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eddieslooneymoonie · 3 days

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No way this popped up on my home page when I was just thinking abt it-

So funny actually I read this way before I started following you Somna! I had no idea you wrote this it’s one of my absolute favorites!

I thought I’d never see it again and BAM right on top

You are so talented lovely I lov how you write Eddie, it keeps him alive<3

art student!reader x life drawing model!Eddie Munson

E 18+, so nsfw Words: 7048 read on ao3

find the sequel here

Paint It Black Summery: You’re frustrated with your latest work and look for distraction by attending the open life drawing class on what looks like a very ordinary Thursday. Eddie, the new model, is everything but ordinary but definitely a distraction.

CW/tags: characters somewhere in their twenties, meet-wild, smut, fluff, some sort of voyeurism/public erection, gets a little rough, unprotected sex, piv penetration, oral for everybody, v fingering, biting, love marks, talky sex, aftercare, art school bullshit, messy sex, artsy sex (I guess), love at first sight (I guess)

A/N: @edsforehead made me do it. (thank you so much)

comments and reblogs are so appreciated

The air is cold, stinging your cheeks as you ride your bike through a clear and crisp winter morning. It does wonders for waking you up and clearing your mind; you had spent way too long in your studio last night, hovering over this painting that just wouldn’t go the way you wanted. Inside your mind, you hoisted it off the wall to place it right in the middle of the room, a bucket of thick black paint in one hand, the other one dipping in until the medium reached your wrist. You drop down to your knees and get to work, blacking the wretched thing out one large swoop of your arm after another, sending hours of work into oblivion.

Oh my, it was so tempting. Your fingertips tickle with the urge to turn your frustration into something wild and rough and… simple.

But your Professor had sworn to make your life very hard if he ever got wind of you destroying one of your works again, so you followed the advice he had given you: You had decided to take a break. Do something different, something simple, something rewarding and easy to clear your mind to recharge your drained batteries.

So it is Thursday and you crawled out of bed after four measly hours of sleep to go to the life drawing class. You are early as always to get one of the good spots. The small auditorium is still empty except for your teacher who is busy untangling the cords of the various space heaters that will keep the model warm for the next hours.

“Ah,” he says as he sees you, “haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Yeah, been busy wasting paint.” You smile and walk down the steps of the middle aisle and drop your bag on the best chair: first platform, second chair on the right from the aisle. It had the perfect distance and angle and the top of the backrest of first row to put your feet on so you could rest your paper on your thighs and wouldn’t have to struggle through two hours and a half hours of numb feet.

“Good decision to waste some graphite instead today,” your teacher says and grins. “I’m excited to see your progress.”

You hum, unpacking your supplies. “Who’s the model today? Someone familiar?”

“No, actually, I finally could recruit someone new. He should already be here though. Maybe he has difficulties finding us.” The building was old and could be confusing if you never set foot in it before.

“He,” you say, sharpening your pencil. “Guess it’s my lucky day.”

Male models were rare - maybe two out of ten sessions - and you start to get excited about coming in today.

Your teacher climbs up the stairs past you, “I’ll go and see if he’s wandering around somewhere.”

—

The room fills with students; you say your How are you?’s and What are you working on?’s and when the clock shows 9:37, you brace yourself for the session getting cancelled. Just then, the door opens and your teacher hurries down the stairs.

“Good morning everybody. Sorry for the delay, our model got lost in our hallways. Let’s hear: anybody working on something particular and has some requests for poses?”

You crane your neck up to the back of the room towards the overflowing coat rack while your teacher keeps going through the usual procedure.

The model’s back is turned and you see a long black coat being shrugged off of lean shoulders and underneath: more black. Black lines of ink meandering out of the sleeves of a black shirt; a harsh contrast against pale skin. Ringed hands come up to the back of his head to put the long dark wavy hair into a bun.

No! you plead internally, surprised by that strong reaction.

He chooses the far left aisle down, almost disappearing behind the rows of students but your eyes follow him with a burning curiosity as if you wouldn’t get the chance to look at him for hours in a moment. You shake your head and open your sketchbook to do just anything but stare. There was a difference between observing and staring and the latter wasn’t fucking appropriate inside this room.

“Everybody,” your teacher announces, “this is Eddie. Eddie has never done this before so be patient and just let him know if he’s moving too much.”

You look up and grind your teeth. This Eddie is fucking gorgeous.

“Uhm, hi!” he smiles into the room then looks back at your teacher. “So, uh, I just get naked or what?”

Everybody laughs, but you don’t. You’re taking a long slow breath.

“That’s the general idea,” your teacher grins. “You can put your things on that table in the corner and then just come back to this spot.”

But Eddie does not move to the mentioned corner, he simply pulls off his shirt and throws it the distance to the table. More tattoos come to light; all black, no color. He then kicks off his shoes and you watch his fingers as they open his belt and his fly, how they lodge into the hem of his black, frayed jeans and pull them down in one swoop. There are giggles as he throws the bundle, aiming at the table like he’s at the bowling alley, completely naked.

And then you realize, Eddie didn’t wear any underwear.

“The rings too, please.”

“Oh, sure.” He picks them off his fingers; one two three from one hand and one more from the other. Eddie looks at them on his palm for a moment and grins. “Nah, not gonna throw those.”

The class giggles again as Eddie takes two three long strides to the table to put his rings down carefully and prances back, taking his spot in the middle of the small platform surrounded by space heaters.

There is a soft crack coming from your lap and you look down to see that you had pushed your pencil to the paper so hard that you’d broken the tip.

—

It’s as always: a series of short poses to warm up. One minute, then three and up from there.

Except it is not like always. You're flustered, you’re hot and you spend way too long staring, not finishing any of the one-minute poses.

This has never happened to you before and you had been presented with a lot of good-looking people over the years but this guy was something else.

Three-minute poses and Eddie is slouched back in a chair, long legs spread, left arm resting on top of his head, the right one on his thigh. This was sinful. You just corrected the angle of his left thigh for the third time when you look up and find him looking right back at you. No lost glance into the distance over your shoulder, no: your eyes meet. And those eyes are big and dark and curious and he holds the gaze for several seconds before the timer beeps and announces the change of poses.

He’s not only beautiful and scorching hot but also incredibly adorable. He’s giddy between poses, shaking his arms and legs - and with that his cute little ass - bouncing on his toes and you start to think that holding still normally isn’t his forte. When he lies on his belly, soft gaze on the floor, he tries to stifle a yawn once, twice and only lets it out when he’s allowed to move again. You like his dedication.

Five-minute poses and you finally get into the flow; things start to make sense on the paper until you find him looking at you again. And not only that: he mouthes a small 'Hi'. You bite your lip and look down, feeling the looks of some of the students on you.

He’s cross-legged, leaning back, hands braced on the ground behind him. The angle is weird and it doesn’t help that the way his lean, inked chest moves every time he takes a breath makes you want to bite down on those sharp collarbones. You hold your sketchpad in your outstretched arms doing those quick back-and-forth glances to find out where to correct the mess when his eyes move back to you. Every time you meet his gaze makes your spine tingle more and more and you have to bite down on your lip again to not let a fucking noise slip from your mouth.

Ten-minute poses and your teacher has made it to you to give you some feedback. Nothing you hadn’t expected: you go about it too complicated, want to do too much in too little time, too much detail. Eddie is stretched out on his back and smirks towards the ceiling.

On the next round of feedback, he tells you to really look at Eddie’s hips. You get the angle wrong, it throws off the stance, and you know why all your stupid drawings look a little wonky: you try to avoid looking at his cock for too long. You never thought about a penis as a cock before in this class and it drives you up the walls seeing it twitch slightly while your teacher keeps explaining things you already know and you’re forced to stare at Eddie's crotch, knowing he's side-eying you and your flustered expression the whole. Damn. Time.

Eddie gets a brief pause to stretch and have some water and you want revenge. While his back is turned to you - shoulder blades rippling deliciously under his skin - you open the top two buttons of your blouse, sliding the collar off your shoulder.

One final five-minute pose before the session ends with a twenty-fiver and Eddie is crouched down with his knees pulled under his chin. He shuffles a little before he really settles, tilting his head slightly in a way that forces him to look in your direction unless he wants to lower his eyes to the floor for five minutes.

When he finally looks up, you’re waiting for him, head titled yourself exposing the side of your neck down to your shoulder where your bra strap is barely holding onto your skin.

Eddie’s eyes widen and you smile, tongue poking out just a little to lick your bottom lip before you focus on the paper in your lap to roughly map out the pose. You don’t linger on him while you draw, quick glances only, but you can feel his gaze heavy on you.

This sketch is turning out to be the best so far. You lean back a little, biting down on the back of your pencil and start rolling your shoulders. One gets stiff sitting like that for so long, so people stretch all the time and nobody will notice that you’re giving Eddie a little show. You tilt your head to the right and run a hand over the muscles in your neck, massaging the achy spot right beyond your skull for a moment. When you give in to look down at him, you do it from under your lashes, taking the pencil stuck in your mouth between two fingers and let your tongue play with it ever so slightly.

Eddie takes a deep breath; you can see it in the way his shoulders rise and his knees are pressed forward. You grin and he pulls up his brows and you can’t tell if he begs you to stop or go on.

Twenty-five-minute pose and the crowd demands him to stand.

“Twenty-five minutes of standing is ok?” your teacher asks Eddie, who hasn’t jumped up like a spring toy after the timer rang.

“Uhm, yeah,” he says, legs still drawn to his torso. “Sure thing, uh-hn.”

It takes him another beat to push himself up and come to a stand. Your eyes wander from the top of his cheeks, tinted in a pretty pink, down to those hips to find him not exactly half hard, but on a good way to it. You feel your eyes roll up.

Shit.

Your teacher instructs him how to stand, feet wider apart - a little more, perfect - arms crossed over his chest which too is now slightly pink. His biceps’ flex a few times as he waits for more instructions.

“Can you turn a little, to the left?” a guy in the top row asks and Eddie does.

“Like this?”

Like this you get him in a three-quarter-view and your heart is racing; will he look at you again or did you push it too far?

“Anything else?” your teacher asks and you want to bite down on your tongue but instead it’s moving and forming words.

“Can we have the hair down for this last one?”

Eddie’s head snaps up, catching you in the middle of your request. He pinches his eyes shut at the approval of your fellow students. Below the waist, he’s twitching again.

Loosening his hair tie, Eddie musses around in his dark waves with practised fingers until he seems satisfied with what he sees in the mirror across the room. You suppress a moan, breaking the tip of your pencil again. He’s not looking at you, this time choosing to turn down his eyes while his face points in your general direction again. You curse at yourself internally; you should have just gone to him after the session and slipped him your number or asked him if he was busy after this while the both of you were still flooded with whatever this was and—

Shit!

Whatever Eddie is thinking while not looking at you did not help with what was going on in his loins. That pretty cock was getting bigger: half-hard-hello! And judging by his current state, he was big. You involuntarily grind your hips on your chair and drop your pencil in the process. A groan escapes you, sounding much too pleasant for a case of dropped art supplies and you bend down to get it back. When you come up, brown eyes are waiting for you. There is a smile playing around them while his pretty pink lips are slightly pressed together. Thank god he doesn’t look mad or annoyed, only the blush giving away that something was going on.

You can’t help it, you’re biting your lip, eyes wandering between his face and his cock and his brows draw slightly together before he averts his eyes again, breathing a few times: deep and slow.

Deep and slow.

Holy shit you are throbbing and wet and all you can do is fake another stretch and while shuffling around, press your thighs together for a little bit of friction. You tilt your hips down slightly and the sensation is so good and welcome that your eyes pinch close and your back arches. The movement is jerkily and you stretch your arms over your head to conceal it, slowly opening your eyes again.

Eddie is watching. Eddie is hard.

You grab your pencil and start drawing the spectacle in front of you; concentration isn’t the right word for the sharp focus that settles over you. It’s fucking lust.

It’s not the first hard-on you’ve seen in this class, not by any means. It happens now and then and usually a slight blush from the model was the only reaction. But this wasn’t any hard dick: you did this. You did this to this gorgeous man and you wanted to capture this with your own hands. In case he just bolted right after the session, you would have something to remember this.

You’re leaning in, literally, sketch pad balancing on your knees and bent over your thighs you almost forget the additional loosened buttons on your blouse until you catch those eyes directed at your chest. Seems like Eddie figured the damage was done anyway so why hold back now?

And fucking hell was that precum glistening at the tip?

This is when the timer starts announcing the end of class.

Eddie shoots you one final look, a sharp grin, a slight shake of the head, tips of his hair tickling his shoulders and hops off his little platform to get dressed.

“Holy shit,” says the guy next to you, leaning over. “Have you seen that dick?”

You huff a laugh that throbs in your pussy. “Hard to overlook.”

“Exactly,” he groans and picks up his things.

—

You look at drawings of Eddie of all kinds. They are all beautiful, even the bad ones. You rub your forehead catching that corny thought and look across the room where Eddie is talking to two people, gesturing to the drawings on the floor, laughing. The two of you are slowly moving towards each other. The journey consists of looking, talking: This is a good one! and That one is crap, right? and glancing to your right. You reach the row with your own stuff, groaning internally at how very off everything looks, everything but two.

Suddenly, a chest presses to your back and an arm sneaks past you to point at a drawing.

“That’s amazing.”

The explosion in your insides barely travels to your voice and you’re impressed with yourself. He even smells amazing. “Thank you.”

“Oh, that’s one of yours then?”

You turn to face him. The smile on his face is obscene.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Eddie.”

The smile shrinks a little and his nostrils flare with the air he pulls in. His voice is low and deep when he speaks. “You… uh, made that a very hard job to do.”

“I’m almost sorry,” you croon. His face is way too close; one uptilt of your head and you could bite his plush bottom lip.

“Don’t be,” he licks the spot you just imagined nibbling on. “I didn’t start it for nothing.”

You both jump when someone hijacks your moment. “Those detailed studies are really nice.”

“Yeah, right?” Eddie says with genuine enthusiasm. “Almost the only ones who got some of my tattoos…”

“Uhg, tattoos are hard in that short time, man and you know, not really anatomy.”

The exchange goes back and forth a little longer until Eddie loops his arm under yours and not so causally pulls you in the direction you’d come from under the disguise of looking at sketches.

“So, uh, what are you doing, like, right after this?”

“You, I hope.”

“Shit…” he shakes his head, hair falling into his face. “You’re killing me already… where do you want to go?”

You think about this for a moment, greedy and soaking through your panties you’re in no mood to wait much longer to have him naked again.

“I have a studio two corridors down…”

His brows shoot up. “You ahm…” he blurts out, then lowers his voice, “want to do me here at school?”

“Yes, Eddie… like the pretty little muse you are.”

—

His hand is warm in yours as you pull him along behind you through the hallway past your fellow students who throw curious glances over their shoulders.

Eddie catches up to your side and leans close to your ear, “Are you already wet for me? The way you moved on that chair…”

“Drenched,” you breathe against his neck and almost stumble over your own feet. Eddie sneaks his arm around you, keeping you steady.

“Easy, sweetheart. Let me be the one to bruise you, ok? I’ll do it in aaall the nice places.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open.

“Promise,” he adds, tapping the tip of your nose, a devilish smile spreading on his face.

You drag him on and he laughs behind you until he catches up again. There is a brief moment where you leave him in the middle of the empty foyer to get your key from the doorman, interrupting his lunch break, praying to whoever deity will listen to your horny call that none of your studio mates is in there already. You almost moan when the guy hands the key to you and you bump into Eddie’s chest face first when you turn around in a hurry.

“Fuck you’re so pretty,” he rasps, takes your face in his large hands and bends down to press a hot kiss to your mouth. Your fists close around the lapel of his coat as he licks along your teeth until your tongue finds him. The world around you feels vague and unimportant until the doorman behind you knocks against the glass of his booth.

“I don’t need to see this, folks.”

This time Eddie takes your hand and walks on. “Show me the way, babe, or I’ll have to hoist you up one of those windowsills… you people are doing performance art here, right?”

Eddie is mumbling filthy things at you the whole way down the empty corridor where your shared studio is the last room on the left. You try to fumble the key into the lock and drop it because Eddie is already busy bruising your neck. Pressed flat to your back he brushed your hair to the side and started sucking at the spot just below your ear, his hands sneaking around you, cupping your tits through your blouse. As you bend down to pick up the key, Eddie grabs your hips and rolls his own against you, almost pushing you into the door. You both laugh and he pulls you up by your waist.

“Sorry,” he chuckles as you finally unlock the door. “I couldn’t help myself.”

You let him inside and lock the door behind you.

“What’s your workspace?” he asks, already poking his nose into things. “No! Don’t tell me… it’s… this one.”

“How did you know?” you ask surprised, taking off your coat and fully unbuttoning your blouse while he looks at your work lined up on the wall, hand on his chin like a proper little art critic.

“Well, I saw your drawings and this stuff here… it has the same… Duktus?”

“Christ,” you moan and he looks at you. “That was so sexy.”

“Hey, you’re starting without me?”

Eddie rushes to you, hands instantly sliding inside your open blouse against your bare skin. His hands are rough, calloused in some places and the slight scratch is making you shiver in his arms. He pulls the fabric off of you and drops it to the ground. His coat falls next, then his shirt. Eddie hisses as you sink your teeth into his collarbone as soon as you have access to them.

“Too much?”

His eyes are lidded and so very dark as he shakes his head. “Just start pulling my hair too and you’ll never get rid of me again…”

“That a threat or another promise?” you purr as you open his belt and fly over the impressive bulge in his pants.

“Which one turns you on more?” You hook your fingers into his waistband and drop to your knees, pulling his pants down with you, making his breath hitch. “Oh, s-shit…”

This is the close-up you've been yearning for all morning. Fully hard and flushed a deep pink already; you wonder if it will feel as heavy on your tongue as it looks. You run a finger along the underside and it twitches again, bobbing up and down in front of your face. You lean in, stick out your tongue and give the swollen tip a lick that makes Eddie whimper above you.

Again you meet his eyes and the expression in them is so unexpectedly soft that you almost whimper too. Your cunt is clenching around horrible nothingness as you lick him again, flat tongue sliding along the underside, feeling a vein, tasting salt, watching those big brown eyes roll up and close as a moan escapes him.

“You’re gorgeous, holy shit.” You firmly grip his cock around the base and stroke him a few times, your mouth watering, before you close your lips around the tip, your tongue swirling in lazy circles around it. Eddie’s breath is uneven and laced with soft moans from his glistening parted lips while you softly play around with his cock. Every twitch of his face is a delight, the way his abdomen tenses when you press small kisses to the length of his shaft makes you swoon with adoration. You reach up one hand to trace up the lines of a tattoo on his ribcage and he catches it, pressing it flat against his chest. Eddie’s heartbeat pounds against your palm and you moan around his cock.

“Holy… fuck… I wanna watch you so bad but I don’t know if I can take it.”

“You can take it, big boy,” you say in a low voice. “Look at me.”

It takes him a few more seconds until he opens his eyes and looks down at you; the moment you lock eyes you take him down as far as you can. A string of loud but mostly intangible curses echoes through the large room as you suck him down again and again in long leisurely motions. Your lips stretched around his girth curl up into a smile when his hands look for something to hold onto in your hair and you place your index finger at the corner of your mouth without stopping your onslaught to signal him to keep the volume down.

“Sorry, ah fuck fuck FUCK… I’ll try… shit I’m balls deep in your mouth and still don’t know your name—”

You don’t want to stop, not even for the moment to tell him your name. There’s a big portfolio folder leaning against the wall and you point in the general direction before running your fingers through the dark curls around his base and up the trail to his stomach while he’s trying to figure out what you’re showing him, failing at his attempt to stay quiet.

Then he says it: your name, no, he moans it. And he doesn’t fucking stop.

Suddenly your abdomen is on fire and you have to pull back to catch your breath. But you can’t, not really, because Eddie has kicked off his pants the rest of the way, dropped to the floor and pushed you to your back to peel you out of your clothes.

The floor is cold under your ass and back and you thump your head a little as he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to him.

“Shit, you okay?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “keep manhandling me.”

Eddie grins like the devil himself and goes to work. He’s everywhere: kissing, lapping biting at your mouth, your jaw your neck your tits, his fingers pushed into your thighs and you know it will bruise. He’s keeping his promise, leaving wet tingling marks all over you, a purple trail of small galaxies. His fingers find your cunt, finally, and Eddie eats the moan out of your mouth.

“Shh,” he says with a cocky laugh, his forehead pressed to yours, two fingers circling your clit in dragging motions. “You’re loud, beautiful. You don’t want us to get caught before I had a chance to fuck you.”

“N-no… ahhh.” Two thick fingers slide into you and your muscles grip down hard at the sudden intrusion.

“Hi,” he grins down at you as if he wasn’t just pounding your g-spot out of nowhere and making you see stars.

You hold on to his face, grappling for purchase and finally wind your fingers into this wild tickling hair and pull.

“Jesus, finally!”

“I— I’m so close.”

“Keep holding on,” he groans and moves down your body, fingers stilling for a moment.

You keep your hands in his hair, pulling in frustration from the ebbing pleasure.

“Of course, you have the prettiest fucking pussy, you—“ he doesn’t finish his thought, diving in with his tongue to lap at your clit like he’d been starving for you his whole life.

You bite the back of your hand to keep from yelling out at the sight alone. His eyes meet yours, of course they do and he sucks one of your lips into his mouth.

“You’re a fucking tease, Eddie… what’s your last name?”

“Munson,” he mumbles against your core and keeps on feasting.

“You’re a fucking tease, Eddie Munson… ahhh don’t stop please.”

And he doesn’t. He gives you his fingers and his mouth, his eyes fixed on you— well, most of the time, he keeps looking to a spot behind you but you have no time to inquire as your legs start to tremble and everything inside you starts to tense and pulse and you’re coming apart under his mouth before you’ve really seen it coming.

Yeah, that guy was something else.

When you’ve come down he gently pulls his fingers from you and litters your thighs and belly with kisses. His fingers are sticky against your skin but a slight roughness remains.

Your head lolls against the floor while you’re still blissed out and Eddie still puts those feathery kisses to your skin.

“You… you’re a musician…” you drawl out.

He looks up. “Yeah! How do you know?”

You take his hand from your chest and lick your wetness from his fingers before you turn his palm to him, sliding a fingertip over the calloused skin.

“You like that?” he grins.

You let go of his hand and nod. “Something with strings?”

“Guitar. And vocals.”

“Fuck you, you’re way too hot as it is…” you squeeze him with your thighs and his eyes go to that spot behind you again before he kisses your chest.

“What do you keep looking at?” you wiggle and crane your neck. It’s that painting. The one that has been haunting you for weeks.

“Sorry,” he scrunches up his nose. “I don’t know, draws me in somehow… it’s… weird… sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be…” you say and pull him up to you, kissing him. “You’re right.”

“Yeah?” he glances over again. “Well, fuck… yeah… m’ not gonna lie to you it’s kinda terrifying.” You both laugh. The warmth in your chest only expands more.

“Want to slather me in paint and fuck me against it?”

Eddie’s eyes widen as he glances between your face and the canvas. “Yes? Fuck yes!”

He pulls you up and into a hungry kiss, his thick cock hard against your belly.

“Is that stuff safe to use?” he points his chin to some paint tubes on the trolley in the corner.

“No, oh god, no. But…” you leave him to look for a large bottle of black paint letting out a triumphant ha when you find it. You turn around beaming. “This here is… and will wash out of hair with no problem.”

“Come here…” he curls his finger to beckon you to him. “And hand that over.”

“Is that turning you on?” you ask as you join him.

“You have no idea.” Eddie takes the paint from you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling your back to his chest. “You’re so pretty already with all my marks on you.” He walks you over to the canvas that way, his lips pressed close to your ear.

You turn in his arm and reach for his cock, stroking him softly. “How do you want me?”

“Fuck if I know… gimme a second and don’t stop that.” He looks at the canvas, really thinking about this. You suddenly want to pull his hair again. “Hands above your head, babe,” he says, opening the bottle of paint and squirts a generous amount into his hand. “Keep them clean. You have to put me inside you.”

You lean against the canvas; it’s large, so large that your outstretched arms above your head just graze the wooden frame inside.

Eddie’s hands are dripping black paint as he grabs your hips, bends down and sucks your nipple into his mouth before he kisses up to the crook of your shoulder to suck on you once more. “One last one before I make a mess out of you.” The contrast between the warmth of his lips and the cool paint as he slides his hands up your sides to your ribs makes you squirm and whimper. Eddie steps back to look at his work.

“Fuck, I’m an artist.”

He grabs the bottle from the floor and gets more paint, letting it drip right to your tits before smudging with splayed fingers. You watch him, mesmerized. When he is satisfied, he spins you around and pats your thigh as a sign to widen your stance. You feel him shuffle behind you as he presses himself against you and your chest against the canvas.

“Ready?”

You reach down, fumbling in the air for a moment before you find him. “You ready?”

“Ye—ahhhh, you little minx,” he groans as you line him up and push back on him half the way. He holds you steady and slides in the rest of the way breathing out a long low fuuuuck. Then he stills. “Are you holding your breath? You ok?”

You are more than ok and you let the air out, your forehead dropping against the canvas. “It was that or letting everybody in the building know I’m getting stretched real fucking good right now…”

He angles your hips back and pushes closer. “Yeah, you are… shit, you’re unreal.”

“And you’re big. Gimme a moment.”

“All the time you want, I’m cosy here.”

While you get used to the stretch, Eddie caresses your back, rubbing small circles up the sides of your spine.

“I have a show next Tuesday,” he says kissing your shoulder. “Would love to see you in the first row.”

“Wouldn’t miss it… I assume it’s something hard?” you wiggle your ass, making you both sigh.

“You like it hard?” he laughs. “Music, I mean.”

“I do.”

“’Course you do. Can I fuck you now? Please?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Before the paint dries.”

He starts slow, pulling out almost all the way and sliding back in till he bottoms out. Your front slides against the canvas blackening out parts of it in big splotches.

“How’s this?” He’s so careful it makes your throat feel tight.

“You feel in-incredible.” You push back, meeting his thrusts as he picks up the pace.

“You’re incredible, sweetheart.”

Then you’re just getting lost in each other. His movements get rougher, more confident as he thrusts into you. You feel him deep inside you lighting little fires everywhere. A hand presses to the canvas next to your head, an arm loops around your waist and you yelp as he sharply slams into you. You beg him to do it again but he’s already on it, relentlessly fucking you into the canvas. Most of the paint is dry now, it’s prickling on your skin. Eddie moans your name into your ear, squeezing your tits and you squeeze your muscles around his cock.

“Shhh, babe…” you chuckle after he cries out.

“Fuck you,” he laughs hoarsely into your hair.

You’re so close again and you slip your hand between your legs but Eddie stops and pulls your arm to your back. “No nono, shit, not-not like that…”

“Eddie…”

“Stay like that,” he says and pulls out of you, leaving you empty and confused. There is some shuffling and then he is back behind you. “Going to be cold.”

“What— uhn!”

Paint trickles onto your arched back, sliding down your spine and making you shiver. Eddie gives your ass a little smack and turns you around, crowding you against the canvas, and hoists you up by your thighs.

“Oh my god,” you huff, wrapping your arms around his neck while he balances you out.

“Can’t do that all day but you’re close ‘n I wanna see that face when you come.” He leans you back to create some space between you. “Help me out, put me back inside you…”

You do as you’re told and you clench your thighs hard around his hips as he starts up almost at the same pace he stopped. He kisses you, so sloppy so wet you feel a string of spit between your mouths when he pulls back again to hook his arms under your knees and spreads you open so wide that you’re crying out his name.

“I got you,” he assures you, pounding into you at a new angle, so deep it makes you dizzy. “I got you, you can juuust fall apart…”

The noises you two are making where you’re joined are obscene.

“Holy shit,” you moan, “li-listen… those sounds.”

Eddie drops his head to your shoulder, sweat dripping from his forehead onto you. “Like fucking music…”

You laugh. “Fucking music indeed.”

“God, you’re perfect,” he presses out through a laugh and really leans into you. You grab a thick strand of hair and pull as your insides begin to tense.

“Oh… oh shit, don’t stop.”

The world tilts as he leans you back again. “Wouldn’t dare… touch yourself for me, I need to feel you come around me.”

“Come inside me, yeah?” you rasp as you circle your swollen throbbing clit.

His eyes bore into yours, the strain and pleasure all over his face. He’s a mess as much as you are. “Come on, darling… come for me… I want you to run through my fingers.”

And you swear you do: your head thumps against the wood frame as your muscles try to create a black hole or whatever happens under so much pressure, but who cares when this stupidly perfect man fucks you through the hardest orgasm anyone ever had while looking at you like he was fulfilling his fucking destiny. You can’t hear him over the blood rushing through your ears, but he looks so pretty with his nose scrunched up, a streak of black paint running over the bridge and his eyes shut tight. A few more thrusts and he collapses against your chest with stuttering hips, pinning you so hard against the wall that it drives the air out of you.

There is only breathing, hot air from his lungs against your tickling skin. You cup the back of his head and stroke his hair; he nuzzles deeper into your skin and makes a noise that sounds like fucking home.

“I need to put you down now… sorry.”

He puts you down but doesn’t let go. Kisses cover your face until you cup his cheeks and claim his mouth while he’s dripping down the inside of your thighs.

Then you giggle together, Eddie squeezing your ass with both hands, smiling at you so silly and soft. You’re thirsty, you let him have the bottle first and he gulps the water down, spilling down his chest, creating little rivers of paint that let the ink show through. You want to study those lines up close without twenty people around you, without the blinding fire of lust, but calm, taking your time asking questions.

“What’s going on up there?” he asks, tapping a finger against your forehead.

“I wanna study you some more,” you say, taking the bottle and down what’s left.

He doesn’t ask you what you mean, only tilts his head and smiles. Then he sits down in that worn-out armchair your mate had dragged in a few months ago, still naked, it isn’t time to cover up yet and you find a clean enough rag, climb into his lap and clean the paint off his face as gently as you can.

“Stop,” he grabs your hips, “do you have a camera or something?”

You do and the timer takes too long for you two not to start fooling around before the soft click of the shutter sounds. One more and one more and the film has only two more left and he pulls you in to kiss you just before the camera rewinds.

“You want to join me when I make the prints?”

“You, red light and chemicals?” he grins. “It’s a date.”

The painting is dry already; Guache dries rather fast, you explain to him. It’s itchy, he adds and scratches his chest, small flakes of black falling down to the floor. You sit in front of both your work, your head against his shoulder and your fingers fumbling with a strand of his hair that is stiff with paint.

“You know,” he says, “it would have made a damn good record cover before…”

“You can have a picture… I document every night before I go home.”

“Really? I mean, the picture?”

You brush sweaty hair off his forehead, “I’m sure it’s in good hands with you.”

He almost shoves you over when he kisses you, the giddy streak you saw earlier during class showing when he chuckles and licks your cheek like a puppy.

“It looks really good now though, don’t you think?”

“You’re just horny,” you laugh.

“What? You don’t like our work?” he pouts and this shouldn’t pull at your heart that much.

“I do,” you kiss the pout, “I was just teasing.”

“I mean it,” he looks at the canvas, “It’s a bit crooked and dented now, but that just adds to the charm.”

“It has nothing on you though when it comes to charm.” You lean in with a sultry smile and his palm cups your breast and then—

A knock on the door. “Come on, you still fucking in there? I need to work.”

You look at each other with large eyes and break out laughing, scrambling for your clothes. Eddie hisses sharply when you slap his ass just before he pulls up his jeans and you forgo the bra because one strap did not survive Eddie’s enthusiasm. There is paint sticking out of his collar that you couldn’t clean before your photo shoot and you remember to put the film in your pocket while he kisses your temple because he seems to can’t help himself but stay close to you.

“Ready?” you ask and he grabs your hand and nods, following you out.

“Finally,” your mate says, but smiles when she sees you. “Aren’t you that new model?”

“Muse,” he grins without further explanation.

You hand her the key, mouth a small sorry and admit it when she calls you out on your lie.

His hand is warm in yours, his thumb playing with your knuckles as you walk back through the hallway.

“So,” he says, “we gonna shower at your or my place?”

#crying because I want this irl #I’m an artist without my rockstar bf #eddie spaghetti

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eddieslooneymoonie · 3 days

Text

You shut your mouth he is ALIVE AND WE HAVE A CAT NAMED OZZY-

i mean yeah but i still have hope for his returning

#sobbing now thx

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eddieslooneymoonie · 3 days

Text

This. THIS.

AHHHHHHHHEHHEHESHBSHDD-

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 Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’.

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’.

Weird. This does not look like a printers.

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly.

Oh.

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop.

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors.

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it.

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look.

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’.

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare.

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.”

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?”

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare.

“Really? You?”

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance.

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?”

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over.

“You can let go now princess.”

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing.

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume.

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up.

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.”

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac.

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!”

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips.

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?”

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again.

“Are you immediate start?”

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-”

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.”

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.”

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you.

********************

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it.

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this.

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations.

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.”

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.”

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time.

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad.

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled.

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place.

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that?

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand.

Oh I'm not falling for that again.

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed.

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.”

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.”

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here.

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms.

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him.

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.”

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away.

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.”

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing.

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie.

********************

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie.

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?”

“Any appointments with Eddie?”

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?”

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back.

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm.

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?”

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?”

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?”

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.”

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement.

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!”

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back.

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!”

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind.

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand.

“Hey, how you getting on?”

“I'm good, just bored.”

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?”

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers.

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.”

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe.

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown.

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.”

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.”

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.”

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe.

Right, let's just play nice.

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing.

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light.

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.”

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you.

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?”

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-”

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo.

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing.

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.”

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step.

********************

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people.

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots.

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were.

“Morning Eddie.”

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words.

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him.

“I'll be nice if you will.”

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee.

“I'm sorry Eddie.”

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth.

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs.

“Are you sorry…?”

“What for?”

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away.

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop.

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face.

“Yeah, how do you know?”

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client.

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again.

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move.

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first.

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?”

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?”

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.”

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.”

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.”

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement.

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?”

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.”

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?”

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.”

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process.

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word.

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you.

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson.

“So, questions. Can I go first?”

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin.

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?”

“23.”

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.”

“How old are you?”

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.”

Act younger is more like it.

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?”

“Uh huh.”

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.”

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling.

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?”

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow.

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.”

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink.

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.”

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask.

“How did you start working here?”��

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.”

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look.

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.”

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen.

“What band is that?”

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt.

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.”

“Oh, what do you play?”

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.”

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?”

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away.

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red.

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply.

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.”

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing.

“Your turn princess.”

“I don't want to play anymore.”

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.”

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?”

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.”

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.”

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.”

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused.

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you.

“All done.”

“Huh?”

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.”

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip.

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.”

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.”

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second.

“Eddie what do I owe-”

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

********************

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him.

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line.

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap.

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it Miss?”

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?”

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee.

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him.

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.”

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer.

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear.

“What you up to, princess?”

“Fuck!”

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach.

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look.

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass.

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!”

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal.

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.”

Pouting, you hit him on the arm.

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-”

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands.

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home.

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you.

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing.

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door.

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it.

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there.

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.”

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest.

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away.

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?”

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself.

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away.

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?”

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.”

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist.

“For your modesty. Come with me.”

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried.

“What's going-”

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?”

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods.

“Not a problem.”

“Thanks, man.”

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth.

“I'll be right back.”

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin.

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar.

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face.

“What the fuck are you doing here.”

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.”

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.”

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal.

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.”

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you.

“Eddie, we're still working I-”

“It's one beer. It's alright.”

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?”

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug.

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.”

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier.

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.”

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?”

“Come on, don't make me say it.”

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you.

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.”

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty.

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull.

“And I'm the Easter bunny.”

Giggling, you take another sip of beer.

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.”

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?”

“I promise.”

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough.

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?”

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar.

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles.

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.”

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes.

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.”

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face.

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings.

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.”

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it.

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.”

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice.

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.”

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.”

“We can keep it professional.”

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord.

“Professional? You?”

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.”

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words.

“You're really confident.”

“You haven't seen what I can do.”

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.”

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.”

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need.

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?”

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?”

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind.

“Final rule. No kissing.”

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?”

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.”

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out.

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness.

You shake it.

********************

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it.

Those theories are put to bed on day three.

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?”

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes.

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely.

“Maybe.”

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.”

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands.

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.”

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards.

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision.

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?”

“Hey princess.”

“Come on up.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy.

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles.

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?”

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table.

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.”

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.”

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin.

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt.

“Yeah, you know who they are?”

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.”

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.”

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.”

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve.

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own.

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms.

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him.

“Come on then, sit down.”

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed.

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?”

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?”

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?”

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes.

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him.

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more.

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Porn, sweetheart.”

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.”

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.”

“Oh. Right.”

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.”

“Huh?”

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him.

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-”

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.”

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.”

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?”

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.”

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.”

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm.

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop.

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?”

“Alright.” You whisper.

“You comfortable?”

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.”

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine.

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed.

“Now just chill sweetheart.”

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck.

“Fuck, that's really nice.”

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed.

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word.

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe.

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!”

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment.

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.”

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck.

“I- I haven't decided yet.”

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core.

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him.

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?”

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words.

“N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.”

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.”

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast.

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point.

“Really?”

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back.

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand.

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more.

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass.

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you.

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples.

“Holy hell!”

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach.

“Eddie, please.”

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit.

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest.

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?”

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs.

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel.

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more.

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?”

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple.

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess.

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison.

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control.

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-”

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him.

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent.

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair.

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-”

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up.

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light.

“What do you mean sweetheart?”

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...”

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.”

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief.

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again.

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.”

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.”

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.”

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting.

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

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eddieslooneymoonie · 25 days

Text

The science has spoken. Leave me.

sorry for being horny it's just that i'm horny

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eddieslooneymoonie · 25 days

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A warning has been left. Anything you read now is on you sport

my blog is a safe space for me. the rest of you are in danger i think

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eddieslooneymoonie · 25 days

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Oh Betty you’ve done it again. I’m mush. This is spectacular and I need more

Death Becomes Us

Part 10: The Man Who Made a Monster

vampire!Eddie x supernatural!Fem!Reader

masterlist playlist

WC: 7.6k

18+ONLY, MDNI, mention of wounds, car accidents, a bit of body horror, angst, guns, gunshot wounds, reader gets physically hurt (but bounces right back), blood, drinking blood, allusions to smut, evil men, supernatural powers, a demobat fren, fear of the unknown, a fire, werewolf!Steve, Dr. Brenner. References to one of my favorite 80's shows, the Incredible Hulk with Lou Ferrigno, and mid-90's MTV. Tiny references to FOI that you won't even notice if you haven't read the book.

Summary: Eddie, Jareth, and Steve come to your rescue, but do you even need to be rescued? Bad men surface and reader finds strength she never knew she had. Eddie confesses more than one secret to us, and the tension is thick. Reader is called Dove as a nickname.

Author's Note: I covered quite a few bases in this chapter, but there is still a lot to explore in the next and final part. We get to see reader in action and get some much-deserved satisfaction. I 've been staring at it for so long, I really hope you have fun reading this, love you. As always, Jareth's face claim is Jamie Campbell Bower.

-----

this starts right where Part 9 left off

Eddie snatched his keys and shoved Steve out the door before he quickly put some food down for Dio and locked the dead bolt.

Steve called shotgun in the air, vaulting over the hood like an extra from the movie Grease, making Jareth roll his eyes. “Is he part werewolf or labrador?” Whispering under his breath to Eddie, but Eddie just nudged him out of the way.

Jareth paused on the opposite side of the Pontiac GTO. “We should go on foot, it would be faster,” hinting to the lightning-speed with which vampires moved.

Eddie inclined his head to Steve. “Not when we’ve got the pup with us.”

“Fuck you,” Steve sneered, brushing back a flop of hair from his forehead. “I can keep up with you two geezers, trust me.”

“What if I just kill him and rid us of the dead weight,” Jareth grumbled.

“You can try,” Steve sneered, growling deep in his chest.

“Enough!” Eddie snapped, swatting the top of the car with his hand. “Everyone get in and hold the fuck on. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

—----

Heat scorched through your veins like lava, and as your eyes fluttered open, you passively wondered if the car was on fire, and you were about to be cooked alive.

But

You were no longer in the vehicle. Squeezing your eyelids tight to find the memory, recollection came flooding back as your fingers curled into dirt, cheek pressed into the forest foliage. There might have even been a pinecone acting as a pillow at your ear.

The muscles in your arms and shoulders throbbed, not to mention the feeling of your skull being cracked open by a catastrophic neurological event. A migraine to rival all migraines.

You remembered being taken…the conversation about Brenner…and Bela…

Bela!

You called her name, but it came out as nothing but a puff of air, a whine deep in your chest.

What if she got hurt in the crash? What if she —

The crash!

Adrenaline flushed through you like a swarm of bees and you sat up, cracking your stiff neck as you went, and your head swam.

Where the fuck were you?

A car passed a few yards away on the highway and you realized you’d been tossed into a ravine. In the distance, the SUV you’d been kidnapped in was on its back and smoking as if something inside had caught fire. Where was that awful witch and the man who was driving?

A memory of ripping the door off by its hinges and climbing out of the vehicle flashed behind your eyes, but that was impossible. You must’ve been able to jump out and then hit your head or something. You weren’t turning green and ripping out of your clothes; you were no Lou Ferrigno.

You moved your legs to make sure they worked, and soon you were on your feet, using tufts of grass to crawl along as if you were about to fall off the earth.

In the distance, thunder rolled.

—----

“Turn here, take the shortcut!” Steve shot his hairy arm between the two seats, pointing to right after the stop sign.

“I know what I’m doing!” Eddie roared. “Just sit the fuck back and stay cool.”

Eddie could feel you, and his heart was jackhammering in his chest.

He floored the gas, tires squealing as they ghosted the road, peeling down the old highway through the woods that barely anyone used anymore. The velocity shot Steve back against his seat, and Jareth’s fingers dug into the console while music from Sisters of Mercy blared from the stereo.

“We’re close,” Eddie lowered his chin, laser focused on the scene ahead of him. He could feel that familiar static fill his body whenever he was in your vicinity.

You were not the first human whose blood he’d tasted, not by a long shot. In fact, for the first few years after he’d been made vampire, he didn’t care about himself or anyone else, and it seemed there wasn’t a willing human in a 100 mile radius that he hadn’t tasted.

But with you, it wasn’t even about your blood.

You made him feel a certain type of way that he’d been missing for over a decade, perhaps even his whole life.

The clouds trembled, and a crackle of lightning shot a silent burst of light through the midnight sky. All three of them could smell the wreck before it was ever in view, and Eddie released his foot on the gas to slow down a bit.

—---

You stumbled onto the main highway, and the headlights came at you too fast to understand what was happening.

Everything was so bright, it hurt your eyes. It made you swipe your hands in the air and groan, fighting the illumination as if it were a tangible enemy.

The car coming at you screeched on its brakes, twisting to the side so that it wouldn’t hit you, skidding sideways.

In a blink, you recognized the stunned faces on the other side of the windshield.

—---

The other two men in the car didn’t see that it was you at first—but Eddie knew. He’d witnessed those shock white eyes before, void of color or pupil.

Electricity snapped off you, as if you were a live wire. It crackled and skipped off of your skin like the lightning that appeared above them in the sky.

One of your arms was twisted unnaturally backwards at the elbow, but you somehow flexed the joint back into place as you stood there, correcting your posture. You stood on one side of your foot as if your ankle was broken, but then that righted itself with a sickening twist. Your limbs jerked like the walking dead trying to move for the first time after reanimation. All of this, and yet your face appeared unphased, as if you were impervious to the pain.

Your face was set in surprise and fear and confusion, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest to be able to hold you.

With a curse, he slammed the GTO to a halt, tires burning rubber as they locked and skidded on the asphalt.

Something told him you were fairly invincible, just like him, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Steve slid across the backseat, knocking his head on impact, and Jareth’s fingers dug so deep into the console that they left puncture marks.

Eddie didn’t have time to think about what the other two were doing or the danger of leaving his car in the middle of the highway, he threw the gear into park and jumped out to check on you.

From above, there came a loud squawking, and Bela soared down from where she’d been circling in the sky to land on your shoulder with a weight that almost made you lose your balance.

—-----

Bela bared her teeth and screeched at whoever was approaching from the vehicle. The headlights were too bright, and your ear canals were on fire with hot noise. A loud, shrill ringing filled your skull cavity like sharp a million tiny pinpricks.

But then you recognized his silhouette

You’d know it anywhere

“Eddie?”

“It’s me,” he assured you. “Are you hurt?”

Bela settled once she knew it was him, lowering her wings, and his body came to block the light so that you could see the distress in his face. He reached a hand out to touch your arm, but then he yanked it back with a hiss. It was like you’d given him an electrical shock, with volts like those from a cattle prod or taser.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you hesitated, hoping he’d dare to touch you again.

And he did, rushing closer without pause, not caring about how bad the last one stung. He cupped one hand at your jaw while the other went to your hip, searching your mouth for temptation's sake. “Let’s get you home.”

He got zapped a few more times from seemingly stray sparks, in the chest and the side, making him wince, but he did not relent. It was a good thing the violent stabbing did not force him back, because just then your knees gave out and you slumped into his arms. Bela took to the sky again before landing on the hood of the GTO with another high pitched wail, wings spanning out as if she were about to conduct an orchestra.

Eddie dropped to his knees on the ground next to you, careful to protect your head from the pavement with his hand. In wolf form, Steve trotted over to nudge your face with his snout and lick your cheek with a whimper.

“She’ll be okay,” Eddie took his jacket off and made it into a pillow for you, before angling to sink his fangs into his own wrist. “She needs blood.”

“Use mine,” Jareth hovered nearby, and you could vaguely hear them arguing as your adrenaline crashed. “I’m older, my blood is stronger.”

“No,” Eddie growled, and then the two bared their teeth at each other.

Eddie knew that, more than anything, Jareth wanted to be in your head, to be linked to you in the same way he was. To know where you were at all times and for you to have…those special dreams about him. No way in hell would Eddie let that happen.

He’d already punctured a vein and had his tattooed wrist over your mouth, leaking his life force into your trembling lips until you were able to latch on and suck.

Jareth’s stare bore into Eddie. “Maybe I should tell her you’re the reason Brenner knew about her in the first place.”

Eddie glared at him. “You don’t know fuck about it.”

Jareth smirked. “I know more than you think about the little ‘job’ you were hired to do for him.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed and he shushed him. “This isn’t the place for this, Jareth.”

A car had to navigate around the GTO to continue down the old highway, and the person shouted their disapproval, but then the driver slowed once he spotted you on the ground and the SUV that was rolled over on its side in the distance.

Jareth and Eddie turned to him and hissed with their fangs out, glaring at him with obsidian eyes, until he slammed on the gas and sped off in the direction he was headed. Steve growled and chased after the car, keeping up with it for a while before hanging back to sniff around the wreckage that you’d managed to somehow survive.

You mumbled, gurgling on a spurt of blood, and Eddie took his wrist away. Your eyes were closed, but your tongue flicked out to lick more of his essence from your stained lips. Were you conscious enough to know what they were talking about? He’d planned on telling you everything, but the time was never right. He never expected things to get so…messy. Never expected you’d become so…special to him.

Some rich dude offers you to keep an eye on someone for a couple weeks for an abnormally huge chunk of cash, you do it. He’d had no skin in the game when he initially accepted the offer.

Caring about you as much as he did was the last fucking thing he’d expected to happen, but he didn’t know how to make it stop.

Jareth leaned over you to get closer to Eddie. “If you don’t tell her soon, I will, and your little fairytale will be over.”

All Eddie could do was grind his teeth: Jareth was right, he should’ve explained the whole thing to you that night when he’d waited for you to get back from your date with Steve. But by then, he was afraid he’d lose you.

Yet, how could you lose someone you never had?

“We need to get out of here,” Eddie eased you into a sitting position, your head flopped, and then held your chin in his hand. Your eyelids were fluttering and your skin was beginning to cool as the healing properties of his blood took effect.

God, how badly he wanted to press his lips to yours.

“What about the witch?” Jareth stood to full height to look over and see Steve sniffing around the crash. “What if they survived?”

Eddie had you off your feet and lifted in his arms by then, but Jareth was right. As much as he wanted to get you far away from there, he’d watched enough horror movies to know that you never turned your back on a killer until you knew they were dead. Knocking them unconscious with the back of a shovel wasn’t enough; you had to chop their whole head off and throw them in a cement mixer.

Steve morphed back into human form halfway back to the group, butt naked again, to report back on what he’d found.

Eddie waited for him to announce that there was no one in the vehicle and the bodies were gone…

But instead, Steve shook his head. “Looks like they didn’t survive. His neck is broken and she’s—-”

“Are you sure?” Jareth blurted with an air of irritation. “Maybe I should check for myself.”

“I think I know what a dead body smells like, asshole,” Steve grunted, pushing back on Jareth’s chest.

The headlights of another car was approaching, and Eddie reiterated that they needed to get as far away as possible from the scene of the crime. He threw the keys to Jareth, and made Steve sit in front so that he could crawl into the back with you while you healed. Bela billowed into the sky and hovered there, waiting to see where they were taking you so she could follow.

It wasn’t his blood that healed your broken foot or your fractured arm though—you’d done that all by yourself. Maybe you didn’t need him after all, maybe you’d be better off without him.

“Put your pants back on,” Eddie tossed the clothing from the back seat over to Steve. “I don’t need you teabagging the upholstery.”

Next to him, you had your head on Eddie’s shoulder and your hand on his thigh when Jareth sped off just in time to miss being clipped by the oncoming semi truck. It blared its horn just as you lifted your head to look up at Eddie with groggy eyes.

He licked his lips, feeling his throat close up at how near your face was to his.

“Did you save me?” Your voice was strained, sounding like your esophagus was constricted.

Eddie put his hand over yours and you interlaced fingers. “I think you saved yourself,” he mumbled. “You don’t need me.”

“I do,” you said it so fast, and he leaned over even more, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard you correctly. “I do need you.”

Your hand in his, he brought it up to his chest, searching your eyes as an avalanche of words trembled at the tip of his tongue, right there wanting to roll out like a carpet of devotion to you.

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves because he was shaking so fucking bad.

Jareth caught his eye in the rearview mirror and the two glared at each other before Eddie broke contact and wrapped another arm around your shoulders to bring you closer. “We’re almost home,” he hushed, planting his lips to your forehead, blushing at the way you refused to let go of his hand. “I won’t leave you.”

—----

By the time you got back to the trailer park, your energy and strength had been fortified and you urged everyone to go home to let you get some rest, except for Eddie, who’s hand you were still holding as you got out of the car.

The witch and her companion being dead felt too good to be true, and a measure of palpable dread hung in the air. It was unspoken knowledge that Brenner was still after you, and he knew exactly where you lived.

Jareth stepped forward, tipping your chin up with the crook of his finger. “Are you sure you don’t need anything, love?”

“She has me,” Eddie growled.

Jareth fluttered his eyelids in that bored way he’d mastered. “If you’re so concerned, we’d be better off at Sacrament. I can keep her safe there more sufficiently than she’d be in this…” he fanned his hand around a few times, “...this place.”

Bela landed on the railing with a swoosh and squawked.

“I hate to say it, after everything,” you angled toward the steps, exhausted. “But I don’t think this Brenner person is going to stop until he gets what he wants.” You glanced sideways at Eddie. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.”

“I’d like to meet this guy myself,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

Jareth flipped the collar of his coat up and ran a hand through his golden hair. “Well, my offer stands. Sacrament is at your service if you should require shelter or protection.”

“Sounds good,” Eddie said dismissively, reaching for the railing to cage you away from the two men. “We’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Jareth,” you told him, and he winked at you, returning the genuine curve of your smile.

And Eddie hated it so much, he wouldn't have been surprised if steam were coming out of his ears like a cartoon villain.

But he let it slide because Jareth could make things fucking awkward in that moment if he wanted to.

You turned to Steve. “Would you like to come in? I don’t have much by way of food, but—”

“He’s fine,” Eddie answered for him.

The two glared at each other for a beat, but then Steve relented. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry. Still, I think I’ll stick around for a while, check the perimeter,” he ignored the tick in Eddie’s jaw and waved at you as he backed up to disappear around the backside of the trailer.

“Hey Harrington, my vest!” Eddie shouted, and it wasn’t long before the denim came sailing through the air to land on the dead lawn near the porch. Eddie bent to pick it up with a huff, and by then Jareth had disappeared into the night.

Now you were finally alone, and as much as it was what he wanted, it made his stomach drop.

Eddie paced the living room a bit before taking a seat, perching precariously at the end of the sofa to bounce his knee and gnaw at his bottom lip.

“Listen,” you took a beer and a half-full bottle of NuBlood out of the fridge to put it in the microwave for him. “I figure there’s no use asking you to leave with people obviously hunting me down, but I really need to take a shower. So just…make yourself at home I suppose?”

The microwave dinged and you walked the warm glass bottle over, and then waited for him to wrap his hand around it, fingers grazing yours, before you spoke. “I feel like there are some things we should talk about.”

Eddie was already nodding. “I’d like that,” he gulped.

Eddie waited until he heard the shower running before he sank down into the cushion and used the remote to turn the TV on. He needed to distract himself from letting his mind wander to how you were absolutely undressing in there, about to be naked and wet and…

He squirmed in his seat and turned the volume up. It was an MTV music video for Metallica’s Until it Sleeps, but he only vaguely cared as he puffed his cheeks for a forceful exhale. In his head, he practiced what he would say, how he would beg your forgiveness, and how he never really understood what this guy Brenner was all about until it was too late…

In the shower, you made the water as hot as you could handle it, leaning into the burn, and stood there for the longest time without moving. Eyes closed, you could feel Eddie step into the shower behind you, sneaking his hands around to pluck at your nipples. “Room for one more?” He rumbled in your ear, just before he nibbled it.

He wasn’t really there, but you couldn’t help but touch yourself with a soapy hand as if he were, biting your lip around a moan.

The water ran cold by the time you were ready to step out, swooshing the curtain aside with a swift swipe of your arm.

The thump of something heavy falling to the ground out in the living room had you straining to hear what it might’ve been as you pulled a clean t-shirt and jeans on. Music videos were on, playing In the Blood by Better Than Ezra, and you called Eddie’s name.

The only response you got was from Bela, and she let out one long screech that felt like it had the power to break glass.

“Eddie?” You shouted this time, flinging the door open to let the steam roll out and fill the hallway. “Bela??”

The door to your trailer was wide open, but Bela was there, scrambling from the back of the couch to perch on your shoulder the second you came into view.

“What happened?” You asked your demobat companion. “He just left us here? Without a word?”

The potted terracotta plant that had once been above the TV right by the door was on the carpet, shattered.

You crossed your arms over your chest, and shivered as you stepped one foot out on the porch to look around, a chill breeze nipping at your flesh. “Eddie? Are you out here? Steve?”

The whole court was eerily silent, even the crickets and frogs were holding their breath.

You backed up into the house, pulling the door shut.

The TV screen went from MTV to static, and you stepped back to stare at it while Bela swished her tentacles around nervously, leaving red, raised scratches on your arm and neck. She was heavy, but you’d gotten used to her weight and hitched our shoulder up to accommodate.

The static changed to the image of a man standing before a black backdrop. He was tall and thin, wearing a business suit with a full head of silver hair.

“Hello Dove,” the man on your TV said.

He was looking right at you.

You glanced around for a weapon, but as if he could read your mind he said. “No need for that, I don’t want to hurt you.” He was handsome in a “trust me”, evil doctor kind of way, but the last thing you felt like giving him was your trust.

“What did you do to Eddie?” It felt stupid, talking to an electronic device as if it were a person, but that was the situation you’d found yourself in.

Brenner said nothing, but you got a bad feeling and swallowed to wet your dry mouth before taking cautions steps over to the window facing his trailer to peel back the blinds.

But you could already see the flames inside, and just then, you smelled the smoke.

His trailer

It was on fire.

“Nononono no,” You chanted, charging for the door.

“Come with me quietly,” the man on the TV said, calmly. “Or your vampire boyfriend will meet the final death.”

You halted in your tracks, glaring down at the older man, nostrils flaring with anger. “Come with you? Where are you hiding?” You chided; hands balled into fist as you cocked your head. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Brenner looked down before meeting your eyes again. “Your father underestimated the capacity for your powers. I don’t plan to make the same mistake.”

“How did you know my father?” You barked.

Outside, one of Eddie’s windows blew out, glass shattering everywhere, and his curtains went up in flames.

You ran outside and flew down the steps before the man's voice could stop you. Dio, Eddie’s cat, ran by to hide under your trailer.

Maybe Eddie had gone in like a crazy person to save some photos or something, and somehow, he’d gotten trapped in there. Bela took to the sky while you rushed to his door.

But then there he was, staggering out on a dark cloud of smoke, holding an electric guitar in his hand.

“My sweetheart,” he held it up. “I couldn’t let her burn.”

He was smiling at you from the top of his steps, dimples popping, and you could help but mirror it, flooded with relief. He really didn’t care that his whole place was burning, as long as he had Dio, his guitar, and you.

He’d lost much more in his life to a fire once when he was younger, so this one wouldn't sting half as bad.

And it suddenly didn’t matter that some creepy old dude could somehow talk to you through your TV: Eddie was okay.

But then something else happened.

He took the first step, never taking his eyes off of you, but something knocked his shoulder back, like an invisible punch.

And then another and another

The smile on his face quivered and his forehead creased, trying to understand what was happening.

He tucked his chin to look at his torso, and your eyes followed.

Dark blooms were appearing on his shirt like liquid spilled from an inkwell. On his chest, over his heart, from his stomach.

He stumbled down the last two steps and then fell to his knees, dropping the guitar so that he could brace himself with his hand.

Had Eddie been shot?

You didn’t have time to figure that out. Some strange voice in your head told you there was a chance the trailer could explode—or maybe you’d watched too many movies—but you had to get him away from there. He was a vampire, and even if he had been shot, he could heal, but you weren't sure how he would survive his body being blown to bits.

The next thing you knew, you were carrying him, much like he’d carried you in his arms earlier. You didn't need to summon the insane strength; it was just there. There was that buzzing in your skull, and you could feel violent sparks crackling through your muscles.

Everyone was coming out of their trailers at that point, and Dolores was screaming frantically into her phone wearing a nightshirt and curlers in her hair. You didn’t know how long it would take for the fire department to get there, or if there was a possibility that the wreckage would spread to the other trailers.

You put Eddie down on the other side of your hearse and leaned him back against the tire to find there was blood trickling from his mouth, but he still tried to grin at you.

“See,” he sputtered. “You’re like a superhero. You don’t need me.”

“But I do,” tears clouded your eyes while another window blew out from the trailer. You put your forehead to his and your lips brushed together. “Please, don’t leave me. Eddie I—”

“The bullets,” he winced. “They’re silver. My body can’t reject them.”

There were three or four different holes in him there that were steaming as the silver burned him from the inside. You cupped your hand on his jaw, and he grabbed your wrist, turning his head to kiss your palm.

“Here, take my blood—”

You yanked your shirt down to give him your pulsing jugular, but all of a sudden you were forced back by some unseen force, flying through the air until you landed ass first in the gravel and skidded to a stop, rolling over to find yourself face first at the feet of someone wearing a pair of black, shiny shoes and slacks.

“Dove,” a familiar, deep voice said. “We meet again.”

You pushed back, scuttling away to find that it was the man from your TV; he was standing in your trailer park. Flanked by two menacing looking men with bald, tattooed heads, wearing sunglasses. Each of them in suits and ties as if they were the actual Men in Black.

“I don’t know you,” you grumbled, getting to your feet that were bare and bleeding, but healing rapidly. You checked around each shoulder cautiously to see that there was a handful of other men in suits, all of them holding guns, and then a tall guy with a scalp of strawberry stubble, no more than 20, in a red jumpsuit. The guy had his chin down, eyes pinned on you as if he might shoot lasers from them.

His expression was deceivingly kind. “My name is Martin Brenner. I met you before you died the first time,” he said casually.

“You see, your father and I used to be friends,” he walked a circle around you, before coming front and center again. “He stole valuable information from my laboratory in order to bring you back. You're my property as well, but he decided to keep you from me.”

“My father never mentioned you,” was all you could say. In your peripheral vision, you could tell the others were inching close.

“We could’ve been so great together, Dove. Imagine your contribution to science. And you would not be so uncertain about your powers,” he stepped back to gesture at the boy in the red jumpsuit. “I want to introduce you to Kane. He was reanimated the same way you were, but under my expertise and supervision.”

Kane had a railroad scar on his forehead, and a hand that was a different skin color than the rest of his body. It wasn’t just a different skin tone; it was a body part from an entirely different person.

You thought about all of the love you were raised with, and though your dad fumbled the ball on attentiveness quite a bit, you never doubted how much he cared for you. You were beginning to understand that maybe he didn’t explain what abilities you might have because it would lead you back to Brenner somehow.

The surge of power was growing inside of you, and instead of pushing it down, you let it grow and churn and spill out, creating a type of electrical force field around your body, a vibrating aura of protection.

“Show her what you can do, Kane,” Brenner said.

Not sure what to expect, you watched Kane rubbed his hands together, creating a bright bolt of lightning from the friction, his eyes went milk white, and then he shot an arm out towards the nearest hulking security guard, palm open, and it sent the man in black off his feet, sailing back as if he were hugging an invisible beach ball. He smacked into the side of the opposite neighbor’s trailer with a bone to metal thwack.

Your eyes were fixed for too long on the man slumped in the gravel, and when you turned to face Kane again, he was a few steps closer, peering through his lashes at you with an evil twitch of his lips.

Apparently, you were the next example in his bag of tricks.

Your feet were off the ground before you could process another thought, catching air like a rag doll only to drop down and skid face first into the cold, dry earth.

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, eh? Lifting into a push up position, you spat dirt and blood from your mouth with a curse.

Gathering yourself up and into a crouch, you vaguely heard Eddie call your name, but he was still rendered temporarily helpless by the silver, and your head was spinning. Not so much from confusion and fear this time, but more…anger.

You nailed Kane with a heated look, and then your hand lashed out in his direction, though he was yards away, and actual sparks flew from your palm, spitting like fireworks.

Kane was pummeled in the gut with a force he obviously wasn’t expecting, and you kept going before he could find his footing again, knocking him down before he could raise a hand at you again..

“How does that feel?” You bit, towering over him.

In a heartbeat, you lifted Kane’s limp body above your head with a roar that you could not believe came from your own mouth. Arching back, you aimed to drop him over the nearby trailer hitch, which would surely break his back, if not kill him, but then you remembered who you were and faltered.

Blinking, trying to quiet the buzzing in your skull, you knew you did not want to kill this boy.

You understood, even under such duress, that he was only doing what he was told.

But Brenner was actually applauding you, pupils blown from the intensity, urging you to keep going, to murder this stranger at his bidding.

You could’ve very easily ended up just like Kane, if not for the love and protection of your father.

Heaving, trying to calm yourself, you threw Kane’s body in the opposite direction, so that he landed on flat ground that would absolutely hurt, but he’d be able to walk away.

Brenner beamed at you like a parent watching their child take their first steps. “You’re stronger than I’d imagined. Your powers have somehow increased since your inception, and I’d love to know why.”

You squared up with him, making him step back to avoid the sparks actively snapping off of you. “What do you want from me?”

You didn’t have to look to know that all of the guns were trained on you.

“I want you to work for me, Dove. We could change the world together, you and I.”

It felt like he was trying to sell you a car, not asking to hook you up to electrodes and make you his own personal soldier.

“Never,” you were calm now, and you wanted nothing to do with this man or whatever he thought he could do for you.

The flames went higher on the trailer, and in the distance, wails of a fire engine could be heard.

You caught sight of Eddie, but he was flat on the ground now and no longer sitting up.

You rushed by Brenner, slamming into his shoulder as you went, but two of the guards caught you by the arms. It felt like they were stronger than normal men, and when they bared their fangs, you realized they were vampires.

Growling, you flung them off of you, and they went stumbling back as if they weighed nothing, as if you were suddenly impervious to their supernatural strength.

“Kill the boyfriend,” you heard Brenner bark at the men. “Use the wooden bullets this time.”

A gun cocked, and you ran a few steps, but then vaulted over Eddie’s body, arms wide, using yours as a shield.

You felt the bullet impact like a dagger in your back, but it was as if it bounced off somehow instead of penetrating. Eddie barked in pain as you covered him, but then he clung to you as you rolled him under the hearse, away from the gunfire.

Caging yourself on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, and stomachs touching, you could feel how weak he was; the silver enabled his body from healing, and you had to find a way to get them out.

You watched the feet of the one with the wooden bullets approach the vehicle, thinking of your next move when Eddie whispered into the side of your neck: “You’re so fucking beautiful—”

If this was the end for him, this was how he wanted to spend it: with you, being able to see your face one last time.

Before you could respond, there came a shrill, tortured scream, and the booted feet you had your eye on stumbled back.

More agonizing screams, until the body in question dropped to the ground, limbs writhing, and you could see that Bela had attached herself to his head like an Alien facehugger.

Only because he was a vampire, he was able to pull her off, but she took most of his flesh and his nose off with her.

Bela took to the sky again, out of view, and they aimed their guns up at her.

“Not so fast, boys,” a new voice rumbled from the shadows. “I want to play, too.”

Eddie’s shallow breaths moving under you, it was all you could do not to cheer out loud when you realized the voice belonged to Jareth.

And apparently, Jareth brought friends; enough to fill the entire courtyard.

They were crouching on the roofs, on cars, everywhere.

Brenner and his crew were surrounded; Bela had gone to get help.

In the woods, a pack of wolves howled their attendance as well.

Jareth pierced the closest vampire in the heart with a wooden stake and he exploded, guts flying everywhere.

As far as the human bodyguards went, the rest was a bloodbath.

From what you were told later, Kane ran, and Brenner tried to get behind the wheel of the SUV, but instead he was dragged into the war zone and drained dry before being ripped limb from limb.

Jareth wanted to keep the doctor in his dungeon to torture him, but a few of the vampires knew of Brenner and the experiments he’d done on their kind over the years. It was all nothing short of sadistic torture, keeping them barely alive so that he could run experiments on them over time and sell their blood for a profit.

They’d been wanting to get their hands on him for a long time.

—-----

By the time the rescue team and fire truck showed up, all of the vampires had evaporated into the shadows, and you’d snuck Eddie up into your bedroom, carrying most of his weight as he was only able to hobble. You collected his guitar as well, and brought Dio inside, since those were the only two things from the burning wreckage, he voiced a care about. With the lights out and the curtains closed, you used a modest bedside reading lamp to assess the damage. While you were concentrating on him, his eyes never left your face, his heart bursting.

“You might have to suck them out,” he cleared his throat. “The bullets I mean. I’m sorry if that’s weird.”

“You mean, weirder than all of the other shit that happened tonight?” You mumbled, coming back from washing your hands. There was still dirt caked under your nails, possibly some blood, but whatever.

“Good point.”

Until you got the bullets out, any blood you gave him would be useless, so without another moment of hesitation, you crawled up on the bed, springs bouncing, and knelt next to his torso, bracing a hand at either side of him. He was burning up around the sight of each wound, and the skin sizzled as the alloy continued to roast him alive.

The first one was at the surface and came out fast, hot metal on your tongue. The next one, under his right nipple, was deeper and you had to suck harder, making Eddie’s toes curl. You spit each out onto the floor, and strings of his blood mingled in your saliva.

One hand behind his head, the other rested at his hip with a thumb in his belt loop. “So, you’re like…the incredible Hulk, but with powers. That’s pretty badass.”

“I don’t know what I am,” you scoffed, sucking out another, and then pausing to watch the openings seal up and heal. “I’m a waitress, that’s all. That’s all I want to be.”

He nodded, musing on how many times he’d wished he could go back and not be a vampire. He wanted to tell you the story of when he was reborn, but that could wait for another time. Now it was time to put some very messy cards on the table.

The last bullet was deep, and you had to swirl your tongue around in the hole to loosen it.

“I have something I need to tell you,” he blurted while your lips were near his belly button.

“Mmmhmm?”

Fuck, here it goes…

“First, I just want to say that I had no idea who this Brenner guy was before, like, a few months ago,” his next swallow felt like he was chugging a grapefruit. “If I’d have known what a creep, he was I never would’ve…”

You stopped what you were doing to raise your head, waiting for him to finish, the final bit of silver still lodged in his abdomen. “You knew of Brenner? Before all this?”

He couldn’t look at you, he had to stare at the ceiling.

“Uh, yeah, that first week you were here, he tracked me down at the chop shop and said he’d pay me a shit ton of money to keep an eye on you. I didn’t ask a lot of questions. As far as I knew, you were his long-lost daughter, or some shit and he wanted to make sure you were safe.”

You sat back on your knees, trying to let that sink in.

He lifted up to brace himself on an elbow, wincing at the sting of the remaining bullet. “I didn’t know you then, that was before we were…” he fumbled with what he wanted to call you and what you actually were, “...a friend.”

“So,” you frowned down at your hands. “You’re the reason I was kidnapped tonight? The reason all of this happened?” Your wide eyes snapped to him. “Did you set me up?”

He sliced his hand in the air a few times, shaking his head vigorously. “No..nope…I had nothing to do with any of this,” he pleaded. “I only reported back to him for a couple of weeks, and then I stopped, really. After that night I first took you to Sacrament, I told him I was too busy to—”

All of the horrific memories were rushing back to you. “What about the Klemp’s? Did you pay them to hurt me or something? So that I’d have to drink your blood and let you into my head?”

Eddie spoke so fast; he stuttered over his words. “No, absolutely not, never! I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I would never let anyone hurt you like that.”

“But they did hurt me,” you muttered.

Now it was you who couldn’t look at him, working your jaw muscles as you tried to decide which emotion you should be feeling.

“Why should I even believe you?” Your voice was small.

“Please believe me I—”

“If you knew this guy was stalking me, why didn’t you tell me sooner? If you’re as concerned for my welfare as you claim to be?”

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to cry or scream; maybe both.

Eddie didn’t have a chance to answer. You were on your feet at the end of the bed with your arms crossed.

Suddenly, you were shaking, and you couldn’t control it. “After Sacrament, I didn’t see you for a long time, it felt like you were avoiding me. Was that because you no longer had to fake interest in me for your scam?”

Eddie pushed himself up into a seated position, blinking back the memory of how painfully hard it had been to stay away from you for all that time. “No, you have to trust me, that had nothing to do with—”

“Trust you?” You barked a sarcastic laugh. “Tell me why then? Why avoid me for so long, huh? Because you weren’t getting paid to—”

Eddie’s voice wavered and he spoke in a rush. “Because I started to have feelings for you, that’s why. Happy? Because ever since that first day I saw you, you’re all I can fucking think about. Because I can’t even look at another woman without seeing your face, and believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve gotten real good at disappointing people and leaving people behind, and all I know is, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Your lips parted to say something, but he figured what the hell, he might as well scare you all the way off while he was at it.

He relaxed his shoulders and wet his lips. “I never told you that I was made vampire against my will. I died and was brought back, but my heart went cold, and I never thought I’d feel anything for anyone ever again. I didn’t want to feel anything. I should’ve stayed dead, I wanted to be with all of the people I’d lost…”

His suede brown eyes sought your face. “When I’m with you, I don’t feel dead anymore. When I think about you, I feel fragile and human again. Like maybe I’ve got something worth giving away.”

Silence filled the room like helium in a balloon about to burst.

He’d gone for broke, and there was nowhere left to hide. He was officially at your feet, where he’d always been.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered when you didn’t respond right away. “I get it.”

You tilted your head all the way back to stare at the ceiling.

“I dream about you every night,” you admitted on an exhale. “Logically I know it has to do with ingesting your blood, but it’s…it’s more than that.”

He bit at the inside of his cheek, picking at a thread on the comforter. “Every night, huh?”

You gave a few slow nods, and you could almost hear the smile pull across his teeth.

“Yeah, so, blood induced dreaming should only happen a handful of times after it’s ingested,” he said, shifting in his seat.

You kept nodding, since that was something you’d already suspected. “The dreams are always so vivid, I wake up…”

He dared to finish for you after a long pause. “Wanting more?”

“No,” you corrected, turning to face him. “I wake up wishing they were real.”

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I la la la love you all who have reached out to me about this story and continue to cheer it on. Comments, reblogs, and asks about this world mean everything to me.

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Taglist: @trixyvixx@sllooney@writinginthetwilight@sidthedollface2@atomickaratel8dy@probablyin-bed@kiyastrf94@briamunson92 @joannamuns9n@jasminelafleur @@bellalillyrose @dashingdeb16 @alba8688 @corrodeddeadlydoll@brassreign@likedovesinthewnd @ilovetaquitosmmm @skrzydlak@onegirlmanytales@angietherose@probablyin-bed@reidsbtch@moonbeamsandmayhem@eddiesxangel@hideoutside@secretdryrose@nailbatanddungeon@thorfemmes@corkadymu@kellsck@mrsjellymunson@poofyloofy@dream-a-little-nightmare

#death becomes us #eddie spaghetti #vampire!eddie

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eddieslooneymoonie · 1 month

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It short: yes

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eddieslooneymoonie · 1 month

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You were staring without realizing it.

Watching the way Eddie crowded a girl against a wall across the room. Even in the dim, headache inducing lighting you could see the sexual tension.

You broke your gaze away with a hiss as pain bit into you.

You looked down to see your hand that had unknowingly dug in the space above your breast.

Nails marks showing in an angry red.

You didn't know it could hurt this much to love someone. It felt like choking.

You needed Eddie like air but would rather hold your breath than ever admit it.

You looked back his way in punishment for harming yourself.

Only to feel like you jumped headfirst into a hot spring.

Eddie was not only ravenous in his way of sticking his tongue down the poor girls throat-

but also in the way his eyes were locked on you.

You felt your lips fall open.

What you would do to be her.

What you would do to have him.

If only you two weren't friends.

Maybe then you could be the stranger falling into his bed.

#YALL THIS WAS ROTTING IN MY DRAFTS WTH #eddie spaghetti #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #i need this man

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eddieslooneymoonie · 1 month

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Y’all. YAKL. SOMEONES BEEN STEALING MY PERSONALITY

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

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eddieslooneymoonie · 2 months

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$25 dollars for that tshirt is bongos to me but hey why not

#where can i purchase both of these #eddie coded #istg i heard him say that

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eddieslooneymoonie · 2 months

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Babe wake up Somna just posted-

“s’ my favorite thing, those little earthquakes inside of you—“

-AGHHHHHHHHHHH

Long Way Home

Eddie x afab!reader || E, 2k ish

||established relationship, fluff, domestic, smut, intimacy, references to Pet Sematary by Stephen King (talk of burying/resurrecting a body), talk of crawling into somebody/nothing graphic, just nerds in love you know the flavor||

A/N: thank you @bettyfrommars and @allthingsjoeq for keeping me sane(ish) while I overthink shit for way too long. <3

The road ahead seems endless, winding on and on like a river of tar whose rigid monotony makes it feel like you’re hardly moving at all.

Your forehead rests against the cool window while your gaze rests on the Milky Way that peppers the clear night sky with its cool ethereal shine. From the speakers, a calm deep voice tells a story about a zombi cat and other atrocities, giving Eddie’s tired mind something thrilling to focus on while he steers the car through the wee hours of a Monday that will very likely be just as dragging as the long way home from the concert that lies behind you. Behind your eyes, moments of the night keep repeating, filling your chest with that special tingling that’s the euphoria of freshly made memories one never wants to forget. Next to you, something cracks, ripping you out of your thoughts, making you flinch before you turn.

“Fuck, Munson,” you groan. “Was that your neck?”

“Aye,” Eddie chuckles and rubs a knuckle over the bag under his eye while keeping both firmly on the road. You know there are copious amounts of willpower and maybe a little magic at work for him not to slam his foot to the gas to cut the last forty minutes down as much as physics and the engine allow. “M’ afraid I’m slowly decaying here.”

The back of your fingers trace over his cheekbone, his profile a sight to behold even in the dark, even with the night chipping away at him.

“I know a good place to bury you,” you say and his lips twitch as he swiftly glances at you.

“You maybe want to give that a second thought, sweetheart.”

“Ah,” you flick your hand dismissively. “You’ll be as good as new. A little stinky, maybe.”

“Aaaand plenty homicidal,” he laughs and combes a hand through his hair, leaving his bangs a little messy. “You’d do that for me?”

“F’course.”

You twist in your seat and reach into the back, fumbling around in the mess of clothes and snacks until your fingers graze the hard, smooth surface of what you’re looking for while Eddie rewinds the tape.

There’s a hiss as the rim of the bottle cap first bends and then gives way with a pop that synchronizes perfectly with the sharp click the play button makes under his fingertip. You pluck a straw out of an empty Coke bottle and transfer it into the full one and Eddie’s lips are already parted and waiting when you bend over in this well-practiced ritual. Not long and half the liquid is gone. Eddie releases the straw with an ahhh and you nearly choke on a laugh and a sip of your own when a happily belched thanks resounds inside the confined space of the car.

“Shit, keep missing that part,” he huffs and you rewind the tape before he can reach out to do so. “Love you,” he says with a tired smile in his voice and you press play again.

—

The trailer park is quiet. So quiet that the silence feels heavy - almost like a scolding - after Eddie finally turns off the engine; or maybe it’s just the exhaustion pulling on your bones, it’s hard to tell.

Eddie slumps his head against the backrest and groans. A pale sliver of light illuminates the outline of his throat, stretched long and exposed, Adam’s apple moving languidly as he takes a deep deep breath and swallows a yawn.

You decide he deserves a treat, are fairly sure he needs one and so you lean in and trace the tip of your nose to the soft spot below his ear where you place a kiss that makes him shiver and tilt his head to the side; an invitation that never fails to rush your blood up to your cheeks and spread this warmth that he likes to kiss so much.

“More,” he hums, hand patting the air between you in search of your thigh. You lace your fingers together and smile into his skin, taking your time to breathe him in, to fill your head with that rush that is his scent. It’s been a long day and the proof lingers in his hairline, more earthy, laced with smoke and sweat; it’s the smell of adventure and time well spent.

A kiss won’t do. You have to taste him.

Baring teeth, you run the edge along salty skin before you sink them in, stirring a raspy groan that vibrates through his throat. A hand cups the back of your head, fingers twitching when you release him from your jaws, tugging with a sluggish impatience as you lick and kiss the bite to soothe. You comply, follow the quiet plea of heavy arms enveloping you to pull you in close. Knees bump as two rigid, tired bodies twist and shuffle to slot together as much as the interior of the car allows. He buries his face in your shoulder, lets himself sink against you and sighs; a heavy, muffled sound that speaks of the relief of being home.

Now you just have to get inside.

“Now for it! Now for the last gasp!” you quote his favorite Hobbit and wind your fingers into the hair on the back of his neck, your nails raking over his scalp in gentle encouragement.

The warmth of a pressed-out breath seeps through your jumper and travels down your spine. Eddie’s hands follow its trail, fingers flexing on your back to grab two fists full of fabric to hold on to. He turns his head enough to free his mouth from your shoulder.

“If you’re not going to carry me, dear Sam, I’ll need a minute,” he says and presses a kiss to your neck before he hides his face again.

Six hours until both of you have to get up and ready for work but you would give him one full hour if he asked for it.

The exhaustion weighing him down goes deeper than mere tiredness and stiffness of joints, is of that kind that comes after catharsis: two hours of violent drums, screaming guitars and eye-watering bass, of shouting ones heart out in an angry choir of strangers that had been kin for one night, a raging rampart between you and the world, a safe place to come out of hiding and get lost between hot, sweating bodies, to bruise and to be bruised in a collective exorcism that leaves mind and soul raw and sore but oh so light and clear.

It had hit him hard this time.

Your hands wander; fingertips rubbing circles into tense, aching muscles right at the back of his skull where you know a night like hits him hardest. Eddie huffs and sighs as you work your way down his neck until a long deep moan is your sign to pay that spot a little extra attention. It’s nothing short of intoxicating, the way he melts into you, his voice so close to your ear—

…oh fuuuck, right there…

— his hands on a quest of their own, gathering up the fabric on your back until the cool night air amplifies the heat of his palms on your skin. You trace your nose along the side of his face, straining your neck doing so; but not for long. Eddie lifts his head at last, brings your foreheads together, firmly, urgently, and a little groan sneaks in between the puffs of air that tickle on your lower lip; it’s almost a frustrated sound, as if he’s striving to overcome the layers of skin and skull separating him from you. His nails dig in below your shoulder blades, the sting sweet and the scratch even more so when he drags them down the length of your back like he’s using his last strength to claw his way into you.

You tilt your head and kiss him. Slow slow oh so slow is the slide of lips and hands, the teasing of teeth and tongues and soon there is more salt to lap from his hot throat and the hard line of his cock straining inside his pants.

“So,” he breaths heavily into your open mouth, “we gonna rock paper scissors out who’s gonna do the fucking or what?”

It’s more a snort than a laugh that leaves you and then the car is filled with giggles and the rustle of fabric as you peel yourself out of his arms. “Why waste time with three rounds of rock,” you say impatiently wiggling out of your long-car-ride-sweatpants and soaked car-make-out panties, “when we both know you’ll lose with paper anyway.”

“Lies,” he rasps and leans back in his seat. “Slander.”

A soft patch of light reveals hooded black eyes over a waning crescent smile and he palms himself while he watches you undress, hissing at the touch before he hooks his thumbs into both waistbands and shoves with everything he has.

Eddie is still shuffling in his seat when you wrap your hand around him; hot and hard and smooth. He yelps then groans and bites the back of his hand while you slowly slide his foreskin back and your thumb over the tip to spread the wetness waiting for you. “M’ not going to last ten seconds if you p-play with me like that, shiiit,” he grits out between his teeth as his hand wraps around your wrist like a plea for mercy. “Just fuck me, please? Just fuck me.”

His hold on you is desperate; impatient hands pawing and pulling as you climb him with such haste you bump your knee on the door and the steering wheel into your back. Impatient hands turn slow and soft as they move to soothe what's bound to bruise.

“You ok, little monster?”

“Perfect, doc.” You kiss the corner of his mouth, feel it twitch and curl and then part for a sharp breath as you reach down to guide him inside you.

Somewhere in his chest, pleasure and fatigue collide and vacate his lungs as a breathy “F-fuuuck,” that’s the sound of a man saved from certain death. You match it with a moan as you sink further down on him and shudder as he fills this aching, hollow place inside you while his nails leave little crescents on your skin.

“Slow slow slow slow slow…” he chants and drops his head to your shoulder. Softly huffed moans tickle your neck as you take him oh so slowly, pull his hair oh so slightly to make him kiss you oh so messily. He’s pliable, molds himself around your form and clings to you like a thin shirt in a downpour. A familiar heat spreads through your loins and up your belly while the glacial pace starts to burn in your thighs and makes them tremble.

“You close?” he pants, voice strained around the edges.

“Not yet… are you?— aaah—“ impatient hands grab your ass and push you down before he wraps his arms around you to keep you that way - full, oh so full of him it makes you gasp and squirm —

“Yeah,” he says, wet, hot mouth smushed into your cheek. “Need you to come first,” he slides a greedy hand in the tight space between you, “s’ my favorite thing, those little earthquakes inside of you—“

“Oh s-shit—“ you jolt, nerves set ablaze by words and fingers alike.

“Fuckfuckfuck feels like m’ halfway to your soul, just… just fucking grind on me, sweetheart— Christ, yes…”

And so you grind grind grind, keeping him buried oh. so. deep. and with a slight tilt of your hips and Eddie’s thumb on your clit your legs are trembling again.

It’s a desperate tangle of limbs, digging of teeth and nails, his hair in your mouth and your name in his over and over and the soft squeek squeek squeek of the seat that’s sticky against your chins and knees.

It’s not an eruption, when the heat has nowhere to go anymore, but a low, heavy rumble and as soon as the first wave rolls over you, Eddie lets go so you can go under together.

You still tense around his twitching cock when your bodies have ceased the writhing and twitching; the air is filled with dissonant panting and the heavy silence of a night that’s much closer to dawn than to dusk.

Eddie’s lips rest on your pulse, nose smushed against your jaw. No teeth; even the last bite has left him now. His head dips in that tell-tale way and he makes a long, low sound that turns into a yawn.

“Dn’t wanna m’ve…” he mumbles.

“M’neither.”

So you don’t.

Not until his cock is soft and slowly slipping out of you and you’re fuzzy with the promise of deep blue slumber. When your state of undress has been reversed, the mess on the seat smudged somewhere on the back of Eddie’s pants, he leans in for one more kiss.

“Guess y’ can carry me in now.”

general taglist: @bettyfrommars @dr-aculaaa @deathbecomesthem @songforeddiemunson @potthealien2423 @raccoonboywrites @eveybitch @jo-harrington @lunatictardis @skrzydlanka @moonbeamsandmayhem @slutforstabbings @eddieslooneymoonie @chaoticgood-munson @storiesbyrhi @mrsjellymunson @the-unforgivenn

#i need to fuck him #eddie spaghetti #what i wake up from my tea comas for

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