Summary: Geta finds great pleasure in watching you squirm.
Word count: 1.5k
Tags and warnings: Scribe!reader, suggestive (but no actual smut!), Geta's POV, no use of Y/N.
(The wonderful @getaapologist needs to take credit for all of this - not only did she write the gorgeous fic that inspired me (which you can find here!), she also encouraged every feral thought I had in the aftermath. For the CCODtober prompt ‘moonlight’.)
Geta Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist
There was once a time when Geta would have gladly kept you locked away; a pretty pet imprisoned within a gilded cage, out of sight of anyone else but himself. But over time, something has changed. No longer are you merely his dutiful scribe; there is more, lurking beneath the surface. There is no doubt of how intoxicating the power of keeping you by his side is to him, but there is something to be said for knowing that you could leave, and yet, time and again, you return to him.
Not solely for fear of consequence or retribution, but because it is what you wish.
He has spent many a long, arid night mulling it over, with only the image of you in his mind’s eye and his own wandering hand for company. More and more, he wishes to replace that hand with yours, but it is a slow game that he plays with you.
Each time you meet, away from prying eyes and straining ears, he dares to push a little more. And each and every time, you stand resolute. You return to him.
It is beginning to drive him mad with desire.
He summons you to his chambers that evening, when the moon is making its gradual ascent in the darkening sky. The wine that flowed easily throughout dinner has had something of a hand in his decision. He feels bolder, more relaxed. He wishes to play a new game with you tonight.
He hears your quiet footsteps, as you cross the room to the archway that leads out to the balcony where he stands.
“My Emperor,” you call softly, bowing your head in greeting.
He turns his head, his arms resting on the stonework, to find you standing politely in the threshold, as if awaiting his permission.
“My dear scriba,” he calls with a smile. The alcohol thrumming pleasantly in his veins has certainly loosened his tongue more than usual, but he cannot bring himself to pay it any mind.
He beckons you with an almost lazy crook of his fingers, and you are swift to join him, standing at his side.
“You have been markedly absent today,” he notes, as he looks out across the lavish gardens that stretch for some distance below the balcony.
But his interest lies not in the land beneath him, but with you. From his periphery, he watches you carefully, and to his amusement, he sees you fidget, one hand grasping the other in a nervous fashion.
“I have had much to do, my Emperor,” you reply solemnly; although the slight waver in your voice does not go unnoticed.
“You must be tired after so much work,” he muses, gauging your reaction.
He wonders how you will respond. Will you be honest, and risk seeming ungrateful of the opportunities granted to you? Or will you lie?
“It has been a long day,” you reply with care. “But I have learned much from it.”
Geta’s smile widens. He should know better than to think that you would stumble so easily. Even so, he has…other, more effective means at his disposal.
He gestures to the small table next to you. A ornate pitcher and cup sit atop it.
“Will you join me?” he asks, his tone light and unassuming.
“There is only one cup,” you comment, as you take the pitcher in hand.
Geta turns himself to face you, watching as you carefully fill the cup. You hold it out to him, but he shakes his head.
“After you,” he murmurs. "I insist."
You pause for the briefest moment, and he wonders if you will make your thoughts known to him. You hold your tongue, as you often do in his presence; taking a sip, you wipe the rim of the cup and offer it to him again.
Geta tilts his head. In spite of his tipsy state, his eyes remain sharp as they appraise you. He takes the cup from you, intentionally allowing his fingers to graze yours. His efforts do not go unrewarded, as a little gasp slips from you.
“Such a small amount you have taken,” he says, his gaze briefly darting to the contents of the cup. “Surely that is not enough.”
“I do not understand,” you reply quietly, with a slight frown.
It is not like you to play stupid. Perhaps you are more aware of his game than he realised. Or, he thinks to himself with some measure of delight, perhaps you truly are as unknowing as you appear to be.
Words will not be enough to satisfy him. He would rather show you instead.
He steps forward, unhurried and calculated in how he moves. His eyes, almost golden in the fading light, keep watch of you with such intensity that you dare not move. There is something unspoken between the two of you, something he has yet to find words for. Perhaps none are needed.
Slowly, he reaches up with his free hand, pressing his fingers gently beneath your chin. Your head tilts back under the pressure, and he notices how wide your pupils have grown at his touch. With what, exactly, he cannot be sure. But he can certainly dare to dream.
He holds the cup to your mouth. “Open,” he commands, his voice no more than a breath against your skin.
Obediently, you part your lips for him. He manages to keep his hand steady enough so that very little is wasted; though a few errant droplets slip from the corners of your mouth. Geta diligently wipes them away, pressing his thumb to his lips when he finishes. He does not miss how your gaze is fixed on his mouth, and he makes a show of lapping at his skin. You suddenly look away, a tell-tale sign that he has embarrassed you.
There was a time when he had thought that knowing more about you would surely cause his interest to wane. But he has since found the opposite to be true. How you fascinate him.
He raises the cup higher.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
Your eyes hesitantly meet his, and he tilts his wrist just so, until wine is pouring from the rim and spilling over you. It is slow, languid. Deliberate. Still, he watches you, entranced. His expression is almost smug, as if daring you to speak, to move.
To stop him.
The wine continues to flow from the cup, soaking the fabric of your robes as it slips down the length of you. It gradually dwindles to a trickle, and even then, he does not stop. He will not be satisfied until every last drop has been spilled across you.
When at last he speaks again, his voice is low, almost breathless.
“Oh. You appear to have made quite a mess of yourself.”
He allows himself to bask in the state that you have been left in. That he has left you in. The wine that has left streaks across your robes, your skin, in its wake; the vibrant colour alluding to the violence that Geta finds so much pleasure in. How you stare at him, trembling breaths falling from your lips. Your expression leaves him guessing. Is it trepidation that fills you, or lust, perhaps?
Whatever it is, it is becoming harder and harder to resist.
There is an urge, a temptation that rises each time he has you in his grasp. To close the distance between you at last, to take what he so fervently wants of you.
Each time, he draws nearer to it, so close to allowing it to possess him. But there is something so sweet in waiting. In watching as you slowly succumb to frustration. To longing.
How patient you are.
He allows you both a small indulgence. He leans in close, until there is but a hair’s breadth separating you. His lips part, agonisingly close to brushing against yours. He hears the soft hitch of your breath, as your eyes fall closed.
“You will leave me,” he murmurs, his words ghosting along your skin.
Immediately, your eyes open once more. He sees your fear, senses how it runs like a current through your body.
“You will surely catch your death if you do not change soon. How…unfortunate that would be.”
He feels the sigh that escapes you, hears the rustle of fabric as your hands clench into fists. He rewards you with a small smile.
“My Emperor…” you begin, and there is no mistaking the tremor in your voice.
“Yes?” Geta prompts.
How he adores this game. To watch as your resolve begins to crumble before his very eyes. Nothing compares to this feeling of power. How it consumes him.
You hold his gaze a little longer, before finally, you retreat.
“Very well,” you say, with a nod. “I will bid you goodnight.”
You step back, and the moment is shattered. A shudder runs through him, as his eyes traverse the length of you, along the mess that he has left in the wake of his actions.
“Goodnight,” he calls after you, resting his elbows against the stone of the balcony as he watches you leave.
He cannot help but wonder what game he might play with you the next time he has you alone.
summary: CCODTober Prompt Challenge Day Eleven: Bats | Eddie’s on tour and manages to get time to take you on a little date while you’re visiting.
warnings: Lots of spousely teasing, Eddie’s got a hint of baby fever at the end
notes: How could I have the prompt, “Bats”, and not write about my girl?? Here’s a snippet from Eddie and Bats for you! I’ve read this over a few times, but feel free to message me and let me know if I’ve made any mistakes.
The San Diego Zoo smells an awful lot like too much sunscreen, too sweet churros, and too fucking hot pavement baking under a late spring sun. You hadn’t realized how huge this place actually was until Eddie decided to drag you to the ticket booths on his one day off. Your fingers are laced tightly together, like he was afraid of losing you in a crowd of baby strollers, moms in sunhats, and dads wrangling their little ones. His hair is tied back in a loose bun, because it was way too fucking hot for him to leave it down. He’s got sunglasses pushed up on the bridge of his nose. He’s complained about the sun three times already— but still, that stupid grin hasn’t left his face.
Maybe it was because he finally had a full day off of tour. A full day to chill and not have hundreds of fans screaming back at him night after night. Or maybe it was because you had made the drive from Los Angeles to see him.
“Alright, tour guide Munson,” you tease softly, tugging at his hand to slow him down just a bit. “What’s your master plan here? You’re walking so fast, I feel like you’re about to march me past the flamingos without so much as letting me get a glance at them.”
He stops dead center of the walkway, lifting your joined hands to press a kiss against your skin. “First of all, I would never disrespect flamingos like that. You should know better. They’re like… little pink metalheads. That’s our people.” He steps a bit closer to you and leans down to press another kiss against your cheek and then your lips. “Second of all, I’m saving the pièce de résistance for last.”
“And that is?”
“Bats,” he says simply with a shrug, his smug little grin curling up the corners of his lips. “Because I know my girl. And my girl? She’s a bat girl.”
You look around as you start to follow him again, the zoo’s busy but not as suffocating as you thought it would be. You weave past families pushing those safari themed rented strollers, some parents holding out sticky snow cones to kids, a few older couples shuffling along slowly looking at guide maps like their entire trip depends on it. Every now and then, someone would double-take at Eddie, and you could see the recognition dawning. Corroded Coffin wasn’t arena famous yet, but their shows were pulling bigger and bigger crowds each and every tour. This new album had quite a bit of traction. MTV had run their newest video twice. And Eddie— well, Eddie looked like Eddie even when he was in cutoff shorts and a faded Dio shirt.
But no one came up. Not just yet.
You stop at the giraffes first. You both feed them biscuits and Eddie imitates their chewing until you shove him back by the chest with a laugh. He pretends to be wounded, leaning his entire weight against your body like he was dying. He only pops back up when a kid nearby starts to laugh. At the elephant habitat, he lets you settle in at the railing to look and rests his chin on top of your head, his arms around your waist. The two of you stand there quietly for a moment while one of the elephants lazily flaps its ears.
Then he finally pulls you toward the bat enclosure.
When you enter the exhibit doors, the inside is dim and cavernous. There’s a sudden coolness like you stepped into a completely different world. The smell of damp stone fills every space around you, even the citrusy aroma of fruit barely fights its way through. At first, your eyes struggle to adjust to the lighting change. You can only see vague shapes swinging high up in the enclosure behind the glass like little shadows come alive. And then you saw them— just little clusters of big ol’ fruit bats hanging upside down. Their wings are folded around them like cloaks and some stretch out slowly as if they were waking from a long nap. Others crawl along low branches with dexterous, leathery fingers, their eyes glinting in the low lights in the exhibit.
You were instantly hooked. “Oh my god,” you whisper, pressing a bit closer to the railing that blocked off the glass. “Ed, look at their little faces.”
Eddie doesn’t even look at the bats. He’s looking at you, standing with your hands curled around the railing. The glow of those dim yellow lights in the enclosure is painting your face in soft shades of gold. He’s grinning like an idiot in love. “Knew it,” he sighs happily, moving out of the way of a family to stand beside you. He hooks his arm around your shoulders and tugs you against his side. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, smiling into your hair. “Made the right call bringing my Bats to see her people.”
You snort and tilt your head up to look at him. “My people? I didn’t realize I was supposed to live upside down and eat fruit in the dark.”
“Sweetheart, you already live life upside down. You’re nocturnal as hell. Try getting you outta bed before noon.”
You roll your eyes and he just laughs into your hair.
You stay there a while longer than you thought you would, moving slowly down the length of the exhibit while Eddie keeps one arm draped around your shoulders. Other families trickle through, pointing, whispering, snapping photos with their cameras. You can’t stop watching the way the bats’ wings would spread wide when they stretched, or the surprising grace in the way they flutter down to pluck fruit from the dishes set out for them. Eddie keeps leaning down to your ear to mumble dumb commentary just for you— “That one’s you when you find a bag of grapes,” or “That one may be me, look at him showin’ off,”— until you have to elbow him in the ribs to shut him up and keep yourself from laughing too loud.
When you finally pull yourselves away from the exhibit— you find yourself blinking hard against the return of sunlight outside, trying to adjust.
Then it happens.
A little girl, maybe six or seven, in a pink bucket hat that keeps sliding down over her forehead, stops dead in her tracks right in front of Eddie. Her eyes go wide as she holds onto her dad. “Daddy, it’s him!” She looks up at him, whispering, as she tugs on his hand.
Her dad crouches down, a look of confusion etched onto his face. “Who, honey?”
“The man from the TV!” she grins, pointing right at Eddie.
Eddie freezes, sliding his sunglasses up into his hair, suddenly very aware of himself. He tries to make himself a little smaller, and then crouches down to her level. His forearms rest on his knees as you stand behind him and watch. “Hey there,” he smiles, that easy warmth you knew so well softening every single word. “You watch a lotta MTV?”
She nods so hard her hat nearly falls off. “You had a red guitar. And lots of fire.”
“Sounds about right.” He grins and then holds out his hand like this little girl knowing his video was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m Eddie.”
She shakes his hand with a giggle.
Her dad mouths a quick, “sorry” over her head to you and Eddie, but Eddie just waves it off, still smiling wide. “You like music?” he asks her quietly.
She nods again. “I play piano. But I wanna play guitar.”
“Smart choice,” Eddie chuckles softly. “Guitar’s waaaaay cooler.” He leans in closer, using one hand to exaggeratedly cover the secret he’s about to tell, “Don’t tell your piano teacher I said that though.”
She laughs again. Then her dad starts to usher her along, thanking Eddie under his breath. Eddie watches them go as he stands. There’s a look lingering on his face even after the crowd swallows them up.
You nudge his ribs again— lightly, this time— with your elbow. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing.”
“Eddie.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders lifting in a shrug. But when he meets your eyes, you don’t see any sort of bravado— no joke lingering on his tongue. Just the softest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. “She was cute, wasn’t she?” he sighs finally.
You nod, “She was.”
Silence stretches between you then, filled by the chatter of nearby tourists and the distant call of some exotic bird. He clears his throat and shifts his weight to his other foot. “This isn’t really the place for this conversation, babe… But… You ever think about… y’know. Maybe having one?”
The question startles you a bit— not in a bad way, but in the way someone opening a door to a room you didn’t realize even existed might startle you. You blink, your heart thudding loud in your chest as you study his face. He’s not joking. There’s no smirk. The words aren’t followed up with a wink. It’s just Eddie, sunburn starting at the tops of his cheeks, hair curling loose from his bun, waiting for your answer.
“Sometimes,” you admit quietly.
He nods once, exhaling like that confession was all he needed to relax. Then, with a little grin tugging at the edge of his lips, he slings his arm around your shoulders again and presses a quick kiss into your temple.
“Good,” he says happily. “Means I’m not a total freak for thinking about it.”
“You’re a freak for plenty of other reasons,” you tease, trying not to let the weight of knowing Eddie thinks about children with you settle too much for now.
“Yeah, but you looooove me for it.”
“Unfortunately.”
He squeezes you close and smiles, steering you towards the smell of popcorn and cotton candy. “C’mon, Bats. Let’s go find a churro the size of my arm. Our day at the zoo’s not complete without it.”
Your Boy's Trippin' Balls
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Evil Woman
Summary: Eddie's magical trip is... not so magical.
Words: 2.1k | Prompt: Magic | Other CCOD Stories
"There's some guy on the phone for you."
You look up from your magazine to find your brother peeking into your bedroom.
The only guy you can think of that would call you would be Eddie, but you're not speaking to him at the moment. He knows what he did. Who the hell else would call you this late?
"Who?" you ask.
"If I knew, don't you think I'd have told you?" he scoffs, rolling his eyes and shuffling back to his own room.
You get up and creep into the hallway, mentally flipping through a rolodex of every guy you've ever met. An ex? That long-lost cousin you met at a family reunion that you promised to write to but never did? A prank call? By the time you reach the phone dangling from the cord in the hall, you've come up with exactly zero possibilities. You pick it up cautiously, still clueless.
"Hello?" you ask.
"Your boy's trippin' balls," a male voice says.
You're more confused than ever.
"Who is this?"
A deep chuckle gives you goosebumps.
"It's Hargrove," he reveals. You barely have time to be relieved about one solved mystery when he elaborates on the other: "Munson just ran out of his trailer screaming, and has spent the last six minutes trying to unlock his van door… which is wide open, by the way."
"Fuck," you breathe, heart dropping through the floor. "Don't let him leave, I'll be there in five."
You hang up and grab your keys and yell a quick "going to Eddie's, back soon" to whoever's listening, jamming your feet into a pair of sneakers and throwing a jacket on over your pajamas in a single move. You've never done anything this fast in your life.
You break several traffic laws on the way there, but arrive unscathed and un-arrested. You skid to a stop in the loose gravel beside Eddie's van.
The driver's side door is still open, casting an odd shadow across the ground from the nearest streetlight, but Eddie's not in the van. The front door of the house is open too, so you walk through looking for him, coming out on the back porch… and spot Hargrove on his own front porch, eating a bowl of cereal and watching you. You hold up your arms in an exaggerated shrug, asking where the hell Eddie is.
Billy drops his spoon into his bowl and points to his yard.
You spot a dark circle in the grass, on the little hill leading to the woods. You cross the road and approach slowly, cautiously… and find a pair of legs sticking out from under an upside-down kiddie pool, which was left behind by a family of renters last fall.
You sigh.
"I don't know what he's on, but I definitely don't want any," Billy crunches, having come down from the porch to stand beside you while he eats. A cold breeze blows through, and you shiver, wishing you'd been wearing thicker PJs. Or, y'know, real clothes.
"Eddie?" you ask, kneeling beside him. He doesn't respond. You reach out and put a comforting hand on his ankle, because it's all you can reach…
He screams, and he flails, and you jump back and fall on your ass in surprise as he throws the kiddie pool off of him. He's still lying on the ground, looking from you to Billy with wide eyes. Tears stream down his cheeks. He's shaking. You've never seen him this scared before.
You push yourself up off the dirt and promptly lose your balance on the uneven ground. Billy reaches out with the hand that's not holding his cereal bowl and grabs your arm to steady you. You smile appreciatively and dust the grass off your frozen ass. "Thanks, Hargrove," you politely dismiss him. "We owe you one."
"Anytime," he says through a full mouth, taking the hint and retreating to his step-mom's house.
"Eddie," you try again, standing close but not too close. You love him and you trust him, normally, but right now the look in his eye is making you think about wild animals who chew off their own legs to get out of traps. You hate that you feel this scared of the person you love most. "What did you take?"
He whimpers and curls up in a ball that seems impossibly small for his lanky body, letting his hair hide his face.
"They'll come back," he whimpers.
"Who's coming back?"
"The bats."
You look up at the sky. It's clear and starry and appears to be bat-free.
"I don't see any bats."
"The were eating me."
Memories of a vivid dream about trying to protect Eddie from flying monsters in this very trailer park come flooding back, making your chest ache. That felt a little too real, too. You'd been so freaked out, you couldn't even speak until you were able to hold him in your arms and listen to his heartbeat. No wonder he's so scared; you can't imagine experiencing a vision like like that on drugs.
He needs you like you needed him that night. You lie down beside him, in his neighbor's yard, not caring who's watching.
"They're gone," you tell him gently, reaching out to put a comforting hand on his bicep. His skin is like ice. "You're okay."
He shakes his head, and more tears spill.
"Why don't we go inside, where they can't get us?" you suggest. You need to get him off this frozen patch of dirt and into the house where you can warm him up. He's going to be so sick tomorrow.
"NO!" he shrieks, launching himself at you. You close your eyes and brace yourself, but Eddie's not coming for you; he's grabbing the kiddie pool. He tugs it on top of you, covering you both from the knees up, and wraps himself around you in a very scary hug. "We can't go back in there."
You'd hold him back if he wasn't crushing you like a human straightjacket.
"Why can't we go in there?" you ask, your voice echoing a little bit beneath the cheap pool. The streetlight overhead shines through the thin blue plastic, giving an eerie glow to everything you can see over the bony shoulder you're pressed into.
"She's on the ceiling."
"Who's on the ceiling, Eddie?"
"Chrissy," he whimpers.
"Why is Chrissy on the ceiling?"
"I don't know," he sobs, tightening his grip on you uncomfortably. "She went into the ceiling and her bones broke and her eyes exploded and I don't want you to see her!"
"Eddie, I need you to listen to me," you tell him seriously, pushing against him and trying to break his grip. He holds you even tighter. "Eddie, let me go."
"You can't go in there!"
"I'm not going in there, baby, I just need to breathe," you grunt, trying to get free. "You're holding me too tight."
His grip loosens when he realizes he's hurting you, and you pull back enough to see the terror in his eyes and the tears streaming down his face, amplified by that horrifying blue light.
"I just wanted to protect you," he whispers.
"I know," you smile. "But I need you to listen to me right now. Can you do that?"
He nods.
"The things you're seeing aren't real. There are no bats. I went in the house looking for you when I first got here, and Chrissy's not in there. There's nobody on the ceiling. It's not real."
He shakes his head in disagreement.
"Eddie, you took something, and it's making you see things that aren't there. It's just a bad trip. What did you take?"
He keeps shaking his head, so you reach out to cup his cheeks and hold his face still. Even his face is cold, despite the sweat.
"It's not real, baby. It's just the drugs. You took something that didn't sit right, that's all."
He thinks about it for a minute.
"We shouldn't be out here," he sniffles, shifting in the grass.
"C'mon then," you smile. "Let's go ride it out in bed."
"No!" he says quickly, grabbing your face with his frozen hands. "You can't go in there!"
"Where do you want to go, Eddie?" you ask through squished cheeks.
He stares into your eyes, and he thinks. And he thinks. And then, he thinks some more. You'd think the freezing ground and the cold breeze turning your ankles to ice might help sober him up faster, but apparently it doesn't. Finally, he lets you go.
"Can we go to your house?" he whispers.
You consider it for about half a second; if your mother sees him like this, she's going to reconsider her position on beating children, and then you're all in for it. You need to keep him here, for his own good.
"Eddie, do you really want my mom to see you like this?"
He stares at you fearfully.
"Let's go to the van," you suggest. "We'll get in the back and lock the doors. It'll just be you and me. It'll be warmer and safer than out here. Nothing can hurt us in there. Okay?"
Eddie thinks about it, long and hard, and eventually nods. You push the plastic pool off of you together. He sits up and scans in every direction, looking for danger. Finally, he scrambles off the ground and reaches for your hands.
You take his hands and stand… but he doesn't let go. Which makes for an interesting walk to the van, because he leads you there with both hands. You're going to charge Billy Hargrove for all the entertainment Eddie has provided tonight, because you can feel him watching you from the window.
You convince Eddie to let go of your hands long enough to open the back door. He jumps in, landing with a thump and an "ow". You crawl in and shove some junk out of the way, trying to clear a spot big enough for two people to lie in. Eddie cowers in a corner, knees drawn to his chest, watching you.
"Lay down right here," you instruct, patting a clear spot in the chaos that is the back of Eddie's van. He crawls over and obeys.
You close the back door, pretend to lock it, and cover him with a blanket. Then you lie down, facing him.
"We're safe," you whisper. "Nothing can get us in here."
You're glad he doesn't realize that the front door he couldn't get unlocked is still open. It's letting the cold in, but it's also providing fresh air and enough light to see a faint outline of him. You'll take it. That's what the blanket is for. And maybe some body heat.
"Can I hold you?" you ask him.
He slides closer, wrapping himself around you like an octopus. For such a little guy, he can cover a lot of ground when he wants to. You move a little, giving a few instructions and getting comfortable. His head winds up on your chest. You hold him tight with one hand and stroke his hair with the other. He seems to calm down considerably, here in the dark with you. The blanket covering you doesn't look like much, but with your bodies wound tightly together, it holds the heat in. The cold ache in your bones begin to fade soon enough.
"How're you feeling?" you ask after a what feels like an hour.
"Dumb," he mumbles.
"You ready to tell me what you took?" you prompt.
"Mushrooms."
"You took mushrooms alone?"
"Was gonna do 'em with you, but you got mad at me and went home."
"That was…" Stupid? Risky? Irresponsible? Entirely the fault of one Edward Munson?
"Dumb," he fills in.
"Yeah," you quietly agree.
"I always thought there were just magic mushrooms and normal mushrooms," he mumbles, "but now I know there are evil mushrooms and I don't think I want any mushrooms at all anymore."
"Good call, baby," you whisper, kissing him on the forehead and trying not to smile. "Ready to go inside and warm up?"
"Not tonight," he says after a pause. He looks up at you, begging with his big shiny eyes. "Please don't make me go back in there tonight."
"Okay," you breathe. "You don't have to go in. But I am, because I really have to pee, but I will be right back. And I'm bringing all the blankets with me, because you are not freezing to death on my watch. Okay?"
"Okay," he agrees. Eddie gets off of you so you can move, and holds his wrist up. He presses a button on his watch, and a low green light illuminates his face. He smiles a cute little lopsided smile. "You have one minute."
"I'm going, I'm going," you laugh, crawling out of the van.
Did this sound familiar to you? It should, 'cause it's a companion piece to the horrifying What If Real Life Is the Nightmare?
Note: I'll be formatting fucking with this for the next like 24 hours so apologies in advance.
Welcome to CCODTober where I'll probably be posting these into November because I am slow. So like buckle in, these are going to be all over the place!
CW: not edited fully(see above note), no other major warnings! It's just a short blurb of my babies Daisy n Steve. We'll see more of them throughout the different CCOD server events!
Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
The air is so clean as it flies through your hair, a stark difference to the stagnant and suffocating miasma that fills LA in October. No, the mountains you’re currently driving through are nothing like Los Angeles and you couldn’t be more thankful. This summers been extra suffocating, sharing a tiny ancient apartment with Steve has been a bit of an adjustment. He’s a picture perfect roommate, and an even better boyfriend- but he takes up so much room. Knocking elbows, hips brushing and he runs so hot it's nearly unbearable in that heat. But out here? It's welcome, needed, preferred even.
“You sure you don't want me to drive Steve?” He can hear the sincerity running through the question despite the fact you had nearly yelled it into his ear, he debated putting the roof up but the way the sun caught your hair and made your eyes sparkle just that little bit made him pause. He opted for lacing his hand with yours and pulling off on the nearest look off. Steve kills the engine before his sunglasses are pulled up into his hair, not quite taming the windswept locks.
“It’s okay honey. I just moved out of Hawkins. It’s been what?” He pauses for just a moment, like he’s gonna give you a chance to answer (he never does.)- “Like a decade since you’ve been here?” He gives your hand a squeeze before pulling his sunglasses back down and running his other hand through his hair. “I got this. Just… Enjoy it.”
Summary: Eddie's on the hunt. What happens when he catches you?
Word count: 4.2k
Tags and warnings: Smut (not super explicit), fluff, vague horror elements, psychic vampire Eddie, established relationship, established roleplay (predator/prey kinda vibes - reader's consenting!), reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+! Minors, please do not interact!
(Some more vampire!Eddie AU! This is a vague part 3 of my other two vampire fics - part 1 is Creature in the Night and part 2 is Come and Love Me. The CCODtober prompt was 'vampires'. Title is from Animal by W.A.S.P. Also, the LOTR film mentioned is the animated one from the '70s.)
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There’s something to be said about the taste of fear.
Even when he was alive, Eddie loved being scared half to death on the rickety old rollercoasters at the summer fair, or the excitement of screaming bloody murder in the changing rooms while the jocks were cooling off from a game, before hightailing it out of there as fast as his legs could carry him.
But his favourite was always watching scary movies with you. He loved when you’d freak out at something he could have seen coming from a mile away, because it always meant that you’d end up cuddled up close to him, with your face pressed into his chest. Every time he offered to turn it off, you’d shake your head, insistent that you could handle it.
Eddie wondered if it was just your excuse to spend a couple of hours in his arms. He certainly wasn’t going to complain about it.
Now, though, after everything that’s happened to him, everything that’s changed…
Well, there’s a little more to it.
It’s about a week before Hallowe’en when he notices it. You’ve just come back from the video store with an armful of tapes you’ve rented for over the weekend - one of them being a horror movie.
“You know you don’t have to keep watching these if you don’t like them,” he says, looking at the tape’s gruesome cover.
“It’s fine, it’s just the one,” you reply. “Besides, you can make it up to me by watching this afterwards.”
You lift one of the other tapes, drumming your fingers along the plastic case. Eddie looks at you with his eyebrows raised.
“You think you need to twist my arm to get me to watch The Lord of the Rings?” he asks in mock-exasperation. “I’m offended.”
As if you weren’t there with him when his own copy finally gave up the ghost halfway through the movie. He was honestly on the verge of tears.
You roll your eyes in reply, putting the horror movie into the VCR and flopping down onto the couch next to him. You’re not even through the coming attractions when Eddie’s doing his usual bit of pretending to scream and hiding behind a cushion to tease you.
“Yeah, yeah, keep it up,” you say, as if you’re actually annoyed. “I’m the one with the remote, you know, and I could just…”
Your finger hovers over the big red OFF button. Eddie quickly concedes defeat, and you give him a big satisfied smile. He knows it doesn’t bother you, not really, and you’ve told him as much when he’s asked. And he doesn’t make fun of you when you’re really scared - that would just be shitty of him.
You’re about twenty minutes into the movie when it happens. It’s quiet, eerily quiet, and Eddie knows something’s about to happen. He’s seen it a million times before - nearly every one of these movies is more or less the same, just switch out the mask or weapon. Then the high-pitched string section kicks in, and the camera pans around to the killer standing in what was, not ten seconds ago, an empty doorway. You scream at almost exactly the same time as the heroine, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. Eddie’s about to ask if you’re okay when he suddenly feels an overwhelming shiver run down his spine.
It takes him a minute to realise what it is, then it hits him.
It’s your fear. He can taste it, and he likes it.
He also can’t help but feel a little guilty. You’re scared, he shouldn’t be enjoying that.
But then it happens again. You let out a yelp, burying your face into his shoulder, and he slides an arm around you, trying to ignore that overwhelming feeling again.
It keeps coming. Every time you get scared, he gets another taste, and by the time the movie’s done, he feels a bit sick, like he’s been eating too much candy. You’re still in his arms, albeit a lot quieter now.
Tired, Eddie realises guiltily.
He should tell you. That way, you’ll know, and he won’t feel so bad about it.
“Sweetheart? You still with me?” he asks softly, giving you a little squeeze.
“Mm?” you murmur sleepily, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Listen, I, uh…I have a confession to make,” he says sheepishly. “I’ve, uh, well…”
“You’ve been feeding,” you finish, almost matter-of-factly. “I know.”
Eddie frowns. “How’d you-”
You turn yourself around to look up at him. “Because you’re not subtle, dumbass.”
He can see you trying to hold back a smile, but he still feels bad.
“I’m sorry, baby, really I am,” he says sincerely. “It just kinda hit me outta nowhere.”
“Yeah? But you didn’t stop, did you?” you retort, reaching up to poke him lightly on the cheek. “The first couple of times? Fine, I get it. But an hour and an half? Really, Munson?”
Eddie just chews at his lip nervously. You gently pry it from between his teeth.
“I’m not mad,” you tell him, and you sound as if you’re telling the truth. “If anything, it’s kind of a good thing, because I, um…I might have a little confession of my own.”
“Oh, yeah? You? Miss Goody Two Shoes?” he teases, making a fuss when you poke his cheek much harder.
“Oh, shut up. Look, lately I’ve been thinking about…Well, I know you’re not the exact same, but you’re still technically a big, scary vampire and all…”
“I am a big, scary vampire,” he replies smugly.
He’s still not over the fact that he’s not the bloodsucking kind, but hey, he did always want huge bat wings, so it’s a fair trade-off.
You shake your head. “Will you let me say it before I completely chicken out?”
Eddie mimes locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
“I’ve been thinking about those movies, y’know, the really old ones with the vampires? And I guess what I’m saying is…I wouldn’t mind if you…y’know…”
You’re obviously struggling, and Eddie can’t help himself. “Snuck into your room in a big velvet cape and had my wicked way with you?” he suggests, with a growing smirk.
You hide your face against his shoulder again with a groan, and that’s answer enough.
“You didn’t have to say it like that,” you tell him, your voice muffled.
“But that’s the gist of it, right? That’s what you want?”
He feels you nod.
“Hey. Look at me. This is important,” he murmurs, tapping his fingers gently at your side.
You lift your head back up, just about making eye contact with him.
“You trust me with this?” he asks.
Without hesitation, you nod again, and a feeling of warmth blooms in his chest.
“You know I would never hurt you, right?”
His voice is soft, timid even. But it’s the truth. He could never hurt you. He’d never forgive himself if he did.
“Yeah, of course,” you reply, with a shy smile.
Eddie leans in to press a big messy kiss to your cheek, and you weakly swat at him.
“We’ll need to work out some details, okay?” he murmurs. “I don’t wanna scare you.”
You just raise your eyebrows at him in disbelief. He quickly relents.
“Okay, fine, you know what I mean. I just…I don’t wanna push you too far, y’know?”
Eddie watches you carefully. You’ve never been the most comfortable with eye contact, but on this one, you stand resolute, holding his gaze. You mean it. A wide smile spreads across Eddie’s face then. He can’t help but wonder how he ever got so lucky.
“Just promise me one thing,” you say.
“Anything,” he replies, completely focused on your every word.
You try to stifle a laugh. “Please don’t actually wear a cape.”
It’s late, sometime after 11pm. The days are gradually growing colder and darker as fall comes around again. A thick layer of fog obscures most of the view from your bedroom window, and except for the occasional car passing by somewhere in the distance, the world is quiet. Peaceful.
You’ve just finished changing into your pyjamas, and you’re all set to climb into bed with a book and disappear into another world for a while.
You’re barely a chapter in when you hear it. A soft, scratching sound, as though something’s being dragged across glass. You glance up at the window.
There’s nothing there.
A few minutes pass before you hear it again. The same noise as before, only a little louder this time. Again, you look up to find nothing.
An uneasy feeling settles over you, and you reach over to your bedside table to switch the light off. Maybe it was a bird, you try to reason, attracted by the glow of the lamp.
The noise stops. Somewhat reassured, you lie down, trying to get yourself comfortable to go to sleep. Your book can wait until tomorrow.
Tap, tap, tap.
You bolt upright in bed, eyes fixed on the window. But there’s nothing there.
You slip out of bed, creeping towards the window. The world outside is still dark and quiet, and you can barely see a thing through the fog. Warily, you begin to make your way back to bed.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
You freeze, squeezing your eyes shut in fear. You struggle to keep your breathing under control. Maybe if you stay completely still for long enough, it’ll go away.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
It doesn’t seem to matter what you want; whatever it is, it wants your attention. Slowly, you turn around, almost tripping over your own feet when you see the pitch-black eyes staring at you through the glass.
You can’t move, can’t breathe. The eyes never once leave you, staring at you with such a horrid intensity that it makes your skin crawl.
“Sweetheart,” a voice sing-songs at you.
Your stomach drops. You know that voice.
And it’s then that you realise, far too late, that your window is still open. You didn’t close it properly, and it hangs open slightly, just off the latch.
Eddie continues tapping one finger rhythmically on the glass. The smile on his face is enough to make a shudder drag the length of your spine.
"You can't come in," you force yourself to say. Your heart feels as if it's stuck in your throat. "I'm not letting you in."
Eddie tilts his head to one side, dark eyes so wide and innocent.
"I can't come in?" he asks. "Come on, don't be cruel. You really gonna make me stay out here all night?"
His fingers curl under the window frame, and it swings open slightly with a creak. You can't bring yourself to move, as if you're glued to the spot.
“No. No. You can’t do that, I didn’t say you could- You told me-”
You’re not even paying attention to what you’re saying, your already frayed nerves getting the better of you.
Eddie shakes his head, with a patronising click of his tongue.
"I'm a monster, baby," he coos at you. "Why would you believe anything I tell you?"
He pulls at the window, harder this time, and it gives way easily, swinging open enough to let him in. He takes his time climbing into your room, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing.
As if you’re not slowly backing away from him in the hopes of escaping.
You’re too transfixed on Eddie to even notice where you’re going, and it isn’t until your back hits the wall that you realise that you’ve trapped yourself. Eddie’s still taking his time, and somehow that’s so much scarier than if he just ran at you. Not knowing what he’s about to do is driving you crazy.
“Baby,” he murmurs with a put-on pout. “You’re doing a great job of making a guy feel unwanted.”
You press your palms against the cold surface of the wall behind you, trying to give yourself some leverage. If you can push off hard enough, maybe you can-
Eddie tuts quietly, as if in disbelief.
“You think I can’t see what you’re planning?” he asks.
He gestures to the door, in a mockingly theatrical way.
“Oh, by all means, if I’m bothering you so much,” he says, his honeyed tone quickly turning sour.
Your eyes dart back and forth between him and the door. It’s not that far away, you could make it if you ran. But all of your limbs feel as if they’re locked in place, and you know Eddie doesn’t have the power to do that. At least, you don’t think he does.
You’re letting yourself get distracted, and it’s the one thing you can’t afford to do, not right now.
Not with the way Eddie’s watching you, like he wants nothing more than to devour you.
He starts to move then, and your heart feels like it might just give up the ghost any minute now. He’s still moving in that languid, lazy way that’s leaving you completely on edge. The closer he gets, the smaller your chances of escape are, but your brain and your body are not cooperating with each other at all. All you can do is watch him as he draws nearer to you; until at last, he stops. He presses his hands to the wall on either side of you, leaning in until his nose is no more than an inch from yours. His pitch-black gaze never leaves you for a second, and he lets his wings stretch out behind him, before they slowly curl in around you both, caging you in.
“You had your chance to leave, sweetheart,” he murmurs, low and taunting.
His nose brushes yours lightly, and it feels like an electric shock.
“But…” He drags the word out, as he moves closer to your ear. “I can make it worth your while. What do you say?”
You flinch as his teeth snap together.
You can’t seem to make your mouth work at all right now, your mind repeating the sound of that harsh bite over and over. Eddie reaches for your arm, his index finger making three slow taps against your skin.
You doing okay?
You hold back a smile, tapping on the back of his hand twice.
I’m fine. Keep going.
“Well?” he prompts impatiently, sliding back into it like nothing happened. “Answer me.”
You make yourself nod. “You’ll…be careful with me, right?” you ask, voice quiet.
Eddie laughs then, and he sounds downright feral. As if he’s holding on to the last of his control by a thread.
“Is that what you want?” he asks in turn. “Because if you say yes…”
His hands find your hips, his grip tight as he slots his leg between yours.
“...then I’ll know you’re lying.”
And you can’t bring yourself to argue with him, because he’s right. You would be lying, you don’t want him to be gentle with you at all. You want him to take and take and take, for as long as he wants.
He moves then, pressing his thigh up harder against you, and you gasp at the sudden contact. It’s not enough. Nowhere near it. And it doesn’t help when you can feel that he’s just as affected by all of this as you are.
His fingers curl under your chin, tilting your head towards him. It’s a struggle not to squirm under his heated gaze, not when he so easily leaves you feeling like prey. His eyes narrow, his hold tightening just enough to pull a tiny noise from you, and he finally cracks. You whine as his lips meet yours - out of desperation or relief, you’re not sure which.
He drags his hands down to your ass, squeezing you as he pushes you down against his thigh. His teeth nip at your lip as he pulls back.
“Where’d all that fight go, hm?” he asks, his tone patronising. “Just a few minutes ago, you were trying to escape, and now you’re practically humping my leg.”
Your face burns when you realise that he’s right - he’s not the one moving, it’s you. You force yourself to stop, the shame of being caught quickly washing over you.
“Hey, you don’t have to stop,” he says, his voice deceptively sweet. It’s unsettling how he can change at the drop of a dime like that. “Sure, it’s a little pathetic, pretty girl like you all desperate for it like that, but…”
He grinds his thigh against you, over and over until you’re squirming.
“…you don’t hear me complaining, do you?”
If he keeps toying with you like this, you’re going to cry. Maybe that’s what he wants.
“You want me to touch you?” he asks, his hand wandering around the waistband of your pyjamas.
You nod, almost choking when he actually does it. The angle’s a little awkward, but it’s enough to ease some of the pressure that’s been building since he climbed through the damn window.
He stops as quickly as that. You should have known better than to think he’d give in that easily.
“What’s the magic word?” he asks smugly.
Your head drops forward in annoyance, thumping against his chest.
“I can give you a hint, if you want,” he says. “Starts with a P. Puh, puh…”
He trails off, and you don’t need to see his face to know that he’s eating this up. In more ways than one.
You grip at his shirt, fingertips leaving little dents in the fabric. “Please,” you mumble.
Eddie hums to himself, as if he’s really giving it some thought.
“No,” he says at last, and your hands ball into fists in frustration. “And before you go calling me lazy…”
You hear the buckle of his belt rattling, and fabric being shoved at. He slides his arms under your thighs, and suddenly your mouth feels dry.
Oh, he’s not-
You don’t even have time to finish the thought before you’re given the answer. His grip tightens, and a panicked yelp is pulled from you as he lifts you off the ground. He pins you against the wall, his hands planted under your ass to hold you in place.
He’s so good at hiding how scarily strong he is now that it’s easy to forget until he does something like this. You wrap your legs around his waist, worried that he might let go of you, and right on cue, he does. You throw your arms around his neck, and he laughs.
“Easy there, doll,” he murmurs, with a little smirk. “You might give a guy the wrong idea.”
One of his hands starts to wander, and you try to wriggle away, embarrassed that he’s going to find out how wet you already are just from his teasing, but it’s no use. You’re completely trapped.
When he finds what he’s looking for, his eyes widen in mock-surprise.
“Or the right idea,” he says, almost giddily. “Guess I was wrong.”
He looks so pleased with himself. You’d hit him if you weren’t so afraid of falling. Eddie falls quiet for a moment, and you quickly find out why. His fingers hook into the seam of your underwear and tug them to one side, leaving you exposed.
“You gonna admit you want this now?” he asks coyly. “I mean, I already know, but…”
He slides the tips of his fingers through the mess you’ve already made, and you bite back a gasp.
“…it’s always nice to hear it.”
You shut your eyes tight, shaking your head. It’s not that you don’t want it - of course you do - but it’s humiliating when he makes you say it. You feel him start to move then, inching away from you, and you cling harder to him in desperation.
“Don’t,” you warn, but your voice is far too soft to sound even remotely threatening.
He stops where he is, still leaving you dangling precariously from him.
“You know what to do,” he says.
He gives you another few seconds before he pulls back again, and you’re very much ready to throw your shame out the window now.
“Okay, okay. I do. I do want this, I really do. Just please come back before I fall,” you babble at him.
Slowly, Eddie returns to where he was before, holding you steady. He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“There we go,” he murmurs, the comforting tone almost mocking. “Was that so hard, doll?”
You shake your head. Now that he’s got you again, you can feel how badly your arms are shaking from holding onto him.
“That’s my girl,” he purrs. “I think you’ve earned a little reward now, yeah?”
One hand reaches underneath you again, and you suck in a breath as he starts to push into you. Finally.
Eddie’s never been boring by any means - he’s got the energy to match his imagination, and he can be exhausting to keep up with sometimes - but you’ve never done anything like this before, and now you’re wondering what took him so long to think of it. Not once have you felt him tremble or waver at all. It’s like you weigh nothing to him, and just the thought of the power he has over you is enough to leave you dizzy.
And now that he’s got you exactly where he wants you, he can’t seem to keep himself under control anymore. Not that you’re faring much better. He quickly loses the last of his patience, pushing himself close until his hips are flush against you, and all you can really do is hang on to him while he gives you what you both desperately want. He ruts into you like an animal, sharp teeth nipping at your neck, and it’s getting more and more difficult to keep pretending that he’s still a big, scary monster, and not your undead boyfriend who agrees to the most ridiculous things just to make you happy.
A hiss escapes you as you feel him bite harder, and you know you should stop him - he’s going to leave bruises - but you’ll worry about it later. Right now, all you care about is how good he feels. You love when he gets like this, so caught up in his own hunger and lust that he can’t think about anything else but you.
You hear him swear under his breath, and you know he’s getting close already. His fingers dig into your skin, strong enough to leave marks, and you tug at his hair, dragging him into a bruising kiss. One of his hands snakes between your legs, and between that and his constant teasing since he showed up, you barely get a warning before you’re hitting your limit. You cling to Eddie as he coaxes you through it, your forehead pressed to his.
“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck- You’re doing so good for me,” he grits out.
His teeth sink hard into your shoulder as he follows you over the edge, and you just manage to push your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from crying out. You can feel yourself shaking all over, adrenaline coursing through you in waves.
Eddie presses a careful kiss to the mark he’s no doubt left on you, and you wince. He wraps his arms around your back, pulling you away from the wall and carrying you to bed, where he gently lays you down, before collapsing next to you.
No sooner have you caught your breath when he’s on you again, scooping you into his arms and squeezing you tight. He brushes his nose against yours, his hair tickling your face, and just like that, he’s your Eddie again.
“You okay, sunshine?” he asks softly.
Sunshine. It’s not a pet name he uses very often, but when he does, it always makes you smile so wide. You nod, and he sighs in relief as he kisses you.
“You sure? I wasn’t too rough with you?” he asks, and when you shake your head, you feel him relax his grip on you a little. “Wasn’t too mean and scary, huh?”
You laugh as he snaps at you playfully.
“Oh, by the way,” he says, as he rummages around in his pocket. “I can’t believe this actually worked.”
He pulls a folded piece of paper out, holding it up triumphantly. Your invitation. His permission slip, he’s been calling it.
“Can I keep this?” he asks. “Or is it like a hall pass? Do I have to give it back?”
“Of course you can keep it,” you reply, and Eddie takes no time at all in tucking it away safely again.
Something’s nagging at you, but the words keep getting caught in your throat. You know you have nothing to worry about, but it’s hard not to feel embarrassed over what you’re about to say all the same.
“I was just thinking…” you start hesitantly.
You take a breath, forcing it out before you can change your mind.
“You can be meaner and scarier next time,” you tell him in a rush.
His eyes widen, and he tilts his head every which way to meet your gaze. You press your hands to his face, to try and get him to stay still. And it works - for a couple of seconds.
“Next time?” he echoes, surprised. “You sure that’s what you said? I didn’t make that up?”
You just roll your eyes fondly.
He really is the most ridiculous person you’ve ever met, but you couldn’t possibly imagine him any other way. Undead or not, you love him exactly as he is.
Summary: Eddie meets someone interesting at a party he didn't want to go to.
Word count: 1.5k
Tags and warnings: Fluff, brief mentions of alcohol and Eddie dealing, Eddie is smitten from minute one, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.
(The CCODtober prompt was ‘bats’, and I was inspired by Kate Bush's iconic bat dress photos. Title is from Take A Slice by Glass Animals.)
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Eddie sits alone in his van, less than enthused about the night ahead. A friend of a friend of a guy he knows from somewhere or other had asked about him dealing at his Hallowe’en party. Eddie had been very tempted to say no, but a new amp doesn’t come cheap, and his wages only stretch so far.
He takes one last drag of his cigarette, letting out a sigh of smoke as he stubs the end out on his tobacco tin. He’s been trying and failing to find the courage to go in there and get this over with since he rolled the damn thing an hour ago. He forces himself to move, getting out of the van and slamming the door a bit too hard behind him.
He can only hope the people here are more generous with their money than the Hawkins High crowd ever were.
The lawn’s fairly quiet as he makes his way up to the house, with a few people dotted here and there, but inside, it’s chaos. Eddie can hardly move, let alone figure out where the guy who owns the place is. It doesn’t help that it’s a costume party, so he could be anyone.
This was a stupid idea, he thinks to himself. He’s all set to turn around and figure out some other way of getting the money together for his amp, when he finds himself distracted. A group of girls make their way down the stairs, all in costume. One in particular leaves him staring for longer than he’d like to admit. He watches them make their way through the crowd towards the kitchen.
Maybe he can stay for a little longer.
It takes him about twenty minutes to track down the guy he’s supposed to be looking for, and then all of a sudden, he goes from just some guy to an absolute hit. At least, until his lunchbox has been cleared out.
Just like high school. Some things never change.
Still, now that he’s off-duty, maybe he can try and find that girl he saw earlier. He makes his way through the crowd gathered in the kitchen, craning his neck to help him see better. He’s so distracted that he’s not fully paying attention to who’s in front of him, until it’s too late.
“Oh- Shit, sorry,” he mutters, turning his head to see who he almost knocked flying.
His mouth drops open slightly. It’s you. The girl he’s been looking for. And of course, in true Eddie fashion, now that you’re right in front of him, he suddenly can’t bring himself to say anything.
You don’t seem to have noticed that he’s being weird, and judging by the almost empty cup in your hand, he’d have to be stupid not to have figured out why. Or maybe you’re just being polite. Either way, he’s grateful that you’re nice enough not to call him an idiot. To his face, at least.
“Oh, wow,” you say, as you look him up and down.
Eddie feels his face warm with embarrassment, and he braces himself for whatever shit-talk is coming his way.
“I love your Kirk Hammett costume,” you tell him, your expression almost awestruck as you smile at him. “How long did it take you to get your hair like that?”
Eddie just stares at you. Surely he didn’t hear you right. It’s noisy as hell in here, and he’s hearing what he wants to hear, obviously. That, or he fell asleep in his van, and this is all just a wonderful dream. Because there’s no way you’re saying any of this to him right now.
“Uh, what?” he asks intelligently.
Your smile fades slightly. “Oh my God, I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “I just figured, y’know, with the way you’re dressed and all- Did I get it wrong?”
He shakes his head, as if that’ll knock some sense into him and get him to actually talk to you. “You know Metallica?” he asks.
“I mean, sure, they’re big right now,” you reply. “I’ve got a few of their tapes.”
The way you say it, so casually, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, leaves him reeling. For someone who normally has no trouble talking the ear off anyone and everyone, he’s really struggling to string a sentence together right now, and it’s driving him crazy. He wants to talk to you so badly, and he knows the longer he stands here gawking like a moron, the faster you’re going to realise that he’s not worth your time and leave.
“No kidding,” he forces himself to say.
God, he’s so bad at this. You seem none the wiser, though, and he’s grateful for that.
He gestures awkwardly towards you. “I love your costume too. It’s, uh…No, wait, don’t tell me, I know it.”
He looks you over, doing his utmost not to be a creep about it. Your head tilts slightly as you wait with an almost expectant expression on your face. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, clicking his fingers as if to help jog his memory.
“Kate Bush?” he guesses, squinting as he waits for you to shoot him down.
Your face lights up then, and you almost knock the rest of your drink over yourself in your excitement. “Yes!” you exclaim giddily.
Eddie feels his face burning again - but for a whole different reason this time. He can’t help but find himself smiling at you. There’s something about your energy - it’s contagious.
“God, I’m so glad someone finally got it!” you tell him excitedly, holding your arms out to show off the bat wing-like lace sewn into the sleeves of your black dress. “Everyone’s been calling me Elvira all night, can you believe that? I look nothing like her.”
Eddie tries his best to focus on what you’re saying. Because if he starts thinking about you dressed as Elvira - the woman he has more posters of than he’d like to admit - he’s gonna embarrass himself for sure.
“I mean, it’s definitely a compliment, she’s gorgeous,” he replies, hoping it sounds light-hearted.
“Obviously,” you say with a smile, taking a sip of your drink. “But I spent ages putting this together, you know? And you don’t even want to know how much hairspray I had to use. My hair’s practically a helmet.”
You pretend to knock at your hair, and Eddie laughs. You’re a little weird, he’ll admit, but he likes it. Besides, he’d be a hypocrite if he judged you for it. ‘King of the Freaks’ isn’t exactly a title that you can just walk away from easily.
You hold up your cup, giving it a little shake. “I’m gonna get a refill. You wanna come with?”
Eddie’s nodding before you’ve even finished asking.
What was supposed to be an hour of work at most turns into the rest of the evening, but Eddie’s certainly not complaining. The two of you end up talking about anything and everything, finding a quiet spot at the top of the stairs to hole up together. Usually, people find Eddie a bit off-putting - which is fine by him, because he usually finds people too normal and boring anyway - but you’re able to keep pace with him easily. He could happily stay here all night.
A voice calls your name from the bottom of the stairs - your friends from earlier, he realises.
“Our ride’s here!” one of the girls shouts, her eyes darting between you and Eddie with a barely hidden smile.
“Oh, shit,” you mutter to yourself, before raising your voice. “Just a sec!”
You rummage through your bag, fishing out an old receipt and a pen. You scribble something down and hand it to him.
“Here,” you say shyly.
Eddie looks down at the crumpled piece of paper. It’s your number.
“Just, y’know, if you wanna hang out sometime,” you tell him, a little nervously.
Eddie just nods, his brain slow to process what’s going on. This never happens to him. Maybe he really did fall asleep in his van.
“Yeah,” he says, dazed. He looks up at you with a smile. “Yeah, I’d- I’d like that.”
Your face lights up in relief. “Great!” you reply. “I gotta go. It was really nice meeting you.”
Eddie’s smile widens. “Yeah. You too.”
He watches as you make your way down the stairs. You’ve barely reached the bottom step when your friends are immediately all over you, talking excitedly and sneaking glances up at Eddie. You turn to wave at him before you leave, with a bright laugh as one of your friends says something he can’t make out.
He waves back, before looking at the paper in his hand again, as if to make sure he didn’t imagine it. He carefully folds it up and tucks it into his pocket. His face is starting to hurt from smiling so much, and there’s an honest to God spring in his step as he makes his way out the door and back to his van.
Maybe parties aren't just as bad as he remembered.
Summary: A chance encounter with a little monkey leads you to the upset Emperor's hiding place. (Prompt fill)
Word count: 1.4k
Tags and warnings: Fluff with the teensiest amount of angst, Caracalla is a little softie when he wants to be, no pronouns for reader, no use of Y/N.
(Something short and sweet for my favourite little imp! The CCODtober prompt was 'lanterns', and both @sweetpeapod and @justnatoka sent me lovely asks that helped inspire this. I'm not sure if there's much of an audience for Caracalla anymore, but I still love him all the same.)
Caracalla Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist
The halls of the imperial palace are rarely ever silent. Even in the early hours of the morn, there is always some sort of commotion, be it from revellers wandering to bed after the previous evening’s banquet, or the bustle of servants as they prepare for the day ahead.
So accustomed have you grown to the clamour, that you find yourself more unsettled by the quiet. You are late in retiring to bed, after a list of duties that seemed never-ending. Lantern in hand, you make your way through the corridors of the palace, that now, in their emptiness, feel cavernous.
A feeling of dread sinks over you, and as a result, you assume that the strange sound following you must be your imagination. But try as you might to ignore it, it grows only louder. A persistent chittering sound.
You slow to a halt, holding your lantern higher to find the source. The room appears to be empty. Fearful, you carefully continue on, your ears straining to see if it can still be heard.
There it is again. It is closer this time, much closer, and it is then that you realise that it comes from the ground. Warily, you look down, and your eyes widen. A little monkey crouches by your feet.
Dondus. Emperor Caracalla’s pet.
That feeling of dread only worsens. Your skin feels clammy, in spite of the chill in the night air. Surely she cannot be here alone. You cast a nervous glance around the room. There is no one there. Slowly, you bend down, setting the lantern to one side.
“Are you lost, little one?” you ask in a whisper, in spite of your anxiety that the volatile Emperor may happen upon you at any moment.
Dondus continues chattering, her big eyes roaming the length of you and around the room. She reaches out with a small hand, sharply tugging at your robes. You attempt to gently pry the fabric from her grasp, but she is not to be deterred. Over and over, she pulls, and you notice that she keeps looking to the far end of the room. A long table runs along the wall, covered by an intricately patterned cloth.
“Is there something there?” you ask.
Again, she tugs at you, as if in answer. You rise to stand once more, lifting the lantern. You take a cautious step forward, and immediately Dondus lets go, scampering off in the direction of the table. You follow after her, although far more wary in your movements. She slips under the cloth as you reach the table. Perhaps there is another small animal hidden underneath, you think to yourself, or a piece of food that she cannot quite reach.
You crouch down, tentatively lifting the bottom of the tablecloth. The lantern almost drops from your grasp, as you find yourself face to face with none other than Emperor Caracalla himself.
Immediately, you bow your head, your gaze fixed on the floor.
“My Emperor,” you greet politely. “Forgive me for intruding.”
He does not respond, leaving you in a very difficult position. Do you leave him in peace, or do you wait until he has given an order? Time seems to slip by agonisingly slowly, as you wait for the punishment that is sure to come for disturbing the Emperor as you have.
But it does not. Instead, you hear a soft whimper. You dare to hazard a glance up at him.
He is crying.
Against, perhaps, your better judgment, you crawl beneath the table, setting the lantern beside you. The hem of the cloth falls to the floor behind you, leaving the three of you secreted away from the rest of the palace.
“My Emperor,” you call quietly. “Are you hurt?”
Caracalla merely shakes his head, with a little sniffle. His bright eyes shine with tears, and his knees are drawn up to his chest, with his arms wrapped tightly around them. Vicious a ruler though he may be; as he is now, he looks so small. A part of you wishes to comfort him - if you knew that it would not cost you your life.
“Perhaps I could fetch someone for you?” you gently suggest. “Emperor Geta-”
No sooner has his brother’s name left your mouth when Caracalla looks at you, as if he is seeing you for the first time. It is quite possible that he is.
“No,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “You will stay with me.”
In a sudden movement, he reaches for you, his grip tight as his hand encircles your wrist. You hope that he did not feel you flinch.
“Please,” he all but breathes, as a fresh wave of tears leave tracks along his pale cheeks.
You bring yourself to nod, not daring to move any other part of you, for fear of startling him. Or worse.
“Yes, my Emperor.”
Caracalla shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut with a frustrated expression.
“Caracalla,” he says. “Not my title. My name.”
“Of course…Caracalla,” you reply, careful that you do not stumble over the syllables.
It feels strange on your tongue, and you wonder briefly if this is the first time that you have ever said it aloud.
His grip loosens on your wrist then, however slightly. You try to bring yourself to ask why he is hiding under here, when a little chirp from Dondus distracts your attention. She clambers into your lap, a grape clutched tightly in her grip.
“She likes you,” Caracalla murmurs, and it is hard to miss the small note of awe in his tone.
“Dondus is the one who led me to you,” you reply, as you watch her pick at the grape’s skin. “I think she was worried about you.”
“She is the only one in this rotten place that I can trust,” he tells you, with all of the softness of a confession.
You chance a look in his direction. His gaze is fixed directly on you, and you are suddenly lost for words. There is a soft beauty to Caracalla, so often hidden by lavish adornments and manic smiles. But here, as he is now, you cannot help but find yourself entranced by it.
“She certainly seems to trust you,” he continues. “I wonder…”
His hand leaves your wrist then, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly along your forearm.
“...if I may do the same.”
It takes everything in you to hold your voice steady, as his fingers continue their path along your arm, across your shoulder to your face, where they stop, balanced precariously against the line of your jaw.
“Of course, m- Caracalla,” you murmur, managing to correct yourself in time. “You may trust me with anything.”
His face breaks into a sudden smile, and there is so much joy in his expression that you smile in turn, your worry beginning to dissipate. Slowly, Caracalla inches closer to you. His eyes are sharp as he watches you, before finally, he leans himself against you, resting his head against your shoulder. Not once does his hand leave your face, and gradually, you build the courage to gently place your own hand over his.
He does not flinch as you had expected; instead, he hums softly, as if contented.
You remain that way for some time, wrapped in this little world of your own making. It is some time before Caracalla decides to retire to bed, and even longer before you are able to do the same. He insists that you walk with him to his chambers, his arm linked with yours as Dondus perches herself sleepily on his shoulder.
He stops outside the grand doors, turning to you. His hand finds yours, and he raises it to his lips. The kiss pressed to your skin is soft, careful; almost entirely uncharacteristic of a man like Caracalla. Or so, perhaps, you might have thought, before tonight.
“I hope that I will not forget your face,” he whispers, as his gaze drifts across your features.
You do not dare to ask what he means by that. Something tells you that he would not appreciate it. Instead, you bow your head with a smile.
“Goodnight, Caracalla,” you reply.
Again, he hums softly to himself, his expression content. You wait until the door closes behind him, before setting off once more to your own bed.
You say nothing to anyone the next day. They would tell you that you merely dreamed your encounter with the Emperor.
You wonder to yourself if you did. But if so, what a pleasant dream it was.
Summary: You have heard tales of creatures of the deep, who lure lost souls to them and drag them to their demise. But surely the beautiful stranger in the lake, who speaks so sweetly to you, is not one of them. Is he?
Word count: 2k
Tags and warnings: Siren!Geta, vague horror elements, ambiguous ending, no use of Y/N.
(I'm very much playing with mermaid mythology (I know sirens are also depicted as bird-like) and fae folklore here, but I'm Irish and it's spooky season, so hopefully I can be forgiven for being a bit all over the place. Written for CCODtober’s prompt 'magic'.)
Geta Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist
There are tales of creatures that live below the water’s surface. Of terrifying, vicious monsters that lure lost souls into their clutches with their saccharine songs and beguiling charm, only to drag them to their demise.
You know these tales well. As a child, you would hear them often, from the protective elders who were anxious to keep the little ones safe from the dangers of the nearby lake.
And it worked, in a way. While the other children were afraid and wary, you felt such a strange sense of pity for these creatures. Perhaps they were lonely, you would think to yourself, and in a desperate hope for companionship, they were unaware that humans could not survive underwater alongside them.
Some part of you knew that your thoughts would only be met with ridicule, and so you kept them to yourself. And when you were alone, you would write letters. Whatever came to your mind, you would write it down, and once you were finished, you would take the page and roll it up, pushing it into a bottle. Then you would sneak down to the lake, and toss it into the water. You would watch it float along the surface for as long as you could, before scurrying off home again.
None of the bottles ever washed back up on the shore, and that was enough of a sign for you to continue writing. They must be finding someone out there, you reasoned. You began including little trinkets too - whatever was small enough to fit through the narrow neck of the bottle.
And then, one evening, after many months of sending bottle after bottle across the lake, you found something, lying along the shore. It was a pendant, a pretty stone hanging from a knotted length of string. Thinking it to be a response at last, you pocketed it in excitement. When anyone asked, you would tell them that you had bought it at a market stall, and no one was ever the wiser.
As you grew older, you gradually stopped sending letters, but the pendant stayed with you. Even now, as you sit on a rock by the edge of the lake in the late summer, it hangs from your neck, and you find yourself clutching it with a wistful smile.
It is a quiet night, with not another soul in sight. The water glitters beneath the bright light of the full moon, and a gentle breeze drifts through the still warm air. The sound of the waves lapping gently against the rocks fills your ears, and you let out a contented sigh.
So distracted are you by the tranquil scenery that you have yet to notice the shadowy figure as it gradually breaks through the water’s surface.
“Are you lost?” asks a voice.
With a start, you fall back, hissing as your elbows collide harshly with the rough stone beneath you. You look around you fearfully, in the hopes of finding where the voice comes from.
Perhaps, if you were less panicked, you would be quicker to notice that the source of it is right in front of you.
The voice breaks into laughter then; a sultry sound that leaves your stomach fluttering in spite of your fear. When you finally lock eyes with the mysterious stranger, it feels as though the very breath has been stolen from your lungs.
In front of you is a man, where there was very much not one before. But he is not like any man you have ever seen before; he possesses a beauty that could only be described as otherworldly. His short copper locks lie in loose waves, and his eyes are as vibrant as gold. He rests his chin in his hand as he leans against the rock that sits a little lower than yours. His mouth is pulled into a smile, and he looks up at you with a mischievous glint in his captivating gaze.
Only the upper half of his body is visible; the rest is submerged beneath the dark depths. From what you can see, he appears to be wearing nothing, and while heat rises to your cheeks at such a thought, you cannot bring yourself to look elsewhere. Droplets of water drift across his skin, shimmering faintly in the moonlight. His fingers are decorated with rings adorned with a rainbow of pretty stones, armlets and bracelets encircle his strong arms, and a pendant hangs from his neck, the delicate chain glinting where it runs the length of his broad chest. He tilts his head slightly as he continues to observe you, and it is then that you notice the intricately carved crown of golden leaves that sits atop his head.
How vividly he reminds you of the stories from your childhood, of the enigmatic beings who live below the land, in a world far beyond the prying eyes of those who dwell on the surface. As if he himself has been plucked from a fairy tale.
You try your best to dismiss these thoughts. He is no strange creature, and certainly no monster. He is but a man, albeit one so vastly different from any you have ever known.
“How you stare,” he remarks, a hint of amusement in his words.
Embarrassment washes over you. There is no point in lying - you have been staring. But can you be blamed for your actions, when he is so bewitching?
“Though I must admit that I have been doing the same,” he continues, his gaze flickering across your face in a way that makes you shiver, in spite of the warm air.
And his voice…
It is low, alluring; his words wrap themselves around you in a way that leaves you feeling light-headed. There is a commanding air to how he speaks, as if he is rarely, if ever, met with the word ‘no’. It draws you in in a way that you cannot explain, and leaves you wishing for more.
“Who are you?” you finally force yourself to ask, though it is hard to think when you find yourself becoming so lost in the ethereal glow of his eyes.
“You may call me Geta,” he replies, as he extends a bejewelled hand to you. “I am afraid that you would not be able to pronounce my true name in its entirety.”
Even the manner in which he speaks feels unusual; yet you allow him to take your hand. He is warm to the touch, which surprises you. Even in the height of summer, the lake always runs cool, and during the day, the shore is dotted with visitors desperately seeking respite from Apollo’s unceasing gaze.
“Geta,” you echo dazedly.
What a pretty sound his name makes. You blink slowly at him, completely enchanted by his beauty.
“I have never seen you here before,” he says softly. “What a pity.”
“A pity?” you ask. “What do you mean?”
Geta leans in closer to you. He has yet to let go of you, but his touch is oddly soothing. The water surrounding him laps lightly against the rocks as he moves.
“That a beautiful creature such as you has been kept from me,” he replies, with a warm smile that makes your heart thud hard against your ribcage.
Your mind feels clouded, and even thinking feels like a task. You drag your gaze away from Geta’s face, trying to focus on something else. Anything. Once again, you notice the pendant around his neck, and your brow knits into a frown.
“Your pendant…”
Carefully, you reach for your own, holding it out for him to see. They are almost identical. With his other hand, Geta reaches for it, his thumb brushing over the stone almost reverently.
“Where did you find this?” he asks.
“On the shore, a long time ago,” you tell him. It is difficult to focus when he is so close to you.
Geta is quiet for a moment, focused on the pendant as if he is deep in thought.
“You were the one who sent the bottles,” he murmurs, glancing up at you in realisation.
There is no denying what his words mean. How you wish your head did not feel so foggy, so that you could think.
“Yes,” you manage to say. “Did you read the letters inside?”
He smiles. “I did. I would read them as many times as I could, before the pages were eventually lost to the lake. Even after so many years, I held onto some small hope that my pendant would one day reach their sender.”
His fingers close over the stone, and perhaps it is your imagination, but his grip feels as though it tightens, before he lets go as swiftly as that. You carefully raise your hand to touch the back of your neck, wincing as your skin stings ever so slightly.
“If it is yours, then you must allow me to return it to you,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.
“It is rude to return a gift,” he replies, rather matter-of-factly.
Those eyes, those mesmerising, beautiful eyes are watching you with such intensity that you can hardly bring yourself to move.
“But perhaps I might be rude in asking for something from you.”
“I fear that I have nothing worth what you have given me,” you tell him, almost apologetically.
He waves dismissively. “What I ask for is worth its weight in something far more valuable than gold.”
You frown. What on earth is he talking about? What could you possibly possess that is worth so much?
He beckons you closer still, with a slight tug at your hand. Even without his guidance, you would have gladly went without hesitation.
“Your name,” he says in a hushed breath.
It is quite an effort to keep the smile from your lips. Your name? He would truly ask so little of you?
Without a thought, you give it to him, and for the briefest moment, his expression changes in a way that makes your blood run cold. You blink, and it is gone. You must have imagined it. With only the light of the moon to see by, it is easy for the mind to play tricks.
Even so, his eyes did look as though they had turned black as pitch.
He echoes your name back to you, taking care in how he says it, as if it is a precious treasure. Once more, that light-headed feeling creeps over you. It is not unpleasant, much like sinking into a warm bath after a long day. How you wish to let your eyes slip closed, to let this feeling carry you away.
You are barely able to stifle a yawn, and Geta smiles at you. His lips part, revealing his teeth. They are sharp, pointed at the ends. Far too vicious for such a pretty face, you think to yourself.
“Forgive me,” he murmurs, as his other hand reaches up to gently touch your cheek, leaving trails of water against your skin. “I have stolen too much of your time.”
You feel his fingers slowly drift lower to your neck, where they stop. You wonder if he can feel your hammering pulse.
“Please, there is no need to apologise,” you reply drowsily.
Words are becoming more of a struggle; your tongue feels as though it is not your own. Your eyes grow heavier, and it is becoming harder and harder to resist sleep.
“Do not fight.”
Geta’s voice is soft, soothing, enveloping you in a warm haze.
“You are safe here with me.”
And how easily you believe him. As you balance delicately between the waking and dreaming worlds, you would do anything he asked of you in this moment.
Almost as if he were a…
Somewhere in the distance, as you drift away into slumber, you feel water lap at your skin, warm and inviting. A saccharine song lilts in the night air, and then, you are lost.
