rip-quizilla

[rip-quizilla]

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.” 

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes @tlclick73 @reidsgubbler @siriuslysmoking @keanureevessmile @fhsbsvy @yourdailymemedelivery @aurora-austen @rach5ive @honey-teaaaaaaaa @nina211544 @bbabycass @cactusangie @skrzydlak @took-me-hours-to-steal-those @hereforshmut @nabiiturner @darlingbravebelle @freak-of-hawkins @randomworker @serenadingtigers @1paire2vans @sapphire4082 @xmasterofmunsonx @steamystrangerfics @vol2eddie @storiesbyrhi

#aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh #ITS HERE #bussing down on this first chance I get today

[rip-quizilla]

Thank you for tagging me, @munson-blurbs 💕

Fun fact this is the literal outfit I wore on the plane that took me to meet @the-unforgivenn for the first time 🥹 minus the blue light glasses and headphones, but I always have those when I write.

No pressure tags: @the-unforgivenn , @blueywrites , @mmunson86, @vintagehellfire

This Picrew is soo cute🥺

No pressure tags: @babygorewhore @littlexdeaths @eddiesxangel @gravedigginbbydoll @dreamliners @munson-mjstan @strangerstilinski @lokis-army-77 @thecreelhouse @hellfire--cult @take-everything-you-can @darlingsfandom & anyone else who wants to🤍

[rip-quizilla]

hey bro sorry for getting so wet that I soaked through my boxers and started whining like a brainless dog when you shotgunned your hit into my mouth, it will happen again

[rip-quizilla]

CW: Canon-typical violence with mentions of blood, Eddie being sympathetic for Vecna (but that's dubcon so there's another warning), brief mention of hunting, a little angst (Ed has to work through some shit here), a lot of fluff (because we love him for it), brutally honest Eddie, horny Eddie, pervy Eddie, and finally - male masturbation I think that covers it

Word Count: 13.1K

Summary: The whereabouts and thought process(es) of Eddie is told as it should be -- from his manic, frantic, adorable lil POV. Though he is very much a vampire, he is still very much our Eddie.

A/N: Not that you wouldn't be able to tell, but Eddie's flashbacks are told in italics and hopefully, uniform past tense throughout. Y'know how it is, switching from one tense to another in the same chapter. I'm bound to make a ton of mistakes, even though I read through it (once). Don't come at me, pls

Thank you so much to @rip-quizilla @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @hellfire--cult @ghost-proofbaby @morningberriesao3 @littlesubbyflower for all your help and encouragement with this chapter and most of all, feeding Eddie properly 😈💋

And I Need You to Know Masterlist

If you have not read And I Need You to Know, I strongly suggest you start with that story. This particular fic begins right where AINYTK leaves off, and it would be a little confusing to begin with this one. Merely a suggestion, of course. If you're a child of chaos and wanna do this your own way, WELCOME MY FRIEND!! Waking the Fallen Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Divider by @strangergraphics

Darkness is not a new concept for Eddie Munson.  

Not now, as the empty chasm where his heart used to beat for you aches at the way you plead for an explanation.  Not then, as he awakened in the Upside Down after those shitty excuses for bats reduced his gangly body to shreds.  

He’s done plenty of things that have blackened his soul, if he even has one anymore.  He subjected one of his closest friends to the pain of watching him die in his arms.  He left you behind, never really promising he’d stay.  Which worked fantastically, because he still failed to buy more time in his stupidly self-righteous suicide mission, anyway.  

He truly found darkness then.  

But how does he tell you that he was forced into this body he now possesses?  Could he even begin to explain that he couldn’t return even if he wanted to?  It all sounds so weak.  So contrived.  Such a lame-ass excuse because the all-consuming love he felt (feels – because make no mistake, he fucking feels everything as you lie here in his arms) should have been enough to bring him back to you.  He wanted to believe that like he wanted to breathe fresh air into his lungs. 

That action itself that’s now fruitless.  

No matter how he looks at it, he fears this darkness has settled.  It’s in him, taken a residence inside forever; and though you still shine as brilliantly as you ever did, he stands convinced he can no longer live in the presence of the sun.  

It’s why his stare is trained away from yours, scanning the depths of the forest for threats as the light disappears beneath the horizon.  He murmurs your name as he searches for his words, helping you to your feet and brushing the dust of the earth from your ass.  A smirk twitches over his kiss-bitten lips in spite of himself and you catch it, nudging him in his chest made broader by his fate dealt by the underworld.  Your returning grin is strained and expectant, the whites of your eyes somehow brighter in the dim of twilight.

Waiting.

Eddie has to stop himself from helping you pull the thick cotton up your legs, the claws that adorn his fingers not yet retracted following the lewd activities he instigated on the forest floor.  Clearing his throat, he finally finds the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

The way you huff a scoff under your breath informs him you were almost expecting him to say that.  “Yeah?”  You keep your eyes locked on the stubborn knot of your sweats.  “For what, exactly?”

“I dunno,” he mumbles, unable to help it as he presses the softest of kisses into your hair.  “Everything.”

He is.  Christ, he is.  He’s sorry he cut that stupid rope.  He’s sorry for failing and for dying in Dustin’s arms.  He’s sorry you were without him for so long.  He’s sorry for what he is and almost losing control and – 

Yeah.  That’s where he’s gonna start.

After he tucks himself back into his goddamn pants.  Eddie tugs awkwardly at his jeans, stumbling over his apology.  

“For losing control when I – uh, when –”

“When we were fucking,” you supply over the abrupt sound of the ascension of his zipper.  “Don’t go shy on me now, Munson.”

Your tiny, crooked grin helps Eddie relax, just a little.  But as usual, the calm doesn’t last; gone, like water through his fingers.  His hand rakes through his curls before he says,  

“I don’t know what I would be like if I did that.”  He swallows hard before clarifying, “if I bit you.”

Fuck, it’s been far too long since he’s seen you.  Really seen you.  He used to be able to read you like a book, he knew you so damn well.  But now?  He feels this barrier in between, made thicker by the curiously flat stare you throw his way. 

It makes him nervous.  The silence screams so loudly, he has to clench his fists at his sides to keep him from clapping his hands over his ears.  

The roar of the truth is so fucking violent, it makes him blurt out, “B-because you, uh… you know what I am, right?”

The expression that flits over your features fluidly transitions from neutral to perplexed to amused.  “Yeah,” you blink, raising an eyebrow at the wings that he’s now tucked near his torso.  “You’re a vampire.”

He studies your face, nearly positive the other shoe is going to drop as soon as he confirms, “I am.”  But it doesn’t.  His confession garners basically no reaction, like you were expecting it.  To be fair, you probably were, but none of this warrants such a blatant lack of shock or – fuck, anything.  Eddie’s eyes widen comically as his tone kicks up an octave.  

“And that’s okay with you?  Are you – baby, are you not freaked out?”

The tiny lift of your shoulder is jarringly nonchalant.  “I mean, I guess I’m a little surprised… but honestly Eddie, not really.”

His lips pop open, prepared to ask the obvious How?  He feels so disconnected from you, like you’re not telling him what you want to just to spare his feelings, and it’s killing him.   Eddie huffs a sigh that sounds a lot like a whine, rolling his oxblood eyes to the darkening sky.  

His wings fold in on themselves of their own accord, becoming one with his skin, and that’s when reality rattles in its cage deep inside Eddie’s head.

You’ve been subjected to the shit beneath Hawkins for a lot longer than he has.  You learned of beasts not entirely unlike him you never would have fathomed to be real – but yet, they were.  You fought them for years before him, fought them beside him – and so, he supposes with a soft click of his tongue, that his reemergence as a vampire wouldn’t be all that surprising.  

Anxiety still crawls beneath his skin, like an itch he just can’t scratch.  “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Does it bother you?” 

“Well, yeah.”  Eddie practically chokes on a humorless laugh as he mutters, “I’m a monster.”

There’s a soothing familiarity in the way your face crumples, in how you step into him and wrap your arms around his waist.  Warmth that suspiciously feels like hope floods his body, a comfort that’s been absent for so long.

“No,” it’s not subtle, the firmness in the way you tell him, “you’re not.”

He scoffs, returning your embrace.  “How do you know?”  

Your confidence is beautiful, especially when it’s painted with a thick swipe of mischief.

“Well, for starters, you wouldn’t have pulled your vampire fangs away from my carotid artery while you were balls deep inside of me.” He knows you have a point, but your brashness still makes him wince.  “Yikes.”

“Eddie,” you soften even more, melting him all the same as your fingers wind through his.  “You’re not a monster.”

“I guess.”  He kicks at the dormant underbrush with his boot.  “I feel like I am.”

“Why?”  

“Well, for fuckin’ starters –” His answer is wordless, a sardonic wiggle of taloned fingers as his jaw clenches.  

“Oh, yeah,” your eyelids flare, pupils dilating as the pointed nails glint in the rising moonlight.  “I noticed those.  Do they um, retract, ever?”

Eddie’s nose scrunches as he considers.  “Yeah?  Sometimes?  When I’m not amped up and shit.”  

“When is that?”

He can’t help how his mouth twitches.  “Never.” 

“Ah,” he swears that smirk was preloaded, the way your eyes dance with a subtle spark of the girl he once knew.  “So, you’re pretty much the same as you were then, huh?”

Huffing a laugh, he’s grateful for your attempt to diffuse the tension. It’s something, but it's not enough.  Eddie realizes he may be overthinking it, he might have tapped into his dramatics, again – but there’s a tension that still hangs thick between you. The more he tries to act normal and do what the Eddie before would have done just further jumbles his anxious mind.

The answers to so many of your questions lie in wait on his tongue, and he can’t wait to dive in with you.  Make you understand.  

A large part of him feels that you will.

But the way you trail off your sentences, misty eyes darting away from his gaze with this lonely, far-off look tells him you hold some cards close to your chest, and he’s not sure if he deserves to see your hand.

Far be it from him to fuck up a second chance, though.  He cuts through the awkwardness with a dry cough.  “Why does this feel weird?”

A tangled ball of guilt lodges deep in Eddie’s throat as soon as he sees your lip wobble.  He lets you pause, sensing you need a moment to gather your thoughts.

It takes longer than a moment.  An agonizing minute or two, or three, before you whisper, “Because you left me, Ed.  You didn’t come back.  On purpose.”

He appreciates your honesty, even though it’s like a knife to his side.  “I was trying to buy them more time –”

“Were you really?”  A pit of shame opens wide deep inside his gut as you interrupt, and he has to force himself to meet your stare.  “I think you decided a long time ago that you weren’t going to come back.”

Eddie over it – done looking like some big, badass vampire.  Sinking his top teeth into his bottom lip, he leans into the sting, hoping that it takes away from the bite of saltwater as it wells along his lower lids.

Apparently, vampires can cry.  That’s just fucking great.  

“I didn’t want you to die,” he croaks, hoarse with the thickness of regret.

A short sigh is punched out of your nose.  “Well, I did anyway.” 

Eddie is fairly certain there’s no longer a heart in his chest to tear to shreds.  Whatever lives there now though – you’ve slaughtered it.  It lies cracked and bleeding, a slow drain on whatever life force keeps him upright.  He can’t survive, knowing he’s hurt you this much.  

“C’mon,” gesturing to the shadows beyond the trees, you extend your hand to him.  “We better get going.”

He doesn’t hesitate to thread his fingers between yours.  “Where?”

“Harrington’s.  You’ve got a lot of explaining to do – but I uh, have a feeling you’re not here just for a reunion.”

Of fucking course you picked up on that.  “No.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Time is certainly of the essence, there’s no need to acknowledge it out loud.  But what you don’t know is that he could give you this, he could suggest returning to that two-story you called home for the last nine months.  Urgent matters can wait a few more hours if it means you’d be able to settle some of the turmoil he can see in your eyes.

“You um, you don’t wanna go back to…”  Eddie’s insecurity silences that name, a burden that weighs on his tongue.  He’s a coward and he knows it – he can see it clear as day that you’re conflicted.  That his best friend has taken residence in your heart where he used to be.  He doesn’t know how much, nor does he know if it’s permanent… 

He can’t handle that, can’t bear that thought – not right now.  So Eddie doesn't say his name.

It shouldn’t relieve him as much as it does when you give a brusque shake of your head.  “I wanna be here with you.”

He allows himself a bit of hope.  “Yeah?” 

“Of course I do.”  But you still sound so unsure.  Your brows furrow over your nose while you look anywhere else but his piercing gaze.  “Do you, um…” you begin nervously, “do you still want…”

Your voice trails off to nothing, and Eddie holds his tongue in hopes that you find yours.  When you don’t, he proceeds with caution.  “Do I still want what?”  

His stomach drops, tying in knots when he sees that lower lip tremble before your eyes well full with tears as your hand lays over your heart. 

“You?” he asks after a maddening beat of incredulity. “Sweetheart, are you kidding?”

The first of several sobs burst over reddened lips, the force of them shaking your shoulders.  You collapse into him, so overcome with a deluge of emotion that he can hardly make out what you say through your cries. 

“I just don’t know what’s happening.”

“Shhh,” he soothes as his thumbs swipes over the apples of your cheeks.  “Okay.  Shit, okay.  I’m so sorry.  You’re okay.  We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” you parrot as you burrow into his chest, trying to hide a sniffle into his shirt. “I think we have a lot to talk about but… we’re okay.”

“We’ll talk,” Eddie blurts out as fast as possible.  His lips move across the crown of your head, muttering promises he’s ready to fulfill.  “I’ll tell you everything, baby.  Everything you wanna hear.” 

“I need it, Eddie.”  His beloved Hellfire shirt is already stained, the brine of your eyes just adds to it.  

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop his own from flowing as he whispers, “I love you.”  

It’s not said in the throes, not chanted like a prayer as he chases his release, but he hopes it conveys every last bit of intensity he feels. 

“God, Eddie.”  You heave a sigh as you pull him close for a kiss.  “I love you too.”

He could stand there forever if you needed, kissing you back with every bit of passion that still burns for you in his chest.  “Thank fuck you do.”  Regrettably, he pulls away, taking your hand in his as he sets the pace.  He leads you through a roughened path between the trees, peering at you over his leather-clad shoulder.  “Where do you want me to start?”

“Ho-lyyy shit.”

Eddie Munson belted out a groan, loud and full and ragged; sounding like it didn't even belong to him, like it came from a different being entirely.  Lolling his head to the side, it seemed to thunk against the ground of its own accord, too heavy all of a sudden for his body to hold it upright.  Like the dirt and blood that matted his curls was just suddenly too much to bear, and so muscles relaxed as his face smushed into a wretched bed of boggy dirt.

His jaw clenched as his mind whirred to life – a burst of knowledge of what made the pea gravel and dust so fucking wet flashed like the lightning above.  And suddenly, he was aware – still clouded but alight with a foggy realization of… everything.  Where he was, what he was doing, what he had been doing before he ended up on his back, staring at the constellations of crackling white and red as bright white flashed across a canvas of charcoal gray.  Eddie grunted again, coughing the dryness from his mouth that felt like it had been caked there for centuries.  

Bleary eyes blinked, and then blinked again; futile in their attempt to chase the muck away and clear his line of vision so he can focus on the actual hell that he’s still trapped within.  He had to have died, because before this – this consciousness, or whatever the fuck – there was pain.  Take his word for it, there was a lot.  Like, a fucklot of pain.  More than he thought was humanly possible and definitely – infinitely – more than he could handle. 

And then, in the time it took for weighted lids to slip closed and succumb to death, it ceased.  Heavenly, blissful nothing.  A floaty ascension from a body left broken and ravaged, a lifeless form that soaked the dirty gravel of the underworld beneath Forest Hills with his blood.  

He felt it.  He did – he felt the life trickle down his chest, pour out of his belly where those ratty-ass motherfuckers chewed him as he screamed into oblivion.  

And then he died.  He died, right?

Yeah.  Yeah – of course he did.  There was no way anyone could survive that, not without help.  Not that he’s blaming anyone.  He was a lost cause from the moment he cut that rope.  From the minute those bats tore into his flesh and spilled his blood.

Shit, there was so much blood.  So much that it ran in rivers away from where he lay, coating the gravel and matting the dirt, congealing to the point where it held the same viscosity as mud.  Fucking mud that was littered with those asshole bats that stole his last breath decades before he expected.  A tragic way to end a tragic life that was actually looking up, for once.  God damn it, isn’t that always the way it goes?

Nope.  Nope, nope.  Can’t do that.  He can’t throw himself a pity party when he’s still flat on his back in the middle of Satan’s backyard.  Who knows what kinds of creatures still lurk about, just waiting for the right moment to strike?  

Fuck that, fuck staying put.  He needed to leave.  He needed to peel himself from this dead patch of earth and return to you.  

Eddie pushed a whine through his nose, the seizing of stiff muscles with even the most minute of movements hindered his escape.  Every limb felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, uncoordinated and heavy with disuse.  Jesus Christ, how fucking long had he been lying here?  

And then, without warning – a new purpose flickered to life, an ember coaxed by a gentle breeze into a tender flame.  Eddie thought it should feel wrong, like it was a dangerous thing to want to wander where this unfamiliar tether tugged him into the unknown.

But it didn’t, it felt good – which in turn, made him feel good.  Good enough to just stand, like his body didn’t feel aged, didn’t have the weight of disappointment still slung over his chest.  It was a relief that there was a weird sort of destiny calling to him, a soothing kind of knowing that he was meant to do this.  He could worry about other things later, sure he would – he’ll get to returning to you.

Eventually.

WIthout an ache or care in the world, Eddie stood.  Brushed himself off and allowed the force inside his gut to direct him down the lane and out of the park.  The why wasn’t important right now, and it was beyond him to even give it a second thought.  You were pushed aside, discarded into a darkened corner of his mind as he put one foot in front of the other into the void of the unknown. 

“I really thought I was going to get back to you.”  

The truth is bitter, a resentment that coats like a chalky film over his tongue and teeth.  No amount of explaining himself will ever rid him of the taste.  

“I thought it would be this easy thing.  Just – you know,” Eddie waves his arms out in front of him, “go do whatever and then I’ll go back.  Crawl through the gates all dramatically and get back to my woman.”

Playfully dropping his timbre several notches, he’s eternally grateful you take the bait, leaning into his side as his arm drapes around your shoulder.  

“What you’re saying is you couldn’t,” you suggest softly, a tendril of concern whirls around the words as he leads you deeper into the woods.

Worry lines more numerous than before burrow around the frown at his mouth as he remembers.  “It was such a strange feeling, sweetheart.  I still could think for myself, could do anything I wanted – like, the freedom to do things was still there.  But…” He grunts a weary sigh.  “I didn’t want to.”  Unfiltered anger simmers hot, rolling patent through empty veins under his skin.  “I don’t even know if prefer is the right word, but it was like I preferred to stay and fucking obey.”

“It sounds like you were compelled.”

“It sounds like I was being a bitch.”

“Eddie,” your singsong chuckle soothes over the roughened edges of his flaring temper.  “I assume this is Vecna we’re talking about?” you clarify, and he nods.  “I don’t even know the half of what he can do, but… it really sounds like he forced you to stay.”

An odd, prickly sensation crawls up Eddie’s spine at the thought of that first awakening.  It sickens him how much it feels like fondness, a thankful sort of relief before he buries it, layering it under shame and regret.  He hates how good it made him feel.

The duality of emotions is frustrating, to say the least.  Eddie grits his teeth as he admits, “No, not when I woke up.  It was like a weight was lifted off my chest.  I didn’t know what he was doing then, but he made it seem like my idea.  He made me believe that I wanted this.  I swear I felt like I didn’t have an original thought of my own.”  

A delicate sound rolls in the back of your throat, sympathetic but not pitying.  “That sounds awful.”

Dark curls bob slowly in affirmation.  “I noticed but I didn’t care.  He was that good.”  If he wanted to, he could grind his molars to dust, and it’s a concerted effort to keep that from happening as he sneers lowly,  “That manipulative.”

Eddie’s more at ease now that night has properly descended, but it does make it challenging to navigate you through the trees.  Ever the gentleman, he offers to carry you, knowing that the slim bit of light provided by the moon won’t be enough for you.  He allows a crooked smirk to play at his lips when you climb on his back, the perfect puzzle piece slots into place when your chin rests in the crook of his neck.

“This won’t hurt your wings?” you murmur sweetly into his ear.  

Eddie chuffs a laugh.  “Doubtful.  I – uh, don’t even know where the fuck they go.”  His hands purposefully squeeze the meat of your ass as he shifts you upward.  “You comfortable?”

There’s a seductive warmth in how you hum Very into his hair.  Eddie basks in it, closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the heat of your body against his.  A long stretch of the journey goes like this, one clinging to the other as Eddie brings you closer to Loch Nora.  He offers bits and pieces of information as you ask for it, but even more content just to hold you; cradle you over the solid planes of his torso while his mind stays acute.  

Always aware of these ever-changing surroundings.

Your clever question cuts through a lull in the conversation.  “Did he get inside your head?”

A growl grumbles over Eddie’s lips.  “He must have,” he spits.  “Any time I had a shred of desire to leave or not do what he asked or expected of me, it would disappear as soon as it formed.”

He doesn’t tell you that he was made to dwell on all this awful shit – all lovingly fabricated from his subconscious by One himself, no doubt.  A million and one reasons ran amok through his mind, always reminding him why Eddie needed to stay gone.  How he was a freak, a murderer, an unworthy partner and a selfish friend.  

That was a time where his head was a miserable place to be.  

Tiny muscles twitch along the angle of his jaw.  He treads delicately, not wanting to divulge this with you yet.  Instead, he confesses the biggest reason he remained out of your sight. 

“It freaked me the fuck out, princess.  I – I hated myself for it.  For letting him in.  I worried that if I came back, he would find me.”  

“How?”

Eddie sighs as he soundlessly weaves between the thick timber.  “I could see things, or uh – I had this connection.  Like, flashes of what he saw, or what he felt.  I could feel how he was watching El.  He’s watching Will, too.  I – I don’t know why, but he is.” 

“Oh my god.  Eddie…”

Pressing on through your sympathy, he admits, “I guess I thought if I knew that much about him, he knew that much about me.”

Your demure oh says it all, mercifully connecting the dots.  “And he’d see that you came back to me?” you reason slowly, shifting out of his grip to slide down from his back.

He meets you halfway, guiding you in front of him and cradling your face in his palms.  “All I wanted to do was come back to you.”  Insisting isn’t enough, he pours every bit of heat he has left into the truth.  “With every passing day, I did.  I wanted to, baby, but…” Even in the dark, he hopes the intensity in his stare reaches you.  He’s changed, but here right now, he still feels like your man, grappling for forgiveness.  

“I really thought you were safer without me.  Maybe even better off,”  he takes a long inhale as he punctuates his admission with an impossible truth.  “With him.”   

A sad sort of smile befalls your features, wistful and beautiful all at once. It’s an answer in itself, an assurance only you could provide, and Eddie’s chest inflates with hope that could flip the darkness into light if he lets it.

“Safer, perhaps.”  You lean in, brushing the tip of your nose across his cheek in search of hungry lips.  A blissful moment of your sweet taste, your essence envelopes Eddie and almost has him succumbing to your light.

Especially as you whisper into kiss-bitten flesh, “But I’m only better because you’re here.”

It wasn’t long before Eddie found him.  A twisted hunk of flesh, burned and battered beyond recognition, but he would have known who this was regardless.  

“Come.”

Vecna lay dying, entwined with the ground, trying to draw life from his already dead surroundings.  Where his limbs ended and the vines began, Eddie couldn’t tell.  What was abundantly clear was Vecna was lost without him, destined to wither to ash. 

The dry rattle of death was evident; it smothered the low rumble of his tone.  “My friend,” the being lifted a clawed finger with great effort, “come to me.”

Eddie’s automatic response rolled with regrettable reverence off his tongue.  “Master.”

The urgency of the situation was made clear, and so it didn’t feel unnatural for Eddie to help.  A pair of now-sharpened canines sunk into the thin tissue at his wrist, drawing what little blood Eddie had left for Vecna to consume.  As the first drops touched his lips, the vines coiled tighter, elongated to slither and slide up his body and mold to his shape.  It didn’t last long; Eddie’s sacrifice wasn’t nearly enough to completely heal, and so he unbound Vecna from the vines and brought him to a familiar structure, away from the decimated remains of Creel House.  

To get there, they walked for miles, the lieutenant carrying his Master.  It should have tired him, but if anything, the opposite occurred.  Eddie appreciated his change, the metamorphosis of his body as it happened.  Stronger.  Longer.  Leaner.  More agile.  More powerful.  Like his entire being was created anew with each step he took.  More acutely aware, his senses heightened like never before; a new dawn for a new kind of life.

Eddie knew how he wanted to feel, how terrified he should be with this twisted turn of events.  But the tiny ember of longing for life up above with you was squelched, overshadowed by a new, more sinister purpose.

And he thought he was powerless to stop it. 

If you’re horrified with what he’s told you so far, you haven’t shown it.  Eddie’s torn between wishing for more of a fevered reaction and counting his blessings for the thoughtful neutrality in how you set your gaze forward.  He can’t shake the feeling that’s how you are on the inside because Christ – that’s certainly how he was: a constant contradiction between fear and foreboding against a soothing, idle peace full of intention.  

Vecna laid it all out, and Eddie often wondered if it was accidental.  The normal safeguards in that labyrinthian mind full of filth and arrogance were destroyed, and it granted the newest beast of the Upside Down full access to the unrestrained objectives of a once-man who teetered on the verge of death.

Divulging this, he knows, won’t bother you in the least.  “Vecna’s hurt.  Or, he was.  He’s getting better, he’s getting stronger, but Jesus,” huffing an incredulous laugh, he shakes his mop of curls.  “Harrington and Buckley and Wheeler – they fucked him up.”

His occupied hand gets a squeeze from yours.  “They’ll be happy to know that.”  You pause, allowing Eddie to guide you around a wide bend in the landscape.  “How did he get better?”

A rueful shudder rakes down his spine.  He was hoping to skip this, gloss it over if it ever came up.  Shame over what he’s done has burrowed deep in his skin and holds tight in his bones.  He did promise he would tell you everything.

“I hunted for him.”

He cringes, a minute shrinking in on himself to brace for the onslaught of revulsion and anger as it pours from lips stained red with your disappointment.  Even his strides slow, a feeble hope that it’ll lessen the burn from the heat of your words.

The reply you give him is soft, a tiny Oh as cool as the night air.  He watches in awe as your lips pop open, a ready inquiry set to fire when you close them again, losing yourself in several yards of thoughtful contemplation.

Eddie feels like he’s vibrating with anticipation, impatient in the worst way for you to expand on that one sweet word that flipped his expectations on their pasty white ass.  He can’t handle how fucking quiet you’ve become, not when he feels like he’s a lifetime’s worth of wrongs to make right.  

The stark black silence is unbearable, and a pleading, “Sweetheart –” tumbles from his mouth at the same time you ask,

“Why you, though?”

Eddie jolts like he’s been electrocuted, the sheer surprise notches his tone up several octaves.  He’d call it manic if he wasn’t so goddamn thrown.  

“That’s what you’re curious about?”

“What should I be curious about?”

His arms wave in an arc, flabbergasted extremities gesturing to everything and nothing.  “I – I don’t know, the fact that I fucking resurrected Vecna from certain death!  I practically slept with the enemy!”  His intake of breath is so sharp he practically snorts.  “His little errand boy.  I was his goddamn right-hand man for months –”

Eddie cuts himself off with a wheezing inhale, drawing out his frustrated whine.  Okay.  Safe to say that now he’s manic.  Dropping your hand, he paces in front of you, not caring in the least that his leather jacket scrapes roughly against the trunk of a tree as he clumsily shoulders past it.  

“He said jump and I said, How fucking high, Master?”  Eddie mocks himself, trilling in an obnoxiously high soprano.  “Shall I shine your shoes and wash your feet for you too?  Perhaps take the demodog for a stroll around the park?”  

In a blur of midnight and pearl, he whirls around to face you, and mercifully, the moon peeks through the clouds at this very moment.  Knowing you can see the anguish that paints his features lessens the knot in his gut.  “I did that, and I fucking knew it was wrong!”  Eddie’s tone adopts an intimidating tenor, booming through the thick mass of trees.  “Doesn’t that make me a monster?  Doesn’t that make me enemy number fucking one?”

Your eyes are as round as saucers.  “Did you really call him Master?”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie does his best to suppress a wail, huffing more of the evening air through his nose.  “Baby, focus.  Please.”

A smirk twitches over your lips, though you do well to school it neutral.  “Okay.”  Chuckling softly, you step toward him and offer him your hand.  “Sorry, Ed… but unless you’re gonna like, deliver me to him in the middle of these woods, no.  You’re not a monster.  You’re not the enemy.”

Despite the vigor in which your assurances come, he still doesn’t believe it.  Not all the way.  “No,” he scoffs, “I’m not going to fucking do that.”

And he wouldn’t.  Not for all the gold in that one king’s castle or court or whatever it is, not when he’s been gifted the rarity of a second chance laced with such kindness and sympathy from you.  Vecna may be this all-powerful entity with the realm’s most sinister psionic powers, but fuck.  

What you’re doing now with all of this pure, unadulterated love that spills from your every pore? It will renew him, he’s sure of it. 

And right on cue, you give him more.  “Give yourself a break,” you murmur as your shoulder bumps against his chest.  “Please.”

He wants to.  More than you know, but even as a vampire he finds that the stupid fucking insecurities that plagued him as a human are like, tenfold as a beast that’s come straight out of hell.  “I just don’t see how this is all okay.”

A considerate hum rumbles in your throat.  “Vecna called you, didn’t he?  It’s not like you chose it straight away.”

“I – I guess?”

“Why did he want you?  Aren’t you curious about that?”

“Very fucking much,” Eddie grumbles as he pulls you towards a patch of sparse foliage.  Squinting his lids just a millimeter or two, he can make out distant lights of a neighborhood ahead.  “I wondered that a lot.”

“If we figure that part out, will it help?”  Eddie makes a noncommittal noise, which prompts you to comment, smooth and sure, “Dustin’ll probably know.”

The mere sound of his name is like a knife to the chest.  A calloused stripping of a wound partially healed to leave it gaping and open again.  It hurts, and it bleeds into his tone.

“Is…” Eddie trails off, throat suddenly too dry to form the words. “Is Dustin gonna be at Harrington’s?”

It’s obvious you’ve heard his trepidation.  “I assume they all will be at some point.”  You’re so careful in what you say next as if you can sense his anxiety once again rising to a boiling point. “It’ll be okay –”

“I don’t know if I can see him,” he blurts, cutting down your confidence he so wishes he could feel.

Otherworldly patience must run in your veins.  You tug him closer, wrapping your arm around his waist.  “Baby, you’ll have to, eventually.”

Many regrets ran in a loop on the screen behind Eddie’s lids in the last year, and Dustin’s crumpled, tear-streaked face was often the star of the show.  But of course, you’re right.  Jesus, just the thought of that – Eddie knows it’ll hurt Dustin more if he keeps his presence in Hawkins a secret.  He scrubs a dirty hand down his face.  

“I know, but I don’t want him seeing me like this.”

“You seriously don’t think he’ll understand?”

Of course he will.  Of fucking course Dustin will understand, but it doesn’t mean he’ll forgive the older boy for being selfish and running headlong into death.  For literally dying in his arms.  For scarring him for fucking life.  Eddie gnashes his teeth, physically restraining the caustic retort that burns on his tongue.  

He tones it down.  Barely.  “I put him through hell.”

“Well,” you reason fairly, “sounds like you went through hell, too.”  

Guilt still rolls heavy in his chest, but he does his damndest to placate you and push it aside for now.  Just because he knows you’re right doesn’t mean he’s ready to face it.  

“We’re almost there,” he announces with a nod towards a subtle glow of twinkling lights.  

“Good.  Keep talking, Eds.”

So he does.  Over the next several hundred yards, Eddie details one of Vecna’s more interesting behaviors, how he would retreat to an empty room and seemingly seek out a connection with a select few in Hawkins.  Vines attached like wings at his back, Vecna would inhale all of the energy of his surroundings as those ugly arms contracted and lifted his body from the floor with a sickening squelch.  At first, he had no idea what this odd ritual even was, or what purpose it served other than to knock him out for a few days.  Completely zapping all of his reserve, Vecna would have Eddie bring him to recover in a separate room, effectively setting his healing back weeks. 

“That’s how he attacks his victims,” you choke out, panic laced in how you splutter, “but I didn’t think – we didn’t think he was killing again!”

“No,” Eddie replies quickly, immediately sorry he didn’t fucking lead with that, “he’s not killing anyone.  He’s not strong enough to attack.  I think – well, I know that’s how he keeps tabs on your superhero friend.”

You balk, and Eddie backtracks, realizing he dropped quite a bit of information on you very fast.  “What I mean is, he knows Max, which is understandable because she was cursed like Chrissy and Patrick.  Oh, and he definitely knows who young Byers is.  That – that girl, El, I think I already mentioned her.”  A quick succession of snapping fingers echoes through the trees as Eddie adds, “And Nancy.  He – he really knows who she is.”

That stops you dead in your tracks.  “He – what?”

Eddie’s brain explodes in a kaleidoscope of Vecna’s most memorable visions, each more vivid than the last.   It irritates the absolute hell out of him that even as an undead creature sort of known for their stoic, unflappable nature, Eddie’s version of vampire buzzes like a livewire, unable to be anything but fucking flapped at the moment.  

If all that’s jumbled in his brain would slow down for a second and give him a chance, he could explain this better.   Somehow.

Maybe.

He coughs, trying to dislodge the cherry pit in his throat.  “Vecna senses El’s presence in Hawkins.  I’m sure she can sense his –”  Eddie waves his hand around his face, “– whatever, too.  He was afraid of that.  As much as that motherfucker can be afraid, I guess.  I mean, he’s not afraid afraid, but he took time to make an extra effort to remain out of her sight or something.”   

He realizes he’s rambling, and takes a second to stop, reeling himself back in after he’s ventured far from his point.  “Either way,” Eddie sighs, “it doesn’t matter.  What does matter is that I never, ever saw even a trace of you in his mind.  But fuck, princess.  I so clearly would see Max sometimes and I couldn’t handle the thought of him finding you…” 

“You saw Max in his head?”  There’s a veracity in how you ask, so much that it sounds more like a statement than a question.

“I did, yeah.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, god.  Forever ago, it feels like.”  He doesn’t remember exactly, and he hates how your face falls. 

He’s quick with his assurance.  “That’s not who he’s focused on.”

He tells you that it’s primarily El that he wanted to monitor from afar.  Young Byers as well, and maybe a few others.  Eddie doesn’t know for sure, but for a long time he thought Vecna could read his mind.  He was terrified to even attempt to even see you because he thought that his foolishness would alert Vecna to your presence, and therefore, hand you over like a lamb for slaughter.  

But that never happened.

Dead leaves crunch under the sole of his boot.  “I don’t think he even knows you exist,” he mumbles, equally pacified and irritated with this.  If he would have known, he could have returned sooner.

But that, too, never happened.

“Eddie.”  The way you breathe such sweet devotion in his name stops his self-loathing spiral in its tracks.  “I get it.  You wanted to keep me safe.”

Eddie blows out a breath drenched with relief.  “I wanted to keep you safe.”

His chest nearly caves in at how you curl into him, albeit awkwardly from the side.  The depths of your devotion and your outright trust all summed up in one embrace.  Pressing your body against his, you nuzzle your forehead under his chin  

Your whisper is thick, your breath hot as it fans over cool skin.  “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Forgive yourself,” your plea is downy soft and pure and a curious tug beneath his sternum has him stuttering over a sharp breath.  “Please.  I already do,” you sniff, maneuvering to burrow your face farther into his chest.  “I forgave you the second I saw you.”

He could drown in it, the love he feels flowing hot and rich through your veins.  “Sweetheart, I –”

“Deserve it, Ed,” you finish for him.  “You deserve it.  Okay?”

He doesn’t; not yet, anyway.  Keeping the sadness from reaching his eyes, Eddie does his best to crinkle those crows feet with a smile that looks as genuine as the adoration he feels in his bones for you.  He dips his head to meet your lips, dragging them against yours as slow and soothing as the November moonlight.  And when he feels your movements grow warmer, he meets them with every last bit of devotion that always burned despite the chill of the underworld.

He’ll spend every waking moment from now until his end earning your forgiveness.

Bitterness ran through Eddie’s veins.  Each time he assumed that role of the predator, he was a murderous mass of vitriol; heady, earthy and sour – fueled by the beasts of the Upside Down.  The hunt kept him relevant, and the more time went on, the more he came to believe this.  Undeniable was the love he held for the chase, the stalking of prey over miles of rugged, desolate terrain.  

He especially loved the kill.   

There was a time where he could almost convince himself that he was ridding the Upside Down of evils when fangs tore at rotted flesh, draining a lesser animal of its life while it incompletely nourished his and by extension, Vecna’s.  

A necessary evil.  A survival mechanism.  Even then, deep down he knew it was a lie.

The most difficult pill to swallow wasn’t the acrid, decaying rot that flowed from the vessels of demogorgons and the like.  No – Eddie found that the more he hunted, the more he fed, the more he provided for his Master, the more he grew to want it.  His sense of purpose flourished.  Humanity shed off of him in razor-thin flakes, undetectable at first.  Regret clawed at his insides because he wasn’t blind to it.  

Eddie felt himself withering away as Vecna grew stronger.

And then – a radical change, one he hadn’t felt since the night he first spoke to you in the trailer park in his past life.  Just like then, it happened on a regular night.  Ordinary in every sense, mundane in the way that Eddie had gone through the motions like always, same as it ever was.  Only this time, he ventured farther away from Vecna than he ever had, the hours bleeding together into an elongated absence.  

It was new, Eddie was testing it out, but what he’d learned so far excited him – 

The peace and serenity of an unclouded mind was euphoric – all of the intricacies of his being he had been deprived of came rushing back in droves.  Eddie Munson had a way to return to his former self, and it both relieved and terrified him.

He craved it, mostly because he found he was in control of his thoughts.  No longer a dim, distant want, it was a need – because he could think of you.

He thought of you as he hunted near the gate that cut through a section of dense forest, and that’s when he smelled it.  

Eddie caught the divine scent of a human.

Instinct roared to life – all of his senses sharpened, his teeth bared and glinted in the blood-red gashes of light through charcoal gray.  This elevation of his basic impulses was far beyond what he’d experienced thus far, and a magnificent desire for the kill contracted the muscles in his legs, primed for the strike.

There was no chase, no preamble – Eddie found the exact spot between the two worlds where his unsuspecting victim stood.  He heard every measured breath, felt the warm pulse of life as it pushed through thick, bulbous vessels, could nearly taste –

Oh, fuuuck.  Two heartbeats.

Eddie nearly moaned.  Two separate forces dropped him to his knees, claws extended and ripe for the chase.  He had to suppress a dark chuckle – he knew it would be over before those poor souls had a chance to realize what happened.  

He would show mercy.  It would be over quickly. 

No need to play with his food.  Not when it was served up so readily.

The voices faded as they walked along the edge of the gate, seemingly unaware of what sort of horrors lay beneath.  Eddie dragged a talon along the membrane separating the two worlds, flaying it down the middle.  As silent as death itself, he emerged into the mortal plane, oxblood and onyx eyes honing in on two figures in those grotesque green and gold lettermans jackets that he loathed so much as a human.

He overheard their conversation – one that sparred the most inane, machismo back and forth like they’d actually do something other than shit their pants if they found themselves in the presence of what lies beneath their feet.  One of them – Andy, Eddie believed – even went so far as to duck and weave with his fists raised, like he was just rearing to go for the fight.

Oh.  Fuck showing mercy. 

This was going to be FUN.

It came as no surprise that the two-idiot calvary hadn’t detected Eddie, too deep in their own egos to sense the actual threat that loomed behind them.  In a breath of a moment, Eddie vanished far to their right, making sure to generate enough of a rustle to have the lead moron freeze and harshly spit a ‘What was that?’ into the shadows.  

Here, Eddie stood sheathed in a darkness he conjured himself, invisible to the inferior human eye.  Guilt wasn’t even a thought as he toyed with his food, rushing by at speeds too fast to be seen but just enough to let them know he was there.  All he felt was the thrill, the exhilaration of a hunt that would end in what was sure to be his finest feast so far.  Even the proximity of such delicious blood was intoxicating, heightening with every moment he prolonged this game.  

Fear, as it turns out, when pulsed through the veins of cowards, made the chase so much sweeter.

And so he dragged it out, testing his hunting prowess, projecting his voice in a sinister growl, surrounding the two ex-jocks of Hawkins High and instilling a terror they’d never known until now.  Heads whipped from one side to another, trying to track down exactly where – or what – they heard.

It was disorienting, their unfamiliar surroundings spiking adrenaline through their system.  They shouted at one another, full of venom and blame.

Eddie couldn’t get enough.

He felt the hairs on the back of their necks stand to attention when he chuckled; a dry, condescending little sound before he ambushed them, grabbing Andy from behind and lifting his burly frame from the ground like he was nothing more than a rag doll.  

The young man’s startled scream was lost to the wind that howled up from the gate.  

“You,” rolling red oxblood in Eddie’s eyes glowed in brilliant, hypnotizing swirls as he pinned the other boy in a glare, “were never here.  You will never return.”

Listening to Eddie’s command, the boy went rigid as he listened, nodding once with sluggish comprehension.

“Say it,” Eddie ordered, smothering Andy’s feeble cry for help in a crushing hold against the granite planes of his chest. 

“I was never here.” 

“Chase –” Andy choked out a hoarse, frantic plea for his friend’s attention, all in vain.  

Eddie extinguished the light in Chase’s eyes, his monotone promise to go home and tell no one of what he saw all he said before he turned the opposite direction, unknowingly leaving his friend for slaughter.   

That was precisely when a fluid wave of warmth spread from Eddie’s low belly, down the front of his jeans.  Abrupt realization dawned, and Eddie grinned into the back of Andy’s neck now slick with sweat.

“Sorry big boy, I’m not into that,” Eddie rasped into his ear as a whimper bubbled over Andy’s lips. “You’re lucky the stench of your piss isn’t enough to ruin my appetite.”

Andy bucked in his grasp, a futile attempt to wriggle away.  Pride surged through Eddie’s empty veins, finally on the other end of the endless torture he was subjected to at the hand of this man and the jockish likes of him.  As much as it was satisfying, it was liberating.

Especially when Andy began to sob, pleading in blubbery, nonsensical words for his life.

Eddie couldn’t help the rumbling laugh that vibrated his chest.  “Oh, but I do like that.  Sound so cute when you beg.”  A clawed hand raised to wrap around Andy’s throat, the plan to wrench it to the side. “Maybe I –”

As soon as skin touched skin, Eddie’s vision blacked out.  Fleeting images flashed before him, one right after another, an overwhelming deluge of transgressions and terrible acts, all performed by the man Eddie held by the throat.

Until it stopped, locked on the familiar face twisted in fright as she kicked and clawed and fought for her escape.

Fun this was, no longer.  Rage ran hot and blistered the tender skin of Andy’s cheek as Eddie gritted, “What did you do to Lady Applejack?” 

“W-who?”

“Erica Sinclair.”  Andy went silent and Eddie tightened his grip, digging the sharpened tops of his claws into his neck.  “You hurt her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man!”

“What kind of man goes after a child?”

“No – she – no, I didn’t –”

The stuttering wasn’t enough to distract from the hate Andy had for her, and it wasn’t only because of her distant known affiliation with Eddie.  It was because of who she was, who her brother was, same as the teammate he lost but didn’t really mourn.  

Eddie ground his teeth against his rising anger, and channeled it into the gravel of his tone.  “You know what I fucking hate worse than asshole, bigoted jocks?”  He didn’t even wait for a response.  “Liars.” 

The fight in Andy increased, like he could sense what was coming.  He thrashed and wiggled in Eddie’s arms that expended no extra effort to hold him in his place.  “H-hey, no, I didn’t do anything!”

Eddie laughed then, cold and high, before clicking his tongue in disappointment.  “I saw everything, dipshit.”  His top hand moved from his neck to anchor in his hair, twisting his head at an impossible angle to expose a bounding pulse beneath thin, stress-mottled skin.

The position opened Andy up to watch his own demise.  The young man gasped at the sight, his rounded eyes darting every which way over Eddie’s features, unsure where to land first.  

The doomed man’s brain isn’t able to keep up.  “What are you?” he settled on asking, and Eddie would have rolled his crimson eyes to the sky had he not been so hell-bent in finishing off this sorry excuse for a human.

So, he mustered up the most villainous grin he could, tilting his chin to showcase the razor blade edge of his canines in the moonlight.  

“Hungry.”

Electricity practically hums under Eddie’s skin at the mere memory of the one and only time he fed on human flesh, the sheer ecstasy from the kill overshadowed even the darkest of shame that still blotted like ink in his chest.  It worries him how indifferent he feels about the actual person versus the barbaric act, but he finds he’s much more concerned for your reaction than atoning for merely minding his nature.

For now, at least.  It’s weak and he knows it, but clinging to the, it was instinct! excuse in his mind has kept him on this side of sanity since it happened.

“Eddie.”  There’s not a trace of judgment or horror in the way you say his name.  “Who was it?”

A shaky hand runs nervously through his curls.  “Um…”

“The person you attacked.” “Killed,” Eddie corrects you glumly.  A downcast set of crimson eyes hone in on the details of the forest floor.  “I killed him, sweetheart.”

“Actually –”

He cringes, surprised at how much he doesn’t need your assurance right now.  As if denying the worst part of him won’t chase away the darkness that he fears has changed him forever.  He hoped that it would, because Christ, he doesn’t want to be this monster you swear he’s not.   But now it feels different, now that you’re willing to give him this undeserved support despite what he did?  

No.   Somehow making you a liar is worse.

He won’t do it.  He won’t lie and hide behind what he’s become.  “I’m a fucking murderer –”

“Woah,” you stop dead in your tracks, “no, you’re not –”

“I am,” Eddie argues back, his frantic muttering drowns out any reason to the contrary, “no fucking better than the monster everyone in this goddamn town said I was –”

“Was it Andy?”

Except maybe that.  Eddie’s eyes round as he slowly brings them from the ground and back to yours. In his mind, he’s on his knees, begging whatever god might be left that he’s heard you right.

“Yes,” he husks, “it was Andy.”

“Baby,” you breathe as a sympathetic smile plays on your lips.  “He’s not dead.”

Raw, unfiltered shock freezes him in his place.  Eddie is rarely stunned silent, but at this moment he’d be surprised if he ever spoke again with how overwhelmed he feels.  Swallowing heavily, he blinks your awaiting face back into focus and coughs a hoarse,

“Please elaborate.”

You’re quick to detail every last ounce of what you remember Gareth telling you over dinner one evening in late summer – how Andy wound up in the hospital after some townsfolk found him near the gate that was close to the woods on the edge of town.  He was battered, like he’d been in a fight, but still very much alive – and initially, you say, Gareth thought Steve or Jonathan had something to do with it.  It was well-known to the older boys that Andy was one of the assholes with Jason that got in a couple of cheap shots on Gareth’s face following Chrissy’s death.  It wasn’t them, though – as confirmed by the injured young man himself when questioned before his release from the hospital.

“Hopper chalked it up to a bear attack… but we,” you raise your eyebrows knowingly, “all figured it was a demogorgon that got him and he miraculously got away.”

Eddie snorts derisively.  “No, that would’ve been me.”  He pulls a face, unable to move past a certain detail in your story.  “I highly doubt the fine citizens of Hawkins believed Hopper’s stupid bear attack narrative.  There aren’t even bears in Indiana.”

He can’t help but be affected by your giggles.  “Yes, there are,” you titter genially.  “They’re all downstate but yeah.  Indiana has bears, Ed.”

“Oh.”  

“Erica was prepared to track it down and shake its hand.”

That has him barking a laugh.  “A demogorgon or a bear?”  He shakes his head fondly as you shrug, indicating Erica would have stared down either just to express her thanks.  “I wouldn’t expect any less from the brave Lady Applejack.”  

He matches your smile, even after it fades into a more contemplative press of your lips.  “How did it make you feel?”  Eddie’s thick brows pinch over his nose, and you supply, “Feeding.  On a human.”

“Amazing.”  It’s out of his mouth before he realizes he’s thought it.  A sheepish duck of his head is coupled with a grimace and a wary look in your direction to see if you’re at all ashamed of him.  

You’re predictably not, though Eddie can’t fathom why.  

Taking his hand in yours, a careful lacing of chilly digits through yours, you gesture for him to lead the way..  

“Tell me about it.”

There’s no need for Eddie to hold his breath, not anymore.  But, by force of habit, he blows an elongated exhale through his nose.  

“After that, I – it was like I woke up.  So many things about my existence and about Vecna just clicked into place for me.  I could see it,” he whispers, “understand it.”  A familiar sense of dread rushes up his spine as he admits, “All that time, I think I was fine to sit back and wait for it to be over, all while performing like some puppet on a string.  Day after day.  I couldn’t do that.  I had to change – I had to open up my mind and think for myself and somehow find a way to be okay with that because –”  

A mess of ebony curls dance around the sharp lines of his face.  “I couldn’t shut down who I was and keep pretending that I was okay with being some sheep for slaughter.  I knew then I didn’t want that.  I wanted something else.”  His grip tightens around your fingers as Eddie chokes over your name, “I knew he would be done with me the moment he got what he wanted.  And – and so I just stopped.  I didn’t return to him.”

“God, Eddie.  When was this?”

“I don’t know,” the days and nights are all a blur at this point.  “Maybe um, a few months ago?”

Ripping your hand from his, you recoil like you’ve been slapped.  “A few months?!” you shriek.  “Eddie!  What took you so long?”  

He’s rather vulnerable, a little raw in places that haven’t seen the light of day in nearly a year.  Wounds haven’t healed, not even close – you have no idea the anguish that bogged him down when he thought he lost himself after Andy.  There was no way he was just going to waltz back into your life, not with a legitimate soul on his conscience.  

So, if he bites back, defensive and a little maniacal, Eddie thinks it’s warranted.  

“Just because I had a fucking revalation or some shit didn’t mean I knew what I was going to do!  I – I had to figure some shit out, I don’t know!”  

You’re not buying it.  Your hips pop into an infuriatingly adorable stance, made even more irresistible with the way your arms cross over your chest.  

“A few months, though?”

Eddie thinks he might lose his damn mind.  

“Baby, I don’t know how to do this,” he’s almost pleading as he exclaims, “I don’t know how to be a vampire!”  

You open your mouth to argue, and he swoops you into his arms, holding you close as you emit a tiny squeak once your feet leave the ground.

He presses his forehead against yours.  “It feels so unnatural for me, being up here in like,” he can’t help how bitterness seeps into his voice, “rightside up Hawkins.  This feels like… like there’s a thousand little bugs crawling under my skin.”  He’s unable to hide the ghost of a grin that tugs at his mouth as he drawls, “I mean, there actually could be a thousand little bugs crawling under my skin.  I am dead, y’know.”

“Eddie!”  His name is synonymous with the disbelieving scoff bursts from your lips, despite your attempt to squash it as you roll them in.   

In a supremely sweet and undeniably you-like gesture, you bring your hands to the sides of his face and mold your mouth to his.  It’s both heaven sent and not nearly long enough; though he consciously returns your feet to the forest floor, he chases your lips even as you pull away.  

“Not funny,” you scold, though there’s no real reprimand behind it.

He can concede it’s not.  His playful grin fades, melting into something much more sullen.  

Fitting, because that’s precisely how he feels.  “I don’t know what that means, okay?  I don’t know fucking anything.”

“Well, neither do I.” 

“I was afraid to come back.”  He still doesn’t feel right admitting this, but knowing you deserve his honesty, he averts his gaze and mumbles, “I’m even a little afraid to be back.”

“What?  Eddie, why?”

“What do you mean, why?”  He doesn’t intend to sound mean when he asks, but Jesus – about a thousand different reasons why threaten to burst from his chest all at once, but none worse than the unknown that plagued him behind Gareth Emerson’s front door.  

He takes a similar, yet safer approach, shying away from the whole truth.  “What if I lose control, huh?  What if you, I dunno, slice your finger and I can’t help myself and make you my fucking dinner?”  

“You’re not going to do that!”

Normally, he would love how stubborn you are – but in this moment, you’ve got him wanting to tear out his hair by the roots. 

“Baby, you don’t fucking know I won’t!”

“I do though, Ed!  I know you!”

“No,” he growls, “you knew me.  You have no idea what I’ve been through this year.  How I’ve changed.”

A terse curl of your upper lip sends a flash of apprehension down his spine.  “Yeah,” you seethe, “because you stayed away for fucking months when you could have been back with me.”

He wants to agree.  Jesus Christ, he wants to agree with you so badly, but a large part of him just can’t.  There was too much at risk, too much he couldn’t handle not knowing.  It didn’t seem cowardly at the time, it seemed rather responsible.  

But now he’s feeling like he chose the easy way out.  That he ran away a-fucking-gain, and he can’t handle that it’s you who believes it.

“Are you fucking serious right now?  I couldn’t just stroll up to the goddamn house like before,” he waves his arm in a wild gesture to the space between you,  “because shit – what if one of you came at me with a stake?”

“Oh,” your lips part in a soft gasp as your eyebrows are lost beneath your fringe, “does that actually work?”

Eddie is practically manic as he shrieks, “Well I wasn’t about to test it, that’s for fucking sure!”

“We wouldn’t have done that!”

The muscles in his jaw clenches at the way you so naturally say we.  “You might not have.”

“He wouldn’t.”  Despite his best effort to school his expression neutral, Eddie’s face tightens at how defensive you are, protective over a man that isn’t him.  “What,” you tut with a lift of an eyebrow, “you don’t think he missed you?”

This is precarious, he knows it.  Dangerous fucking ground.  Tiptoeing around goddamn landmines.  Eddie should shut it down, steer you clear of talking about literally anything else but this.  

“I – I’m sure he did,” as even as he wants it to sound, it still comes out strained.  

It comes out insincere and he knows it, because it’s not what begs for freedom on his tongue.  Seemed like he was doing just fine is what he wants to say.   But as much as he wants that little bit of truth to come out, he wants to avoid it.  Can’t feel that sharp twist of betrayal if you don’t ask about it in the first place.  He could just ignore the elephant in the room and pretend nothing happened between you and his best friend, even though he understands he’s not privy to any of that.  He doesn’t deserve to feel like this, not when he was the one that sent you practically running into another man’s arms.

Okay.  He fucking realizes that’s not exactly what went down, but fuck.  There’s not one bit of him that wants to discuss the details of your nights at Gareth Emerson’s house right now.  That’s information he’s not sure he could handle, ever – and he doesn’t even know if his worst fears are even fucking true.  He just – 

“Eddie, I told him everything.”  

Dark eyebrows furrow over a pair of puzzled onyx eyes, blinking as he steers his brain away from a total and complete internal meltdown.  “Told him what, now?”  

“About the Upside Down, about the dreams and Vecna and how I was so sure you were still alive.”  You throw your arms up in defeat.  “I talked about you like you were still here practically every day after I found that notebook.”

Oh.  

Perhaps he’s worrying for nothing.  White hot jealousy cools into an effervescent bubbling of satisfaction, because if he remembers anything, he remembers Gareth Emerson’s explosive personality.  And you dumping this all on him, Eddie included?

Oh.  That had to have been sweet.  “Yeah?”  His plush lips curl into a wolfish grin.  “And how did that go?”

“Fine,” you chuff as you gnaw on the inside of your cheek, probably to hide a smirk.  “Sort of.  He yelled a lot.”

“That figures.”  

He lets his busy mind rest a moment, studying you in the dim charcoal light of the evening.  With the way you shift your body on your feet, he can tell there’s more; secrets still simmer beneath the surface.  Or maybe that’s him projecting – he doesn’t really know.  Eddie possesses enough restraint (and okay, maybe trepidation, as well) to avoid the topic for now, opting for safer questioning.  

Or, to at least give in to the tug he feels deep in his chest.  He’s man enough to admit he’s missed Gareth, too.  

“How um, how is he?”

Your stare is pulled somewhere far away.  “He’s okay.  As okay as he can be, I guess.”  

There’s a different sort of softness in your tone with how you speak of him now, and though it’s not a surprise, it still stings.  

Your hands begin their anxious winding as you worry your lip between your teeth.  “Maybe, um…” you begin meekly, “maybe after we get everyone up to speed at Steve’s, you and I can –”

“Sure,” he swiftly replies.  This he can do.  Envy may still slither in emerald green rivers through his veins, but right now, he appreciates the concern you still carry for his friend.  Your friend, too.  Your motives behind it be damned.  “Whatever you need, princess.”

“He just deserves to know this, too.  We’re all he has left.”  

Eddie’s lips pop open as startled eyelids flare wide, and a pitiful realization washes over your face as it falls.  “Oh Ed,” you sigh, “of course you don’t know.  His parents died.”

“They did?”  For no longer having a heart that beats, it still aches like it’s real.  “God damn it.  I wondered.”

A long moment passes as you regard him through your eyebrows, a look so severe he shrinks under the intensity of your gaze.  “So it really was you,” the slow cadence of your tone illustrates the dots that connect in your mind.  Your mouth pulls into a soft smirk as your hip juts into a coy little stance.  “Or were those dreams I was having of you outside my window?”

He doesn’t think you’re mad about it, but he doesn’t hesitate to come clean, just in case.  “No, they weren’t dreams, sweetheart,” Eddie wrings the back of his neck.  “That was me.”

He wanted to get closer.

It had been just a mere two hours following his first foray into drinking human blood, and the divine sense of life it instilled in his veins elevated Eddie’s entire existence.  Colors were brighter.  Sounds were plentiful, numerous and many but each their own, individual song.  A symphony of nature, just for him.  

Powerful didn’t even begin to describe it.  He was omnipotent, invincible, a paladin of this domain.  Not too cocksure to know where danger lurked, and he was sure to stay far away from there.  Never to return was what he intended.  Instead, he went where his desires directed, swift and soundless over miles of terrain, tracking the scent of a literal angel on earth.

You.  

Fuck, how he wanted to get closer. 

Through the window above the front porch of his best friend’s home, he watched you as you drew back the patchwork quilt and climbed into bed.  Eddie’s new and vastly improved eyesight allowed him to see you up close, near enough it felt as if he could reach out and touch you.  But alas, the laws of physics still applied to him in this odd version of an afterlife.  He remained, regrettably, in the shadows of the front yard with his feet firmly planted on the ground.

A minute passed by, and then another minute more.  Eddie watched entranced with your every move, devastated by your beauty that appeared much more melancholy than ever before.  Not even as you bid goodnight to your housemate (an action that had the pointed tips of Eddie’s ears searching for more beyond the moonlight) did you find it in yourself to allow a smile.

It should have satisfied him, but instead, it reared to life feelings he hadn’t dwelled on in ages.  Apparently, enough humanity remained for jealousy to again bubble in his veins, thick and hot and sluggish like tar.  It seeped under his skin as he watched and waited for the younger man to join you, settle into the space next to you like he once did.

A satisfied smile slithered across his face when you clicked off the light alone.

It tore him up inside, the thought of you sleeping alone.  Joining you was out of the question; Eddie was vaguely certain he still had the blood of that miscreant still stained across his lips and chin.  That may be nothing compared to what he now knew he was capable of, and he would never forgive himself if he ever lost his control like that with you.

But still, he longed for that blood to be yours, and there – that terrible, fantastical desire – was precisely the biggest reason he needed to stay away.  This new awakening thrilled him just as much as it excited him, and with a muted groan to the darkness, Eddie palmed the growing bulge at the front of his jeans.

It was ecstasy like he’d never experienced, so robust and complete just from the mere thought of piercing the tips of his fangs through your flesh.  Never in his life was he subject to such carnal want, and with a haughty snort of night air through his nose, he allowed himself to dream of it, to dream of you.  The blood he just ingested rushed to fill out his cock, had it straining properly against his fly.  A subtle thrust of his hips, just one, Eddie rutted against the thick denim of his jeans with a subtle grind and grunt, already powerless to the desire that thrummed through his veins.

He melted into his surroundings, called upon a familiar, self-conjured shadow to hide him away as he stared through the panes of your window.  Welcome warmth radiated from every inch of his skin; he felt like the mere sight of you had set him on fire.  He let it consume him, allowing for the most debased needs to sink into his bones as his taloned fingers picked at the button above his crotch, freeing it with just a deft twist and tug.  

Okay.  One aspect of turning into a vampire that Eddie hadn’t counted on was how unaroused he was for the first several months of his existence.  As ridiculous as it sounds, he never had a reason to be.  He oscillated between being disgusted and being terrified to the point where there was nothing else.  It was almost comical to think about it – feeding on a human as vile as Andy was what lit the fuse.  

It was finally seeing you set him on fire.

The first time Eddie’s palm dived under the band of his boxers, he knew something had changed.  Instantaneous shock melted into pure ego at the sheer size he felt under his fingers.  He chuckled then as he wrapped them around the ample girth of his shaft, pushing a disbelieving breath through his nose when it took two tugs to free it from the confines of his pants.  There it hung heavily in his palm, pulsing and growing impossibly harder and longer still.

Now he really wanted to climb through that window and claim you, remind you who you belonged to.  

Instead, his mind wandered to filthy scenarios as he stroked himself, languidly at first.  He thought of how round your eyes would go when you saw him for the first time, how it would surprise you just as it did him.  Lust trickled in rivers down his neck and over his chest as he imagined your hand gripping his length, guided by him.  You’d look up at him with such wide, wet owl eyes and he’d coo your name, telling you that it would all be okay.  He’d go slow.  You could take it.

You would be Daddy’s good girl and take it.

“Ahh, fuck,” Eddie choked out, his breath rose in tendrils of smoke as he panted through his pleasure. 

Jesus, just the thought of that.  He tried to keep it slow, but the simmering pressure was just too fucking good.  He moved faster then, longer strokes that squeezed and twisted over the crown of his broad, fat head.  Eddie’s fantasy then swirled to envision how it would feel to split you in half with this monster in his fist for the first time.  How he wanted you to cling to him as he pushed it inside you, how musical all those noises would sound as they spilled over your lips.

Eddie’s hips canted forward in time with his hand.  Yeah, fuck that was good – all the noises he now realized he longed for after so much time.  Now that he knew he could dwell on this and on you, it all came rushing back in a hurry.

Logically, he wondered how you would actually take his cock, how he’d ever get it to fit in your pretty little cunt, how you’d choke and gag if he ever gets a chance to run it over your tongue and into the back of your throat.  Tears would undoubtedly fill your eyes and spill over your lashes in droves, because even as a human you had a tough time taking his length all the way in your mouth.  There would be no way you could do that now.

A low, rumbling huff rolled in his chest.  No.  He would prepare you properly, like you deserved.  If you wanted to try to take him in your mouth he would certainly let you, but not until he had thoroughly ravaged you first.  

Eddie longed to gain control over these goddamn talons that pricked little crescents into the tough skin of his palm.  He rucked his shirt to bunch under his chin to get a better view, to imagine better how he wanted to fuck you with his fingers that were now so thick he had to cut off his rings.

He still mourned that loss, especially when he had to sever the metal band of that precious bat ring you bought him for Christmas.  He doesn’t mourn it now, not while the smooth pads of his fingers smeared the ample offering of precum down the girth of his shaft again and again, a sickly sort of slick serenade to the trees behind Emerson’s house.

Fuck, that was good.  So fucking good, it had been too fucking long since Eddie’s balls tightened like this.  His lower abs cramped and strained against his pleasure as it built low in his gut, climbing higher still as he thought of you falling apart on just a finger.

There was no doubt in his mind, he bet he would make you come with just one.  The longest one, he decided then, would stretch you open.  He would reach deep inside, touching places you could never get to yourself.  Eddie’s head tipped back on his shoulders, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth to prevent primal grunts of pleasure from escaping between lips pressed together tight. Faster and faster he fucked his rigid cock, just as desperate to find release as he was to hang on and let his climax stall.

The scene then changed in Eddie’s mind.  He saw your face twisted in erotic ecstasy as he fucked you on his finger, jaw swinging open in a silent scream as he got you ready for him with two.  Fat tears rolled down your cheeks, crying out for him as he scissored them inside.  He would lean in, kissing those droplets away as they trailed from your lids, increasing his cadence as he drove his digits in and out of your needy hole.  

The end neared for Eddie, his release so close to completion.  He shamelessly sought after his pleasure, spitting onto his cock to amplify the lewd sounds tenfold.  It thrust him headlong back into his dream where he had you so close you trembled and begged for more.  Fuck, he would give you more.  He would give anything to have you hot and wet around his fingers, his tongue – oh Christ, his fucking tongue –

Eddie’s climax washed over him in waves as he chanted your name to match how screamed his, over and over as your release soaked him.  Rich, honeyed sweetness would drip from his chin as he coaxed the prettiest noises from your pussy and your mouth, wringing every last pulsing spasm of your orgasm from your body like he knew he could.

He sighed then, only partially satisfied.  Eddie’s spend littered his toned abdomen and chest in warm, sticky ropes; he swiftly tucked himself away before he could get mindless at the thought of you licking him clean and batting those long lashes as you begged him to fuck you.

Taking his chance, he disappeared into the night.  He never was good at telling you no.

Eddie clears his throat and stops, trying like hell to be subtle as he adjusts himself in his pants.  He tosses you a sheepish glance.

“Sorry.  I, uh… sorry.”  Though he detailed his first night outside your window with as much censorship as he could, the memory of it is still as arousing as ever.  “You just smell really fucking good and… I’m really happy you’re not freaking out more about this.”

He’s close enough that he senses that spicy, bashful heat creeping up from your neck and into your cheeks.  “I haven’t showered in at least a day or two,” you try to reason with a whine.  “There’s no way I smell good.”  

You might try to be coy, but it doesn’t escape him how your breath shudders just slightly as you exhale.  “You do,” he purposefully roughens his voice to a deep husk, “you smell so sweet, princess.”

Smiling into the crown of your head, he buries your scowl into his chest.  He wills his now-stirring cock to settle down as he shares one more bit of honesty with you.

“I’m just really lucky you’re not freaking out more about all this.”  

Quick as a whip, you reply, “Oh, I am.  A little.  I guess.”  You return his smile.  “But from being without you to suddenly having you here, talking to me?  Eddie… you have no idea – I feel like I can fucking breathe again.”

It’ll do no use to spin in circles, but his anxious mind just won’t let it go.  “I’m not me, though.”

“You are.”  Drawing his body closer to yours as both arms circle his waist, he finds comfort in the steady beat of your heart.  “I swear to you, as I’m looking at you, you’re still my Eddie.”

“I’m yours, huh?”

A genuine smile is drawn from his toes as you whisper into his parted lips, “Always.”

He takes his time, pressing his mouth against yours, molding and shaping your lips like they’re his second skin.  He’s yours.  He’s yours, just as it should be.  

Eddie’s world begins to right again, despite being faced with so wrong.

Next Chapter

Taglist open: @morningberriesao3 @canwepleasehavefun @rip-quizilla @eldermayfield @nymqphet @unverifiedmeatsuit @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @chloe-6123 @pagesfalling @angel-ann-pops @kthomps914 @clarafornerlyknownasclaire-blog @dashingdeb16 @darkyuffie-blog @munsons-queen @lottie-90 @duncanhillscoffeecups @wendyxox @veemoon @gnrquinn @boxofsmittens @ginger-haired-queen @hunter-in-the-upsidedown @corkadymu @b-irock @ahoyyharrington @cripilingdepression-blog

#TBR #reading this tomorrow! #eddie munson x reader #fic rec #waking the fallen

[rip-quizilla]

I will forever repost this on every platform I see it on

I see no lies.

[rip-quizilla]

This was the cutest way to spend my lunch break🥺 thanks for the tag!!!

No pressure tags: @the-unforgivenn @hellfire--cult @munson-blurbs @mmunson86 @msgexymunson

Insomnia means making cute art on picrew. Tagging some lovely people so I can see the adorable pictures you come up with 💕

Make yours here

No pressure tags: @munson-blurbs @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @joejoequinnquinn @rip-quizilla @word-wytch @b-irock @big-ope-vibes @jo-harrington @ghost-proofbaby @br0ck-eddie @girlwiththerubyslippers

[rip-quizilla]

OH MY GOD stop🫣😍🥰

I’m so happy you loved this!! Now that it’s renfaire season again I’m thinking about writing their meetup at The Honeybee 🐝

Thank you so so so much for the love, babe🥹✨

The Naughty Wench

Summary: You work as a barmaid at the raunchiest booth at the Renaissance Faire, and Eddie purchases a beer from you. He gets a little more than a "huzzah for the tipper" when he throws a fiver in the jar labeled "Thank you, Mistress". (Read: you talk dirty to Eddie while you pour beer down his throat) Based on this Tik Tok posted by @joyful_aura: https://www.tiktok.com/@joyful_aura/video/7244964514561543470

Word Count: 4.7k

Content Warnings: light degradation, dirty talk, sexual themes

Working the faire circuit was in one word… an experience. 

Just last week you had been in Texas at Scarborough Faire, where it had been hot as balls underneath your layers of linen, lace and leather. The earlier months hadn’t been too bad, but there was one thing you’d learned about the southern states in your years of renaissance faire experience- when summer hits in the south, it hits hard. The moment you’d driven your van past the Indiana state line, you could have sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees on the spot. 

Now here you were- all trussed up in your wench getup, tits pushed up high enough that they rested like two fleshy pillows right below your collarbones. The corset you’d chosen today wasn’t your most comfortable, but you looked damn good in it- milk chocolate brown with pale gold ribbons that laced up the front. The straps that ran over your shoulders provided some extra support, which you were grateful for with all of the movement your job required. Your skirts today were a warm shade of mustard yellow with a few mismatched patches sewn over holes and stains that had refused to come out over the years. Short sleeved blouses were a must, unless you wanted to pass out from heat stroke or have beer-soaked sleeves clinging to your forearms. Today yours was a pale cream color, with little puffed cap sleeves to cover your shoulders and a neckline that plunged below your corset, so the girls were front and center, ready to earn plenty of “huzzah for the tipper!”s.

Today was Sunday, and since this faire was weekends only, Sundays were basically Fridays as far as faire folk were concerned. As was tradition, you would all be going out for libations once the day was done, followed by a blissful night of sleeping late in your Volkswagen Westfalia.

You hadn’t known what to expect when you’d quit your job and joined the faire circuit, but every day you got to meet new people, play dress-up, and speak in a funny accent- which accent? You switched it up day to day. And the fact that you got paid to do that made it even better.

You loved your little renfaire life. 

You stood with your hands on your hips inside the little wooden booth that served as your place of work for the next month’s worth of weekends. Every plastic cup was stacked in place, you had a fresh cleaning rag stuck into your apron, and patrons were already beginning to file into the fairgrounds. A pleasant breeze brought a smile to your face. 

“Morning, love!” You turned to see your fellow barmaid, Ingrid, wiping her hands on her own apron after wringing out her own rag into a small bucket of soapy water. Her outfit today was- like most days- the polar opposite of yours. She looked more like a pirate wench while your color palette was more akin to what one might picture in a countryside tavern. Burgundy skirts and off-white petticoats swished around her black lace-up boots, and her black leather waist cincher showcased the smallest part of Ingrid’s middle. You gasped, acting scandalized by the bits of black lace from her bra that peeked over the neckline of her red blouse.

“Ingrid, what kind of place do you think we’re running here?” you tutted, smiling cheekily all the while. “This is a respectable establishment! People might start thinking we sell more than just the drinks here, you know.” 

Ingrid cackled, hopping up to sit on the wooden counter behind her. “My dear, I have absolutely no clue what you could be talking about.” She shrugged, smirking behind a shared secret. “We do sell more than just the drinks.” You both giggled knowingly, continuing to complete all of the morning to-do’s around the bar.

Ingrid was right- drinks weren’t the only thing your bar was known for. 

There were plenty of booths around the faire where patrons could purchase a drink, but only one where the barmaids would pour beer directly into their mouths while talking dirty to them- and The Naughty Wench just happened to be that booth. 

Originally, the idea had been Ingrid’s- the two of you had been friends for a year now, meeting last year in this exact same spot at Indie Faire and working at what was then a run-of-the-mill beer booth. It was customary at any renaissance faire for bar wenches to proclaim “Huzzah for the tipper!” when presented with a tip of any kind, so neither of you was a stranger to putting on the theatrics when money was dropped into your tip jar. One day, however, Ingrid had put out not one, but two tip jars- one labeled ‘Thank You’, the other labeled ‘Thank You Mistress’. You had laughed at it at first. Then Ingrid started…changing the script. 

A patron would chuckle to themselves, throwing a dollar into the Mistress jar, eyes going wide and cheeks flushing when Ingrid would smile and tell them they were “such a good boy.” 

After a few more, she’d gotten even more creative. “Oh, you thought I only wanted money?” she would croon, holding the beer tauntingly out of their reach. “I want to hear you beg for it, say ‘please, mistress’,” When you’d heard it you’d been appalled, mouth opened wide in shock. You had already prepared yourself for the patron to yell in her face and demand their money back when you’d heard a shy, stuttering “P-please, mistress, can I have my beer?”

Throughout the day, Ingrid’s “Mistress” character only continued to amp up with every hour. At some point, you had joined in, repeating the sultry tones you’d been listening to Ingrid spout easily to strangers and even making up a few responses of your own.

“Only good boys get to drink at the faire, have you been a good boy?”

“You need to say please before you drink- good girl, you’re so very welcome.” 

“Hands behind your back and open wide.”

Word about Ingrid’s sultry tipping strategy circulated quickly. Soon, more and more patrons were lining up at your booth ready to be degraded by pretty girls in tight corsets, and when you started pouring the beer into their mouths, tits pressed up higher on your chest while you leaned seductively over the bartop? People couldn’t get enough. 

The success you’d both had with Ingrid’s brilliant idea had now landed you here- a booth that was dedicated to serving delicious beverages garnished with a splash of degradation. 

Your first patron of the day- a young woman who looked ready to play a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream- stepped up to Ingrid, gazing up at her with a flutter of eyelashes as she ordered a can of beer and shyly dropped a one dollar bill into the jar labeled ‘Thank You, Mistress’. Ingrid smiled, asking “Do you know what that jar is for?” to which the fairy blushed and nodded, giggling. 

“Mm-hm.” 

Ingrid grinned flirtatiously, popped open the beer, and addressed the fairy, “Such tiny little hands you have, they’ll make my can look so huge…”

***

Eddie Munson was vibrating.

At least, he felt like he was. He could barely contain his enthusiasm as he looked around at every sword, every pair of elf ears, every corset- to his left, there was a booth selling handmade leather journals. To his right, a stage where a crowd had begun to gather to watch a group of bagpipe players. In front of him and behind him, a seemingly endless number of nerds who, like him, had found a place where being a weirdo was not mocked, not simply tolerated- but celebrated. 

“I fucking love it here.” Eddie sighed. 

Steve Harrington, whom Eddie was still a little astounded had been convinced to actually go to a renaissance faire, looked overwhelmed already. “I can’t believe there are this many grown adults who wanted to spend the last day of their weekend playing dress-up.” 

“Playing dress-up and getting drunk.” Robin corrected. Unlike Harrington, she had thrown herself into the renfaire spirit completely, showing up in a tasteful pirate outfit that Eddie had a feeling was comprised mostly of oversized pieces she’d found in the men’s section of the thrift store, but she pulled it off. All she was missing were some real swords, which she had already announced she was on the hunt for today. 

“I feel bad for people who are so out of touch with their inner child that they have to get drunk just to put on a costume.” Dustin said matter-of-factly, shooting Steve a judgemental look. Steve balked when he caught it, yapping at Dustin about growing up or the ridiculousness of how much quality costumes cost- something along those lines. Eddie wasn’t listening, he was too busy taking mental note of which booths he needed to come back to before they left; he knew if he ducked inside them now, he would blow all of his money on the first stall they saw, and he was determined to stretch his budget for the day as far as he could. 

“Well I for one think we all look amazing, costume or no.” Robin said decisively. Eddie had to agree. He had spent weeks working on his own costume, digging through his and his friends’ closets to create an ensemble fit for a tiefling bard such as himself. He had fashioned himself a pair of red horns using one of Erica’s old headbands, toilet paper rolls, tin foil, paper mache and black paint. Now, they sat nestled securely among his brown mane of curls. The rest of his outfit had been easy- a blousy-looking shirt from Nancy’s closet that he’d rolled up around the elbows, one of Wayne’s old waistcoats from a suit that hadn’t seen the light of day since Eddie’s parents’ wedding, apparently, a pair of black pants that he’d tucked into his combat boots, and a plethora of accessories. Rings on every finger, every belt he owned slung over his waist or across his torso, one even looped twice around his thigh. Eddie had even gone the extra mile this morning and smudged some of Robin’s red lipstick (he was still amazed that Buckley owned lipstick) around his eyes as a nod to the fact that tieflings’ skin is normally red or blue. To finish off the look, he had even brought along his old acoustic guitar, which was slung over his back to mark him undeniably as a bard.

Eddie thought he looked pretty damn cool. 

The rest of their party had also decked themselves out for the day, Robin with her pirate outfit, Dustin, Mike, Lucas and Will had done a fantastic job of transforming themselves into hobbits for the day. Max, Erica and El hadn’t been able to decide whether they wanted to dress as pirates or fairies- so they’d all chosen both. Now they looked happy as could be, skipping down the dirt path with fairy wings on their backs and plastic swords on their hips. That left Steve as the only normal-looking person in a sea of geeks. 

Eddie chuckled to himself- for once in his life, Steve Harrington was the odd one out while Eddie Munson was effortlessly fitting in. 

“First order of business is turkey legs.” Robin announced, eyes already darting in every direction in search of lunch as she wandered ahead.

Steve mumbled in agreement, along with something about finding something to drink so that he’ll survive the day. Just then, a trio of pretty young women in corsets caught his eye, immediately brightening his mood. He ran a hand through his hair, ready to say something undoubtedly Steve-y to them, when they beat him to the punch. 

“Hi! Um, would you mind taking our picture?” One of them said, shoving a camera in his direction. 

Steve, surprised but not altogether deterred, smiled and took the camera. “I’d be happy to, ladies.” However, he couldn’t hold back his shock when the girls all turned to the four teenage boys. 

“You guys look like you came straight out of Lord of the Rings!” one of them exclaimed. “Best costumes I’ve seen all weekend, honestly.” The girls situated themselves between the blushing boys as they muttered different ‘thank you’s and complimented the girls’ outfits in turn. 

Steve snapped the picture begrudgingly while Eddie slung an arm around his shoulders. “Looks like you’re losing your charm there, Harrington.” he smirked, earning an eye roll from Steve in turn. 

“Yeah, yeah, piss off, Dante’s Inferno.” 

“How have you read Dante but not Tolkien?”

Their bickering was cut short by corset girl retrieving the camera from Steve, then giving Eddie a shy, “I like your horns.” 

Eddie turned his full attention to her with a toothy grin. “‘Preciate it, sweetheart.”

The girls waved goodbye with a thank you, erupting into giggles as they walked away. Steve shook his head in disbelief. “What world did I accidentally cross into where Munson has game and I have none?”

Eddie cackled maniacally, hopping onto a nearby picnic table and swinging his guitar to his front, strumming it a couple of times with a flourish of his hand. 

“You’re in my kingdom now, King Steve!” Eddie plucked the strings of his instrument jauntily, unable to contain his glee. “Here, it pays to be a freak.”

Strum-strum-strum.

Eddie threw a fist in the air. “Huzzah!”

To his surprise, his call was echoed by several patrons and vendors, erupting in a hearty “Huzzah!” from all around him. 

Accepted. Celebrated. Eddie felt at home. 

That’s when Robin came bounding up from behind him, two turkey legs in hand. “Okay, I know where we’re going next.” She sounded excited.

Steve took one of the turkey legs from her hand, eager to get something in his stomach. “And where is that, Robin?” 

She grinned largely, immediately launching into a retelling of a conversation she had had with another patron while waiting in line for the turkey legs, going on several tangents about how surprised she was that the line was short, how the patron had been dressed like a viking and actually had viking tattoos all up and down his arm, how she wasn’t sure how accurate they were but they sure looked cool-

“Robin!” Steve interjected impatiently.

“Right! Sorry! Basically one of the bars has wenches that talk dirty if you give them a tip, and I want to see that in action.”

Steve and Eddie’s eyes grew wide. Steve, hilariously, started to check behind him for the kids as if they were still too young and innocent to be talking about such things even though they were all about to graduate high school already. To his relief, they had all wandered into a booth selling leather goods. 

Eddie responded before Steve could. His lips had curled into a mischievous smile, “Buckley,” he crooned, gesturing for her to lead the way. “I’m gonna need you to tell me more about these wenches.”

***

By noon, the line for your booth was easily at least ten people long and stayed that way no matter how many beers you’d poured. Luckily for the two of you, not every patron at the faire was seeking you out just for the bonus content. Most of them just wanted a drink, which you couldn’t fault them for. After all, nothing went with a summer day quite like a cold, bubbly beverage. 

“Hey,” Ingrid’s voice caught your attention as you took a brief moment to wipe down the drain under the tap while the line had gone briefly shorter. “Remember that conversation we had where I called you out on having a type?”

You laughed, nodding your head. “Yes, I think I do. Why?”

“Tell me what that type was again?”

You sighed, tucking your rag back into your apron and patting your hands dry at your sides. “Let’s see, I think I remember you said long hair was involved-”

“Long dark hair, specifically.”

“-long dark hair, right.” you remedied. You busied yourself with fixing the next patrons’ drink orders as the discussion proceeded. “Tattoos were mentioned, and I think you said something about makeup?”

“You always get all swoony around men wearing eyeliner or some kind of eye makeup. Always. Without fail.”

“Yeah, yeah okay…” you rolled your eyes. She was right, but you hated that you were apparently so obvious about it. 

“I would like to make an educated guess about another thing I think belongs on that list.” Finally turning to face Ingrid, you cocked your head, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Okay, I’ll bite- what else do you think belongs on that list?”

Ingrid grinned, looking pointedly at something over your shoulder. “I think you’re into guys who play guitar.”

You blanched- damn. That had been true since high school, how did she-

You spun around to see whatever Ingrid was focused on behind you, and felt your knees get weak when you found it. There was a man- in his twenties, from the looks of it- dressed as a tiefling bard with a guitar slung over his shoulder. It was true, from looks alone he checked all of your boxes. The long curly hair, the red makeup around his eyes, the tattoos that showed on his forearms… 

“You okay over there, or did my business partner go brain dead for a second?” You heard Ingrid’s smirk before you saw it. She laughed at you good-naturedly when you faintly swatted at her with your cleaning rag. “It looks like they’re headed this way, you take him and I’ll take his blonde pirate friend.” 

You took another look at the man- trying not to be obvious about the fact that you were looking- and noticed this time that he was traveling with two others: the aforementioned blonde pirate and a normal-looking guy who, admittedly, had very nice hair. They did seem to be headed your way; you quickly took a moment to turn around and top off the canteen that hung from the leather belt at your waist with some cold water. You quickly took a sip before turning around to face the counter, and when you did, there he was. 

 “Hi, uh-” his eyes were downcast, hands digging into his pockets for cash. “-can you break a twenty?” Pulling a crumpled bill from a money clip, his gaze met yours under an apologetic brow. Big brown eyes, framed with blood-red smudges- he pulled it off. Tremendously.

You didn’t have to force your service industry smile- it came naturally for him. “With pleasure, noble bard.” You propped your forearms on the wooden bartop, hoping your cleavage was looking particularly stunning at the angle from which he was gazing up at you. “And what sort of beverage might you be craving on this fine day?”

“That’s right, wrap your lips around my tip and drink me down, beautiful-”

Before he could answer, the two of you were both more than a little distracted by Ingrid’s filthy monologue. She held a freshly opened can of beer to the blonde pirate girl’s lips, and you were very impressed with how easily the girl was able to obey the instructions that Ingrid gave every customer who tossed a tip into the Mistress jar- hands behind your back, mouth open, chin up, eyes on me. You and the dark-haired tiefling were both entranced by the sight before you: Ingrid, with the endless stream of dirty words that tumbled from her mouth as she poured bubbly, golden brew down the throat of the tall blonde pirate. 

“-keep that pretty mouth open you little minx, and look up at me as i finish down your throat. Yes, that’s a good girl, and swallow.” Ingrid pulled the can away from her lips with a smile, gazing proudly down at the pirate who sputtered out a soft cough after breathing down some much-needed oxygen. “Good job, darling.” Ingrid crooned. 

The regularly-dressed guy standing behind her stared with wide eyes, and you couldn’t quite tell if he was appalled or impressed. “Oh…my god, Robin!” he guffawed. 

“I’ll.. aha, um-” You refocused your attention to the bard standing before you, a natural blush now creeping into his cheeks beneath the red makeup on his temples. “-I’ll have what she’s having, please.” He nodded to his friend- Robin, apparently. 

You smiled knowingly, taking the twenty from his hands and ignoring the rush you felt when your fingertips brushed his. You made his change, handing him a few fives and ones before giving the Mistress jar a gentle tap. You finished opening his beer just in time to see him toss a five into the jar- a generous tip, since the beer only cost $3. 

You raised an eyebrow, smiling at him appreciatively. “Huzzah for the tipper.” you purred, opting to make the phrase just for him instead of yelling it obnoxiously for all to hear. After all, you were about to be plenty obnoxious already. 

You nodded flirtatiously to direct his attention above you. “See those shackles up there, love?”

His eyes, shining with anticipation and the best kind of nerves, flicked up to what you were referring to- dangling from the wood above the bartop were a pair of metal handles that hung by black-painted chains. They were similar to an actual shackle, but it was obvious that they were there to hold, not imprison. The bard looked back down to you, returning your flirting gaze. 

“I do.” he smirked.

You narrowed your eyes on him playfully. “I’m going to need you to reach up and take hold of them-” He did as he was told, and you admired how his blousy sleeves fell further down to his biceps, showcasing the way his ink stretched over lean muscles. “-oh good boy, you look so good stretched out for me like that. Hold tight now, darling.”

You had to hold back a chuckle at how quickly his flirty eye contact and smirk turned to a pure deer-in-the-headlights expression when you’d called him a good boy. You had an inkling that this guy wasn’t used to being told what to do in this particular way. 

Leaning forward until your cleavage was practically up against his nose, you nodded at him sweetly. “Open that pretty pink mouth for me darling- yes, that’s right, lips around my hole and suck-” Once the can was to his lips, you began pouring a steady stream down his throat. His big doe eyes didn’t know where to look, torn between your eyes and your tits that looked just about ready to pop out of your corset. The rest of the words that tumbled from your mouth were less spoken and more so moaned while you gazed down at this gorgeous little tiefling who- for the next few moments- was completely at your mercy.

“-take it, yes, good boy, take me deep into your throat as you look up at me with those pretty brown eyes. Oh my goodness, you’re so obedient! I love it when a big strong man lets himself be this pretty and stretched out for me as he suckles on my little hole. No, don’t look away, my eyes are up here you wretched little thing- yes, that’s right, oh I only wish I could hear all the pretty noises you make when you take me down deep like this. Yes, you’re going to finish me, aren’t you? Oh yes, you’re going to finish me using that dirty little mouth-” Nearing the end of the can, you poured the last drop down his throat. “-yes, oh that’s a good boy, swallow every drop of me, good job love.”

He sputtered a final swallow, red-faced and breathing deep after chugging an entire can of beer. His eyes were still wide, but now there was also the way he looked at you- like he would do pretty much anything you ever told him to do at the drop of a hat. 

Letting go of the shackles above your head, he managed to catch his breath before checking behind him to make sure he didn’t have a long line of waiting customers. No line had formed, but his blush had deepened when he saw his friends both watching him with smirks that said they were never going to let him live this down. 

“Shit,” he chuckled looking up at you, his personality taking on a slightly more devil-may-care sort of attitude now. “I-uh- I think I blacked out, you might have to say all that again, I didn’t catch it the first time.” 

You laughed, easily shirking the domineering attitude that you exuded for the job and relaxing into what felt natural- soft, sweet, and flirty- with this guy, at least. “Tell you what,” you said, coyly. You weren’t normally one to invite strangers out for drinks, but Ingrid had been right about one thing- this guy was definitely your type. “When the faire closes today, I’ll be at a bar called The Honeybee about ten minutes from here. If I happen to see you there,” you shrugged, and you didn’t miss how his eyes immediately flicked down to your cleavage as the motion made you bounce. “-then we can say all kinds of things to each other.” 

The facial expression on the bard changed in an instant, his expression shifting from innocent and eager to knowing and darkly tempting. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “Are you always as demanding as you were just now, or was that just an act?” 

You knew what he was asking, and part of you wanted to tell him that he’ll have to show up at The Honeybee if he wants to find out, but something in you also wanted him to know the answer to that question- wanted him to know so many things about you it made your head spin. 

“I can go either way and have a great time regardless.” you replied, smiling sweet as a spoonful of honey, and the devilish grin that he gave you in return took the breath from your lungs. 

“Perfect.” he practically growled, “What’s your name?”

You told him, and the way he repeated it on his lips had you pressing your thighs tightly together. “And your name is?”

“Eddie.” he smiled. 

You grinned in return. “Eddie.” you repeated. His name tasted like whiskey and cinnamon on your tongue. “I’ll see you tonight, then.” 

To your surprise, Eddie laughed raucously, hopping back a few paces. “Oh, on the contrary, fair barmaid!” With a flourish, he swung his guitar from his back to his front, strumming a few chords in rapid succession and plucking them in a melody that showed a level of skill that you hadn’t been expecting. After a moment of music, he stopped short and looked up at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Mark my words, my love- you’ll see me again before tonight and you will- without a doubt- hear me before you see me.” 

You let out a surprised laugh, fingers flying up to your mouth to block an obnoxious guffaw from escaping your lips. That only spurred Eddie on more. He made a sort of swatting motion with his hand, gesturing toward your own hand at your mouth. “Away, thou evil hand! How dare ye venture to hide the sweetest of smiles that does bloom on a flower such as this?” He plucked away at his instrument dramatically, as if doing so were a declaration of war. You couldn’t help but humor him, grabbing the offending hand with your other one and firmly clasping both in your lap. 

Eddie smiled, still strumming his guitar. “Aye, and stay away! For there are far better things for pretty hands to do than hide even prettier faces.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down as he began to walk away with his friends. 

Your jaw dropped as you let out a good natured scoff. “And what would the noble bard suggest I do with my pretty hands?” you knew that you practically yelled it, and it caused a few other guests to glance your way questioningly; you didn’t care, it certainly wasn’t the strangest thing you’d said today. 

Eddie’s cackle rang out through the air like electricity during a storm, and your heart did a little backflip when he spun around once before facing you one last time before he was out of your line of sight. “Oh, my lady-” he called, smiling unabashedly, “-I humbly suggest you find the biggest can you have, think of me-” and then the motherfucker winked, “-and use your imagination.”

#comment reply

[rip-quizilla]

Butts

Penis

[rip-quizilla]

Oooooohhh my god

Ok yeah. This is some of your hottest shit yet. Holy fuck. Babe I am REELING.

When part 2 comes out I’m dropping everything to read it. 😩

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

#eddie munson smut #fic recs #fic rec #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader

[rip-quizilla]

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

#TBR

[rip-quizilla]

(source)

Unsplash -  photography, illustration, & art

Pixabay - same as unsplash

Pexels - stock photos and videos

Getty Images - photography & illustration

Veceezy - vectors and clipart

Gumroad - photoshop brushes (and more)

StockSnap.io - stock photos

Canva - needs login but has lots of templates

Library of Congress - historical posters and photos

NASA - you guessed it

Creative Commons - all kinds of stuff, homie

Even Adobe has some free images

There are so many ways to make moodboards, bookcovers, and icons without plagiarizing! As artists, authors, and other creatives, we need to be especially careful not to use someone else’s work and pass it off as our own. 

Please add on if you know any more resources for free images <3

[rip-quizilla]

Knock, knock. Masterlist.

Neighbour! Eddie x Neighbour! Fem! Reader

Series Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone. AFAB!reader. Angst. Fluff. Strong language. Bittersweet ending. Eddie and reader are in their late 20's. Soul mates au sort of? Parallel universes. Horror-esk/creepy vibes.. Hopefully. Flowery prose. Relationship breakdowns. Shitty relationships. I'll add as I go on.

Fic based upon prompt 6 from the amazing Stranger Prompts by @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing and @allthingsjoeq

You move into a new apartment and soon discover that you share a wall with a very noisy neighbor. Loud laughter, talking, and music are a constant companion. When you decide to go over and knock on their door to confront them in person, you find that the apartment is unoccupied and has been for months.

Part 1 - Boundary lines carved from paint and plaster. 1.2k

Part 2 - Whispers from a shadow in the walls. 2.4k

Part 3 - Accusations made in barely lit corridors. 3.3k

Part 4 - Conspiracies made through the hardwood. Coming April 10th.

Part 5 - TBC

Part 6 - TBC

#tbr

[rip-quizilla]

Ily @mmunson86 🥹 y’all follow these writers!! Spread the love♥️♥️♥️

showing some appreciation to all these incredible writers. I know that some of you are new followers to my blog & i wanted to share some of the sweetest & most amazing writers this platform has to offer! if you haven’t yet checked out any of them i strongly suggest you do💗

I hope my blog helps you connect with amazing writers & Eddie Munson content♥️

You all know ill always be here to show y’all my full support in anyway possible🫶🏻💐

Check the first 2 comments of this post for other writers i couldn’t tag because of tumbler only allowing 50 at a time😅

@abibliophobiaa @andvys @boomhauer @bvtbxtch @bettyfrommars @bangaveragewhitewine @bimbobaggins69 @xxbimbobunnyxx @belokhvostikova @corrodedseraphine @carolmunson @crookedteethed @eddiesghxst @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @eddiemunsons80sbaby @eddiesxangel @eddies-house @eddiernunson @emsgoodthinkin @eddiethefreakkmunson @figmentofquinn @gaybybirth @ghost-proofbaby @impmunson @hellfiremunsonn @hellowhisperingstars @hellfire--cult @keeksandgigz @kiwi-bitchez @lesservillain @lokis-army-77 @lofaewrites @littledemondani @munsonology @m0llygunn @madelynraemunson @natti-ice @oneforthemunny @pinkrelish @trashmouth-richie @taintedcigs @rip-quizilla @reysorigins @stveharringtn @songforeddiemunson @strangemagicc @str4ngergirlw0rld @the-unforgivenn @theold-ultraviolence @urhoneycombwitch

[rip-quizilla]

For old times sake is actually such a heartbreaking and beautiful sentiment. Like, let’s do it for the love that used to be here. It is reason enough.

[rip-quizilla]

Rooting for you Bug🥺

bug's to-do list:

rewrite my entire findings section for my dissertation

start (and finish) my slides for class

start revising my introduction

make edits to my practitioner draft

finish job applications

finish journal cover letter

scream into the void

will report back tomorrow with my degree of success 🫡

[rip-quizilla]

more Lyendecker Eddie inspired by The Shire is NOT on Fire by @kissesforcas on AO3

alt version and ref under the cut

[rip-quizilla]

RAAAAAAAAHHHH IT’S HERE IT’S HERE

CW: Rough sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, Kas!Eddie becomes more Kas than Eddie... basically, it's very self-indulgent monsterfucking with possessive!Kas!Eddie Just how we like it 😉

Word Count: 4.1K

Summary: Reuinted and it feels so good

A/N: If you have not read And I Need You to Know, I strongly suggest you start with that story. This particular fic begins right where AINYTK leaves off, and it would be a little confusing to begin with this one. Merely a suggestion, of course. If you're a child of chaos and wanna do this your own way, WELCOME MY FRIEND!!

Waking the Fallen Masterlist

And I Need You to Know Masterlist

November 1986

Hey, sweetheart.

Two words, spoken in the breath of a moment, change the trajectory of your entire life.  Two endlessly brown eyes, their vibrancy so close to fading in your mind to nothing more than a mere memory now bore devotion and need into the depths of yours.  The strength of it restarts your heart, brightens the color palette of your entire surroundings.

Here he stands in front of you, a figure no longer shrouded in mist and darkness, and you feel as if the sun has risen inside you again.

Trembling fingers trace the angle of his jaw.  “I was right, wasn’t I?” you whisper as your pads encircle the chilly skin under his curls.  “You’re alive.”

Eddie sighs, his head tilts a gentle angle while a sad smile tugs at his plush, cherry-red lips.  The way he hesitates pulls your brows together in subtle concern.  

“I promised I’d come back for you.”

There’s a strange feeling that accompanies that declaration, a curious bubbling in your brain that warns you of something he’s keeping hidden.  You want him to expand, to tell you more, to tell you everything about where he’s been – but a fiery want bursts into flames and devours you whole.

Those fingers tighten their hold in his hair.  “Fucking took you long enough.”

You waste no more time.  A firm mashing of lips, melting and molding as months of longing spills over your mouth in desperate pants and the pressing of your body against his.  There’s a bit of deliberation with how Eddie returns your passion, a coolness in the way his familiar touch roams over the planes of your back.  It’s a sixth sense, a fear that he’s hedging again pangs deep in your chest, and your mouth opens up against his in a wordless plea for more.  Harder you try to bridge this perceived distance, taking all you can as your tongue tangles with his.  A sharp breath catches in your throat as you taste him – or rather, the lack of him.  Deeper you delve, frantically searching for what was lost all those months ago, and instead you’re met with nothing.

An absence of the essence that made him Eddie.

It’s a problem for a different moment in time because right now, your need surpasses all logic that screams at you to stop.  A hunger for him claws at your insides, literally hanging on his solid frame as if you’ll lose him again.  It’s like he feels how frightened you are, how tenuous his appearance actually is, and Eddie balks. 

“Sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips that have glued to his, “wait –”

The indignant snort that escapes is as rough as it is petulant.  “I can’t, I’ve waited for you for so long, please –”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says in a rush of hands that both wish to explore and impede, “I – I’m not me –”

The admission doesn’t surprise you, not in the least.  Of course you’re aware he’s different.  You were content to leave it unaddressed.  Somehow, that felt safer – and saying it out loud shatters the childish facade of make-believe like a bullet through glass.  

“I don’t care,” you whine, pulling your body impossibly closer to his to drive home your point.  “I’m not scared of you or, or – I just – Eddie,” your whimper comes at the tail end of a sob, “please – I need you!”

Eddie’s control crumbles the instant he hears how your lips pout around his name.  A swift set of hands lifts you from the backs of your legs off the ground, slotting your core flush against his fly.  He’s so fast – in the blink of an eye he has you against the trunk of an old elm, the corrugated cracks blunted by the thick material of your sweatshirt.  A pitiful mewl escapes as your sex drags along the length that strains under dirty denim, crescendoing into a drawn-out moan as Eddie’s hands are coaxed underneath layers of cotton.  

“Fuck,” he gruffs into your neck, “you’re so warm.”

The chill of his touch makes you shiver, but not enough to quell the fire that roars for him inside.  “Baby, please…”

Eddie complies.  The restraint that bound his hands unwinds as the softness of your skin is explored once again.  Your head drops back on your shoulders, reveling in his touch that’s now turned cold.  A moan escapes you as his large hands palm the underside of your breasts, squeezing and kneading supple flesh with well-practiced precision.  His lips are everywhere, along your jaw, against your mouth, your forehead, your eyelids – kisses that come in the dozens and has you breathless as you try to keep pace.  

The embers of your mutual desire flare white-hot with every passing second, drawing close to dousing you both in gasoline, fueling what’s been smoldering under the surface for ages.  Just like before, it’s what he says that catches you on fire.

His words are heated, flames that burn so hot they turn cold against your skin.  That ice travels with soft purses of his lips over your throat and into your hair.  

“Shit,” he breathes, low and full of that intensity you’ve craved, “you smell like Emerson.”  The gravel in his tone rolls like thunder over his name.  “He’s all over you.”

Your writhing against his body ceases at the mention of Gareth, fear pools hot in your veins as the traitorous thumping of your heart echoes like a drum.  There's a desire to deny, to assure him – but you know he appreciated the change in your demeanor as soon as it happened.  It’ll do you no good to lie.

His nose nudges into your hair as his lips brush the shell of your ear.  “You need to smell like me,” there’s a wickedness in how he growls your name, “gonna have to show you that you’re mine.”

Air whooshes from your lungs in a hurry, your mouth hangs agape as you find yourself under Eddie, pinned against a forgotten bed of fallen leaves.  The horizon doesn’t even have time to tilt; you’re spun so fast from your upright position that it takes a moment to gather your bearings.  Though the sky is still a bleak shade of steel and gray, there’s a glow beneath Eddie’s skin that has you blinking away the strain from the back of your eyes.

Twin pools of ever-darkening espresso brown bore into your own.  “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah,” you husk, hardly recognizing your own voice behind the thick coat of lust and longing.  “I’m yours.”

A devious chuckle tumbles from blood-red lips.  “Are you?” He dips his head along the column of your throat, sucking in a long, drawn out inhale through his nose.  “Because it seems like you need me to remind you.”

Your stomach knots, tying into an ominous bow of penitence and passion.  Flashes of his face, of the one that still waits for you at home explodes over the dense screen of black behind lids shut tight.  

You can’t feel for two people at once, and so in this moment, you don’t. 

“Please.”  It’s softer this time, almost apologetic, how you beg for Eddie to save you from the war that rages in your heart.  

“Please what, princess?”

“Remind me.”

“That’s a good girl,” you can feel the sandpaper in his tone grate over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.  “Gonna have you so full of me you won’t know which way is up.”  

And you don’t.  So consumed in the way Eddie’s lips rove over your skin, so lost in the way your fingers wind again through his curls, you allow yourself to fall headlong into everything you’ve craved for the better part of the year.  It’s his presence that overwhelms you, has you feeling like you’re floating through a dream, clinging to him as he kisses every inch of your skin.  You’re so enveloped in all that is Eddie that you don’t realize the chill you feel is a direct consequence of a bare lower half, the man that had been pressing kisses along your collarbone has now stripped your legs of your sweatpants in one long swipe of agile hands.   

Of their own accord, your thighs part for him.  Eddie groans, a sonorous rumble in his chest when he sees you exposed, just for him.  A dangerous thread of crimson swirls between the whiskey browns of his eyes, pinning that gasp in the back of your throat with just one look from his position at the apex of your legs.  

It escapes anyway, an elongated moan of his name as he licks a firm, broad stripe over the gusset of your ruined panties.  The strength, the smoothness of his tongue is so much more than what you remember; impossibly softer and longer, reaching deep inside you after he snakes beneath the soaked fabric with a swift twist and thrust.

“Fuuck – Eddie!”

“There she is,” he rasps against your cunt, tearing your underwear away with a precise slash of a taloned finger.  “There’s my girl.”  

Ecstasy washes over you, igniting your insides with electric lust as hot, wet licks and sucks from those plush lips work over your core.  The heat of his touch reduces you to a shell, mindless and blank as he fucks you on his tongue.  A sound other than the rhythmic whimpering and panting of his name interrupts; a weathered, grand scale unfurling of something otherworldly and unfamiliar fills your senses and has you fighting your own pleasure to wrench open your lids and look.

Wild, wide eyes can’t decide where to focus first.  It’s a shock, honing in on the broad, leathery wings that stretch across the sky in all of their beauty and grandeur, shielding your bodies in an inky, translucent dome. 

“Look at me, baby.” Eddie calls you to him, away from how his body looks suspended in midair as he hovers over your form.  “Eyes on me while I fuck you.”

You’re a babbling mess, hindering more than helping when your fingers tangle with his as he works over the buckle on his belt.  Obvious need tickles over the skin of his low belly, devoid of its usual warmth.  Luckily, all that warmth still swirls over his features, drawing the corners of his mouth wide in a Cheshire grin.

“Easy now,” he chuckles, shoving the waist of his jeans past your needy fingers down to his thighs, “I’ll take care of you.”

A gasp of his name tumbles from your kiss-swollen lips when the band of tattered blue-checked boxers finally frees his cock.  It hangs heavily between his legs, a thicker and more daunting sight than you remember.

And oh, how you remember.  

Words evade you, even as you trail a tentative hand along the path blazed by his happy trail.  “I –”

Your stammering over the sheer size of his cock darkens the hard lines of his face.  “Say it.”

“S-say –”

“Say it,” he demands again, head tilting to the side as he waits.  “I know what you’re thinkin’.  Wanna hear you say it.”

He leans forward, snickering as you suck in a breath while he guides the overly thick head through your folds.  “Eddie, god – y’so big –”

A gentle push inside still stretches you to your limit, and the whine that bubbles from the back of your throat is loud enough to drown him out.  But somehow, you still hear him rasp,

“Be Daddy’s good girl and take it.”

Eddie bottoms out in one thrust, and despite his command to keep your eyes on him, you succumb to the sharp, searing pleasure that becomes synonymous with pain.  Tears spring to the corners of your eyes almost immediately, leaking from lids that squeeze tighter with every rough snap of his hips.  

He’s so deep, like he’s reached every part of you.  “Eddie, oh!”

“Who?” the man above you challenges.  “Who am I?”

Your tongue is so heavy, unable to form a singular thought beyond how his massive length feels as he rearranges your insides.  “D-daddy –”

“That’s right.  Tell Daddy how it feels,” he husks, breath puffing against your cheek, “tell me how deep I am inside of you.”

Your jaw hangs slack over words that just won’t form.  He holds you tighter, impossibly closer; the juxtaposition between the way he cradles your face between his unnaturally large hands and how fast he fucks you is laughable – if you posessed any of the faculties to laugh.  

You might not, but Eddie sure as hell does.

“Have I already fucked you stupid?” Eddie scoffs over an incredulous laugh, rutting into you so hard you can feel how your body bounces on his cock.  “Or did someone else screw the words out of my girl while I was gone?”  Flashing a wicked smile as you whimper, he clicks his tongue.  “No way it was Emerson.  Boy doesn’t have the balls.”

It feels like he’s taunting, like he’s trying to draw the truth from your lips with the heavenly drag of his cock through your cunt.  A truth that you worry he already knows – and what’s unexpected is how much that thrills you.  

You want him to know.  You want him to submit to the dirtiest impulses, to have him possessive of what has always been his.  It’s terrifying how fast he’s wound you up, how swiftly his body moves against yours.  It was clear from the moment you saw him that something had changed, but not an ounce of you expected this.  Your sweet, reverent Eddie is gone – replaced with a beast of a man intent on claiming you in every sense of the word.

Perhaps more terrifying is your willingness, the staggering, all-encompassing desire to submit to his needs.  

You want him to own you.

His tone is ruthless, matching the relentless pace his cock pistons in and out of your aching, sodden hole.  “Anyone else make you feel this good?”  He grabs your chin, his forefinger taps your cheek for attention.  “Huh?”

You can hardly see him, the massive outline of his form blurred by the tears that flood your lashline.  “Eddie –”

“Answer me.”

“No,” your voice is thick, but firm nonetheless.  “No one else…”

“That’s what I thought.”

It’s animalistic, the way he takes you on the forest floor.  Breathy grunts and pants are swallowed by his mouth that devour yours, that steal your air but breathe life inside you all the same.  He keeps his pace, keeps you suspended on that razor-thin wire between pleasure and pain. 

“Take it,” he grits, disengaging from your lips with a sloppy pop and ragged inhale.  His ember eyes flash as he coos, “Know you can take it baby, c’mon.  Know it’s big, but you can take it.”  Eddie smiles as you mewl, arching your back further off the dirt to meet his thrusts.  “Fuckin’ made for me.”

There begins the filthy stream of consciousness, his dirty erotic narrative of your passion tumbles from his lips in smoky promises drenched in ardor and lust.  Every sentence is full of meaning, punctuated with harsh thrusts and snapping of hips that have you chanting your nonsensical replies like a prayer.

You and your tight little pussy were made for me.

That’s right, say my name. 

Fuckin’ you so full, aren’t I?

Gonna show you again and again that you’re mine.

Lemme hear all those pretty sounds, baby.  

Christ, she’s just suckin’ me in, isn’t she?  Can't get enough of Daddy’s cock, can ya, sweetheart?

Gettin’ tight – fuck, you’re gettin’ so tight.  You’re gonna come, aren’t you?

Before you can gasp out a broken yes, Eddie hooks an arm under your leg and hitches your knee near your chest.  You belt a high-pitched ahh! to the canopy you can scarcely make out behind the thick screen of his wings, mouth agape with raw, unhinged bliss.  His cockhead drives against that sensitive spot deep inside you, manhandling your lower half to meet his hips with every stroke.  He’s come undone, grunting and panting as he chases his high; and suddenly, you feel it shift.

A dense foreboding casts long shadows, even as you lie protected by his shield of muscle and leather.  The air grows cold and though your pleasure mounts, you feel detached, like you’re watching it all happen from above.  Any semblance of control, of equality in this maddening bit of fucking has gone – and for the first time ever with him, you feel fear wrap its steely claws around your throat, effectively silencing you.

Eddie’s hand leaves its position at your hip, dropping the angle at which you meet his thrusts and angling his cock deeper, away from that glorious position that holds the key to your release.  Your chin is pinched between his thumb and first two fingers in a grip stronger than a vice.  Before you know it, you’re inhaling quick bursts of air tainted with the damp essence of dirt and decaying leaves.  He’s got your face held so firmly, cheek smashed into the ground as he plows into you, the lightning-fast drop of his head your only warning before a sultry swath of his breath fans over skin stretched tight.

A low, menacing rumble emanates from his chest and promptly drops your heart out of yours.  Without breaking his tempo, Eddie runs his tongue along your bounding pulse, thumping wildly in rhythm with the panic that sings through your veins.

Until you hear a sharp intake of breath.  A pause, brief as ever but still enough, slows the roll and drag of his hips until you’re met with nothing more.  Shuddering breaths wrack Eddie’s shoulders so much they shake, and carefully, finally – your man releases the hold he has on your chin and gingerly guides your face to meet his gaze.

He looks terrified, dark brown eyes so anxious they’ve turned amber in new light that filters in from your surroundings.  “Oh, Christ – I’m so sorry.”

You know he can feel you trembling, and for a moment, you consider hiding it from him.  You consider brushing this off, blaming it on getting lost in the moment, though you know – you know – that’s not at all what happened.  

Something changed, and it scared you half to death.  There’s no hiding from him how hard your heart pounds behind your sternum, how you still have unshed tears gathering along your waterline.  A subtle pucker of your bottom lip under your top, the most meager of pouts to anyone that doesn’t know you as well as he does; it’s hardly noticeable.  Barely a barometer for all of the conflicting emotions that rage inside your chest.

But it’s there.  

As soon as he sees it, Eddie’s face crumples.  “Oh, my sweet girl, I –”  He draws in a shallow breath, and then another to ground himself.  “It’s too much, too rough.” Eddie grimaces as your eyelids flare, spotting a brief look at the points of two ivory daggers flanking his incisors.

He swallows, his Adam’s apple clicks audibly.  Wiping the dirt from your cheek with the smooth pad of his thumb, he attempts to explain.  “I can’t help it.  Fuck, I thought I could help it and it got away from me, and I –”

The pain in his tone slices a shallow gash through your heart as he whispers your name.  “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Eddie’s chest still heaves with every staggering breath he takes, and you take a moment, using it for yourself.  In, out.  In, out.  Clarity descends, despite how he’s still hot and hard inside you.  The truth, one you’d never believe had you not been educated long ago about the presence of monsters beneath your feet, becomes apparent.  

A need – Eddie’s need – becomes apparent.

Instinct, much like his, washes over you in a wave. Craning your neck, you offer the supple flesh and the life that rushes just beneath the surface.  

“Take me.”

He inhales so fast it sounds like a hiss.  In a flash of tongue and teeth, those elongated fangs are out, flirting with the inevitable.  A delicious graze of sharp, stinging pain as they press and pinch a mark into paper-thin tissue.  Eddie’s cock twitches in anticipation.

That, you can feel.  Your answer is a knowing hum, a low murmur full of intention so he doesn’t mistake an ounce of what you mean. 

“Own me.”

He almost does.  You don’t quite understand what massive amounts of self-control are needed in this moment to close his lips over his new set of sharpened teeth, to pull away from the very essence of you that calls to him with every frenetic beat of your heart.

But he does it.  Eddie removes himself from the temptation that bounds along the smooth column of your throat.   

The shake of his head is imperceptible, he’s pained as he chokes out, “Not yet.”  Opening your mouth to protest, his curls bounce with a familiar, stubborn interjection.  “Baby,” he rasps, rough with strain, “I don’t trust myself.”

“I do.”

Another sad smile, this time, you swear his oxblood eyes shine with tears.  “I don’t.”  

He smothers you in feather-soft, languid kisses before you can reply.  Your eyes roll back into your head as he resumes, moving in and out of you so mind-bendingly slow and steady.  Shuddering breaths mingle in the minute space between lips chapped and marred with passion, every pump in and out of your heat stokes the flames of your desire.  The effort to suppress all instinct has muscles tensing to their limit in his neck, his shoulders; defined cords stretched tight under hardened marble skin that twitch and beg for more.  Restraint is willed, fleshed out in the sweetest of kisses, the gentlest nudge of his cock against that spot deep within that has you seeing stars as you chant his name.

Restraint is found as Eddie makes love to you beneath the fantastical protection of his own conjuring.  The shift in him is palpable and intentional, all the more apparent with how he holds you close and whispers the words you’ve so longed to hear.

I love you.

I love you. 

I love you.

Your release surges forth, and with a cry to the sliver of sky that peeks through the overlapping leather of his wings, your body lets go.  He works you through it, dragging his length through your cunt that clenches around his cock with such force that it punches the breath from his lungs.  Eddie isn’t far behind, and as soon as he’s sure he’s worked you through all of what you have to offer, he detonates, painting your sodden walls with his spend.

Every moment is spent in arms that draw you closer with every lazy roll of his hips, twin climaxes peaking and then floating back to earth.  A gentle rock back and forth as you descend through the ether, as if you’re lying beneath him in a rowboat as it's cradled by nature’s gentle wake.  This finale is all so opposite, so terribly different from how it started – the emotional whiplash of your tryst and all other feelings repressed is suddenly just too much.

You know this is where you want to be, you know this is what you’ve craved for so, so long – but conflicted you remain.

Eddie may have placed you in the most beautiful bed of roses, but in this moment, as the creeping shadow of guilt slithers up from the ground and snakes over your body…

All you can feel are the thorns.

There is a balm in those beautiful brown eyes, an elixir that heals the cracks in your heart in how he murmurs your name as he sees the first tears fall.  He's quick to kiss them away, a peck here and there as they slide down your cheeks.  It's a comfort, a blessing to have these kisses back, to feel them on this side of reality - but that truth doesn't stop them from coming, nor does it stop the sobs from wracking your frame.  

Somehow, your man understands.  A newfound strength is present in the sinew of his arms as he cradles your body close and holds you while you let down your defenses.  For once, you're glad to cry - not aggravated with how you gasp and heave through bone-wrenching sobs.  Because this time, it's different.  

Mending what's broken is painful, as you well know... but today, you're content to succumb to this type of pain.  This pain is the kind that heals.

Soon, your cries die out.  Your shoulders stop shaking, and you finally catch your breath.

“Eddie,” your answer trembles as it spills from your lips, “where in the fuck have you been?”

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #vampire!eddie #kas!eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie smut #wtf #waking the fallen