🌜You’re not the only one with tattoos, Munson🌛
pairing: eddie munson x female! reader
summary: if eddie isn’t going to believe that you do in fact have a couple of tattoos, you’re just gonna have to show him.
warnings: none! nothing explicit, actually. kind of spicy undertones but not really?
word count: 1k ish
“You’re bullshitting me right now.” Your gaze was fixated on the ‘glow in the dark stars’ attached to the ceiling. According to Eddie, he’d put them up there when he was really young and had tried to get them off over the years, but you were sure that he liked having them there and that he would never try to get rid of them.
Your head laid on his chest, moving up and down with every breath he took.
“Why would I lie about something like this?” You moved your head to the side, making eye contact with the boy.
“I don’t know, you tell me,” Eddie replied, flashing you a smile before laying his head against the mattress once again.
“How come you can have tattoos, but the minute I tell you I have some you call bull on me?”
“For starters, this is the first time I’ve ever heard you say anything about them. Also, I’ve never seen them, thus concluding my presentation on why you’re a liar.” You felt him shift a little under your weight, a sign he needed to change positions. Without speaking a word, you sat down on the bed and gave your lap a few pats, an invite for him to lay his head there.
“You’ve never seen them because they’re not in visible places. I got the first one when I was around fourteen, I had to hide them.”
“Careful, Pinochio, I can see your nose getting longer.” Sighing, you carefully removed Eddie from your lap and got off the bed.
He stared at you, his brow furrowed and his nose scrunched up, until you pulled down your pants and he suddenly understood what you were doing.
Pulling down your panties a little (careful not to reveal too much) you showed him the small stick and poke that adorned your lower inner hip.
“See? Told you,” you said, but Eddie wasn’t really paying attention to your words. His gaze was glued to your exposed skin. Pupils dilated and lips parted slightly. A small chill shook you from head to toe, feeling like an animal in a zoo.
Slowly, not wanting to break whatever trance you and him had been pulled into, you went to lower your panties on the other side, showing him the matching tattoo on your left side.
“Are those real?” He finally dared to ask.
You gave him a nod and proceeded to pull your pants back up. Only to take your shirt off and place it on the bed right next to him.
His staring became impossibly more fervent, and even though the rational part of your brain was begging you to stop, to quit embarrassing yourself, you ignored it. He wasn’t looking at you with awkwardness, it was actually something resembling desire.
Same as before, you pulled your bra up just enough for him to see.
“Can I-” the words seemed to die in his throat, like he had regretted saying them. But then, he spoke them again. “Can I touch it?” And for the first time since you’d started taking off your clothes, he couldn’t meet your eyeline.
It was an odd request, especially coming from someone with tattoos of his own. What was he expecting to feel? The scarring? The texture? You knew for a fact that he was familiar with all of these things. Nevertheless, how could you deny him of anything?
Opting to walk closer to him instead of giving him your verbal approval, you ended up on a weird angle. Partially facing the wall to give him better access while still lifting your underwear slightly.
He looked hesitant, so you gave him a nod to assure him that he had your full consent.
Eddie’s touch wasn’t an unfamiliar one. You were acquainted with his calloused fingers, you knew by heart every scar on his hands, you could trace with your eyes closed every line on his palms, you were aware of the temperature of his body, and yet, this was like rediscovering all those things at once.
He was careful, more careful than he’d ever been with you. It was as if you were made out of paper and he was made out of stone. One wrong move and he would rip you apart. It wasn’t just his cautiousness what you noticed, but his unhurriedness, as well. You could’ve lived a thousand lives in the seconds that it took him to make contact with your skin, but being here was better.
Once his fingers were on you, he moved them up and down, tracing the complete length of your inked scar. After a couple of strokes, he pulled his hand away, immediately making you feel like you were missing something.
“So, you gave those to yourself?”
“Uhm, yeah, it was pretty easy honestly.” You were surprised by how easy it had been to return to the normal pace of the conversation, as if not seconds ago he’d had your flesh burning from his touch.
“Cool, you think you can give me one?”
“Give you a what?” You inquired, still flustered. Inspecting Eddie’s room with your eyes (definitely not because you were avoiding looking at him) you realized that your shirt still sat on his bed. Quickly, you finished dressing yourself.
“A stick and poke, silly.”
“You sure? I’ve never done them on others, and mine are not even that good.” The thought of tattooing Eddie was something that would linger in your brain for days, of that you were sure. Even if he ended up backing out from asking.
“Absolutely, it will save me a couple of bucks, of course I wouldn’t expect you to do it for free. Besides, it will be nice to carry a part of you wherever I go, even if it ends up looking like dog shit.”
He groaned after you hit him with a pillow right in the middle of his stupid face.
“I was joking! Nothing you could ever make would end up looking bad, and even if that was the case, I’d love it either way,” he chuckled.
“Okay, I’ll do it. But I’m not taking your cash, if you wanna make it up to me you can take me to the movies or something.”
“Smooth.” He winked at you. You could argue that those weren’t your intentions, that you just wanted to hang out with him as friends, but then you’d both know you were lying.
Eddie Munson was going to be the death of you.
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