hi.” A gangly youth walks in, all arms and legs and bright blonde hair. He shuffles over to the counter awkwardly.
“Morning, can I help you?”
“Y-yeah, you do walk-ins today, right?” He asks, brandishing a crumpled flyer at you.
Face lighting up, you fix your best smile.
“Why yes we do, it's walk-in Wednesday. It's a little early though. Can I see some ID?
He hands it over. The guy's freshly 21 and knows it, puffing out his little pigeon chest with pride.
“Excellent. It's about 10 minutes until we open, but Miranda will be with you. Miranda, you got a book for this guy?”
Confusion paints Mirandas's face, but then she smiles.
“A walk in? Wow.” She strolls over and hands him her portfolio of designs, introducing herself.
When Eddie finally turns up, there's another guy waiting.
“You're not my 10:30.”
The poor boy looks at him nervously like he did something wrong.
“Eddie, he's a walk-in.” Mac says, calling over his shoulder.
Eddie smirks at you and leans over the counter.
“Well well, bet you're happy. Atta girl.”
Blushing profusely, you move to tap him on the arm in warning, but he grabs your hand and kisses it. Heat flies straight to your belly at the gesture.
“Let me know when my 10:30 is here, alright sweetheart?”
He's still holding your hand, brushing his fingers over your knuckles. Weakly you nod, gazing at him as your toes curl in your shoes.
Shooting you a wink, he ambles over to his station as you watch him, eyes drawn to the way he moves.
There's three more clients asking about Wednesdays; granted, one didn't have an ID, but the other two were seen and inked, and one even booked a follow up with Miranda.
Buzzing with job satisfaction, you're grinning when you nip to the restroom, walking through the narrow corridor. As you exit, you're immediately accosted by Eddie. He stands close, a hand loosely holding your wrist to keep you there as he bends to whisper in your ear.
“Now, you're not supposed to touch fine art, but someone's gotta pin you against the wall and nail you right.”
“Eddie!” You whisper shout at him, only serving to make him chuckle low in his throat.
“Sorry, couldn't resist. I have an idea, for that favour you owe me?”
Body tensing of its own accord, you look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted. Before you can ask what it is, a voice cuts through the tension.
“Hey, keep it at home guys.”
Mac's standing at the other end of the corridor with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pursing your lips, you wriggle from Eddie's grip.
“It's not what it looks like Mac, I promise.” You say, shouldering past Eddie.
“Come on sweetheart, don't get all shy on me now!” He shouts, walking after you.
You ignore him, giving Mac an apologetic look, and sit back down at the counter. God, that was embarrassing. Seems like professional and discreet are out the window.
“So, as I was saying-”
“Eddie, stop, not now.” you say, cheeks bright red.
“I was only-”
“Eddie please! I don't want to get into trouble!”
Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, but backs off finally.
You make a very clear point of being busy until the rest of the day, completing any ad hoc tasks you can think of. Tidying the stock cupboards, refreshing the consent sheets, and even organising the sparse counter. Anything to avoid further comment from Mac.
When six rolls around you turn to talk to Eddie, but he's already leaving without a glance at you.
Sighing, you make your way outside and home, trying to ignore the little sting in your chest.
********************
It's Saturday before you see him again. Your day off was mostly spent worrying about how you upset him and thinking about everything you could have done differently.
By the morning you're an emotional wreck, anxiety having done her job and left you a bubbling mass of maybes. When Eddie storms in the shop with a proverbial rain cloud over his head your heart pangs in your chest.
He's such a big character, and you didn't realise until now the influence this has on this place. Usually he's energetic and upbeat; however, with this melancholy energy coming from him, everyone seems to stoop a little more, eyes a touch downcast, movements more shuffled and broken. It's like a black hole has descended on the shop, pulling joy from your soul and sucking everything into its gravity.
The tattoo shop is quiet for a Saturday. Not from lack of customers; it's just a more hushed and sullen atmosphere. By the afternoon you decide enough is enough and you grab Eddie's arm between clients.
“Eddie, can I talk to you?”
He gets up, stretching his back in a feline movement, and walks with you slowly to the stockroom.
“Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened on Wednesday, I didn't want to upset you and I can't stand seeing you like this and-”
“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You been worrying? About me?” He tilts his head, giving you a small lopsided smile.
“Yeah? I thought you were mad at me.” You mumble out.
“Oh, princess, come here.” He wraps you in his arms, holding your head close to his chest. A relieved breath puffs from your chest as you melt into the hug.
“That's not what I'm upset about, I promise.”
You pull from the embrace to look at him, a hopeful smile tugging at your lips.
“Really?”
Stroking your cheek softly, he presses his lips together. “You're adorable,” he moves his hand away and starts waving his arm about as he tells you what's wrong.
“You know I'm in a band? Well we've got this regular gig at Hatters, which is great and all, but I found out they're looking for more bands at The Pit. That big rock club on Main? I've been trying to get hold of the damn owner but he's ignoring all my calls and I'm pissed off.”
Grinning, you grab his arm. “Eddie, I can totally help you with that.”
His gaze is soft and warm as he asks “Really? You'd do that for me?”
“Of course I would. You got their number?”
He digs around in his pocket and passes you a wedge of shiny paper. Unfolding it, you look at the details, smiling even wider when you see they're attempting a ladies night. There's a telephone number at the bottom, the contact listed as William.
“I gotta idea. Just roll with it, OK?”
He looks confused but nods at you. Skipping to the counter, you pick up the phone and dial the number. When it's answered by a young woman, you speak with a nasal voice, sounding almost bored.
“Is Bill there?- Tell him it's Barb- oh trust me he's gonna wanna take this call honey.”
Eddie's staring at you with an amused expression; you look back at him, flashing a smile while you wait.
“Bill! How long has it been! Oh, don't say you don't remember me… oh, you do!- I'm good, I'm good- I'm managing this band, yeah, you've gotta book them- Corroded Coffin- yeah, yeah- They are hot right now, selling out their shows- look I know you're struggling getting the ladies in, but that's about to change. Their lead singer is- well lemme tell you, if I were a younger woman- haha yes, sounds great! Next Saturday?- Nine- Great stuff- I'll speak to you soon.”
Placing the phone down with a little click, you cross your legs and look at Eddie smugly.
His jaw may as well be on the floor, eyebrows so high that he resembles a cartoon character.
“Barb? Selling out their shows? If I were a younger woman? Where the fuck did that come from?”
You giggle, “I thought he'd listen if he thought I was a business connection. I took a shot, a little bullshit can take you far.”
He swoops over to you and grabs you in his arms, lifting you bodily from your seat and swinging you around as you squeal helplessly.
“Saturday? Not even midweek? Princess I owe you big time.”
“Eddie I already owe-”
He's not listening, running over to Mac and bouncing on the spot like a child. “Mac, Mac, did you hear? I'm playing at The Pit!!”
You watch as he explains what just happened; he's so animated, gesticulating wildly as loose locks of hair fly from his bun. Mac beams at him and hugs him in a fatherly motion before Eddie springs back over to you.
“Who the fuck is Barb?”
“I dunno, she sounded worldly.”
He grins, shaking his head, “I can't believe you lied for me. You seem… different lately. More confident. It suits you.”
Blushing, you thank him. For a second you stare at each other, both lost in the other.
Eddie shakes his head, and looks at the time.
“Fuck, right, I got 20 minutes, I'll be back!” He grabs his coat and runs out of the shop shouting “personal errand!”
Chuckling, you sit back down at the counter. Mac approaches, smiling softly.
“You did good Miss, he's really happy.”
“Thanks, I couldn't bear the sulking.”
He laughs and touches your shoulder, “he cares about you. In case you didn't notice.”
He walks away nonchalantly as if he didn't just drop a bomb at your feet. Eddie cares about you? You're still pondering it when he returns a half hour later looking sweaty and dishevelled.
“Princess, I got you a present,” he whispers, brandishing a nondescript black bag at you. You peek inside and shut it immediately.
“Eddie what the fuck!” You whisper, face flooding with blood at the sight as you hide it under the counter. There's a sex toy in the bag, well at least one, but you were so shocked at the sight you didn't get a good look.
He chuckles and leans in close. “Thought you'd like it.”
“Eddie I don't know how to- to use this stuff,” you mumble quietly, looking around to make sure no one's listening.
He smirks at you in response.
“You free tonight? I can show you.”
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Did you see the Pinterest board? Look at this fucking bathtub:
I wanna live there tooooooooooooo
Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson
Series Masterlist
The Grimoire
The Timeline
Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.
Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?
Chapter Summary: You are wide awake. 2340 words.
1986
Every day Eddie watched the jar. He watched how the moon water moved, alive and with a viscosity different from regular water. He watched the apple slices dry and the sprigs of lavender go stiff. He thought if he watched closely enough, he’d see the magic working, but he never caught a glimmer of craft.
When it was time, you let him plant the enchanted seed in the new coven neighbourhood. Your home would grow furthest out, close to the shade of the woods. A spell later, you were traveling back to Forest Hills to begin packing the trailer up.
It had been months since you’d moved in, therefore you had accumulated a lot of items.
“Do you need all of these?” Eddie asked, holding up one of five shoeboxes, all packed with feathers you had found. “And is this a normal amount of feathers to find? What is wrong with the birds in Hawkins?”
“Yes and no and a lot. I told you that if you are gonna help, you can’t question every single thing you pick up,”
“I’m doing no such thing,” he rebutted.
“Eddie, you told me to cull my jar collection,”
“I stand by it. There are too many. You can collect more,”
“I use them! Frequently! And I don’t just keep any jar. All the ones I have are, like, uniquely shaped or extra sturdy!” you whined. “Asking a witch to not collect jars is just…” You shook your head, not able to find the words to express the atrocity.
Eddie smiled at you softly. “Perhaps I am not the best helper,” he conceded. “Perhaps my time would be better spent doing something else,”
“Something else like use your vampire speed to clean the bathroom, or something else like turn into a bat and sleep?”
An hour later, Eddie was asleep in one of the boxes containing clothes, and you were wrapping more empty jars in bubble wrap.
…
A monument to witchcraft and love. That’s what Eddie thought when he saw the house. It had the glorious drama of Ev’s Victorian home and the softness of the other witches’ cottages. Expansive stained glass windows. Detailed architraves, the wood so dark it appeared black. Red brick. A single-story structure, but the dome of a conservatory was visible over the roof. It extended back into the woods, settling into the landscape as if it had always been there.
Eddie thought back to all the places he had lived in. The house his father’s rage felt the brunt of as much as he did. The farm he came into adulthood on. The colony caves. The cold and lonely hotel rooms. The trees above Forest Hills. He’d never had a home, apart from your arms, but there it was. Real and in front of him.
The sun was setting over the valley as Eddie stood before the house. You’d seen it early that day, doing your final checks before okaying the move. It was your magic the house grew from, so naturally you were less awestruck by it. The floorplan and aesthetic had been born in your mind. Still, it was a beautiful thing.
“Think it will do?” you asked Eddie, coming to stand beside him.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “It’s…” How many different words were there for ‘home,’ he wondered. What language could fully communicate the depth of emotion?
“Enchanted seeds create homes, not houses,” you told him as you walked towards the front door. “Come and see.”
Eddie followed, almost expecting something to happen as he crossed the front door threshold. Once inside, Eddie clenched his jaw. It was more perfect than he could have anticipated.
The furniture was plush and comfortable, an eclectic mix of antique pieces and modern amenities. Bookshelves stood tall and waiting, ready for the library to arrive. Potted ivy trailed up and around curtain railings and along the walls.
“You never got to see my place in the Catskills. A lot of the furniture comes from there. The rest comes from the seed… It’s the kind of magic that makes me wish we could study it, you know? I want to know the science of it. How does it work?”
“It seems to me that part of the power of magic is in the unknowing,” Eddie replied, as wise as any of the Witches Who Came Before.
“It does appear to be the case,” you agreed.
For a while, you let Eddie wander aimlessly through the house.
He marvelled at the bath, huge and round, like a pond and definitely big enough for two. A huge wardrobe door that opened into a secret library. The conservatory full of thriving plants, flowers, herbs, and other living things Eddie did not have a word for. Every window a different shape but never square. Strange detailing like cat shaped doorknobs and pink quartz basins.
Eventually, Eddie sat on the end of the huge bed, its four posts grand and its linen crisp. He looked over at you and held out his hands.
“Come.”
You walked to him, taking his hands, and standing between his legs. Eddie looked up at you with those sparkling brown eyes, the adoration radiating from him.
“It’s an irrational idea, this fear I have that I’m dreaming. That I am still cursed, haunting this town until the end of time. But a vampire cannot dream. The cursed cannot dream. But still…”
Gently, you let go of Eddie’s hands and leaned into him, snaking your fingers into his hair as he pressed himself into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist.
“You are wide awake. Alive… kind of… But definitely here. With me. In our home. Soon-to-be, with our friends. Our family. And just in time for Halloween.”
He purred a happy sound, nodding into you. “A witch’s favourite holiday?” he hazarded a guess.
“Hmm, not all of us. Most of the witches I’ve known tended to find more obscure holidays to worship at the altar of. New Years is a big one, too. Alas, I am but a cliché All Hallows witch,”
“With much respect, I see that,” Eddie said. You laughed, shrugged. He looked up at you again. “You did fall in love with a vampire, after all.”
…
Far away from the rest of the world, you and Eddie spent almost a week settling into the new house. Grimoires were catalogued into one of the three library rooms. Dandelion puffs were jarred and shelved. Every trinket found its home.
Eddie tested the rainbow light that flooded the rooms, discovering that in the magic there was safety. Sunlight that filtered through the windows did not burn him. He could be free and at ease.
You explained to Eddie the importance of representing the elements within the home. Earth in the plants, wooden carpentry, and the grounding crystals. Fire in the candles, ever-burning incense, and roaring fireplaces that only ever emitted the exact level of heat you wanted. (“In summer, the flames burn cold,” you told Eddie and watched his smile grow.) Water in the mirrors, seashells, and small fountains found in the glasshouse room. Lastly, air in the wind chimes, feathers, and windows that could remain open without upsetting the temperature inside.
During the day, you began work on your garden, creating flower beds in the shape of pentagrams and sewing seeds. Borage for the butterflies and bees, primrose – I can’t live without you; angelica in case you need to break any future hexes; and yarrow, amaryllis, and polypodies.
One evening, just before sunset, you found Eddie rummaging through the apothecary pantry. As you entered the room, his manic smile told you he’d had an idea.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” you asked him, perching on a stool.
Eddie sunk to his knees and shrugged. “The fires are out… The Shire is no longer burning,”
“The Shire being… Hawkins?”
“Yes. And us. We’ve sailed to the Undying Lands,”
“You’re really making Tolkien your whole personality, huh?” you joked.
Eddie smiled up at you. “Until the next book… But what I’m saying is, now that we do not have a battle to prepare for. No conflict upon the horizon. What do we do with all of eternity?”
“Oh… My plan was to eat a lot of Meg’s cinnamon rolls… Try to get Steve Harrington to stop haunting Mel… Maybe work on a spell to make myself teeny tiny so I can ride around on you when you’re a bat…”
“Wait, seriously?”
You gave him a sly smile. “Maybe,”
“Well, I would love that… But, I was thinking a little more introspectively. Back to things we have thought about before. Like, why I am the way that I am… What that means…” He ran a finger along the leaves of the mimosa pudica plant beside him. The leaves felt his touch, curled inwards on themselves. It was one of Eddie’s favourites, the way it reacted to the world around it.
“Any new insights?” you asked softy.
“No… But… If I believe in you and in your magic and the way you make sense of the world… then I… I have to do something,”
“Do something?”
“We get back what we give, right?”
“Yeah,” you agreed. “It’s not always obvious or direct. Or timely. Or even equally fair… But, yeah… There is definitely something like the concept of karma at play. And even if there isn’t, living as if there is can only be a good thing,”
“Then I must show more grace… and gratitude… Even if I am a monster, maybe especially because I am… I can give goodness too.”
Without thinking, you slid off the stool and joined Eddie on the floor. “You already do. You don’t owe the world anything.”
Eddie smiled, first a small soft thing, almost sad, but then it twisted into something else. Ear-to-ear and full of teeth. “I owe it more than one life,”
“But if we count all the lives you have saved. Both by killing what plagued this town, and by preventing deaths at the hands of bad people-”
“Morality cannot be simple addition and subtraction. There is no math that can quantify goodness or righteousness. You know that,” Eddie cut in. He watched your face, saw the pensiveness blossom across it. “Don’t worry, my little witch, my plan is not as life-or-death as this all makes it seem… I just want to do something good for your friends,”
“Your friends,” you corrected quickly. “They’ll be your friends too. Your family. You’re part of this coven.”
Eddie reached out to cup your face in his hands. “Your coven is yours. But I will take the friendship. I have years of loneliness to make up for,”
“Then what-”
He cut you off again, this time with a kiss. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, draping your arms around his neck. Eddie pulled you into his lap and you curled into him like the leaves of the mimosa.
His mouth kissed and sucked at your neck between sentence fragments. “I’m-” kiss “going-” kiss “to plant-” lick “them-” kiss “flowers.” His punctuation a kiss that wanted to be a bite.
You were hardly listening to his words. His words and ideas and introspective musings could all wait.
Eddie laid you down on the floor, the smell of the oak still new. You arched your back and pulled him down by his collar.
“Bed,” you mumbled into his mouth.
“Why build a house if we’re not gonna use it,” he answered.
One hand splayed next to your head to keep him up, the other tickling its way under the hem of your skirt and up your thigh.
“Besides,” Eddie said. “Doesn’t feel like you can wait.” He was sliding your underwear off, throwing them across the room. He rested a hand on you, sliding an index finger through your slickness.
“I can’t,” you agreed, breathy and impatient. “Now. I want you now.”
Eddie didn’t have to be asked twice. With his pants still hanging from an ankle, he was fast to set up and slow on approach. You felt the tip of him follow the path made by his hand, gathering wetness, and shooting electricity through your body.
You melted into jelly beneath him, bliss written all over your face. Eddie loved you like this, pliable and prone to tears of ecstasy.
He held himself back, keeping his pace slow and steady. His vampire muscles screamed to go faster, to rail you into next week, but he liked pulling you apart. Liked how you unconsciously uttered strings of words like ‘full’ and ‘please’ and ‘can’t.’ Liked when you clawed at him to come closer, bit down on his shoulder.
“I love you,” he told you, mouth on your ear, tongue licking. “So. Fucking. Much.”
There was a seemingly endless amount of ways Eddie had learned could make you cum. Talking to you was a favourite for you both.
“You’re so perfect, so perfect… You feel so perfect… You’re so warm and soft and I… I want to eat you whole…”
Your response was in the pooling tears and the nodding and the slack jaw. The begging, “Please. Please.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.” It was all it took. Your orgasm exploded moments before his. Eddie’s thrusting getting harder and faster for the few seconds he took to follow you. He had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from ripping into your neck.
You kept your eyes closed, not aware of your surroundings. When you felt Eddie’s arms slide beneath you, you smiled and hummed. He carried you to your new bed, cleaning your skin with a warm washcloth before curling himself in behind you.
With the last of your day’s energy, you tangled your fingers through his, falling asleep happily.
As Eddie listened to your breathing find its mellow night rhythm, he saw a vision of you in his mind. Hands full of flowers and foliage. A coven of audience. Glorious and beaming.
End Note: I made a small Pinterest board with inspo for their house - click here to view.
I hope you are all as well as any of us can be at a time like this. I hope this story continues to provide comfort, escapism, and fuel for daydreams. xo Rhi
Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @moviefreak1205 @pastel-pillows
All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner
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Me too. I'm absolutely projecting my life goals onto this story haha.
Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson
Series Masterlist
The Grimoire
The Timeline
Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.
Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?
Chapter Summary: You are wide awake. 2340 words.
1986
Every day Eddie watched the jar. He watched how the moon water moved, alive and with a viscosity different from regular water. He watched the apple slices dry and the sprigs of lavender go stiff. He thought if he watched closely enough, he’d see the magic working, but he never caught a glimmer of craft.
When it was time, you let him plant the enchanted seed in the new coven neighbourhood. Your home would grow furthest out, close to the shade of the woods. A spell later, you were traveling back to Forest Hills to begin packing the trailer up.
It had been months since you’d moved in, therefore you had accumulated a lot of items.
“Do you need all of these?” Eddie asked, holding up one of five shoeboxes, all packed with feathers you had found. “And is this a normal amount of feathers to find? What is wrong with the birds in Hawkins?”
“Yes and no and a lot. I told you that if you are gonna help, you can’t question every single thing you pick up,”
“I’m doing no such thing,” he rebutted.
“Eddie, you told me to cull my jar collection,”
“I stand by it. There are too many. You can collect more,”
“I use them! Frequently! And I don’t just keep any jar. All the ones I have are, like, uniquely shaped or extra sturdy!” you whined. “Asking a witch to not collect jars is just…” You shook your head, not able to find the words to express the atrocity.
Eddie smiled at you softly. “Perhaps I am not the best helper,” he conceded. “Perhaps my time would be better spent doing something else,”
“Something else like use your vampire speed to clean the bathroom, or something else like turn into a bat and sleep?”
An hour later, Eddie was asleep in one of the boxes containing clothes, and you were wrapping more empty jars in bubble wrap.
…
A monument to witchcraft and love. That’s what Eddie thought when he saw the house. It had the glorious drama of Ev’s Victorian home and the softness of the other witches’ cottages. Expansive stained glass windows. Detailed architraves, the wood so dark it appeared black. Red brick. A single-story structure, but the dome of a conservatory was visible over the roof. It extended back into the woods, settling into the landscape as if it had always been there.
Eddie thought back to all the places he had lived in. The house his father’s rage felt the brunt of as much as he did. The farm he came into adulthood on. The colony caves. The cold and lonely hotel rooms. The trees above Forest Hills. He’d never had a home, apart from your arms, but there it was. Real and in front of him.
The sun was setting over the valley as Eddie stood before the house. You’d seen it early that day, doing your final checks before okaying the move. It was your magic the house grew from, so naturally you were less awestruck by it. The floorplan and aesthetic had been born in your mind. Still, it was a beautiful thing.
“Think it will do?” you asked Eddie, coming to stand beside him.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “It’s…” How many different words were there for ‘home,’ he wondered. What language could fully communicate the depth of emotion?
“Enchanted seeds create homes, not houses,” you told him as you walked towards the front door. “Come and see.”
Eddie followed, almost expecting something to happen as he crossed the front door threshold. Once inside, Eddie clenched his jaw. It was more perfect than he could have anticipated.
The furniture was plush and comfortable, an eclectic mix of antique pieces and modern amenities. Bookshelves stood tall and waiting, ready for the library to arrive. Potted ivy trailed up and around curtain railings and along the walls.
“You never got to see my place in the Catskills. A lot of the furniture comes from there. The rest comes from the seed… It’s the kind of magic that makes me wish we could study it, you know? I want to know the science of it. How does it work?”
“It seems to me that part of the power of magic is in the unknowing,” Eddie replied, as wise as any of the Witches Who Came Before.
“It does appear to be the case,” you agreed.
For a while, you let Eddie wander aimlessly through the house.
He marvelled at the bath, huge and round, like a pond and definitely big enough for two. A huge wardrobe door that opened into a secret library. The conservatory full of thriving plants, flowers, herbs, and other living things Eddie did not have a word for. Every window a different shape but never square. Strange detailing like cat shaped doorknobs and pink quartz basins.
Eventually, Eddie sat on the end of the huge bed, its four posts grand and its linen crisp. He looked over at you and held out his hands.
“Come.”
You walked to him, taking his hands, and standing between his legs. Eddie looked up at you with those sparkling brown eyes, the adoration radiating from him.
“It’s an irrational idea, this fear I have that I’m dreaming. That I am still cursed, haunting this town until the end of time. But a vampire cannot dream. The cursed cannot dream. But still…”
Gently, you let go of Eddie’s hands and leaned into him, snaking your fingers into his hair as he pressed himself into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist.
“You are wide awake. Alive… kind of… But definitely here. With me. In our home. Soon-to-be, with our friends. Our family. And just in time for Halloween.”
He purred a happy sound, nodding into you. “A witch’s favourite holiday?” he hazarded a guess.
“Hmm, not all of us. Most of the witches I’ve known tended to find more obscure holidays to worship at the altar of. New Years is a big one, too. Alas, I am but a cliché All Hallows witch,”
“With much respect, I see that,” Eddie said. You laughed, shrugged. He looked up at you again. “You did fall in love with a vampire, after all.”
…
Far away from the rest of the world, you and Eddie spent almost a week settling into the new house. Grimoires were catalogued into one of the three library rooms. Dandelion puffs were jarred and shelved. Every trinket found its home.
Eddie tested the rainbow light that flooded the rooms, discovering that in the magic there was safety. Sunlight that filtered through the windows did not burn him. He could be free and at ease.
You explained to Eddie the importance of representing the elements within the home. Earth in the plants, wooden carpentry, and the grounding crystals. Fire in the candles, ever-burning incense, and roaring fireplaces that only ever emitted the exact level of heat you wanted. (“In summer, the flames burn cold,” you told Eddie and watched his smile grow.) Water in the mirrors, seashells, and small fountains found in the glasshouse room. Lastly, air in the wind chimes, feathers, and windows that could remain open without upsetting the temperature inside.
During the day, you began work on your garden, creating flower beds in the shape of pentagrams and sewing seeds. Borage for the butterflies and bees, primrose – I can’t live without you; angelica in case you need to break any future hexes; and yarrow, amaryllis, and polypodies.
One evening, just before sunset, you found Eddie rummaging through the apothecary pantry. As you entered the room, his manic smile told you he’d had an idea.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” you asked him, perching on a stool.
Eddie sunk to his knees and shrugged. “The fires are out… The Shire is no longer burning,”
“The Shire being… Hawkins?”
“Yes. And us. We’ve sailed to the Undying Lands,”
“You’re really making Tolkien your whole personality, huh?” you joked.
Eddie smiled up at you. “Until the next book… But what I’m saying is, now that we do not have a battle to prepare for. No conflict upon the horizon. What do we do with all of eternity?”
“Oh… My plan was to eat a lot of Meg’s cinnamon rolls… Try to get Steve Harrington to stop haunting Mel… Maybe work on a spell to make myself teeny tiny so I can ride around on you when you’re a bat…”
“Wait, seriously?”
You gave him a sly smile. “Maybe,”
“Well, I would love that… But, I was thinking a little more introspectively. Back to things we have thought about before. Like, why I am the way that I am… What that means…” He ran a finger along the leaves of the mimosa pudica plant beside him. The leaves felt his touch, curled inwards on themselves. It was one of Eddie’s favourites, the way it reacted to the world around it.
“Any new insights?” you asked softy.
“No… But… If I believe in you and in your magic and the way you make sense of the world… then I… I have to do something,”
“Do something?”
“We get back what we give, right?”
“Yeah,” you agreed. “It’s not always obvious or direct. Or timely. Or even equally fair… But, yeah… There is definitely something like the concept of karma at play. And even if there isn’t, living as if there is can only be a good thing,”
“Then I must show more grace… and gratitude… Even if I am a monster, maybe especially because I am… I can give goodness too.”
Without thinking, you slid off the stool and joined Eddie on the floor. “You already do. You don’t owe the world anything.”
Eddie smiled, first a small soft thing, almost sad, but then it twisted into something else. Ear-to-ear and full of teeth. “I owe it more than one life,”
“But if we count all the lives you have saved. Both by killing what plagued this town, and by preventing deaths at the hands of bad people-”
“Morality cannot be simple addition and subtraction. There is no math that can quantify goodness or righteousness. You know that,” Eddie cut in. He watched your face, saw the pensiveness blossom across it. “Don’t worry, my little witch, my plan is not as life-or-death as this all makes it seem… I just want to do something good for your friends,”
“Your friends,” you corrected quickly. “They’ll be your friends too. Your family. You’re part of this coven.”
Eddie reached out to cup your face in his hands. “Your coven is yours. But I will take the friendship. I have years of loneliness to make up for,”
“Then what-”
He cut you off again, this time with a kiss. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, draping your arms around his neck. Eddie pulled you into his lap and you curled into him like the leaves of the mimosa.
His mouth kissed and sucked at your neck between sentence fragments. “I’m-” kiss “going-” kiss “to plant-” lick “them-” kiss “flowers.” His punctuation a kiss that wanted to be a bite.
You were hardly listening to his words. His words and ideas and introspective musings could all wait.
Eddie laid you down on the floor, the smell of the oak still new. You arched your back and pulled him down by his collar.
“Bed,” you mumbled into his mouth.
“Why build a house if we’re not gonna use it,” he answered.
One hand splayed next to your head to keep him up, the other tickling its way under the hem of your skirt and up your thigh.
“Besides,” Eddie said. “Doesn’t feel like you can wait.” He was sliding your underwear off, throwing them across the room. He rested a hand on you, sliding an index finger through your slickness.
“I can’t,” you agreed, breathy and impatient. “Now. I want you now.”
Eddie didn’t have to be asked twice. With his pants still hanging from an ankle, he was fast to set up and slow on approach. You felt the tip of him follow the path made by his hand, gathering wetness, and shooting electricity through your body.
You melted into jelly beneath him, bliss written all over your face. Eddie loved you like this, pliable and prone to tears of ecstasy.
He held himself back, keeping his pace slow and steady. His vampire muscles screamed to go faster, to rail you into next week, but he liked pulling you apart. Liked how you unconsciously uttered strings of words like ‘full’ and ‘please’ and ‘can’t.’ Liked when you clawed at him to come closer, bit down on his shoulder.
“I love you,” he told you, mouth on your ear, tongue licking. “So. Fucking. Much.”
There was a seemingly endless amount of ways Eddie had learned could make you cum. Talking to you was a favourite for you both.
“You’re so perfect, so perfect… You feel so perfect… You’re so warm and soft and I… I want to eat you whole…”
Your response was in the pooling tears and the nodding and the slack jaw. The begging, “Please. Please.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.” It was all it took. Your orgasm exploded moments before his. Eddie’s thrusting getting harder and faster for the few seconds he took to follow you. He had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from ripping into your neck.
You kept your eyes closed, not aware of your surroundings. When you felt Eddie’s arms slide beneath you, you smiled and hummed. He carried you to your new bed, cleaning your skin with a warm washcloth before curling himself in behind you.
With the last of your day’s energy, you tangled your fingers through his, falling asleep happily.
As Eddie listened to your breathing find its mellow night rhythm, he saw a vision of you in his mind. Hands full of flowers and foliage. A coven of audience. Glorious and beaming.
End Note: I made a small Pinterest board with inspo for their house - click here to view.
I hope you are all as well as any of us can be at a time like this. I hope this story continues to provide comfort, escapism, and fuel for daydreams. xo Rhi
Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @moviefreak1205 @pastel-pillows
All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner
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Oh my fucking god I amebfjbfmnama, a, mdmafnkafb
THIS CAN'T BE THE END
They like each other too much!
hfsjhfbhajfbhejfea jkfh a
NA=D= FJSDFVBASKJBDCJAN
Amazing
The Ink Shop
Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson.
Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering.
A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me.
8k words
Masterlist
Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’.
The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’.
Weird. This does not look like a printers.
You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly.
Oh.
This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop.
The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors.
Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it.
“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look.
“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’.
“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare.
“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.”
The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…
“No, no, I'm here about the job?”
He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare.
“Really? You?”
“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance.
“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?”
Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over.
“You can let go now princess.”
Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing.
“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume.
A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up.
“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.”
As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac.
“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!”
Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips.
“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?”
Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again.
“Are you immediate start?”
“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-”
“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.”
Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.
“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.”
Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you.
********************
So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it.
It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this.
A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations.
“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.”
Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.
“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.”
Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time.
Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.
Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad.
“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled.
“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.
At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place.
Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that?
“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand.
Oh I'm not falling for that again.
You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed.
“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.”
“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.”
He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here.
“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms.
He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him.
“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.”
Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away.
“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.”
He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing.
You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie.
********************
Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie.
“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?”
“Any appointments with Eddie?”
“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?”
It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back.
“Any walk-ins?”
The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm.
“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?”
Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?”
You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”
“Do you have any, princess?”
“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.”
The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement.
“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!”
The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back.
“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!”
It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind.
Chloe walks over, coat in her hand.
“Hey, how you getting on?”
“I'm good, just bored.”
She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?”
You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers.
“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.”
She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe.
“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown.
“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.”
A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.”
“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.”
Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe.
Right, let's just play nice.
Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing.
“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light.
“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.
“You know, that's a waste of a needle.”
Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you.
“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?”
“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to-”
Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo.
“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing.
“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.”
Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step.
********************
Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people.
It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots.
You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were.
“Morning Eddie.”
“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words.
He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him.
“I'll be nice if you will.”
Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee.
“I'm sorry Eddie.”
Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth.
“What about you?” you ask.
“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs.
“Are you sorry…?”
“What for?”
Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away.
“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop.
“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face.
“Yeah, how do you know?”
“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client.
It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again.
He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move.
Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first.
“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?”
Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?”
He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.”
“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.”
Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.
“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.”
He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement.
“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?”
“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.”
Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.
“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?”
“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.”
He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process.
“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”
Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word.
“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you.
“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson.
“So, questions. Can I go first?”
“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin.
“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?”
“23.”
He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.”
“How old are you?”
“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.”
Act younger is more like it.
“I'm gonna start, you still alright?”
“Uh huh.”
“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.”
He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.
The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling.
“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?”
The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow.
“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.”
He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink.
“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.”
Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask.
“How did you start working here?”
Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.”
“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look.
“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.”
You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen.
“What band is that?”
It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt.
“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.”
“Oh, what do you play?”
His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.”
After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.
“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?”
It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away.
“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red.
There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply.
“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.”
Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing.
“Your turn princess.”
“I don't want to play anymore.”
“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.”
“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?”
To your dismay, he smiles yet again.
“You, sweetheart.”
Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.”
He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.”
“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused.
“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”
It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you.
“All done.”
“Huh?”
He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.”
It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip.
“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.”
The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.”
Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second.
“Eddie what do I owe-”
“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”
********************
The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him.
Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line.
Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap.
“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what is it Miss?”
“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?”
“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee.
“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him.
He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.”
“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer.
Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear.
“What you up to, princess?”
“Fuck!”
You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach.
“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look.
Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass.
“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!”
Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal.
“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.”
Pouting, you hit him on the arm.
“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-”
Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands.
“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home.
It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you.
Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing.
It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.
There's a gentle knock on the door.
“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it.
“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there.
“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.”
He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest.
As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away.
After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?”
“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself.
Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away.
“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?”
“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.”
Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist.
“For your modesty. Come with me.”
Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried.
“What's going-”
Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?”
Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods.
“Not a problem.”
“Thanks, man.”
Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth.
“I'll be right back.”
If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin.
“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar.
John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face.
“What the fuck are you doing here.”
“Oh come on, you know you missed me.”
John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.”
A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal.
“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.”
You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you.
“Eddie, we're still working I-”
“It's one beer. It's alright.”
You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?”
Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug.
“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.”
Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier.
“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.”
Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?”
“Come on, don't make me say it.”
Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you.
“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.”
Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty.
‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull.
“And I'm the Easter bunny.”
Giggling, you take another sip of beer.
“Come on, friends? Talk to me.”
Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?”
“I promise.”
You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough.
“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.
“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?”
“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar.
“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles.
“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.”
“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.”
Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes.
“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.”
He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face.
“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings.
“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.”
There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it.
“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.”
Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice.
“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.”
You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.”
“We can keep it professional.”
You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord.
“Professional? You?”
“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.”
A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words.
“You're really confident.”
“You haven't seen what I can do.”
Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.”
“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.”
Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need.
“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?”
“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?”
“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind.
“Final rule. No kissing.”
He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?”
“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.”
Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out.
“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness.
You shake it.
********************
For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it.
Those theories are put to bed on day three.
After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.
Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?”
“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes.
“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely.
“Maybe.”
Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.
“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.”
Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands.
“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.”
By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards.
In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision.
The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?”
“Hey princess.”
“Come on up.”
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…
A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy.
“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles.
“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?”
You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table.
“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.”
He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.”
He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin.
“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt.
“Yeah, you know who they are?”
“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.”
You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.”
He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.”
Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve.
“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own.
“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms.
“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him.
“Come on then, sit down.”
Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed.
“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?”
Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?”
He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?”
Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes.
“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him.
“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more.
“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Porn, sweetheart.”
It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.”
“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.”
“Oh. Right.”
“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.”
“Huh?”
“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him.
“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-”
He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.
“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.”
“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.”
His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?”
“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.”
“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Just relax.”
You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm.
You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop.
“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?”
“Alright.” You whisper.
“You comfortable?”
“Yeah it's just- well-”
“Tell me.”
“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine.
“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed.
“Now just chill sweetheart.”
His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck.
“Fuck, that's really nice.”
He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed.
“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.
“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word.
“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.
“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.
“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.
“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe.
“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!”
Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment.
“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.”
“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.
“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck.
“I- I haven't decided yet.”
“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core.
“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him.
“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?”
Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words.
“N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.”
He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.”
“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast.
“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point.
“Really?”
There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back.
“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand.
“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more.
He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass.
His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you.
Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples.
“Holy hell!”
He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach.
“Eddie, please.”
Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.
“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit.
The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest.
“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?”
Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs.
“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”
Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel.
When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more.
“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?”
You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.
“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple.
The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess.
He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison.
“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control.
“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-”
You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him.
“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”
The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent.
You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.
“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair.
“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.”
“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-”
You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up.
“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light.
“What do you mean sweetheart?”
“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...”
He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.”
“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief.
“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again.
“You seem better already. Right, I better go.”
Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.”
“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.”
And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting.
As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.
Taglist
@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes
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Your jacket is so cool!! It reminds me of the one I got at Universal last fall! :) I use it for my Eddie cosplay! (Also I followed you on insta 🌌💜)
I followed ya back!
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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson
Series Masterlist
The Grimoire
The Timeline
Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.
Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?
Chapter Summary: You are wide awake. 2340 words.
1986
Every day Eddie watched the jar. He watched how the moon water moved, alive and with a viscosity different from regular water. He watched the apple slices dry and the sprigs of lavender go stiff. He thought if he watched closely enough, he’d see the magic working, but he never caught a glimmer of craft.
When it was time, you let him plant the enchanted seed in the new coven neighbourhood. Your home would grow furthest out, close to the shade of the woods. A spell later, you were traveling back to Forest Hills to begin packing the trailer up.
It had been months since you’d moved in, therefore you had accumulated a lot of items.
“Do you need all of these?” Eddie asked, holding up one of five shoeboxes, all packed with feathers you had found. “And is this a normal amount of feathers to find? What is wrong with the birds in Hawkins?”
“Yes and no and a lot. I told you that if you are gonna help, you can’t question every single thing you pick up,”
“I’m doing no such thing,” he rebutted.
“Eddie, you told me to cull my jar collection,”
“I stand by it. There are too many. You can collect more,”
“I use them! Frequently! And I don’t just keep any jar. All the ones I have are, like, uniquely shaped or extra sturdy!” you whined. “Asking a witch to not collect jars is just…” You shook your head, not able to find the words to express the atrocity.
Eddie smiled at you softly. “Perhaps I am not the best helper,” he conceded. “Perhaps my time would be better spent doing something else,”
“Something else like use your vampire speed to clean the bathroom, or something else like turn into a bat and sleep?”
An hour later, Eddie was asleep in one of the boxes containing clothes, and you were wrapping more empty jars in bubble wrap.
…
A monument to witchcraft and love. That’s what Eddie thought when he saw the house. It had the glorious drama of Ev’s Victorian home and the softness of the other witches’ cottages. Expansive stained glass windows. Detailed architraves, the wood so dark it appeared black. Red brick. A single-story structure, but the dome of a conservatory was visible over the roof. It extended back into the woods, settling into the landscape as if it had always been there.
Eddie thought back to all the places he had lived in. The house his father’s rage felt the brunt of as much as he did. The farm he came into adulthood on. The colony caves. The cold and lonely hotel rooms. The trees above Forest Hills. He’d never had a home, apart from your arms, but there it was. Real and in front of him.
The sun was setting over the valley as Eddie stood before the house. You’d seen it early that day, doing your final checks before okaying the move. It was your magic the house grew from, so naturally you were less awestruck by it. The floorplan and aesthetic had been born in your mind. Still, it was a beautiful thing.
“Think it will do?” you asked Eddie, coming to stand beside him.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “It’s…” How many different words were there for ‘home,’ he wondered. What language could fully communicate the depth of emotion?
“Enchanted seeds create homes, not houses,” you told him as you walked towards the front door. “Come and see.”
Eddie followed, almost expecting something to happen as he crossed the front door threshold. Once inside, Eddie clenched his jaw. It was more perfect than he could have anticipated.
The furniture was plush and comfortable, an eclectic mix of antique pieces and modern amenities. Bookshelves stood tall and waiting, ready for the library to arrive. Potted ivy trailed up and around curtain railings and along the walls.
“You never got to see my place in the Catskills. A lot of the furniture comes from there. The rest comes from the seed… It’s the kind of magic that makes me wish we could study it, you know? I want to know the science of it. How does it work?”
“It seems to me that part of the power of magic is in the unknowing,” Eddie replied, as wise as any of the Witches Who Came Before.
“It does appear to be the case,” you agreed.
For a while, you let Eddie wander aimlessly through the house.
He marvelled at the bath, huge and round, like a pond and definitely big enough for two. A huge wardrobe door that opened into a secret library. The conservatory full of thriving plants, flowers, herbs, and other living things Eddie did not have a word for. Every window a different shape but never square. Strange detailing like cat shaped doorknobs and pink quartz basins.
Eventually, Eddie sat on the end of the huge bed, its four posts grand and its linen crisp. He looked over at you and held out his hands.
“Come.”
You walked to him, taking his hands, and standing between his legs. Eddie looked up at you with those sparkling brown eyes, the adoration radiating from him.
“It’s an irrational idea, this fear I have that I’m dreaming. That I am still cursed, haunting this town until the end of time. But a vampire cannot dream. The cursed cannot dream. But still…”
Gently, you let go of Eddie’s hands and leaned into him, snaking your fingers into his hair as he pressed himself into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist.
“You are wide awake. Alive… kind of… But definitely here. With me. In our home. Soon-to-be, with our friends. Our family. And just in time for Halloween.”
He purred a happy sound, nodding into you. “A witch’s favourite holiday?” he hazarded a guess.
“Hmm, not all of us. Most of the witches I’ve known tended to find more obscure holidays to worship at the altar of. New Years is a big one, too. Alas, I am but a cliché All Hallows witch,”
“With much respect, I see that,” Eddie said. You laughed, shrugged. He looked up at you again. “You did fall in love with a vampire, after all.”
…
Far away from the rest of the world, you and Eddie spent almost a week settling into the new house. Grimoires were catalogued into one of the three library rooms. Dandelion puffs were jarred and shelved. Every trinket found its home.
Eddie tested the rainbow light that flooded the rooms, discovering that in the magic there was safety. Sunlight that filtered through the windows did not burn him. He could be free and at ease.
You explained to Eddie the importance of representing the elements within the home. Earth in the plants, wooden carpentry, and the grounding crystals. Fire in the candles, ever-burning incense, and roaring fireplaces that only ever emitted the exact level of heat you wanted. (“In summer, the flames burn cold,” you told Eddie and watched his smile grow.) Water in the mirrors, seashells, and small fountains found in the glasshouse room. Lastly, air in the wind chimes, feathers, and windows that could remain open without upsetting the temperature inside.
During the day, you began work on your garden, creating flower beds in the shape of pentagrams and sewing seeds. Borage for the butterflies and bees, primrose – I can’t live without you; angelica in case you need to break any future hexes; and yarrow, amaryllis, and polypodies.
One evening, just before sunset, you found Eddie rummaging through the apothecary pantry. As you entered the room, his manic smile told you he’d had an idea.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” you asked him, perching on a stool.
Eddie sunk to his knees and shrugged. “The fires are out… The Shire is no longer burning,”
“The Shire being… Hawkins?”
“Yes. And us. We’ve sailed to the Undying Lands,”
“You’re really making Tolkien your whole personality, huh?” you joked.
Eddie smiled up at you. “Until the next book… But what I’m saying is, now that we do not have a battle to prepare for. No conflict upon the horizon. What do we do with all of eternity?”
“Oh… My plan was to eat a lot of Meg’s cinnamon rolls… Try to get Steve Harrington to stop haunting Mel… Maybe work on a spell to make myself teeny tiny so I can ride around on you when you’re a bat…”
“Wait, seriously?”
You gave him a sly smile. “Maybe,”
“Well, I would love that… But, I was thinking a little more introspectively. Back to things we have thought about before. Like, why I am the way that I am… What that means…” He ran a finger along the leaves of the mimosa pudica plant beside him. The leaves felt his touch, curled inwards on themselves. It was one of Eddie’s favourites, the way it reacted to the world around it.
“Any new insights?” you asked softy.
“No… But… If I believe in you and in your magic and the way you make sense of the world… then I… I have to do something,”
“Do something?”
“We get back what we give, right?”
“Yeah,” you agreed. “It’s not always obvious or direct. Or timely. Or even equally fair… But, yeah… There is definitely something like the concept of karma at play. And even if there isn’t, living as if there is can only be a good thing,”
“Then I must show more grace… and gratitude… Even if I am a monster, maybe especially because I am… I can give goodness too.”
Without thinking, you slid off the stool and joined Eddie on the floor. “You already do. You don’t owe the world anything.”
Eddie smiled, first a small soft thing, almost sad, but then it twisted into something else. Ear-to-ear and full of teeth. “I owe it more than one life,”
“But if we count all the lives you have saved. Both by killing what plagued this town, and by preventing deaths at the hands of bad people-”
“Morality cannot be simple addition and subtraction. There is no math that can quantify goodness or righteousness. You know that,” Eddie cut in. He watched your face, saw the pensiveness blossom across it. “Don’t worry, my little witch, my plan is not as life-or-death as this all makes it seem… I just want to do something good for your friends,”
“Your friends,” you corrected quickly. “They’ll be your friends too. Your family. You’re part of this coven.”
Eddie reached out to cup your face in his hands. “Your coven is yours. But I will take the friendship. I have years of loneliness to make up for,”
“Then what-”
He cut you off again, this time with a kiss. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, draping your arms around his neck. Eddie pulled you into his lap and you curled into him like the leaves of the mimosa.
His mouth kissed and sucked at your neck between sentence fragments. “I’m-” kiss “going-” kiss “to plant-” lick “them-” kiss “flowers.” His punctuation a kiss that wanted to be a bite.
You were hardly listening to his words. His words and ideas and introspective musings could all wait.
Eddie laid you down on the floor, the smell of the oak still new. You arched your back and pulled him down by his collar.
“Bed,” you mumbled into his mouth.
“Why build a house if we’re not gonna use it,” he answered.
One hand splayed next to your head to keep him up, the other tickling its way under the hem of your skirt and up your thigh.
“Besides,” Eddie said. “Doesn’t feel like you can wait.” He was sliding your underwear off, throwing them across the room. He rested a hand on you, sliding an index finger through your slickness.
“I can’t,” you agreed, breathy and impatient. “Now. I want you now.”
Eddie didn’t have to be asked twice. With his pants still hanging from an ankle, he was fast to set up and slow on approach. You felt the tip of him follow the path made by his hand, gathering wetness, and shooting electricity through your body.
You melted into jelly beneath him, bliss written all over your face. Eddie loved you like this, pliable and prone to tears of ecstasy.
He held himself back, keeping his pace slow and steady. His vampire muscles screamed to go faster, to rail you into next week, but he liked pulling you apart. Liked how you unconsciously uttered strings of words like ‘full’ and ‘please’ and ‘can’t.’ Liked when you clawed at him to come closer, bit down on his shoulder.
“I love you,” he told you, mouth on your ear, tongue licking. “So. Fucking. Much.”
There was a seemingly endless amount of ways Eddie had learned could make you cum. Talking to you was a favourite for you both.
“You’re so perfect, so perfect… You feel so perfect… You’re so warm and soft and I… I want to eat you whole…”
Your response was in the pooling tears and the nodding and the slack jaw. The begging, “Please. Please.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.” It was all it took. Your orgasm exploded moments before his. Eddie’s thrusting getting harder and faster for the few seconds he took to follow you. He had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from ripping into your neck.
You kept your eyes closed, not aware of your surroundings. When you felt Eddie’s arms slide beneath you, you smiled and hummed. He carried you to your new bed, cleaning your skin with a warm washcloth before curling himself in behind you.
With the last of your day’s energy, you tangled your fingers through his, falling asleep happily.
As Eddie listened to your breathing find its mellow night rhythm, he saw a vision of you in his mind. Hands full of flowers and foliage. A coven of audience. Glorious and beaming.
End Note: I made a small Pinterest board with inspo for their house - click here to view.
I hope you are all as well as any of us can be at a time like this. I hope this story continues to provide comfort, escapism, and fuel for daydreams. xo Rhi
Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @moviefreak1205 @pastel-pillows
All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner
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This is so sweet, Rachel! I love an arts and craft Eddie.
And @hellfiredarling (Hi! I'm Rhi! We haven't met!) that hoodie is insanely cool! I make custom clothes too - I made this denim jacket in June of 2022.
This Machine...
Summary: Your birthday is coming up, and Eddie makes you a present.
Tags: sfw, friends to lovers, slightly possessive Eddie and Reader if you squint, Eddie Munson x Reader
Word Count: 3.3k words
Master List
There were certain perks to being the school’s resident dealer. For one, Eddie had made very good friends with the old janitor that kept to himself, flying under everyone’s radar, including Higgins’. The nice perk that came with being friends with ol’ Mr. Greg was the fact that he had the keys to every single room in the school, which meant that Eddie’s lock-picking days were lowered considerably.
These were good perks to have, especially since your birthday was coming up. Eddie had convinced the art teached at the beginning of every year to allow himself and his club to use the art room to make their Hellfire shirts. The art department had managed to get funding four years ago for a screen printing kit, convincing the board that having the ability to make shirts would create unity within the school.
Frankly, Eddie thought that was a load of bullshit. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to use it to his advantage when he could. So every September, Eddie would gather his little sheepies for an afternoon of arts and crafts, creating the shirts and ruining the ones they were wearing in the mess. Eddie would always try and make a few extra, just in case there were stragglers that needed saving from the conformity of Hawkins High school. Not once did he consider the irony of having his sheep in uniform.
In most cases, the art teacher was willing to work with him and let him in without much fuss. Of course, that was when Eddie was still a student. He had now been a proud high school graduate for seven months and the shock of not being in school had him spiraling for the first month before he found himself working at the Hideout again. Work, rehearsal, work, rehearsal, a thirty minute set at the Hideout if he was lucky, work, rehearsal.
God, he missed Hellfire. That was the only part of school that he missed; a consistent Dungeons and Dragons schedule.
Still, it wasn’t all bad and monotonous. Turns out that if you aren’t stuck at school 8 hours a day, 5 days a week you can go other places when children are at school. And when you go to places where kids aren’t, you tend to meet adults.
Enter you.
You had been working at the record store on morning shift, and had been for a few months now. Although you had more often than not worked weekends, somehow you and Eddie had eluded each other in the two years of you sorting through the various artists and ringing up customers.
It had been a Thursday when Eddie met you, a fact he only remembered because the previous night had been the day that Bev allowed him to go on two nights in a row at the Hideout, which had been unheard of for Corroded Coffin.
“Ain’t no one barely here anyways, Eddie.” she’d said, having long since stopped calling him Junior.
He had been flying high, and an old drunk had even left him a tip on the bar, enough to drop by the record store and pick up an album he’d been eyeing for a while. You had been standing at the boxes, resetting them and reorganizing them for the hundredth time that week. It had been so slow that day that it was all you could do to keep yourself busy.
W.A.S.P had been playing at a near whisper quiet volume, and when Eddie asked you about it you had just smiled, shrugged, and said that the owner only allowed you to play them on Thursdays when it was dead, or Sunday morning when anyone who’d get offended by the lyrics would be at church.
The two of you had been friends ever since.
A half hour of idle chat about music had turned into five months of late night talks on the phone, hanging out in Eddie’s van, swapping music back and forth, visiting each other during your shifts, and a tentative bi-monthly D&D session with you, and Corroded Coffin.
Eddie would never know how badly he messed up your sleep schedule, going on late at night with Corroded Coffin when you had a morning shift, but it was always worth it to give him a sober audience member.
The best nights though, were the times where you’d come over and just... hang out with him. You’d come over to Wayne’s trailer after your shift, or he’d pick you up from your place, and the two of you would just sit and talk.
You never bat an eye at how messy his room was, and he made sure there was no food left out and would at least make an effort to clean out all of the beer cans in his room. Mostly you’d just sit on his bed and watch him play guitar, or spend hours talking about everything and nothing.
As much as you enjoyed hearing him practice the same riff on his electric guitar over and over again, you had admitted to him that you always had a soft spot for the acoustic guitar that collected a little more dust in the corner that he’d pull out on rare occasions.
THIS MACHINE SLAYS DRAGONS
You’d voiced your fondness for the instrument several times, enjoying the combination of Woody Gunthrie’s iconic guitar adjusted for your friends’ eccentric taste.
Five months of friendship. Five months of hanging out with no pressure, no needing to look after each other, five months of feeling like a fucking human in this damn town.
And one month of having the most embarrassing and awkward crush on you.
Eddie had dated before, and he’d been interested in girls and some girls had even shown some interest in him until they realized that Eddie wasn’t someone to be fixed or saved. Eddie had even had sex before, but not to the extreme lengths that he’d found had been circulating in high school.
Seriously, who had the time to come up with half the shit that this town thought he’d allegedly done?
You found great joy in hearing about his spin in the rumor mill. Whenever one of you heard a rumor about the Freak, you’d compare notes and laugh about how stupid it was. Of course, Eddie put little effort into actually stopping the rumors, and now that he was no longer in high school it didn’t seem to matter as much anymore. He’d still get dirty looks from people in town but he found that more often than not people would just leave him alone now. Jocks, nerds, freaks, cheerleaders; outside the halls of Hawkins High those words didn’t hold half the weight they used to.
“So they’re saying that now you spiked the punch at homecoming?” you asked, laughing. “I must have missed that dance.”
“Yeah, so did I. I only went to homecoming once in school and that was Sophomore year.” Eddie replied, his fingers tabbing out a melody that he had been working on for a new song. “And there was no way I was able to get my hands on any alcohol that night.”
“Why would you waste perfectly good alcohol on a high school dance, anyway?” you laughed.
Eddie could listen to you laugh for hours.
And it was because of this, that Eddie was now back at Hawkins High, while Ol’ Greg unlocked the art room on this fine weekend. It didn’t take much convincing, Ol’ Greg didn’t give a shit about Eddie’s reputation and never had, and for that Eddie had slipped the janitor an extra joint for his trouble as payment for letting him in.
The room looked about the same as it had the last few weeks of school, aside from some new art projects. Other than that, everything was in about the same place. Eddie wasted a little time wandering around the room, looking at the different projects and taking in the scent of old clay and dried paint. Aside from the old drama room, the art room was the only other place in the school where he felt okay in this hellhole.
It didn’t take much to get your shirt size. You always had a bad habit of leaving your sweaters in his van, so going to grab a blank hoodie in your size was the easy part. The design he was using was easy as well, and after so many years of making Hellfire Club shirts he could probably make this in his sleep.
But he wouldn’t, because he wanted this to be perfect. So for the next few hours he carefully pulled out the equipment, found the right shade of red he wanted to use and painstakingly created the stencil, adding his own personal flair to it. The finished product was probably nicer than any Hellfire Club shirt he’d ever made.
By the end of it, your new hoodie was done and he was sure that you’d love it so much that you’d never forget it in his van.
With the finished product in hand he was able to lock up, thank Ol’ Greg, and make his way home.
Now all Eddie had to do was give it to you for your birthday. The two of you had made plans to hang out that morning together at Benny’s for some birthday waffles or pancakes or french toast or whatever you wanted. He’d treat you, he’d been saving for this.
Then he’d give you the gift, and you’d love it and then he’d suck it up and ask you out. He could do this. Jeff swore to Eddie up and down that you clearly had feelings for him. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he’d noticed your flirting and had flirted back so many times. This dance between the two of you had been going on for weeks now, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying. With any luck, the note he had tucked into the pocket would also help him out.
You were already at your usual booth when he arrived that Sunday morning. It was supposed to be a very quiet morning, Benny’s was never busy first thing on Sunday. So when Eddie walked into the diner to meet you, his stomach dropped as he saw the rest of his band already sitting with you.
A chorus of his friends called him over, and Eddie, dejected, slid in the booth on the opposite side of you. You were on the end of one booth, seated next to Jeff and Zack, while Eddie took the spot next to Gareth.
Eddie wanted to be pissed at the guys for ruining his plan, but then he saw the look on your face. You were thrilled to be around everyone and were excitedly talking to Jeff about the new song that he was learning. It was your birthday, your day, and if you were having fun, that was the important part. He did make sure to put your food on his tab though, he wasn’t going to let anyone else have that satisfaction.
As the morning went on, Eddie had completely forgotten about the hoodie currently sitting in the small bag by his leg. He was only reminded of it when Gareth got up to go pee and Eddie was forced out of the booth, as his foot kicked the bag and you noticed it.
Your eyes immediately lit up when you noticed the red gift bag and your smile widened.
“Eddie, is that for me?” you asked, batting your eyelashes. “Did you get me a present?”
He didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone, that hadn’t been part of the plan. But he sucked it up and pulled the hoodie out and tossed it to you. Eddie could worry about asking you out later when the rest of his friends weren’t around. He’d never want to put that pressure on you anyway.
“Yessss!” you grabbed it eagerly in your hands and unfolded the hoodie, noticing the design.
This Machine Slays Dragons was splashed across the front, and on the front pocket was a small colony of bats, just like the ones on Eddie’s arm. He watched as your eyes widened, in surprise and delight, and felt a wave of relief wash over him as you eagerly put it on.
“Holy shit, Eddie, I love it!” you said, and got out of the booth to throw your arms around him. Your lips pressed against his cheek, and for a moment Eddie felt like he was on cloud nine as he hugged you back, giving you a slight squeeze before you pulled away.
“You always said you liked my guitar.” He said, shooting a look to his bandmates who were making kissy faces behind your back. The glare only egged them on.
“It’s got your bats on it.” you said, looking down at the design, smoothing it out. “This is so fuckin’ cool!”
As you ran your hands down the design, you heard a faint crinkle in the pocket. When you reached inside, alarm bells went off in Eddie’s head and he quickly muttered something about needing a cigarette before turning on his heel and walking straight outside to his van.
He’d completely forgotten the note that he had slipped into the pocket. You absolutely were not supposed to open that in front of everyone. Eddie leaned against the back of his van, lightly smacking his head against the door, the barely touched cigarette in his hand.
“Eddie...?” Your voice made him go stiff, his head still against the fan. He took one long drag of the cigarette and exhaled the smoke before standing up straight to look at you. You were holding the note in your hand with a sheepish grin on your face.
“Hey.” He said, not sure how to proceed. He couldn’t read your smile. Was it a sad smile? Were you going to awkwardly tell him that you didn’t feel the same but you could be friends? He could live with that, but it would really sting.
“So....” you looked at the note and read the two words printed there in his handwriting. “‘Date me’, huh? I’ve heard you come up with the wildest descriptions for things when we play D&D, but the most you could jot down was... ‘Date me’?”
It was. Eddie had racked his brain for hours on what to say to you, but he couldn’t find the words he wanted to. Everything felt either too cheesy, or too stiff, or not him, or too casual. He was really banking on the hoodie to be more of a selling point than the note.
“I thought it’d be cuter if it had just been the two of us this morning.” Eddie admitted. “Look, I get it if you’re here to respectfully decline. We can just be friends, I swear I won’t make it weird-”
“I’ll date you.” The words were firm and steadfast. There wasn’t a single waiver in your voice as you said those three words. You took a step closer to him and shoved the note back in the hoodie pocket. “Eddie I... I want to date you. I’ve wanted to date you for about 10 minutes after we met.”
Eddie’s head lowered slightly and his eyes widened as he stared at you. “Are you serious?”
“Well, yeah.” you said. “A cute guy walks into a record store, knows about good music, invites me to play D&D and then becomes one of my best friends? Yes, Eddie, I want to date you.”
Eddie snuffed out the barely touched cigarette and leaned in towards you. God, he was fucking clueless sometimes.
“You know... that hoodie looks good on you.” He said, trying to sound smooth. “It’ll look better in the back of my van.”
You stared blankly at him for a second and then burst out laughing, your head thrown back. “No, no, nevermind.” you cackled. “I changed my mind. I’m done. We’re done.”
Had Eddie not known you as well as he did, he might have taken that as a real rejection. But he knew that laugh, he’d heard it a hundred times over the past few months.
He reached out and grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him, you were still smiling wide when you looked up at him. “Seriously, Eddie? I agree to date you and you pull out that line?”
“Don’t get mad at me, Sweetheart.” He said. “You’re the one constantly leaving your clothes in my van. I don’t know why you’re laughing at my perfectly innocent statement.”
“Oh fuck off, Eddie.” You laughed. “You know exactly what you said and how you meant it. And maybe I wouldn’t have had to leave my clothes in your van all the time if you had asked me out earlier.”
“And would you care to share that logic with me?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. Had you really been leaving things in his van on purpose?
“I had to mark my territory.” you said with a smile. “Can’t let anyone in your van think that you’re seeing someone else.”
It was Eddie’s turn to laugh and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Ah yes, the most popular freak in all of Hawkins definitely has a line out the door of people wanting to date him.” he said, his hands finding your hips.
“You’re laughing. I’ve seen you flirting with Ms. Robin’s at The Hideout and you're laughing at me?” you tried to pout, but you were holding back your own giggles.
“Ms. Robins is a 75 year old woman who can drink everyone under the table.” Eddie pointed out.
“See? How am I supposed to compete with that! I had to sacrifice my jackets to make sure no one would be asking you out.” you protested. “What else could I-”
Eddie had originally planned on asking if it was okay for him to kiss you first, but he knew that if he didn’t do something now you’d keep cracking jokes and this conversation wouldn’t go anywhere. You tasted faintly like your birthday breakfast, but Eddie quickly decided that it wasn’t a bad thing. He felt the faint push of your lips back against his, and he mentally kicked himself for not doing this the first time you two hung out.
“Happy birthday.” Eddie said, as he finally pulled back.
“Guess I got my wish, and I didn’t even have to blow out any candles.” you replied, just a little bashful at the admission.
“You aren’t allowed to leave this hoodie in my van.” Eddie said. “You can leave any other jacket or sweater in there but not this one.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” you said, “But why this one specifically?”
Eddie touched the pocket that had the bats that matched his tattoo. “Because how else will other people know that you’re seeing someone?”
“Oh, you little shit!” you laughed. “Really? You think I’m weird for what I did when you basically put your logo on a hoodie that you know I’m going to wear every day?”
“Guess that makes us both freaks now.” He replied, with a satisfied grin.
“There are worse things to be in a small town.” you decided, taking his hand. “So I guess this means you’re my boyfriend now. No take backs.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sweetheart.” Eddie crossed his heart.
You leaned in and gave him another quick kiss. “Come on. The sooner we go back in there, the sooner you all can sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me, and the sooner that’s done, then the sooner we can leave. And if you play your cards right, Eddie, you might get lucky and see this hoodie on the floor of your van anyway.”
“So, the line worked?” He smirked.
“Come on, Zack is hiding a box of cupcakes.” you laced your fingers with his. “Dessert first and then second dessert.”
“And then elevensies dessert?” Eddie teased.
“It’s my birthday and I will change my mind, I swear.” you cackled, walking back into the diner with him.
And because he knew your laugh so well, he had a very good feeling about how he’d help celebrate your birthday when the two of you would finally be alone.
Thank you @hellfiredarling for the hoodie! They made it for me for my birthday last year 💜
Divider by @strangergraphics
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New word alert: lackadaisical
I don't think he did it. That's my bet.
Great now my heart is broken and I am filled with anxiety.
Bugggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg. I'm your biggest fannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.
Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)
♫ Summary: News from an old friend had you wondering if Eddie's sour mood had turned downright destructive. (4.9k words)
♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, misunderstanding, coming out, vandalism, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)
♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult
chapter seven: offense and defense
Your version of a truce came in the form of wallpaper panels and a bucket of glue.
You’d placed it on top of the canvas sheets that would protect the floor from any spills, though it wasn’t as if that was presentable, either. Still, you would be grateful for the splash of color rather than the stripped down walls that only highlighted the motel’s defeated aesthetic.
Like lipstick on a pig, your cynicism taunted, but one that you’ve stuck on a spit to roast.
Your fingernail picked at a small groove in the desk’s wood as if digging a hole to bury your anxiety. Despite the police sirens blaring in the distance, all you could hear was the sound of the mailbox clanging shut, trapping your acceptance letter and effectively sealing your fate.
Your breathing sped up and sent your heartbeat into your ears, inching you towards a point of no return where the world became hazy. Suddenly, Eddie’s mood was irrelevant; you just needed a distraction, even if that meant contending with his strangely defensive attitude.
But when eleven o’clock rolled around, a full hour into your shift. there was still no sign of him. You’d give him another thirty minutes before you knocked on his door; he had a job to finish, after all.
That was all it was: ensuring he earned his keep, preventing him from becoming the deeply feared charity case.
In the end, there was no need to intrude on him. Eddie shuffled through the lobby not even fifteen minutes later, seemingly without the intention of stopping to greet you. He looked straight ahead as though any eye contact would burn his retinas from the inside out. His tattooed arms were on full display in a black tank top, the holes cut down nearly to the waist. A chain hung off the side of his jeans, gleaming even in the harsh lighting. The whole outfit was a far cry from the sweatpants he’d donned during the wallpaper removal.
“Eddie?”
He stopped but still refused to glance in your direction. There was no use ignoring the confusion in your voice; he didn’t even bother waiting for the formality of a question. “Y-Yeah, I, um…I gotta run some errands.” His teeth dug into the inside of his cheek at his pitiful excuse.
Errands just before midnight? He certainly wasn’t dressed to make a last-minute dash to the corner bodega, nor would that take all night.
He was lying; that much was obvious. What evaded you was why. Was he embarrassed about his outburst at Eisen’s? Angry at you for freezing him out during the ride home?
“What about the wallpaper?”
“Oh. Right.” He softly chuckled, the kind that someone gives when they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Tomorrow, I promise.”
He didn’t stick around for further questioning, letting in a cool evening breeze when he barreled out the front door.
Aggravation clenched your fists. His lackadaisical approach to work was infuriating enough, but the way he’d attempted to sneak past you had you seething. Did he truly believe he could camouflage himself and walk out unnoticed?
The untouched wallpapering materials mocked you, taunted your optimism. Or perhaps it was naivety. You’d all but told him to piss off last night, yet you expected him to flounce into the lobby, eager to work alongside you–and only you–for the next few hours? The thought alone was so pathetic that you were glad no one else had been around to witness it.
You hoisted the panels and glue back to the supply closet, gripping them with palms slick from embarrassment and frustration. Tonight could have been an opportunity to clear the air about the Ben fiasco and resume your usual lighthearted conversations. His brusque laughter didn’t showcase the subtle dimples that pressed from the corners of his mouth into his cheeks, so unlike the genuine smiles that reached his eyes. Those warm eyes like chocolate chips on a summer day, except they melted you with each foray into his past, each glimpse into what made him, him.
Without them, the night was stagnant.
Amy’s Cafe was a favorite among the student population, especially during finals week. The coffee was usually burnt or weak, but it was cheap and conveniently located near campus, so it stayed afloat. Overworked baristas slid filled-to-the-brim mugs and to-go styrofoam cups to the edge of the counter, hissing espresso machines punctuating the pop music that was piped through the sound system. Exactly the kind of music Eddie would hate.
Eddie. He must have had an extensive errand list, because he still hadn’t returned when your shift ended. Your chest ached with a sadness that burned hotter than your curiosity. You no longer cared what he was up to, just that he preferred it to spending time with you.
Ben already sat at a small table when you arrived, the steam from his cup rising up and fogging his wire-rimmed glasses. He offered you a weary smile, one wrought with fatigue and a nervousness you couldn’t quite place.
It wasn’t until you plopped into the seat across from him, careful not to spill your own coffee, that you noticed the gray crescents below his eyes that weren’t there on Sunday. Stubble coated his cheeks and chin, more five o’clock shadow than beard, and you were hard-pressed to remember a time he’d seemed this disheveled.
“You look like shit.”
He raised his brows as he blew on his tea, sending tiny ripples through the citrusy-mint blend. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”
Between the usual end-of-semester stress and whatever issues were simmering between you and Eddie, you lacked the patience to beat around the bush. “Seriously,” you insisted, “what’s wrong?”
Ben’s sigh held immeasurable weight, and you quickly understood why. “Eisen’s was vandalized last night,” he said quietly.
“What?!” Your blood ran cold. The mental image of the always-pristine shop abruptly destroyed marred your psyche.
He nodded. “Yeah. We empty the register at night and put the cash in a safe, so they didn’t get any of that,” he explained, a small consolation. “But they smashed the windows and graffitied the place. All of the shelves, our whole inventory…covered in it.”
“Is everyone…is your family okay?” If the alarm had sounded and Uncle Mo or Aunt Tam came running in…if the intruder was carrying a weapon…
“We’re fine,” Ben assured you. “I mean, we’re all pretty shook up, but no one’s hurt.” His bottom teeth scraped along his upper lip. “I swept up most of the broken glass after the cops left, but it’s gonna take a while to scrub off the spray paint.”
“I can help,” you volunteered without hesitation. “I can swing by on Thursday afternoon.” There were no formal classes this week; you just had to drop off your paper and then you could go to the shop.
“Thanks.” Ben kept his attention focused on his mug, dunking the bag aimlessly through the hot liquid. “Um, was your, uh, boyfriend with you last night?” When you wrinkled your nose, he elaborated. “That Eddie guy. He’s your boyfriend, right?”
You shook your head and tried to ignore the internal fluttering spurred on by the thought of Eddie being your boyfriend. “No. He just works for us.” Thirty-six hours ago, you would have referred to him as a friend, but you didn’t know if that was still true.
Ben cocked an eyebrow. “You sure? Because he seemed pretty…” He searched for the right word, “...territorial over you.”
Territorial. As if you belonged to him. The notion was almost humorous, considering his desperation to avoid you at all costs. If you were his property, he must be a very hands-off landlord.
“It’s not like that. He just gets competitive.” You filled Ben in on the wasp nest saga, even managing to pull a few chuckles out of him.
“Okay, fine.” Something in Ben’s tone informed you that he didn’t quite believe you, but he pressed on, both of you well-aware that your love life wasn’t the most urgent issue. “But was he around last night? Hanging the wallpaper or something?”
He wasn’t. You wished more than anything that you could offer an alibi, but you didn’t have a clue where he was.
It’s a big city; there were millions of places he could go besides Eisen’s. And yet you couldn’t name a single one, your throat bone-dry despite just taking a sip of coffee.
“N-No, but he wouldn’t—”
“I’m not saying he did,” Ben interjected, firmly but not unkindly. “It’s just, I dunno, a little suspicious that this guy comes to our shop for the first time, hates my guts for some reason, and then the place gets destroyed the next day.”
There was no denying how strange it was, especially coupled with his poorly explained absence. Something inside you insisted that it wasn’t Eddie, and you clung onto that hope.
“I’ll talk to him tonight.” Bitterness churned in your stomach and crept up your throat, and you knew it wasn’t from the coffee. Was there anything about the way he’d been dressed that provided insight into his whereabouts? Anything he’d mentioned in passing?
Despite scouring the depths of your brain, you came up empty.
Ben exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut like he was actively trying to forget the memory of the break-in. “Everything was completely smashed. Like someone took a baseball bat to it or something.”
You flashed back to last week when Eddie went after the wasp’s nest with Phyllis’s bat. Did he ask her to borrow it again?
Stop it, you silently scolded yourself. It couldn’t have been Eddie. He might be hotheaded, but that didn’t mean he would destroy Eisen’s.
Except he had trashed that hotel room because the manager issued a noise complaint. He’d seemed proud of it, laughing as he retold the story, like he’d carried out some meticulously crafted revenge plot.
Shit.
“You’re sure there’s nothing going on between you two?” Ben asked again, ripping open another sugar packet and dumping it into his drink.
“Positive.” Certainly not now when you were barely on speaking terms.You didn’t have time for a relationship; school and work kept you sufficiently busy.
Not that you wanted anything going on with Eddie. What would you even do together–go on dates at six AM after your shift? Hold hands across the lobby desk? Steal kisses in the supply closet? The two of you making out amongst piles of linens and a rusty toolbox? Your fingers tangled in his hair and your lips pressed to his; his hands gripping your waist and tugging you impossibly close? You couldn’t allow yourself to even consider it a possibility, to allow yourself to want it.
You noticed Ben giving you a wry smile, like he knew something you didn’t, and you snapped back into reality to volley a question back to him. “What about you? Meet any cute girls in dental school?”
His unexpected cloudiness didn’t match your breezy, teasing tone. “No cute girls.” He paused, mulling over his words for a while before talking again, so softly you could barely hear him over the muzak playing over the café’s sound system. “There were some cute guys, though.”
The admission hung in the air for a moment while you slowly absorbed it. Cute guys, not girls. So Ben was—
A soft throat clearing grabbed your attention; he was anxiously awaiting your response.
Reaching your hand across the Formica table, you draped your fingers over his and left them there. “How did you…know?” You winced at your own awkwardness. “Sorry, I meant, like, is this something you figured out recently? Or did you know back when we were kids?”
Ben laughed lightly, his shoulders sagging with relief. The worry of rejection left his eyes as he spoke. “Part of me always knew, I think. I just didn’t have a word for it.” He sighed, his breath trembling with residual nerves. “It’s not like we grew up talking about these things.”
He was right; you couldn’t recall a single time that his parents or yours discussed non-heterosexual romantic relationships. A man and a woman get married and have babies. The end. No mention of when two men or two women love one another.
“Have you told your parents?”
“No.” His voice caught, throat blocked with emotion, and he cleared it again. “I wanted to wait until I finished school and got my own place. Y’know…just in case.”
He didn’t have to finish his sentence.
“Would they really do that?”
He shrugged, his shoulders once again bearing the weight of the unknown. “I don’t think they’d kick me out,” he admitted, “but they’d definitely be disappointed. Like they did something wrong.”
“You know you can always stay with me if you need,” you said. “I’ll set aside a room for you.” Far away from Eddie’s, you added silently.
Ben’s smile was tight but genuine. “After all of these years, nothing’s changed.” He let out a hoarse laugh. “Does it get exhausting, being the best person ever?”
He was joking, trying his best to shift to a lighter tone, but the accuracy of his question had you temporarily reeling. You weren’t the best person ever, but it was exhausting constantly trying to be. He must have sensed that he grazed a nerve, his eyes softening as he leaned in. “You okay?”
You nodded, your head suddenly acquiring the heft of a boulder. The sound of the mailbox clanging shut and sealing your fate reverberated in your ears. And then Eddie had seen, had cleaned your smudged mascara so warmly that your skin simmered at his touch. Those same fingers might have grasped a can of spray paint or and wielded a bat with the intention of ravaging an innocent business.
“You always were a terrible liar.” Ben said. He knew you too well, a blessing and a curse. “C’mon—a secret for a secret.”
His permission had your own confession slipping from where it had been tucked away and spilling into the conversation. “I’m majoring in psychology and I’m going to study social work at NYU.” When Ben offered you a confused look, you humbly elaborated. “And, I mean, I know it’s not the same thing as your situation, but I haven’t told my parents about it either.”
The shame burned you, flames nipping at your neck.
Ben drummed his fingers against the mug’s handle, his nails making a soft cling. “The motel…” he trailed off, mutual understanding replacing the rest of his words.
Neither of you said anything else for a while, only taking small sips of coffee until you mustered up the energy to speak again.
“I don’t think they’d kick me out either,” you said, “but that might not matter. Without me to take over, they’d have to sell the place anyway.”
Ben thought for a moment. A teardrop of coffee trickled down the lip to the base, staining the white porcelain with a hazel streak. “Whatever happens, I’m here for you.” It was his turn to hold your hand, enveloping it in the comfort that can only come from a lifelong friend. “And if worse comes to worst, you can always bunk with me. As long as Eddie won’t mind,” he added with a mischievous edge.
You rolled your eyes as the heaviness evaporated. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Am I?” He raised his brows. “You didn’t see the look on his face when I hugged you. I thought he was gonna knock me into tomorrow.”
“Whatever,” you said evenly, swiftly pivoting the subject to his own romantic endeavors. But the image of Eddie getting upset when Ben hugged you tugged at your mind for the rest of the conversation. You’d initially thought he was irritated about Ben encroaching on his job, but the hug came well before the offer to help.
Trying to figure out Eddie Munson, you realized, was like jamming a puzzle piece where it didn’t belong. He would remain an enigma until you found the right spot.
Afternoon bled into night, the overcast skies resulting in a noticeable absence of stars. Rain had been threatening to fall all day, but the humidity still bogged down the clouds when Eddie walked into the lobby at ten-thirty.
“Hey,” he said, raising one hand in an enthusiastic half-wave. His eyes met yours for only a second before pulling away. “I’ll just grab the paper from the supply closet.”
You tossed him the key and he caught it, clenching it in his palm. He smiled, victoriously but fleetingly once he realized it wasn’t being returned. Defeated, he trudged over to the closet. You normally would have followed and helped, but you were held down by what you knew–what you might know, you reminded yourself.
“You, uh, didn’t set up,” he said, shaking out the drop cloth and positioning it against the molding.
“Didn’t know if you had another secret errand to run.” The retort left your lips before you could stop it, and you pinched them together in a belated attempt to quell your anger.
Eddie bristled, his brush halfway in the vat of glue, but he quickly composed himself and got back to work. You focused your attention on your essay, scanning it for the millionth time in search of misplaced commas or missing words.
Perfect. It needed to be perfect.
Silence once again overtook the motel lobby, broken only by the sounds of Eddie slicing the wallpaper at the edges, not bothering to measure before adhering it to the exposed plaster, and the outside traffic.
You were comfortable with the prolonged quiet, though admittedly less so than before Eddie arrived a few weeks ago, but it must have gnawed at him. He started humming after only fifteen minutes, an unfamiliar tune, smooth in some places and staccato in others.
“Are you still mad at me or something?”
You loathed the way his voice startled you, your mind too deeply buried in your paper. It caused you to look up and lock eyes with him. His question was wrought with frustration, though you couldn’t tell if it was directed at you or at his own inability to decipher the situation.
“No.” Yes.
Eddie sighed and continued working. “Well, if you change your mind, just know that I’m sorry.”
His apology brought back memories of his previous attempt—though ‘attempt’ might be overstating it, and you didn’t want to bite back your response. “It isn’t me you need to apologize to.”
He didn’t bother turning to you when he spoke. “You’re talking about that Bill guy?”
“Ben,” you corrected him, willing yourself to unclench your jaw, “and yes. You were rude to him for no reason.” You pushed aside Ben’s explanation, an improbability in itself.
“I had a reason.” Venom dripped from each word. “Trust me, I could’ve done worse things than hurt his feelings.”
And as his grip tightened around the brush, one bluish vein bulging in his forearm, you remembered how gleeful he’d admitted to trashing the hotel. How Ben had said that Eisen’s looked as though someone took a baseball bat to it.
“The store was vandalized last night.”
All of the oxygen in the room evaporated. Eddie’s unamused chuckle, low in his throat, fissured the silent tension and made it palpable. Real. “And you think I did it.”
“I never said that.”
But you and he both knew that you didn’t have to; the slight tremor in your voice giving away your true intentions. Even if you weren’t outright accusing him, your tone had too much bite to be conversational.
He threw the brush to the ground and it landed against the cloth with an audible thud. “Whatever.” Another grim laugh, each step towards the desk had your heart sinking further into your chest. “Y’know, I’ve already had a pretty shitty week, and I thought talking to you could turn it around. Should’ve known better.” He wiped his palms on his blue jeans and procured a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, lighting one and taking a long drag.
You could only imagine the restraint it took for him not to exhale a cloud of smoke directly in your face.
It was a replay of the situation with Izzy’s mother, the assumptions that steeled you against her before you’d ever met and had you painting her as a neglectful parent. Her palpable worry was a slap across your face, and you felt that same sting now with Eddie.
Ruined it. With one stupid comment, you’d obliterated all of the trust built between you.
“Excuse me, but I have a very busy evening ahead of me,” he said, pointing the cigarette in your direction like an accusation of his own. “I’m supposed to commit arson in fifteen minutes, and if I have time, I might just murder someone.”
No doubt you were at the top of his list.
The realization of your mistake released an anchor of guilt down your stomach. You should have trusted your instincts, should have immediately eschewed any notion that he was the culprit.
You hated yourself for even considering it a possibility, let alone a probability.
“For a sophisticated city girl, you sure remind me of the small-town pricks I grew up with,” Eddie continued, spittle gathering at the corner of his lips. Rage burned in his eyes. “Guess none of those textbooks taught you how to ask questions, huh? Like, ‘Eddie, where were you last night?’ That might’ve been a good start.”
His words were submerged in a poisonous vitriol, purposefully launched with the intent to maim. And yet they weren't inherently aimed at you. Not all of them, anyway.
In that moment, you were everyone who had ever accused him of a crime he hadn’t committed. You were the security guards who ‘kept an eye’ on him when he went shopping, the middle-aged women who scowled and clutched their pearls at his tattoos, the people in his hometown who wrote him off as a devil-worshiping freak.
Guilty until proven innocent.
The fingers on your left hand slotted between the gaps on your right and pressed into your palm, a distraction from the lump forming in your throat. Crying was not an option, it exposed your vulnerability and opened you up to further ridicule. The only thing worse than Eddie using your tears against you was if he took pity on you; there was no way you could handle that level of humiliation.
“Eddie, I—”
You’d finally found your footing in the conversation, and it was promptly clipped. “Just assumed that I was off breaking and entering. A little blue collar crime is nothing new for trailer trash like me, right?” He shook his head in faux disbelief. “Is this how you’re gonna treat your clients?”
That final comment was a lit match that ignited a powderkeg within you, and since you refused to shed a single tear, it exploded in the only other way possible.
“You,” you jabbed your finger into his chest, no longer caring about whatever professional boundaries you might be crossing. Those had flown out the window once he’d purposely dredged up your insecurities. “You are the one who bailed on your job with the lamest excuse I’d ever heard and expected me not to get suspicious.” Your heart beat double-time, pumping raw anger in lieu of blood. “And you are the one who bragged about trashing a hotel room when the manager had the audacity to enforce a rule.”
Eddie took a small step back, your biting reply an arrow to the gut. Perhaps even he felt it, too; the way he’d taken his tirade over the line. Gray flakes fell from his cigarette and onto the desk, the ashy clump having grown too heavy for gravity.
You weren’t done, despite his apparent surrender. “You’re not my client. And I’m not Nancy Drew, so don’t act like I’m responsible for solving your bullshit mysteries.”
His nostrils flared as he regained his composure. “Asking a question isn’t—” a door creaking open and subsequent irritated footsteps halted his retort. Both of you broke eye contact to watch as Phyllis padded up the hallway and into the lobby. Irritation accentuated her smeared-lipstick frown, and she pulled her robe across her body, tugging on the belt in frustration.
“I don’t know what this little lovers’ quarrel is about,” she hissed through clenched teeth, dragging an arthritic finger between you and Eddie, “but it’s killing the mood. So if you could wrap it up, we’d greatly appreciate it.”
You nearly choked on your tongue, and pink splotches decorated Eddie’s stubbled cheeks.
“We’re not—”
“It isn’t—”
But Phyllis had already stalked back to her room, never one to keep a gentleman caller waiting.
Neither you nor Eddie said a word for a few seconds, the heat of embarrassment still nipping at your bodies. A lovers’ quarrel? Phyllis clearly had a convoluted sense of romance if she thought you and Eddie were lovers.
Eddie shattered the silence first, mumbling something nearly unintelligible about needing an ashtray. The dam that restrained your snarkiness had apparently buckled and burst, because when he turned to leave, his back to you, you called out, “see how easy it is to tell me where you’re going?”
He stopped, the cigarette between his fingers now ash down to the filter, but he didn’t turn around. His voice was low in his throat, a slight tremor as he spoke. “That’s real rich, coming from the person whose parents think she’s going to school for hospitality.”
That was low, but unlike his comment about accusing your future clients, this one was true. There was nothing you could say in response, no rebuttal would suffice. You hated the way words stilled in your chest, wishing you could fling insult after insult about his failed music career, but you were simply too tired.
You managed to stave off your tears until he had fully rounded the corner, burying your head in your hands to muffle your sobs. Pathetic. That’s what you were: a pathetic mess, bold enough to start an argument but too cowardly to finish it. And so there you stood, elbows digging into the wooden desktop until splinters pierced your skin, the distance between you and Eddie growing with each passing second.
Holding your own with other guests was usually second-nature for you, but other guests weren’t Eddie. They weren’t hanging around the lobby and asking you about your hopes and dreams. They weren’t willingly offering up their most vulnerable selves just to reassure you. They weren’t tagging along on errands and turning ordinary subway rides into small adventures.
They also weren’t sneaking around and making watered-down excuses, then painting you as the bad guy for doubting their intentions.
Half of you ached to apologize; the other half wanted to toss him and his trash bag luggage to the curb and not look back.
Warm tears slid down the slope of your nose until you tasted their salt on your lips. Stopping them seemed an impossible task, your mind hovering above your body like a separate entity altogether. Your breaths were jagged and uneven, an irregular pattern of shallow inhales and strained exhales.
There was no sense in throwing yourself a pity party, not when you got yourself into this mess. If you were going to wallow in your own misery, you could at least be productive while you cried.
Eddie had barely started the re-wallpapering, so cleaning up was not a daunting task. You rolled the paper back around the tube, keeping it tightly wound for easier transport. It was clunky; you had to adjust it twice in the short distance to the closet, but you managed to get it there with it unraveling.
A gentle scrape across the desk made you peek out from behind the closet door, your red-stained, swollen eyes landing on Eddie once again. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lower lip, his fingers clenched around the jet-black lighter you hadn’t noticed he’d left behind.
He saw you, too, his lips forming a tense smile.
“Forgot this,” he said, holding up the lighter with a little shake. The jaded lines of his face softened when he clocked your tear-streaked cheeks, and that minor show of sympathy had you eager to crawl beneath a rock.
You waited for him to say something, anything, but he just let his gaze fall to where you were twisting the lid back onto the glue. Tucking the cigarette behind his ear and covering it with a curtain of curls, he hoisted the bucket and brought it back to the supply closet.
“Thanks.” It was safe yet genuine, not an invitation for a conversation nor a dismissal.
Eddie shrugged. “S’fine,” he lisped, the cigarette placed back between his lips as he lit it. “Needed to clean up anyway.”
Optimism—whatever you could muster up of it—rattled against your ribcage like a prisoner yearning for freedom. If he cared about cleaning up, maybe that meant he was going to finish the job another time. You didn’t dare ask him, only nodding your head in acknowledgment.
Friends fight, right? Your nagging need for reassurance poised the question on the tip of your tongue, but your fear of looking desperate anchored it there. I didn’t ruin everything, did I?
The flick of the lighter sparked a flame, Eddie’s hand protectively cupped around it. “Well, um, g’night,” he said, giving an awkward half-wave.
“Good night.” Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. But you didn’t manage that addendum, and Eddie retreated to his room.
When you slept that morning, you dreamt that he turned back around.
--
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Okay, I'm here. I'm catching up.
OH that analogy!!!!!!!! Guilt shoes.
Don't. Don't give me sad Eddie playing his electric guitar acoustically while he doesn't know we watch. Don'tttttttttt.
WHY'S HE GOTTA STAND LIKE THAT???
hEHEHE Eddie's lime green jelly jealous
God I feel so fucking bad for Eddie. He's truly a drowned and kicked kitten.
I'm going to read the next chapter right now. I love youuuuu.
Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)
♫ Summary: Running an errand together brings out even more sides of Eddie Munson, including one that you wish you'd never seen (5.2k words)
♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)
♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult
chapter six: the eye of the tiger
Guilt fit like the shoes your mom forced you to wear as a kid, the dressy ones reserved for special occasions. It pinched at you, dug into you, a constant reminder of its unwelcome presence.
And so you did everything you could to alleviate the discomfort. On Wednesday, Dad mosied into the lobby for his shift to find the floor meticulously swept; there was not a speck of dust in sight. If he had any suspicions, he didn’t bother to show them. He was probably just grateful for the help regardless of its cause.
Mom, as usual, was more skeptical of your intentions, raising a disbelieving brow when you presented her with the bills you’d reorganized by their due dates. You’d offered up the excuse of being bored with nothing better to do. Did she buy it? Unlikely. But she also didn’t pose further questions, choreographing another step in your dance.
And when Dad hung up the phone Friday afternoon, thumb and forefinger massaging the bridge of his nose, you jumped at the chance to fix the situation.
“Everything okay?”
He looked up with a start, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to realize you’d been standing in the doorway.
“That was Uncle Mo,” he said with an elongated sigh. “The delivery truck won’t start; something’s busted, I guess, so we won’t get our wallpaper until it’s out of the shop.”
“I can go after class,” you volunteered. The shop was a twenty minute bus ride from school, no transfers required. Lugging it on the subway back home might prove more challenging, but you could manage it.
He dashed your dreams with a swift shake of his head. “They close early for the Sabbath.” Which meant they’d be closed all day tomorrow, too.
Dad glanced around at the walls, lip scraping over his bottom lip. Their barrenness unsettled him; his pride and joy left empty and exposed.
Imagine how he’ll feel once this place is boarded up for good. Bet he won’t care about some ugly walls then.
“I’ll go on Sunday.” The promise practically made itself before you could stop it. Your final paper was due on Tuesday, and you had planned to spend your weekend finishing it, but that would need to take a backseat until the wallpaper crisis was resolved.
You could be part of that solution. For now, at least.
Sunlight teased summer’s beginning and warmed your skin. The walk to the subway station required you to cross paths with the mailbox you’d fought with—and humbly lost to—a few days prior. Dejection shot through your chest as you paused in front of it, focusing on a spot of rusted metal where the paint had flaked off. Short of intercepting the United States Postal Service, there was nothing you could do. Besides, your acceptance was probably already locked inside NYU’s admissions office, sitting among a pile of identical envelopes. Most of them, you suspected, were mailed with exuberance and not with the trepidation you carried.
The station’s stuffiness engulfed you as you descended the stairs, fingertips brushing the railing to ensure your balance. Your return trip would be short of torture, sweat prickling beneath your arms at the mere thought of dragging wallpaper through the thick humidity. You might have to splurge for a cab to avoid melting completely.
Frantic, impassioned guitar strumming grabbed your attention just before you approached the turnstile, echoing off of the concrete and infiltrating all of your senses. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw that Eddie was the source of the noise. He leaned against the wall as he played an electric guitar—the same one he had clutched so dearly when sleeping at the bus stop. There was no microphone, no amplifier; just him and his instrument. The case was open in front of him, now holding a few scattered dollar bills and some loose change.
He didn’t notice you, not at first, so you took that opportunity to silently watch him. His head nodded along with the beat, his voice a low timbre as he sang.
Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters
The chords were nearly drowned out by his vocals, and the softer strumming should have clashed with the harsh lyrics, but he made it work.
It was somehow even sadder than when Metallica played it, though not from a lack of power. Eddie’s version intertwined anger with desperation, a somber reprise of the gritty original.
Deft fingers pressed into the frets, the pick pinched between the other hand’s thumb and forefinger. He took a step forward to launch himself into the chorus with a combination of focus and ease. This is what he was meant to do, what he was born to do. Whether he was in front of a captivated audience of thousands or a smattering of indifferent commuters, he was a rockstar.
Never cared for what they say
Never cared for games they play
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
And I know, yeah, yeah
Heat blossomed in your belly at his gravelly voice, the way he pulled the notes from the depths of his diaphragm and belted them out. The E train came and went as it screeched along the tracks, but you remained as though the soles of your feet were glued to the ground.
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
No, nothing else matters
For a brief moment after finishing the song, Eddie’s chest puffed out with pride. It quickly faltered in the absence of applause, but before he could play another song, his gaze landed on you. He grinned and shook a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. Part of you wanted to fix it for him, to tuck it behind his ear or sweep it all back into a ponytail, but you refrained. Instead, you dug into your purse and tossed a dollar into the case.
“Was that the one I gave you for the cab?” Eddie asked, fingers absently brushing over the strings in a series of random chords.
“Nah, this was from the other asshole guest who made me late for class.”
Your jibe caught him off-guard and he actually laughed with such force that he had to stop playing. “And here I thought I was the only one.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it snagged on a knot. “Are you going to the library or something?”
You lacked the energy to explain that the library was in the opposite direction, opting instead to cut to the chase. “Picking up the wallpaper.”
Eddie’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head. “I thought it was being delivered.” As you relayed the whole broken-truck saga, he started sliding the guitar strap up off of his back and crouched down, stuffing the money from the case into his pockets. “Cool. I’ll go with.”
“Oh, I wasn’t–” You paused mid-sentence to consider your words. “I mean, you don’t have to. I can do it on my own.”
“S’fine.” Eddie laid the guitar down with the fragility that one would handle a newborn baby and snapped the case shut. “Didn’t realize this station is basically dead on Sundays. I normally just play here during the week, but I’ve been out of commission.” He held up his bandaged finger and pouted impishly.
The familiar playfulness settled back into the conversation, breaking up any lingering awkwardness, and you snatched up the opportunity to tease him. “Ah, right. Your man stuff.”
“Very manly. Burly, some might say.” He extended one hand in front of him, palm up, to gesture towards the turnstiles. “Shall we?”
You led and he followed behind so closely that his chest smacked into your back when you stopped in your tracks. The uneven weight distribution, courtesy of the guitar case lolling at his side, thrusted him forward, the metal buckle on his belt digging into your skin through your shirt.
It set off a domino effect, one that had you falling face-first to the ground. Before you could even brace for impact, you felt Eddie’s fingers digging into your hip and tugging you upright. The way he caught you was almost reflexive, his grasp controlled enough to avoid bruising your skin, but strong enough that you realized he could if he wanted to.
“What happened?” His tone was mixed with both concern and amusement; a crackle of laughter broke up his question.
An embarrassing adrenaline surge shot through you, bringing with it a chill that immediately preceded a heatwave of perspiration. “The, um…” You lamely pointed at the card swipe machines that had replaced the token receptacles. “I forgot that we need those MetroCard things.”
Eddie let go of your hip and you felt his absence almost immediately. “No, we don’t.” He left no time for questioning, hoisting the case to the other side and pushing himself up and over the bar, landing on his feet with cat-like dexterity.
You stared at him in disbelief. Sure, you’d jumped the turnstile a time or two, but that was back in high school, under the influence of friends you hadn’t talked to since.
“What’re you waiting for?” He called out. A Cheshire-cat grin graced his lips.
What were you waiting for? It’s not like the transit police were scouring the station. The poor schmuck stuck at the now-defunct token booth was exasperatedly trying to explain the new system to an older gentleman; he probably wouldn’t have noticed a wildebeest stampede. And you certainly weren’t eager to contribute to the politicians who lined their pockets with taxpayer money.
Fuck it.
In one swift motion—much more graceful than your earlier stumble—you mimicked his actions. One foot, then the other, your biceps supporting your body weight.
“You little rebel.” Eddie tutted, his smirk showing off his teeth. You never noticed the way one canine is slightly sharper than the other, and it digs into his lower lip. “This is how it starts, y’know. One day, you’re skipping out on train fare; the next, you’re committing armed robbery.”
If he kept rubbing your nerves raw, you might be more tempted to commit homicide.
Another E train arrived not long after. You were an expert at scouting empty seats, and you made a beeline for the first one you found. There was another one across the way, just vacated by a woman pushing a stroller, and you assumed Eddie would take it.
Instead, he shoved his guitar case towards you, parting your legs between the knees, and grabbed onto one of the overhead handles.
“Can you hold this?” Eddie asked belatedly. He rocked forward onto his toes as the train moved to keep his balance. A guitar pick necklace swung out from beneath the vee of his shirt and swayed above you.
You drank in the way he towered over you, so close that he was all you could see. The mingled scents of the motel’s soap and a musky deodorant wafted off of him and enveloped your senses. For a second, there was only him, and whatever the outside world had to offer was just shy of meaningless.
“There’s a seat down there.” You peered around him and gestured to the one you’d spotted earlier, careful not to point at anyone.
Eddie looked but declined with a shrug. “Nah, I’m good. I like standing.”
“See, that’s the kind of thing that separates the natives from the transplants.” You smiled up at him. “You didn’t even want to sit down after a gig? Or a long rehearsal?”
“I didn’t really ever take the subway,” he admitted. “Maybe, like, once or twice.”
You huffed out an incredulous laugh. “How did you get around?”
“Taxis, car service.” He ticked off the items on his free hand. “One time we rented a helicopter, but then the label threatened to revoke the company card.” He chuckled forlornly, like the memory was heavier than an impromptu helicopter ride.
“Sounds like you were living the life.”
Eddie shook off his wistfulness with a cheeky grin. “Hell yeah. Expensive restaurants, swanky hotels…did I ever tell you about the time we trashed our room?”
“You did not.” You’re not sure you want to know, considering he’s currently staying in one of yours.
He laughed. “Get this: we come back to the hotel after a gig. We’re all fuckin’ exhausted. As soon as we walk into the lobby, the night manager is on us like a hawk. I mean, the guy gave a stink eye like you wouldn’t believe.” He tried mimicking him, but he was too upbeat to embody the manager’s full ire. “Anyway, we’re not in the room for five minutes when there’s a knock on the door. Of course it’s that schmuck, warning us about the noise policy.”
You looked at him incredulously. “That’s why you destroyed a hotel room?”
“Mhm.” Eddie proudly nodded, not missing the way concern furrowed your brow. “Don’t worry, Heiress. I’d never trash your place.”
“I’d have to get Phyllis after you.” Laughter bubbled out of you at his visible cringe, probably thinking of being on the other end of her baseball bat. “Okay, so what’s the dumbest thing you guys bought with the company card?”
People pushed through the aisle as the train pulled up to the stop, elbows nudging Eddie until he was practically on top of you. Every hair on your body stood up at the sudden change in proximity. “Probably one of those stuffed tiger things for our apartment,” he admitted.
“You and your band bought a taxidermied tiger?” You scoffed.
His face flushed, and he scratched at his jaw like he’d been caught red-handed. “N-No, not the whole band. Just me and the drummer. We, um, she was my girlfriend, I guess.”
Puzzle pieces started falling into place and interlocking curves. His ex-girlfriend was also in the band, which was probably why they broke up once Eddie quit. “How long were you two together?” You instantly regret not asking about the tiger instead, for his sake and yours.
“Hard to say; we were pretty on-and-off.” Eddie tried to play it off casually but terse laughter gave him away. The subway lurched and Eddie swayed forward again, his knee grazing yours. “But it was about a year from start to finish.”
You let the information sink in. He had a girlfriend in Death’s Echo, but he seemed to be unattached at the moment. Made sense, considering he was living in your motel rather than with a partner.
“That’s what no one tells you about money: it runs out.” Eddie continued. “It’s like, common sense or whatever. But when you have no money and then you get a shit-ton of it, it’s hard to imagine ever going back.”
His eyes found yours like he had been searching for them, and you held his gaze until a monotone voice crackled over the speaker, announcing that the train was approaching the Forest Hills-71st Avenue station.
“We have to transfer here.”
Eddie wrinkled his nose, clearly not thrilled by this extra step, but he followed your lead without any audible protest.
“Y’know,” he said as the doors opened, the two of you joining the swarm of people pushing their way out, “my neighborhood back home was also called Forest Hills.”
“Seems fancy,” you quipped.
He laughed, head thrown back. “Oh, yeah. It’s the most glamorous trailer park in all of Indiana.”
The faux pas curdled in your stomach. What were you thinking? He had just confessed that he was broke before Death’s Echo.
“Sorry, that was stupid.”
He shrugged off your comment, seemingly unbothered. “How many stops is this next one?”
“Just two.”
He hummed his acknowledgment, and with the R train less crowded than the E, you found seats adjacent to one another.
You did your best to ignore the way his right leg brushed your left, the worn denim against your bare skin as the train jostled him. He murmured a barely-audible “sorry.”
There was no reason for him to apologize, and you almost told him this, but you substituted a tight smile for words. Truthfully, you were glad he confirmed that the touch was accidental. You’d nearly nudged him back, a secret handshake of sorts, and your body burned with the mere prospect of embarrassment.
The train screeched to a stop in front of a sign that barely read 63rd Drive-Rego Park, most of the letters covered in colorful graffiti tags.
“This is us,” you said, handing him back his guitar so you could stand up.
Eddie stepped aside with a small bow, equal parts awkward and endearing. “So, uh, where are we going, exactly?” He stayed close enough so you could hear him over the cacophony of commuters.
“S’just a few blocks.” You maintained your fast-paced stride so as to not get bowled over.
He kept up with you surprisingly well for someone unused to navigating the city’s public transit. The fresh air welcomed you as you ascended the stairs, leaving behind the station’s mugginess. Conversations and traffic replaced metallic clunking while you weaved in and out of a sea of pedestrians, checking every so often to ensure you hadn’t left Eddie behind.
Bold white letters on a maroon awning proudly proclaimed Eisen’s Paint and Supply, and the faint sound of bell chimed when you opened the door. A middle-aged man stood behind the counter, eyes lighting up when you walked in.
“Uncle Mo!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. Uncle Mo wasn’t your father’s brother, but their bond went beyond blood relation. He was part of nearly all of Dad’s stories since they’d met in high school: the good, the bad, and the ugly.
There was more gray in his hair and in his beard than the last time you’d seen him, the lines from his lips to his jaw more pronounced, but he still wore the same cologne that you’d remembered. The familiar scent was like home, a reminder of all of the Thanksgivings your families had spent together before the motel engulfed your life.
He beamed, his hands bracing your upper arms as he got a better look at you. “Look at you; so grown up!” His eyes misted over for a second before he blinked the moisture away. “How long has it been?”
“Too long.” You turned back to Eddie, waving him over and introducing him. Uncle Mo politely extended a hand that Eddie shook quickly before shoving his fingers back in his pocket.
“Before I get your paper,” Uncle Mo said to you with a mischievous smile, “I have a bit of a surprise.” The stockroom door swung open on cue and a young man stepped out from behind it.
Your hand flew to your mouth in shock, every bone in your body vibrating. “Ben?” The name was muffled but still audible, and Ben opened his arms just in time for you to tackle him in an embrace.
His gangly teenage limbs had been replaced with hard muscle, his chest straining through his t-shirt. There was no trace of the wispy excuse for a mustache he’d once proudly sported; his face was freshly shaven, only the slightest evidence of his stubble scratched against your cheek when he pulled you to him.
“I couldn’t believe it when my dad told me you were stopping by,” Ben said, finally letting go after a few moments. He looked at Eddie as if noticing him for the first time. “Ben. Nice to meet you.”
Eddie said nothing in response, his jaw set and his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever friendliness he’d shown Uncle Mo was clearly not being granted to his son.
“Ben, this is Eddie,” you hurried to explain before the tension became unbearably dense. “He works for the motel, doing different repairs and odd jobs. Whatever we need, really.”
Your old friend nodded and brought his attention back to you. “Do you guys need help bringing the wallpaper back? I don’t have anything to–”
“We’ve got it.” Eddie cut him off curtly, clipping the conversation’s wings. His eyes narrowed in judgmental assessment and their milk chocolate hue turned dark.
Ben had evidently stepped on his toes; you thought back to the wasp’s nest and his adamance to clobber it with a baseball bat despite your insistence to wait until you bought the spray. You shot Eddie a look that he either disregarded or didn’t notice, because his clenched jaw never loosened.
“Right, yeah.” A blush crept into Ben’s cheeks, the other man’s brusqueness catching him off-guard. “But we should catch up soon,” he said to you, “maybe grab a cup of coffee?”
It was an effort to ignore the way Eddie tensed up; even more so to pretend like his reaction hadn’t stirred something inside of you. Everything between you and him, and you and Ben, was strictly platonic. Whatever melodrama he’d conjured up was his problem, not yours.
Your relationship with Eddie teetered between acquaintances and friends; he was in no position to get bent out of shape over you going for coffee with Ben or any other man.
You pushed the intrusive thought away long enough to answer Ben’s question. “Yeah, of course! You’re home for the whole summer?”
“Actually…” Ben’s grin widened, harboring a secret he was eager to spill. “I’m back for good. You’re looking at Dr. Benjamin Eisen, D.D.S.”
“That’s amazing!”
He nodded happily, enthusiasm unrestrained. “Thanks. I’m hoping to open up a practice nearby, so I’ll be sticking around for a while.”
That was the best news you’d heard in a while. The pair of you were once inseparable, always devising plans to convince your parents to extend their visits. When you were six, you’d almost started a fire trying to put on a pot of coffee, hoping that it would coax the Eisens into staying longer.
Too bad you’d forgotten to add the water.
Uncle Mo returned from the stock room with rolls of wallpaper, and his son shuffled towards him to take one from his grasp.
“Are you sure I can’t help out?” Ben tried again. He only looked at you when he spoke.
You almost took him up on his offer, the reply sitting on the tip of your tongue, but Eddie answered for you.
“We’re good,” he said flatly, taking the rolls from the other men. “I used to lug around amps all the time. This is nothing.”
He’d uttered the same phrase before taking a bat to a wasp’s nest, and he’d ended up hurt. Still, inviting Ben along would almost certainly guarantee an awkward commute home. At best, you’d force stilted small talk; at worst, Eddie might shove Ben onto the tracks.
“Thanks anyway,” you said politely, trying to temper your irritation.
Ben gave a tight smile, brows shooting up when remembered something. “Let me give you my new phone number so we can set up a time to meet up.” He plucked a business card from the little plastic container on the desk, flipping it over and scrawling his number on the back.
“Sounds great.” It truly did, save for Eddie’s glare that made you grateful looks couldn’t actually kill.
Tucking the card into your purse, you held him in one last hug before bidding them goodbye.
Eddie said nothing the entire walk back to the subway station. He strode there despite heaving around a guitar case and cylinders of wallpaper. You suspected he could have flown there if he wasn’t so bogged down. The closest he came to acknowledging your presence was the scoff he let out when you veered off-course to buy a MetroCard.
You ignored him, still fuming over his behavior towards Ben. With trembling fingers, you dropped your change into the coin slot, acutely aware of his presence as he stood beside you. He was close enough that you could hear his tense sigh, as though his frustration was justified.
Yanking the card out from behind the swinging Plexiglass, you silently stalked over to the turnstile, Eddie begrudgingly hot on your heels. The tiny diagram showed the magnetic strip facing downwards and you did your best to emulate it. After two failed swipes, the machine relented and gave an approving beep.
“Go,” you told Eddie, and when he stared at you blankly, you repeated yourself with considerably less patience. “Go.”
“Okay, okay.” There was no hiding his surprise at your insistence, the sharpness of your tongue. He obviously wasn't accustomed to taking the attitude he dished out. His eyebrows crashed into his hairline as he maneuvered through, wallpaper bumping up against the metal gates.
There wasn’t enough money left on the card for you, so after a brief glance at your surroundings, you once again lift yourself up and over to the other side. The metal barrier seemed laughably obsolete beneath you.
Eddie blinked twice in rapid succession but composed himself before you reached him again. A peculiar expression graced his face; not so much amusement as much as admiration. If you weren’t so annoyed with him, with his antics back at Eisen’s, you might have cracked a joke about his bad influence rubbing off on you.
The first leg of the trip—the shortest part, as it were, went smoothly. It was once the E train departed from Forest Hills that it almost immediately halted, the exasperated conductor announcing that extensive track work was causing delays.
“Fucking great,” you muttered. Experience told you that the remainder of the ride would be stop-and-go, which meant more time spent with Eddie.
He’d exhaled an exasperated sigh of his own, eyes flickering over the subway car and foot tapping to a beat only he could hear. When he finally spoke, it was the last thing you’d expected him to say.
“Wanna play I Spy?”
“Um, what?”
“Y’know, I spy with my little eye…” he explained, as though you were confused about the game concept.
It took every last ounce of energy not to burst out laughing at his odd request, though it helped that annoyance still tarnished your mood. “All right. Sure.”
“Cool.” He glanced around again, rubbing his palms over his thighs in concentration. “Okay, I spy with my little eye, something purple.”
Squinting, you searched for shades of lilac and violet. “That woman’s shirt?” You jutted your chin towards an older woman sitting across the car.
“Nope.”
“That little girl’s shoes?”
Eddie just shook his head, his dimples gradually deepening with each wrong answer you gave.
Your next three guesses were also incorrect, and Eddie triumphantly pumped his fist when you admitted defeat.
“It’s the words on that sign,” he said, pointing to an advertisement for psychic readings.
It was your turn, and it didn’t take you long to find your target.
“I spy with my little eye, something…douchey.” Your gaze never left his face, watching the skin crease between his brows as he connected your implication.
Eddie threw his head back and cackled, drawing the ire of your fellow commuters. You shushed him with a hiss, his apathy only fueling your anger.
“Fine, I guess I deserved that.” He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms upwards. For a second, you thought he might drape one over your shoulders, but he brought them right back to his lap.
“You guess?” You gawped, and he laughed even louder. “You were a total asshole to Ben for no reason.”
Eddie’s voice got feather-soft; you had to lean in to hear him. “Trust me; I had a reason.”
You snorted. “What, him offering to help carry the wallpaper threatened your ‘man stuff?’”
“Something like that.”
Crossing your arms, you shot him a bemused grimace. Whatever testosterone-laden excuse he concocted would just strengthen your irritation, so you saved yourself the headache and plundered on.
“Ben and I have been friends since I was born.” That wasn’t an exaggeration; a photo of one-year-old Ben holding newborn you was tucked away in one of Mom’s albums. Dad had snapped the photo while Uncle Mo sat next to his son, helping cradle your head. You were only a few hours old. “Whatever your problem is, don’t make it mine. Or his,” you add.
Eddie had no response to that, and you preferred it that way. Maybe he was learning not to argue with you, especially when he was so obviously wrong.
Your response halted all conversation for the rest of the extended ride and continued during the short trek back to the motel. The quiet was necessary, but not peaceful, and you refused to buckle when an invisible pull urged you to talk again, to push past the discomfort. If you couldn’t outright tell him that he’d upset you, the least he could do was feel that anger.
“Where do these go?” Eddie asked once the motel’s doors closed behind you. You pointed to the supply closet and he ambled over, wincing as the hinges squeaked in a plea for lubrication. “All right, so, I can get started on this tonight if you want.”
You considered this for a moment before shaking your head. The lobby could survive another night with bare walls, but you needed a break. A break not just from Eddie, but from his naivety to his actions having consequences.
“Tomorrow’s fine.”
He stilled, his hands halfway in his pockets. “I mean, I was going to stop by anyway; I might as well—”
“I think I just need some quiet tonight.” It was the nicest response you could muster, though the way the words passed through your clenched teeth gave away your annoyance.
“Oh.” His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled a breath of air, his eyes refusing to meet yours. Confusion tied his tongue, but if he didn’t realize the mistake he’d made, you were in no mood to spell it out. He waited a beat for you to follow up, to iron out the creases with an explanation that had nothing to do with his earlier behavior, but that never happened.
The lack of reassurance pained you, too. You despised leaving matters unfinished; part of you wanted to apologize—for what, you weren’t sure—just to have some resolution.
Eddie raked his fingers through his curls. “Well, I’m sorry for pissing you off, or whatever.”
Or whatever. Those two words almost had you smacking him upside the head with the wallpaper tubes. Maybe sealing his lips with the glue, too.
The worst part was the shock on his face when you’d wordlessly stormed out of the supply closet towards your room. Like he had no idea what he’d done wrong or why his non-apology fell flat.
No, that was a lie. The worst part was actually the pang of disappointment in your chest when there were no footsteps pounding down the hall, no knock on your door, no attempt to talk through the situation. As much as you wanted to be left alone, you’d clutched to an optimistic sliver that he would follow you. It was a pathetic need for proof that he cared about you as more than just his employer. As his friend.
But there was nothing.
That silence hurt most of all.
--
taglist (now closed ♥):
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I just read this on AO3 and had no idea it was you! Rachel! I love this so much! If you ever get inspired, I would absolutely read more of these two.
Meet Me At 4:20
Summary: It’s hard to be the new kid in a small town during senior year, and there’s only one person you actually want to be friends with. So you do the only logical thing, and set up a drug deal.
Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, SFW, drug deals, meet cute, one shot
Notes: Thank you, @jo-harrington for helping me title this <3 If you read the original version I posted last fall, no you didn't.
Word Count: 2.3k words
Master List
You sat at the old picnic table, far away from the school. It was a quiet and mild autumn day, leaves were clinging to the trees and there was a satisfying crunch to the ground when you made your way through the woods.
You counted each breath in and out in counts of four. It wasn’t the drugs that you were planning on buying that made you nervous, but the man selling them. It felt so stupid, this whole plan was completely ridiculous but at this time you didn’t have any better idea to go off of.
You didn’t even like weed.
Your eyes closed and you played a cassette tape at a low volume, muffled sounds of music pulsating through your ears. If you could focus on this, then you could relax. You could talk to Eddie. You were sure that you could do it this time. You hoped you could do it.
The faint crackling of leaves crunching under footsteps alerted you to his presence. You kept your eyes closed and your breathing steady, not daring to open your eyes yet. The last thing you wanted was for Eddie to see you a shaking mess, anxious and stuttering and probably tweaking.
“Hello?”
You opened your eyes slowly, looking up at the man in front of you. Eddie watched you with a look of mild confusion, his hand dropping to his side as if he had been waving it in an attempt to get your attention. You removed your headphones and gave a small smile.
“Hey, sorry. Long day.” you said, only stumbling over your words a little.
“I get it.” Eddie said, taking a seat across from you on the table. His black lunchbox thumped down in front of him, and he looked at you expectantly.
“So… how does this work here?” you asked. looking between him and the lunchbox. This was the most you had dared look at him since you moved to Hawkins a few weeks ago.. Having his attention, his eyes on yours, almost felt like too much. You couldn’t stop the nervous smile from spreading across your face, and you wished that you could just keep yourself normal for two minutes.
“The same way any normal transaction goes.” Eddie shrugged. “Except cash only, no returns, and for obvious reasons… no receipts.”
“I guess that means no demanding to speak to the manager then?” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. To your surprise, Eddie gave a small laugh and seemed to relax just a bit.
“Demand all you want, he’ll tell you all sales are final.” He opened the box and pulled out a bag. “I got a half ounce here. $25. Should last you a while.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” You said, pulling out your wallet and pulling out some cash to hand over.
“Want to smell it first?” Eddie looked at you with a head tilt. Fuck, had you already blown it? Was that something you were supposed to do? You froze, and Eddie let out a snort. “You’ve never done this have you?”
You shook your head. “Nope. Not even once.” You admitted. There was no use in pretending otherwise. The only reason you had even set this meeting up was just an elaborate (and expensive) way to meet the only person in Hawkins you had any interest in talking to.
Ever since moving here, you weren’t a fan of the town or the people around you. You were sure that your new school would be the same and you had planned on fading into the background for the few months that you had to be here for your senior year. Who was going to want to make friends with the new girl during senior year in a small town? Cliques had been formed and no one would be wanting to add to their numbers this late in the game. Not when everyone else was going to be leaving after high school.
But Eddie had captured your attention the very first day when he’d been running around his lunch table and laughing with his friends.
“It’s not a normal thing, it’s a me thing.” Eddie tossed you the bag, not taking the money yet. “Give it a smell.”
You didn’t want to smell the bag. You really did not want to, but Eddie’s was looking at you, and his eyes were so big and round and he ASKED you to do something so…
Your face scrunched up involuntarily and you pulled your head back at the stench. “Ah. Yes. That is certainly weed. Glad to have that established.” you deadpanned.
“It’s not oregano.” Eddie confirmed, looking amused at your reaction.
“The fuck you mean it’s not?” You laughed. “Here I was thinking that I was going to be buying the best Italian seasoning on the market and here I am with a bag of weed. I feel ripped off!”
Satisfied, Eddie took the money that you had left on the table and pocketed it. “Sorry, like I said, no refunds.”
You followed suit and stuffed the bag into another bag, which was then shoved into yet another bag that had your gym clothes. Can’t be too careful.
You assumed that Eddie would turn tail and leave but instead he picked up a lighter and a cigarette from his lunchbox.
“You sit at my table at lunch.” It wasn’t a question, but a truth. Eddie had noticed you sitting there. Then again, after the roach incident…
“It’s easier to sit in the same place every day.” You said as you nervously picked at the wood on the table. “You learn what to expect.”
“And what do you expect from our table?” Eddie took a drag and offered you the cigarette. You hesitated for a moment before shaking your head in a polite no. “A freakshow?”
“More bugs, but less people bugging me.” you shrugged.
Eddie snorted. “We still give Jeff shit about that.”
“Yeah well, I’d still rather sit there than anywhere else.” You swallowed. “This may come as a surprise to you, Eddie, but people here kind of suck and aren’t the most friendly.”
“So, you’d rather be seen near the freaks than associating with any other group? That’s brave.” Eddie looked you over. “I’m surprised someone like you eats in the cafeteria. I’ve never seen you talk to anyone else. Most people find a classroom to eat in if they don’t have friends.”
You stared blankly at him. “Gee. Thanks for the reminder.”
Eddie’s eyes went wide as he realized what he just said. “Wait, shit, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You’re not wrong.” you sighed, now wishing that you could have a drag of his cigarette. Maybe then you’d look interesting and mysterious instead of how you actually felt, which was awkward and annoyed. You knew you didn’t have friends here, but that didn’t mean he needed to point that out.
By a technicality, the Freak was more popular than you, and now you had spent $25 in an attempt to be his friend and he might not even be interested. You were starting to regret this whole stupid plan.
“You know you…. if you wanted to. You don’t have to sit near us.” Eddie looked up, and saw you deflate instantly. Eddie sat up straighter “No, not like that, I mean. You could sit with us instead. We can make room, and I swear we won’t throw anymore bugs at you.”
Eddie took another drag of the cigarette, shifting so that the second hand smoke didn’t hit you in the face. It was appreciated.
“Really? I mean, are you sure? Would the others be alright with that…?” You asked, perking up more excitedly than you meant to.
“They learned to live with Mike and Dustin, they’ll learn to like you.” Eddie gave a grin. “Besides, Hellfire needs more members if they’re gonna beat my campaign.”
“The Cult of Vecna.” You said and Eddie narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously. “Don’t give me that look, Eddie, you guys are loud. It’s not eavesdropping when you’re standing on the table with your shoes right next to my sandwich yelling about your game.”
“So you’ll join us then?” Eddie’s grin widened.
“How much for a shirt?” You shivered as the wind blew around you. “I… I might need help character creating as well. It’s been a while since I’ve played.”
Eddie slammed his hands on the table, laughing. “I knew it! I knew you were one of us. Gareth owes me $5.”
“You made a bet about this??”
“I’ve only known two other girls that play. Sinclair’s sister who’s still in middle school and Ronnie Ecker who graduated 2 years ago.” Eddie said. He was so energized now and his eyes were bright, the late afternoon sun reflecting warm caramel and gold back at you. “I saw you with that D&D book yesterday but they didn’t believe me.”
You looked at him, sighed and reached into your bag and pulled out the book that had given you away. You really had never meant to be seen with it, you’d just needed a refresher. You had played at your old school, but hadn’t had a chance to in about a year.
Eddie reached for the old module and flipped through the adventure. “Tomb of Horrors.” he said approvingly. “We played this one last year with a few tweaks, of course. What’s your level?”
“I… don’t really have much of one.” You admitted. “Back with my old group we would just make characters for whatever suited the campaign. I usually went with some flavor of half-elf bard or ranger though.”
“The others would call that cheating. Most everyone has played with the same character from level 1 for the past few years.” Eddie said. “You’d have to work to keep up with us.”
“So I’d have to start at level 1?” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. “Damn, you are a sadistic DM aren’t you?”
“I’m the mean and scary freak of Hawkins High,” Eddie took a final drag of his cigarette. “It’s my job.”
“You’ve been nicer to me than anyone here so far, Eddie.” You admitted
Eddie looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. You swallowed, unable to look away and wondering if you had said something wrong.
“What?” You finally said.
“You’ve never bought drugs before.” Eddie said.
“….Yes. We established this.” You replied.
“Have you ever even smoked before?”
You frowned. “….Hm, no comment. I don’t think I want to answer that.”
“So that’s a no.” Eddie looked at the bag where you had stored your goods. “So why are you buying?”
You had two reasons for buying, the main reason was to give yourself a reason- any reason- to talk to him. There was a second reason though, one that you hadn’t wanted to get into but…
“I… haven’t been doing a great job of adjusting here.” You said picking at the grain of the wood of the table. “I won’t bore you with the details but… I’ve been having trouble sleeping and everything I eat just tastes like sawdust and I can’t get hungry. I was hoping this would help.”
“Do you know how to roll?”
You slumped slightly, looking down. “Eddie, I’ve never even smoked a cigarette.”
“You’re really coming in blind, huh?” there was a laughter in his voice though that made you feel less judged. “You live in Happy Forest Trailer Park. Yeah, I’ve seen you down the street circling your trailer late at night.”
“Ah. Lovely. Nice to know my night walks have been witnessed.” You groaned.
“Don’t worry, you’re still the least sketchy person there.” Eddie waived his hand. “I don’t normally do this, but you clearly need help. If you want, I’ll come over and roll for you and teach you how to smoke.”
“I feel like if you were anyone else I’d tell you to fuck off.” You said. “But, like I said, you’re the only person who’s been actively nice to me and I really can’t afford to say no. I’m… too damn tired.”
“Tonight?” Eddie offered. “We can help you put together a character.”
Your heart was pounding in your chest now. He wanted to come over to your house tonight? This plan was already going wildly off the rails but there was no stopping it.
“Okay.”
Eddie handed over his cigarette to you and you stared at it. “Just take a drag and show me where you’re at.”
You flinched, holding the cigarette in your fingers. You’d seen people smoke your whole life and the smell of it filled your memories with car rides, and heavy talks and… screaming.
“I can’t.” You said after a moment handing it back. “Sorry. I know it’s stupid. Weed is one thing but-”
“Hey, no need to explain.” Eddie said, snuffing it out. “I don’t know what just happened but don’t worry about it.”
You nodded. “Thanks.”
Eddie looked at his watch. “I have to meet up with someone else. Go home, I’ll be there tonight.” He closed his lunchbox and stood up and you followed suit.
“I’ll be home all night.” You said. “Thank you, by the way. For all of this. I hope it helps.”
Eddie chuckled. “Not many people stick around and talk to me after, let alone thank me. They usually take what they bought and run.”
“Sit with us on Monday.” Eddie said. “I’ll come over tonight.” He was sparing you from saying what you wanted to say; that you wanted so badly to be friends with them.
“I wanted to talk to you.” You admitted, and Eddie looked surprised. “I mean, I don’t have anyone here in Hawkins. Like anyone. And, I don’t know, I like hearing you and your friends talk at lunch and you all seem to actually like each other so… I…”
“Tonight.” You nodded.
The two of you parted ways, Eddie taking a separate way out of the woods while you headed towards the parking lot.
Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad.
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Oh noooo this is going to tear my heart apart.
The music announces his arrival.
It always does.
The way you write Eddie is so... Eddie. It aligns with how I see him, and god it makes me melt into your stories.
I can feel this so deeply. It's in the marrow of my bones. How it feels to fall in love. How it feels to be so close and so far.
I am very close to tears. I love you, Somna, and I love this queer little story.
Watershed Moments || part I
Masterlist Part II || ao3
Eddie Munson x Reader || E 18+
[demi!Eddie x 'tomboy'/gender-nonconforming!bi!reader]
childhood best friends to lovers, no Upside Down, canon divergent
Words: 3.8k
Series Summary:
Watershed Moment is a term most people use for big events. Such events that mark historical turning points of great significance and shape the course of humanity; events that cause the printing presses of the world to run hot and make it from the front pages of newspapers into history books for the following generations to study.
Opening the passenger door of Eddie’s van on a rainy Friday evening is exactly that.
You're in love with your best friend.
How many of those pivotal moments have there been in the past decade that have led you to this point? And what happens now?
Themes/Warnings for this chapter | pls check Masterlist for general tags:
||fluff, pining, angst, hurt/comfort, implied/non-graphic domestic abuse, child abuse: physical and mental, child neglect, dysfunctional family dynamics||
large parts of the fic will take place in the characters teenage years
A/N: I wrote this almost a year ago then got very precious about it and stopped in fear of fucking it up. I've decided to release it into the world before the layer of dust gets so thick that I can't find my way back to it anymore. Around half of it is already written in various states. This is a queer story at heart, even though you might not find it in explicit terms we'd use today to label and describe things.
Friday the 8th of May 1987
The music announces his arrival.
It always does.
It’s the reason you leave your window ajar whenever you’re expecting him; no matter the time of day, no matter the weather.
The faint notes of shrieking guitars slowly turn into recognizable music as you slip on your shoes and look for your keys. Going by his choice of song, he must be in a good mood and so you descend down the stairs in a hurry to meet him.
He’s picking you up to go see a movie like he had done countless times before.
You hook your fingers under the door handle, the metal smooth from years of doing so, and pull, rousing the familiar creeeeek of the hinges, expecting to get into the car with the boy who had been your best friend for over a decade, and suddenly find yourself staring into the face of the man you love.
Just like that.
There is a dip in the cushion of the passenger seat, perfectly molded to your ass and right there, he had placed a gift for you.
“Surprise,” he says with a smile that melts the sidewalk under your feet, gesturing at the book that’s waiting for you but there is nothing on this planet, or any other, that could bring you to pull your eyes away from his at this very moment.
You see him almost every day, had seen him not quite twenty-four hours ago, had talked to him on the phone this morning and it had been the same as always; he was Eddie.
Your Eddie.
And as you hold on to the door, waiting for the world to stop spinning so violently that you fear it could launch you into outa space, you realize that nothing about that had changed and still nothing was the same.
Just like that.
Eddie tilts his head, one hand still gripping the steering wheel, the other waving.
“Squash calling pumpkin, do you copy?” Eddie says in a deep, silly voice and the sweet sound of your childhood nicknames brings your realization full circle.
You are in love with your best friend.
“A-affirmative…”
“Ah, there you are. Will you get in here now? You’re getting wet.”
Oh, if you only knew.
Heat rises to your cheeks as you climb into your seat, carefully taking the book into your hands like it held the secrets to the universe between its covers. You yank the passenger door close absentmindedly, the slam echoing as loud in your ears as your own heartbeat and you wait for Eddie to complain about it but he doesn’t. Instead, you can sense him looking at you while you stare at the book in your lap.
And that really had been it, right?
What had made the truth about your feelings for Eddie hit you like a load of bricks; it was in the way he looked at you. In his giddy excitement to make you happy, his confidence that he absolutely would because he knew you so well and in the fact that you would look at him the same way if your roles were reversed.
That you do it all the time.
And just like that, it scares the shit out of you.
“H-how…” you start, but fail to find the right question. Your voice sounds brittle to your ears.
But Eddie chuckles, moves in closer and puts his chin on your shoulder, just like he always does. As if his silly little gesture hadn’t just changed both of your lives fundamentally and irrevocably.
“You mean,” he clears his throat and puts on an impersonation of your voice that’s infuriatingly remarkable. “Oh, Eddie, my precious Eddie, how did you get your brilliant and highly skilled hands on the new Stephen King novel that came out just two days ago?” His breath against your neck is warm and you just know that he’s pursing his lips in a silly grin.
“Yeah, that,” you swallow and then you give him what he’s after. A smile. Because no matter how flustered you are, you just can’t help it. “And I don’t sound like that.”
“Oohhh yes, you do,” he croons and the bass in his words vibrates through your bones where it’s already part of your marrow. You want to turn your head and kiss him. “It’s adorable,” he says and sits up, leaning back into his seat.
You huff out a laugh. “Do you compliment yourself in my voice a lot when I’m not around?”
“Something has to get me through the dreadful hours of the day where I have no access to your praise.”
It’s casual when he says things like that, and while Eddie starts the car and pulls into the street, you try to remember if it ever made you feel like combusting before.
Of course it had. All the time.
“Rick had some business in Indianapolis and I asked him to get me a copy,” Eddie explains into the silence, glancing over at you. “Seatbelt, pumpkin.”
“You… you didn’t have to do this…” you say instead of Thank you, Squashboy! instead of You’re the fucking best, Munson! instead of any of those soft things you would have thrown at him without hesitation just ten minutes ago and put on your seatbelt as he ordered, hoping he wouldn’t smell your confusion like the emotional bloodhound he was around you.
But Eddie laughs. “And listen to you whine about it until Hawkins’ dusty ol’ bookstore catches up with the modern world? Yeah, fat chance.”
“It would just have been a few weeks… tops…”
“A few weeks too many of seeing you mope. I’m not strong enough for that shit.”
You open the book on the first page to occupy your hands, which are begging to be buried in Eddie's hair, with something safe but, oh, the endeavor fails horribly because, of course, he left you a note inside and you should have expected it. Your fingertips trace over the familiar flow of Eddie’s handwriting with an infinite tenderness that’s meant for his cheeks.
for my little monster,
can't wait for you to read this to me.
- your doctor
E.
“If you want to,” he adds softly.
I want to whisper every word of it into your mouth.
“This is the second book of the series, remember?… You wouldn’t understand a thing.”
“Incorrect,” he says solemnly, stops the car at a red light and almost jumps into your face with an open, all-teeth smile. “Surprise!”
“You… you read the first book?”
“Correct!” he bites his lip, excitement tugging at his cheeks. He’s so close. You could just lean in to taste him and for a moment you think that maybe he’s waiting for you to do so as he hovers there, big brown eyes roaming your face until a cacophony of horns pulls him away from you. “Fuckers,” he mumbles as he starts the car again and picks up the conversation where he’d left it: “And lo and behold: I liked it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I know, I know… I’ve given you speeches about why King doesn’t do it for me and all but you kept gushing about this Gunslinger book and how different it is and…” Eddie shrugged, “I thought I should give it a chance aaand it turned out you were right about it.”
You’re everything.
How did I miss this?
And what does it mean that I did?
“Hey, uh, are you alright?” he throws several quick glances at you, brows drawn together; all the joy, all the mirth gone.
Just like that.
Don’t you fucking hurt him!
“Why?”
“Why?” Now it’s a full-on frown. “Well, you’re… quiet. Which, you know, is totally fine with me generally, but I just told you, uh, that I read your favorite book and liked it after being a grump about it for months and—”
“Eddie?” A sigh.
“Y-yeah?”
“Wanna skip the movie, go to your place and start this?” you say softly, holding up the book. “Maybe get some snacks on our way?”
No hesitation.
“Hold on!” he cheered and you know that voice and that frantic look over his shoulder and—
“Oh no!” you huff as you scramble to clutch at something. “No nono no…”
—then the U-Turn thumps you against the door while Eddie laughs like he’s fueled on pure adrenaline.
“Fucking hell, Munson, slow down,” you shout over the wild cackling and he does. “If you kill us before I finished that series I’ll whip your ass!”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he says with a grin and your pulse speeds up; eight little words and your rabbit heart races faster than from the prospect of possible death caused by Eddie’s poor impulse control. You watch him in awe as he forces himself to calm down, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, head bopping to their rhythm. “That was fun.”
“Yeah,” you try to sound distraught. “Such fun that you’re taking years off my life every time you do shit like that, you maniac!”
“But I’m giving them back to you by making you laugh. So it doesn’t count.”
***
1976
It was the October of your eleventh Halloween when the Munsons moved into the ground-floor apartment.
You just bought the first pumpkin of the season and couldn’t wait to spend the rest of the day drafting out a spooky design to carve into the tough orange flesh.
Impatient to start, you burst through the door and were halfway up the first landing when you saw the skinny lanky boy fumble with a box that looked way too heavy for his frame if the strain of the muscles in his arms was anything to go by.
Spinning around, his eyes were wide and alert, maybe even afraid, before he saw you on the stairs, relaxed a little and turned away to get on with opening the door.
“Here, I’ll help you,” you said, placed your pumpkin on the floor and rushed to his side.
“N-no, t’s alright, I'm… I got it—“ His words were swallowed by a loud thump as the boy swayed, barely saving the box from tumbling to the ground by wedging it between the door and his skinny chest.
“Don’t looks like it,” you quipped, ready to snatch his key to assist when—
“What the fuck are you banging against that door?“
— the door disappeared in a blur and a big angry man appeared in its place. The boy barely caught his balance before the box could slip again.
“Sorry Dad, sorry I didn’t—“
“Inside, Eddie!”
Eddie’s head whipped around to you, face scrunched in worry, his skin had turned a pale grey and you were sure to see the faint yellow remnants of a bruise high up on his cheek.
“Eddie!” he snarled and without another word Eddie pushed past his father, his backlit silhouette vanishing through a door on the left in a small hallway.
“Who are you?” the man almost barked at you.
Refusing to sound afraid, you introduced yourself. “My family lives on the second floor - welcome to the neighborhood, Mister…?”
“Munson,” he said briskly, but less angry and held out a large sweaty hand for you to shake. You did with reluctance. “Polite of you to swing by and say hello but we’re busy here, so if you don’t mind.” And with that, he closed the door.
You didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit.
Well…
“Oh,” your mother said when you told her everything, still heaving from running up the stairs like you were on fire. “But the boy probably just fell off his bike. You know how boys are, honey, don’t you?”
Suddenly, there was an itch in your own scraped knees; somewhat of a guilty sensation that added confusion to the upset.
„I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,“ she added with a thin smile.
And you wanted to believe her, wanted to believe her so badly but your mother hadn’t seen the look in the boy’s - Eddie’s - eyes when you startled him.
--
Those same eyes were faintly red and a little puffy when you answered the knock at the door half an hour later.
“Hi,” Eddie said in a jolly tone that only increased your confusion. “You forgot your pumpkin.”
“Oh shit!” You hugged the pumpkin to your chest like you were reunited with a friend and glimpsed a first faint preview of that blinding smile you would eventually come to love so much on Eddie’s face. “Thank you, Eddie.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Your, uhm, father called you that.”
“Right,” he swallowed, smile snuffing out like a candle. “Right.”
There was a silence filled with a thousand questions your mother would deem inappropriate to ask a stranger so you settled for an apology.
“Sorry, if I got you in trouble.”
“What?” Eddie drew his head back, frowning. “No, no. You didn’t, no trouble at all. Dad ’s just— you know, stressed with the moving.”
“Oka—“
“Have to get going now,” he laughed hollowly and backed away, “so much left to do.”
“See you around, Eddie,” you could only call after him as he hurried down the stairs, his reply echoing back up to you.
“See you around, pumpkin.”
But you didn’t see Eddie around much. Not at home and not at school either. He was a year above your grade - you figured that out soon enough - but it almost seemed like he was skipping about half the week on a regular basis. The few times you met him sneaking through the house like a shy cat, he was covered in grease or paint, carrying himself like a man who came home at the end of a fifty-hour workweek. He never talked much, never asked for your name, always called you Pumpkin.
You, however, saw a lot of Mr Munson; going in and out the building several times a day, often in the company of equally grim-looking men, sometimes with a woman with big brown eyes which gave her away as Eddie’s mother even before she introduced herself to you. She had wonderful long brown hair and you asked yourself if Eddie’s buzzed scalp would sprout in this deep wavy brown or his father’s dirty blond if he was to let it grow out.
You also heard Mr Munson. A lot. Especially at night, and a few weeks in, your parents started to doubt that Eddie and his mother were simply on the clumsy side.
--
Halloween finally arrived and you proudly placed your final piece of fine pumpkin craftsmanship out the front door, waiting for your father to come down to light the candles like you did every year.
“Hey, Wednesday.”
You turned towards the open door and Eddie slowly peeled out of the shadows of the hallway, hands behind his back and a careful smile on his face. His voice was soft and timid. The next time you would hear him talk, it had already started to break.
“Eddie,” you smiled and tilted your head. “You watch the Addams Family?”
“Duh,” he said and fully stepped into the beam of light falling into the hallway. “Looks, uh, nice… the costume, I mean… self-made?”
“Yeah, my mother helped me make it. What are you going as?”
One hand left his back as he bowed his head and scratched his scalp. “M’ not… allowed to. Dad thinks it’s… a waste of time… and silly.”
“Shit,” you mumbled, an awkward silence fell between you. “Uhm, what would you choose? If you were allowed?”
“Huh?” his face lit up slightly as he entertained the thought. “Frodo, I think.”
“Who’s that?”
“Who’s… who’s Frodo?” The disbelieve in his eyes was comical, almost theatric. “That part of your Wednesday act? Making cruel jokes and shit?”
“What are you talking about?” you chuckled and raised your hands to the sky in an equal amount of theatrics.
“The Lord of The Rings? Never heard of that?”
“Oh, yeah, but never read it or anything... my mom thinks it’s not appropriate… for a girl.”
“Shit,” he huffed. “And I thought my life was sad…” And what was meant as a joke, darkened his face like an eclipse, pulled his gaze away from you and into the distance before he shook his head to chase it away. “I, uhm, was wondering… I made a thing? For, uh… you know?” he pointed his chin at the decorations lined up beside the doorstep.
“Oh!” you called out in excitement. “That’s what you‘re keeping behind your back?”
“Uh, yeah…” he pinched his eyes shut. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
“No,” you said and Eddie cracked open one terrified eye. “If it’s funny, I’ll laugh! You’ll just have to join me…”
“Uhm, uuh…”
“Let’s seeeee!”
“Okay, okay, Jesus…” Eddie took a deep breath and revealed his work with slightly trembling hands you chose to ignore for his sake. It was a butternut squash and Eddie had carved a swarm of bats into the surface.
“Oh!” you said again but this time in awe.
“I know it’s not… good or anything, not like yours and I think I got the wrong kind of, uh, pumpkin because, like… you can’t get a candle in there— stupid thing ‘s like solid fucking concrete and I get it when you don’t want it out here—“
“Are you insane? This is so good!” you stopped him and snatched the squash from his hands.
“Wait, really?”
“Uh-hn,” you turned it around to take in every little last bat. “Must have taken you forever… butternut squash really is tough!”
“That’s what it’s called?” he said, rubbing the back of his head, a deep blush tinting his whole face bright red. “Had no idea…”
You stepped to the side, already busy figuring out how to rearrange the display to integrate the squash. “We just pick one out together next year… if you want. I can show you the right ones.”
“Nah, don’t want to bother you… it’s fine.”
Hunkering on the ground, your white thighs forgotten, you paused and looked up at Eddie in genuine confusion. “Why would you bother me?”
“I… don’t… dunno…”
The squash was in the perfect place and you stood up, dusted off your hands on the back of your black skirt and put a careful hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “It’s cool, Squashboy, really.”
“I…” Eddie’s face went through a plethora of emotions in seconds but he settled on a silly grin. “Did you just call me, Squashboy?”
“Would you prefer your Squashness? Or… uhmm… Lord of the Squash?— t’s a bit of a mouth full but if you insist…”
“Shut up,” Eddie threw his head back and laughed; it was loud and wild and echoed through the staircase. “That’s sooo stupid.”
There were footsteps coming from inside as someone was descending the stairs and next to you, Eddie turned into cold hard stone.
“T’s probably just my dad,” you tried to comfort him, sure you knew what this meant by now. “He’s coming to light the candles.”
The steps grew louder and Eddie’s skin was this awful shade of grey again.
“Eddie? Are you o—“
“I have to go,” he gritted out through his teeth, turned and hurried down the street in jerky steps.
“Hey honey,” your father said, appearing in the doorframe but you were still looking after the skinny boy in the too-big clothes rushing down the street, a thick knot in your chest. “Is that the Munson boy?” your father’s voice was casual, but not casual enough.
You looked up into a frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Hm?… Oh, nothing. Just got lost in thought for a second.” He finally looked down at you again, clapping his hands together. “I’m here to light some candles.”
What usually was one of your favorite rituals on Halloween was clouded by that awful shadow that kept creeping over Eddie’s face again and again. You decided to share your loot of candy with him when you came back; it wasn’t much but it was something. You’d just have to wait until Mr M was out of the house or whatever, but you could think about that later.
But when you came back home, Eddie was gone.
Nobody was telling you anything but after one week of lurking around adults when they didn’t pay attention gave you enough to piece it together.
There had been a fight. A bad fight and your father finally called the police. It took two deputies to get Mr Munson out of the house and into the back of a police car. Deputy Hopper gave him a good kick in the back of his knee to help him the rest of the way. Nobody on the block had seen that occur though, should anybody come around to ask. When the dust had settled down a little, Mrs Munson was nowhere to be found, so Deputy Hopper came back to collect Eddie.
The Munson’s rent had been paid for all through the next week and in the middle of that week, you saw a tall man whose features reminded you of Mr Munson carrying a big box out of the front door of your building. He crammed it into the back of a car already filled with other stuff and drove away before you could take a look at the front to see if Eddie was on board.
A few days later, men in blue overalls came to clear the rest of the ground-floor apartment. You lingered on the first-floor landing, observing a family’s life getting ripped out of this house like a rotten tooth from a jaw. When the blue men went outside for a smoke, you slipped inside. There wasn’t much left of what made a home a home; a potted plant, some kitchenware and— a breeze moved the curtains in the main room ever so slightly but enough for you to spot a little figurine hidden in the far corner of the windowsill. A small man with a knobbly nose and dirty feet.
You took it home with you.
And when one day you saw the tall man who looked a little like Mr. Munson from your window, you almost jumped in front of his car to make sure Frodo finally made it back to Eddie. That was what the other Mr. Munson called the little guy.
“I can’t believe it,” Eddie’s uncle rasped, “been lookin’ for this guy all over town… thought the clean-up crew dropped it off at some thrift store or church with the other stuff or somethin’. Thought he was gone for good.”
“Tell Eddie I said hi,” you beamed. “And that I saved him some candy.”
general taglist:
@bettyfrommars @dr-aculaaa @deathbecomesthem @songforeddiemunson @raccoonboywrites @jo-harrington @lunatictardis @skrzydlak @moonbeamsandmayhem @slutforstabbings @eddieslooneymoonie @chaoticgood-munson @storiesbyrhi @mrsjellymunson @the-unforgivenn @thecapricunt1616 @allthingsjoeq
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Eddie is hyperfixation king.
Danke danke.
Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson
Series Masterlist
The Grimoire
The Timeline
Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.
Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?
Chapter Summary: You are wide awake. 2340 words.
1986
Every day Eddie watched the jar. He watched how the moon water moved, alive and with a viscosity different from regular water. He watched the apple slices dry and the sprigs of lavender go stiff. He thought if he watched closely enough, he’d see the magic working, but he never caught a glimmer of craft.
When it was time, you let him plant the enchanted seed in the new coven neighbourhood. Your home would grow furthest out, close to the shade of the woods. A spell later, you were traveling back to Forest Hills to begin packing the trailer up.
It had been months since you’d moved in, therefore you had accumulated a lot of items.
“Do you need all of these?” Eddie asked, holding up one of five shoeboxes, all packed with feathers you had found. “And is this a normal amount of feathers to find? What is wrong with the birds in Hawkins?”
“Yes and no and a lot. I told you that if you are gonna help, you can’t question every single thing you pick up,”
“I’m doing no such thing,” he rebutted.
“Eddie, you told me to cull my jar collection,”
“I stand by it. There are too many. You can collect more,”
“I use them! Frequently! And I don’t just keep any jar. All the ones I have are, like, uniquely shaped or extra sturdy!” you whined. “Asking a witch to not collect jars is just…” You shook your head, not able to find the words to express the atrocity.
Eddie smiled at you softly. “Perhaps I am not the best helper,” he conceded. “Perhaps my time would be better spent doing something else,”
“Something else like use your vampire speed to clean the bathroom, or something else like turn into a bat and sleep?”
An hour later, Eddie was asleep in one of the boxes containing clothes, and you were wrapping more empty jars in bubble wrap.
…
A monument to witchcraft and love. That’s what Eddie thought when he saw the house. It had the glorious drama of Ev’s Victorian home and the softness of the other witches’ cottages. Expansive stained glass windows. Detailed architraves, the wood so dark it appeared black. Red brick. A single-story structure, but the dome of a conservatory was visible over the roof. It extended back into the woods, settling into the landscape as if it had always been there.
Eddie thought back to all the places he had lived in. The house his father’s rage felt the brunt of as much as he did. The farm he came into adulthood on. The colony caves. The cold and lonely hotel rooms. The trees above Forest Hills. He’d never had a home, apart from your arms, but there it was. Real and in front of him.
The sun was setting over the valley as Eddie stood before the house. You’d seen it early that day, doing your final checks before okaying the move. It was your magic the house grew from, so naturally you were less awestruck by it. The floorplan and aesthetic had been born in your mind. Still, it was a beautiful thing.
“Think it will do?” you asked Eddie, coming to stand beside him.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “It’s…” How many different words were there for ‘home,’ he wondered. What language could fully communicate the depth of emotion?
“Enchanted seeds create homes, not houses,” you told him as you walked towards the front door. “Come and see.”
Eddie followed, almost expecting something to happen as he crossed the front door threshold. Once inside, Eddie clenched his jaw. It was more perfect than he could have anticipated.
The furniture was plush and comfortable, an eclectic mix of antique pieces and modern amenities. Bookshelves stood tall and waiting, ready for the library to arrive. Potted ivy trailed up and around curtain railings and along the walls.
“You never got to see my place in the Catskills. A lot of the furniture comes from there. The rest comes from the seed… It’s the kind of magic that makes me wish we could study it, you know? I want to know the science of it. How does it work?”
“It seems to me that part of the power of magic is in the unknowing,” Eddie replied, as wise as any of the Witches Who Came Before.
“It does appear to be the case,” you agreed.
For a while, you let Eddie wander aimlessly through the house.
He marvelled at the bath, huge and round, like a pond and definitely big enough for two. A huge wardrobe door that opened into a secret library. The conservatory full of thriving plants, flowers, herbs, and other living things Eddie did not have a word for. Every window a different shape but never square. Strange detailing like cat shaped doorknobs and pink quartz basins.
Eventually, Eddie sat on the end of the huge bed, its four posts grand and its linen crisp. He looked over at you and held out his hands.
“Come.”
You walked to him, taking his hands, and standing between his legs. Eddie looked up at you with those sparkling brown eyes, the adoration radiating from him.
“It’s an irrational idea, this fear I have that I’m dreaming. That I am still cursed, haunting this town until the end of time. But a vampire cannot dream. The cursed cannot dream. But still…”
Gently, you let go of Eddie’s hands and leaned into him, snaking your fingers into his hair as he pressed himself into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist.
“You are wide awake. Alive… kind of… But definitely here. With me. In our home. Soon-to-be, with our friends. Our family. And just in time for Halloween.”
He purred a happy sound, nodding into you. “A witch’s favourite holiday?” he hazarded a guess.
“Hmm, not all of us. Most of the witches I’ve known tended to find more obscure holidays to worship at the altar of. New Years is a big one, too. Alas, I am but a cliché All Hallows witch,”
“With much respect, I see that,” Eddie said. You laughed, shrugged. He looked up at you again. “You did fall in love with a vampire, after all.”
…
Far away from the rest of the world, you and Eddie spent almost a week settling into the new house. Grimoires were catalogued into one of the three library rooms. Dandelion puffs were jarred and shelved. Every trinket found its home.
Eddie tested the rainbow light that flooded the rooms, discovering that in the magic there was safety. Sunlight that filtered through the windows did not burn him. He could be free and at ease.
You explained to Eddie the importance of representing the elements within the home. Earth in the plants, wooden carpentry, and the grounding crystals. Fire in the candles, ever-burning incense, and roaring fireplaces that only ever emitted the exact level of heat you wanted. (“In summer, the flames burn cold,” you told Eddie and watched his smile grow.) Water in the mirrors, seashells, and small fountains found in the glasshouse room. Lastly, air in the wind chimes, feathers, and windows that could remain open without upsetting the temperature inside.
During the day, you began work on your garden, creating flower beds in the shape of pentagrams and sewing seeds. Borage for the butterflies and bees, primrose – I can’t live without you; angelica in case you need to break any future hexes; and yarrow, amaryllis, and polypodies.
One evening, just before sunset, you found Eddie rummaging through the apothecary pantry. As you entered the room, his manic smile told you he’d had an idea.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” you asked him, perching on a stool.
Eddie sunk to his knees and shrugged. “The fires are out… The Shire is no longer burning,”
“The Shire being… Hawkins?”
“Yes. And us. We’ve sailed to the Undying Lands,”
“You’re really making Tolkien your whole personality, huh?” you joked.
Eddie smiled up at you. “Until the next book… But what I’m saying is, now that we do not have a battle to prepare for. No conflict upon the horizon. What do we do with all of eternity?”
“Oh… My plan was to eat a lot of Meg’s cinnamon rolls… Try to get Steve Harrington to stop haunting Mel… Maybe work on a spell to make myself teeny tiny so I can ride around on you when you’re a bat…”
“Wait, seriously?”
You gave him a sly smile. “Maybe,”
“Well, I would love that… But, I was thinking a little more introspectively. Back to things we have thought about before. Like, why I am the way that I am… What that means…” He ran a finger along the leaves of the mimosa pudica plant beside him. The leaves felt his touch, curled inwards on themselves. It was one of Eddie’s favourites, the way it reacted to the world around it.
“Any new insights?” you asked softy.
“No… But… If I believe in you and in your magic and the way you make sense of the world… then I… I have to do something,”
“Do something?”
“We get back what we give, right?”
“Yeah,” you agreed. “It’s not always obvious or direct. Or timely. Or even equally fair… But, yeah… There is definitely something like the concept of karma at play. And even if there isn’t, living as if there is can only be a good thing,”
“Then I must show more grace… and gratitude… Even if I am a monster, maybe especially because I am… I can give goodness too.”
Without thinking, you slid off the stool and joined Eddie on the floor. “You already do. You don’t owe the world anything.”
Eddie smiled, first a small soft thing, almost sad, but then it twisted into something else. Ear-to-ear and full of teeth. “I owe it more than one life,”
“But if we count all the lives you have saved. Both by killing what plagued this town, and by preventing deaths at the hands of bad people-”
“Morality cannot be simple addition and subtraction. There is no math that can quantify goodness or righteousness. You know that,” Eddie cut in. He watched your face, saw the pensiveness blossom across it. “Don’t worry, my little witch, my plan is not as life-or-death as this all makes it seem… I just want to do something good for your friends,”
“Your friends,” you corrected quickly. “They’ll be your friends too. Your family. You’re part of this coven.”
Eddie reached out to cup your face in his hands. “Your coven is yours. But I will take the friendship. I have years of loneliness to make up for,”
“Then what-”
He cut you off again, this time with a kiss. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, draping your arms around his neck. Eddie pulled you into his lap and you curled into him like the leaves of the mimosa.
His mouth kissed and sucked at your neck between sentence fragments. “I’m-” kiss “going-” kiss “to plant-” lick “them-” kiss “flowers.” His punctuation a kiss that wanted to be a bite.
You were hardly listening to his words. His words and ideas and introspective musings could all wait.
Eddie laid you down on the floor, the smell of the oak still new. You arched your back and pulled him down by his collar.
“Bed,” you mumbled into his mouth.
“Why build a house if we’re not gonna use it,” he answered.
One hand splayed next to your head to keep him up, the other tickling its way under the hem of your skirt and up your thigh.
“Besides,” Eddie said. “Doesn’t feel like you can wait.” He was sliding your underwear off, throwing them across the room. He rested a hand on you, sliding an index finger through your slickness.
“I can’t,” you agreed, breathy and impatient. “Now. I want you now.”
Eddie didn’t have to be asked twice. With his pants still hanging from an ankle, he was fast to set up and slow on approach. You felt the tip of him follow the path made by his hand, gathering wetness, and shooting electricity through your body.
You melted into jelly beneath him, bliss written all over your face. Eddie loved you like this, pliable and prone to tears of ecstasy.
He held himself back, keeping his pace slow and steady. His vampire muscles screamed to go faster, to rail you into next week, but he liked pulling you apart. Liked how you unconsciously uttered strings of words like ‘full’ and ‘please’ and ‘can’t.’ Liked when you clawed at him to come closer, bit down on his shoulder.
“I love you,” he told you, mouth on your ear, tongue licking. “So. Fucking. Much.”
There was a seemingly endless amount of ways Eddie had learned could make you cum. Talking to you was a favourite for you both.
“You’re so perfect, so perfect… You feel so perfect… You’re so warm and soft and I… I want to eat you whole…”
Your response was in the pooling tears and the nodding and the slack jaw. The begging, “Please. Please.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.” It was all it took. Your orgasm exploded moments before his. Eddie’s thrusting getting harder and faster for the few seconds he took to follow you. He had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from ripping into your neck.
You kept your eyes closed, not aware of your surroundings. When you felt Eddie’s arms slide beneath you, you smiled and hummed. He carried you to your new bed, cleaning your skin with a warm washcloth before curling himself in behind you.
With the last of your day’s energy, you tangled your fingers through his, falling asleep happily.
As Eddie listened to your breathing find its mellow night rhythm, he saw a vision of you in his mind. Hands full of flowers and foliage. A coven of audience. Glorious and beaming.
End Note: I made a small Pinterest board with inspo for their house - click here to view.
I hope you are all as well as any of us can be at a time like this. I hope this story continues to provide comfort, escapism, and fuel for daydreams. xo Rhi
Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @moviefreak1205 @pastel-pillows
All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner
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Ahahahahahah @bettyfrommars - for context, I made space cakes and Mel had a bad bad time.
Mel, I love this. It's so Eddie.
what is my boyfriend towtruck!Eddie doing on this fine 4/20 weekend?
Haha, I’m the worst person to ask this, @storiesbyrhi can vouch, but I’m so glad you did. If we don’t include our own experiences in our stories then who are we?
For you and our tow truckin' boy @bettyfrommars ✨
Warnings: 18+ thank you, swearing, mentions of masturbation, drug use
On this rare Saturday with nothing on your to-do list that couldn’t be put off, you’d decided to take advantage of the miserable weather and curl up with a book.
That’s where you were when your phone rang. Tangled in blankets, a warm mug of tea on your bedside table, your apartment lit in warm lighting from the strategically placed lamps around the place.
Your head was still in the story that had captured you for hours when you answered.
“Heello?”
“Hey, baby.”
“Eddie.” Your voice lifts in soft recognition, but the boy is hardly anymore grounded than you in this moment. “Did you just get off?” You place your book pages down in your little nest and glance at the rain still pelting your windows, hoping Hawkins was a little more dry today.
“Well, uh…that’s kinda what I’m calling about.”
His tone helps you drift back to reality, back straightening at the hazy slur of his words.
“…are you high?”
You can practically hear the goofy grin over the line, “Wellll, it is four twenty.”
You glance at the red numbers on your alarm clock, “It’s 6:48.” Shit, you should really get something together for dinner. The breathy laugh that escapes him makes you smile.
“No, baby. I mean like, it’s the 20th of April. Four twenty, get it? I guess I forgot how much you hate holidays.”
“That’s not a thing,” you laugh.
“It is! Very important holiday to us wasters I’ll have you know.”
There’s a pause as you search through your memories of the boy you’d only known briefly albeit intensely. “Eddie, I don’t know…I’ve never seen you smoke, I had no idea.”
You hear a shuffle on the other end of the line, and you imagine him straightening up in his bed as his voice becomes serious.
“Oh, well yeah–it’s kinda like what I’m known for. I used to…” he clears his throat, “Well actually I dealt in high school. I guess Robin never told you that. I mean I don’t now! And I barely smoke anymore–well compared to what I used to–I’d never while I was working obviously–“
Your giggles cut off his rambling, “Eddie relax, I don’t care.” His exhale of relief shoots through your ear.
“Shit, sorry I panicked for a second there.” You laugh again. “Guess I’ll just have to bring some stuff up next time I see you sweetheart.”
“Oh, well…”
“Robin I don’t feel good.” Oh god there it is. How is this supposed to be a good feeling? “Oh my god you’re so pale.” “This feels really weird.” Are you sitting up or lying down? Why can’t you feel your shoulders? Have you ever been able to feel your shoulders? Are you sitting up or laying down? “Oh shit, I think you’re greening out.” “I’m gonna throw up.” “I don’t know what to do!”
“I tried it once and I don’t think it’s for me.”
“Bummer,” Eddie mumbles, “I thought it’d be good for your…”
“High functioning anxiety and chronic pain? Yeah me too.”
“Shit, sweetheart.”
You shrug, “It’s okay. I’m content with a cocktail at the end of the day.”
The playfulness in Eddie’s voice returns and you can just picture the dimples that punctuate his next words, “Well you can have one now and we could uh, talk.” You’re about to ask him what he thinks you’re doing now. “You know I’ve been thinking about two things all day.” His voice drops an octave, sending a tingle down your spine.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Ever since I got in that truck this morning all I could think about was clocking off when I could roll one and talk to you.”
It’s almost cute. Your initial reaction is lovesick, but there’s something in his tone that’s throwing you off.
“Wait…Eddie are you trying to have phone sex?”
“…no?”
You cackle, “You are! That’s why you called me high off your ass.”
“It’s one joint baby, calm down.” He’s defensive. Bummed that his plan didn’t work.
“All of this ‘cause of a made up stoners holiday?”
“No! I just miss you alright?! Is that such a crime? Wanted to hear your voice instead of just imagining it like always.” You almost don’t catch the last sentence over your laughing.
“Aw, you think about me when you jerk off?”
He scoffs, “Of course I do. Don’t–don’t you?”
You hum, “Yeah like 95 percent of the time.”
“What?!”
“You know how I feel about Christian Slater.”
“Whatever, I’m just gonna hang up and enjoy my time in peace alright.”
“Aw no! Wait, I love you, jerk off to me talking about my day.”
“Fuck you.”
Your laughter turns into hysterics when the phone rings eight seconds after he hung up.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“I know you didn’t. Shall we start again?”
“Yes, please.”
“Hey Eds. Did you just get off?”
More towtruck!Eddie and city girl here ✨
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A Lesson In Anatomy | 4.5K
+18 ONLY - Minors DNI
Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Contains smut and feelings. Read at your own risk.
*This story belongs in the No Shelter universe, but it can be read as a one shot. I wanted to make sure this was linked on this blog before I continue the next chapter of the series. Consider this the prequel.
Hawkins, Summer of 1986 - No UD
---
Eddie’s been weird lately. He’s been quiet and almost shy around you, and you’ve spent the last few nights turning over possible reasons for this. In your dark room with only the sound of your fan to accompany the thought spiral your brain pushes you through, you close your eyes and picture your good friend Eddie. His easy smile, his flirtations. He’s become everything to you in the last few months, and it’s putting you on edge to see him pull away from you.
The last time you remember having an easy time with Eddie was two weeks ago, at the lake. The younger kids were spending the hot summer day at the arcade and movie theater, it wasn’t missed on you the way they all had been awkward about stripping down to their bathing suits this summer. No amount of reassurance would change that, only time and maturity. It gave you, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, Steve, Jon, and Argyle a chance to drink and smoke without worrying about being a bad influence.
And flirt. So much of that. Especially with Eddie. He’s gone from acquaintance, to friend, to best friend in the matter of months.
The truth about how you feel about him is between you and yourself. You treat everyone the same, but you have to watch yourself. You have to keep your eyes on him no longer than the others. You have to make sure you take your fingers from his arm after pushing him away, not let the back of your fingers trail down his soft skin to try to pull out the gooseflesh. If you offer him the flame of your lighter, you have to hold it out to everyone. You won’t survive it if you show him your secret desire and he rejects it. It’s better to share your affections openly with everyone if it means he gets the smallest taste of how much he means to you.
So, what happened that day while you all splashed around in the cool lake water? You rewind and playback any scenes you can remember. It was perfect, the hot sun beating down on sweaty bodies, the smell of baby oil in the air. The night before lake day you had been on a date with Dale. You were particularly fresh with everyone. Really turned on the charm.
The night before you and Dale tangled up in each other’s limbs. Dale had pumped in and out of you, his stamina had been impressive. He whispered things in your ear about how good you felt, how wet and warm you felt around him. He’d found the sweet spot on your neck. It was nice. A pleasant experience, especially for the first time with a new lover. Sometimes those experiences were unpleasant, but Dale had even put his mouth on you. He took his time with his tongue spreading your lips and lapping at you. He had drunk you in. It was nice.
“How was your date with Dale last night? Did he hit a home run?” Robin’s whispers were anything but quiet, and her question caught the attention of the boys while they dug around in the cooler next to the two of you.
“Jesus, Robin.” You scold her, but it’s no use. The damage is done, and everyone stands stock-still to hear your answer. These topics are not off the table with all of you, but it’s always hard to talk about when you feel the heat of chestnut eyes watching. “Ok, yeah. We had some fun last night. It was nice.”
“Nice, huh?” Argyle’s smile is skeptical, and he’s too loose right now. The weed he brought with him has made his tongue looser than normal, and it was already untethered. “No fireworks? You guys have been hot and heavy for a while. What happened?”
You consider lying and saying, “oh it was amazing. The heavens opened above my head. I was so close I could feel the pearly gates run across my fingers.” But no. They’d see through it.
“It was nice. I enjoyed it. But no, no fireworks. Maybe with a little bit of, uh – instruction?” You stop talking, fearing you might say something that would be embarrassing for Dale if he knew you were talking about this.
“Oh, no. Does he not know how to eat the peach?” Argyle gasps out the question, and everyone snickers. “You gotta tell him. That’s not right. Did you fake it?”
This is when you realize that not everyone is giggling. Eddie’s face and chest are as red as a tomato. It’s not the first time you’ve talked about your sexual conquests in front of him, but the thought of making anyone in the group uncomfortable pains you. So you pivot. Eddie’s embarrassed and you feel bad about kissing and telling.
“Arg, be a good boy and roll us a joint, hm?” You bat your eyelashes at him and give him your sweetest tone. No harm done, but time to change the subject.
The rest of the day at the lake went by with laughter. No worries for any of you while you ate fruit salad and turkey sandwiches and drank your beers. It was one of those magical days that is both endless and gone in the blink of an eye. A moment captured in your mind’s photo album.
Your eyes pop open. It was that conversation. You know it now. You remember the way Eddie had flushed, and ever since then he’s been off. The two of you talk about everything, you can’t imagine he’s suddenly shy about sex. He loves telling you about his sex-capades. You’ve seen him naked on several occasions, he has no shame.
Well, maybe he does. Maybe you brushed against a sensitive spot without even realizing it exists.
--
You call Eddie as soon as the clock hits noon. It’s Sunday, he’s not working today. Neither are you. Normally, that would mean the two of you would have some kind of plans, but for some reason you don’t this weekend. That won’t do. You let his phone ring seven times before you hang your back on the receiver.
You look at it for a minute, willing it to ring back with Eddie’s voice being on the other end, but it doesn’t. So, you dial the numbers again. On the fourth ring, you hear a click that tells you your call is being answered this time.
“Hello.” Eddie’s voice is rattling, and you hear him clear his throat while he waits for a response.
“Ed, hey!” You cringe at the sound of your voice, loud and chipper. It’s too much, he just woke up and he’s cranky. He’s always cranky before he gets some kind of caffeine in his system.
“Hey.” His voice is a little clearer. His stilted response is a shot through your gut.
“Hey, I was wondering if I could come over. I miss you, and I want some Ed time.” Your words are true, and your meaning is clear.
“That’s sweet,” Eddie clears his throat again, a stalling measure. You think he’s going to say no, and you feel panic start to set in when he lets out a heavy breath. “Uh, yeah, come over. We can hang. I miss you too.”
--
You make your way to his place slowly. You stop at the gas station on the way to fill up despite having half a tank already and make sure to grab Eddie’s favorite candy – Twizzlers – before hopping back into the driver’s seat. It’s a sweaty day, and your car doesn’t have air conditioning. The open windows do little more than move the sweat crawl across your skin. It’s an unsettling feeling that only stirs up the anxiety you feel in the pit of your stomach more. You feel like you’re walking into the line of fire, and you don’t know why.
Eddie’s sitting on the worn sofa outside of his trailer when you pull your car up to his place. He’s in sweats, and he looks like he’s just woken up even though hours have passed since your phone call earlier. The cigarette he’s holding between his fingers is burned to the filter, yet he still takes one last drag before dropping it into the bucket next to the arm of the couch.
“Hey, Sugar.” Eddie’s greeting falls short. His smile is small and doesn’t reach the corner of his eyes. You can see lines running down his puffy face. He must have gone back to bed after talking to you. You brace yourself for grouchy Eddie.
“Eddie,” you’re bringing enough energy for the both of you as you bound up the stairs to reach him, “I brought your favorite. Come on.” You don’t wait for an answer, you grab his hand to bring him inside the trailer. It’s too hot to sit outside, and he has a window unit in his bedroom that will keep you cool enough for the time being.
You pretend to not notice that his feet are dragging while you pull. It’s occurred to you just now that he’s pouting about something. He’s mad at you or annoyed at least. That won’t do either. He needs to quit being a child and talk to you.
“Sit.” You point to the edge of his bed. You catch a small eye roll before he flops himself down. He put his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands. He really does look like a little kid being put into time out.
You pull over the chair he has sitting in the corner and face it towards him before taking your own seat. Eye to eye, you look at him and try not to be distracted by the way his eyes pull at you. They always do. You push it back and remember that he’s your friend, and you’re here because – why? Because something has upset him, and it’s something you did or said. You match his posture and put your own head into your hands and keep your eyes on his even when he looks down to the side.
“Eddie, my sweet Eddie. I love you a lot, but I’m not giving you a single Twizzler until you tell me why you’re mad at me.” You’re keeping it light, but you feel like a knife is cutting you deep.
“I’m not mad at you, Sugar. I’ve just been in my own head is all. It happens, I’m sorry.” Eddie’s still not looking back at your face. His fingers have started drumming across his cheek and his left leg has started to bounce. His eyes are still fixed to a spot on the carpet at your feet when one of his hands darts out to grab a strand of licorice from the bag in your hands, but you’re too quick and scoot your chair back a couple of inches.
“Ok, you’re not mad. Cool. Then why can’t you even look at me right now, huh?” Eddie’s eyes finally connect with yours as an act of defiance, but you accept it as a win. “Is it because I was talking about Dale? That’s –“
“Sugar, I don’t want to talk about it. You can keep the Twizzlers.” Eddie’s spitting venom in your direction, and you’re even more confused.
“Great, I’ll keep the Twizzlers. Jesus Christ, Ed. You’re acting like a child, what did I do, huh? Other than say I had a nice time with Dale. And I did, it’s not his fault he doesn’t know what the clit is!” You’re ranting at Eddie, spitting your own words at him hoping they cut enough to reopen the wound that he’s trying so hard to hide from you. His face drains of color while you tear at him.
“It’s not about Dale, Sugar. It’s not about you either.” His eyes are softer as he scans your face. His own anger seems to have faded away when you met it with your own. “Not really, anyway. It’s embarrassing.”
You think now about how he’s been acting, and yes, that feels true. He’s holding onto some private humiliation, and whatever you said under that hot summer sun seems to have wounded him.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed with me, Ed. I love you, you’re like my best friend.” There are tears in your voice, and you’re biting them back. “Not like, you are my best friend these days. Don’t you know that?”
You can see the gears turning with the beat of his bouncing leg. He looks like he’s ready to explode, and you worry for a moment. If his humiliation is deep enough, he’ll lash out at you, and you may never be able to make amends with him. You’re like two fires spitting sparks at each other, and you’re afraid something important might burn.
Eddie’s demeanor is guarded, but he speaks after a moment. He’s trusting you with this secret that’s been gnawing at him, “Sugar, I know you like to chat with our friends, but this is strictly between me and you.” You take his hand in yours and give him a nod of understanding, urging him to continue. “When you and Argyle were talking about Dale, it made me think about something that’s been buggin’ me.”
You keep your features lax. You don’t want to express the confusion you’re feeling. You want him to keep going. So, you squeeze his hand a little tighter letting your flesh dig into the metal cross he wears on his middle finger.
“I, uh, I think I’m doin’ it wrong.” Eddie’s mouth moves, but his eyes stay focused on yours. He’s watching for any acknowledgement of what he’s saying. You give none, so he continues. “When I’m,” he breathes through his nose in frustration, “when I’m ‘eating the peach’, girls never seem to like it as much as I thought they would. Or sometimes I think they’re pretending.”
“Oh.” You can’t hide the surprise in your voice because this is not what you expected. Eddie Munson doesn’t give good head? That seems so unlikely you can’t help but huff out a laugh. “No, I’m sorry. Ed, I’m not laughing at you. You’re telling me that the girls you’re with don’t like it when you eat them out?”
“I don’t know. They never complain. Never. I just know something is off. I can tell. I could spend an hour down there, and I’m not getting the results, Sugar. Can you help me?” Eddie accentuates his plea by grabbing both of your hands and holding them tightly in his own. You can feel his calloused fingertips and can’t help but imagine what they must feel like against your most sensitive places. “Help me Sugar-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”
His joke works, and the tension is broken. You tear your hands from him and grab the bag of Twizzlers off your lap and toss them in his face before hopping on the bed next to him. You rest your head on his shoulder, you’ve missed this easy intimacy, and the dam is broken now. You can talk to him. No more secrets.
“Yes, Ed. I can help you. But you’re going to have to explain to me what your process is if you want my help. Or, uh” you stop yourself before you say anything that can be misinterpreted exits your giant mouth. “you know what, let’s just start with you telling me and we’ll go from there.”
You can’t see the way that Eddie’s eyebrows raise up under his fringe, because your cheek is resting against his arm, but you don’t miss the way something moves under his gray sweatpants. Your own eyes bulge, and you think you must have imagined it.
Eddie’s nerves are gone, and he dives in. He goes into great detail about how he uses his tongue. How he likes to lay it flat against their slit and drag it across their soft hole. How he runs a finger along that path. How it feels when he pushes his tongue inside someone. What it tastes like. You’re so thankful he can’t see your face, but you’re afraid he can feel the skin of your cheek burn through his shirt. You’re afraid he’ll catch a whiff of the arousal that’s pooling between your legs. You try to focus on his words, on his descriptions. It sounds wonderful, the thought of him tasting you the way he’s describing. It takes great effort to remember that you’re supposed to be helping him. And then you realize.
“Eddie, what about their clit?” You interrupt his diatribe about how soft the inner lips feel against his tongue, unlike anything he’s ever had in his mouth before, “it’s nice to feel a tongue like that, don’t get me wrong, but don’t you ever play with their clit?”
Eddie stops talking completely, so you peel your face off his shoulder to look at him. He looks confused and annoyed. Oh no.
“Sugar, can you elaborate for me?” Eddie’s voice is level but edged with something. The embarrassment is back, and you can see him fighting against it. He trusts you to not make fun.
“Oh, Ed. I’m sorry. Do you want me to explain what a clitoris is?” You ask the question with nonchalance in your voice. He doesn’t know it, but just mentioning the small sex organ has yours throbbing in answer. It’s saying, yes, tell him. Tell him how you want him to touch and suck. Tell him how to take me between his pretty red lips.
“Yes, please. I feel really stupid, but I don’t know what that is. Christ, I’ve been with loads of women, and no one has fucking mentioned-“ You put your hand over his mouth before he can continue. You don’t want to hear about loads of other women right now.
“Eddie, think about your own,” you motion down to the crotch of his pants, “business.” He giggles at you, low and sweet. “Shut up. Think about your dick, ok? You know when a girl’s giving you head, and she sucks real nice at the tip?”
Eddie gulps, you imagine he’s thinking about Cindy Manes’ cherry-colored lips wrapped around the head of his hard cock. Spit gathering at the corners of her perfect mouth. He nods and you continue.
“Women have a little spot above the vagina. It’s up close to wear the seam of our slit begins. It’s like a kind of hard nub.” You let yourself get lost in the technical stuff, it makes it easier to push on and forget that your legs are sticky from how turned on this entire situation has you. “It’s like the head of your dick, only more sensitive. Most women can’t have an orgasm unless you stimulate it. It will get bigger when we get aroused, kind of like when you get hard only it’s a lot smaller than what you’ve got.”
Like the cat that’s got the cream, you see Eddie smirking, “Yeah, what I’ve got is a lot bigger.” He spreads his hands a foot apart and his eyes go as wide as his shit eating grin.
The tension in the air evaporates, and you grab his midsection to tickle him. You want to make him pay for being crass. You want to make him pay for making you laugh at such a childish joke. It’s hands grappling for a moment before you find yourself underneath Eddie with his hair covering both of your faces like a curtain. His nose is almost touching yours, and for a moment you’re breathing each other’s air. You can feel his erection dig into your thigh, and you know now that he feels it too. That this conversation isn’t just embarrassing because he didn’t know, but because it’s with you. Someone he wants.
You lift your head off his mattress and meet his lips with yours. You wait to see. Let him decide if he wants to open his mouth and let you inside. A beat passes, and his lips part as his knee makes its way between your legs giving him leverage. A hand is behind your head. As your lips dance and tongues meet, your head drops back into the mattress. You’re holding onto each other and trying to keep yourself in this spot without floating off. This is what you’ve wanted for so long, and there’s no going back.
“Eddie, hey,” you manage to pull your lips away from him despite his own desperately chasing after them. Instead, he busies his with that spot on your neck just behind your ear while you talk, “Eddie. Do you want me to show you what I was talking about?”
Eddie’s hum sends a vibration against your skin, his teeth begin to skate against your skin. He answers around your flesh and his words shoot straight through you and down into the place that’s been aching for him, “Yes, Sweetheart. I wanna make you see stars.”
The following kisses are hungry, messy. Spit pools under your tongue while his knee presses into your center. Your fingers thread through his hair, and you pull to release the need that’s thrumming inside you. His whimper is music to your ears. You think this is a dream, and you do not care. Let it be. For now, you have him, even if it’s only in your imagination. He’s yours to taste, to smell, to touch, to hear. And you belong to him.
“Please, Eddie. Please.” You pull his hair harder, pulling him away from your face so you can see him. His mouth is open, his eyes are wide. His groan is deep in his chest, and he is looking into you. Just for a moment, he’s seeing you. He’s not just touching someone, kissing someone, he’s with you.
“I’m yours. Anything, my love. Everything I have. Show me.” He tells you while he gently removes your hand from his hair so he can make his journey south. It’s slow, and he kisses your clothed body every few inches during his descent until he reaches the waist of your jeans. He rests his head against your hip while his fingers work at your button fly. Each pop sends a jolt of anticipatory pleasure through you. You’re already writhing under his attention. He’s shushing you while he gently pulls your jeans down to your ankles and over your feet.
“You smell so sweet. I should have known, Sugar. This is better than I ever could have thought.” Eddie’s running his finger down your slit, over the cotton of your purple underwear. When you put them on this morning, you would not have admitted that you chose them for Eddie. They’re high cut with lace along the edges. Prettier than an everyday pair.
“You’re teasin’ me, Ed.” You manage to breathe the words out while your hips rock up to meet his finger. Your body is begging for more than what he’s giving you.
“Not teasin’. These are pretty,” Eddie hooks a finger under the waistband of your underwear, brushing against the soft hair underneath. He pulls them down so he can see you fully and lets out a breath of relief. “But not as pretty as this is.”
Eddie kisses your mound sweetly while a finger begins to dance between the lips of your pussy. He’s dipping into you gently, gathering the wetness there, before he adds more pressure. He’s mapping you, exploring with quiet patience. He’s listening, he’s tasting, he’s feeling. And then, while his mouth searches around the edges of your hips, his finger brushes against that spot. The one he’s only just learned about.
“There.” It’s a whisper, a prayer, spoken into the air around you. You only know he hears you when his mouth travels across your skin to meet the tip of his finger. He feels it now, he rubs at it, gently. He wants to memorize how it feels, he needs to know how to find it again. And then, his mouth is on your button. The tip of his tongue dances around.
You know there are words and sounds coming out of your mouth, and Eddie hears them all. While his mouth works, he doesn’t just listen to you, he hears you. Each sound, each word is an instruction. It’s a game of hotter and colder. He wants you to burn, to catch fire. So he hears you and moves accordingly.
You vaguely know that there are fingers inside of you, and you think you’ll have to teach him how to use them next time. Next time. You two have time. For now, you let yourself get lost in his mouth. You let him consume you. He knows what he’s doing now because you’ve taught him. He knows the secret that so many men never learn. Eddie is the best student when it comes to pleasure. When it comes to learning you.
Your orgasm builds quickly, your face is turned and buried in his pillow. You smell him on it while your hips rock up and meet his perfect mouth. Waves of pleasure that come faster and faster. His lips are holding tight to your nub. He’s never letting it go now that he knows what it can do. His fingers move with the rhythm of your hips, until it happens.
The sounds that leave your mouth are choked sobs. Your cunt is fluttering around his digits, and his mouth works you through each intense flash of pleasure. The stars behind your eyelids dance along with your body. You sit in your peak and groan like an animal until your body finally drops back into the mattress. Eddie’s mouth reluctantly pulls away from you when you firmly push his forehead away from you.
Eddie’s head rests against the bare flesh of your center. You can feel his hot breath fan across your wet pubic hair while you let the aftershocks slowly wane. You’re needy when you reach down and pull him up by the collar of his shirt. You need his face, you need his skin. You need his arms. He smells of you. His arms pull a blanket around your bare body. The cool air of the window unit has made your skin break out in gooseflesh. Eddie’s fingers run gently across your features, watching the way your open mouth still takes short and shallow breaths while you return to yourself.
He stays like that for a few moments. The uncomfortable cold and wet feeling in his pants becomes too much, and he gently shushes you when you reach out for him when he loosens his embrace.
“Just give me a minute, Sugar. Let me change.”
You watch him with blurry eyes as he deposits his pants and boxers, wet with his own cum, and puts on fresh clothes. You see his flaccid cock and think that next time you’ll show him how good your mouth can feel. You need a little nap first, in the embrace of Eddie. Your Eddie.
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