#rip elliott smith | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

witchwrestler · 4 months ago

Text

Hey there, Sailor.

pairing: fisherman!eddie + gn reader

wc: 1.8k

warnings: talk of the upside down, brief mention of scars

summary: he's a fisherman now, 20 something and trying to figure things out. The bakery he passes on his trek home finally lures him in one day, and a new friend (or maybe more) is made

a/n: greatly inspired by this fic by @/dr-aculaa | i had so much fun writing this, and i really hope you enjoy <3

It was 1995. ten years had come and gone since then. Things had calmed down. He had calmed down.

He found himself in the dreary west coast town of seattle, working on a boat catching fish for a somewhat sketchy payment. The grimey parts of which even grossed him out sometimes. He'd seen slimy creatures with rows of teeth from other dimensions and yet still some sea creatures made his skin crawl.

He was out of hawkins---he had lived through everything. He fought hard. And he made it. The monitors still rhythmically beeped in the back of his mind when he slept sometimes. The dull scars still riddled his abdomen, a not so subtle reminder of his close encounter with death. After everything he'd been through, eddie resorted to a quiet existence. Gone were the days of the loud, long haired boy with silver clad hands. The ripped jeans and homeade denim vest, covered in patches and pins were left behind. Soon replaced with cable knit sweaters and dickies, his beanie covering his shaved head.

He decided the quiet was easier, Though socialization was hard to come by when his work day ended when everyone else's began.

Making the early trek back home from the docks, he finds himself passing the little bakery on the corner. Usually he passes it and finds a 'we are closed' sign hanging on the door, but sometimes he catches glimpses of you setting up your quaint little shop for the day. Today, as he approaches the shop, the sign reads,

'we are open'

He peers in the window for a moment, advertisements for local bands, theater productions and bar crawls plastered over the glass. Soon his feet carry him inside, contrary to his brain, which was still deciding. As he enters the shop, the clash blares quietly from the back as he moves to the front, a second voice accompanying the song quietly.

"...Should I stay or should I go?

If you say that you are mine, I'll be here till the end of time"

Once upon a time the clash was his fourth favorite band, but after everything that he'd been through he found himself with music like elliott smith, and the smashing pumpkins. He cursed himself sometimes for listening to shit he used to call 'sad bastard crap', but he wasn't who he was in high school anymore, and it fit who he was now. Though now, he thought he might start listening to that stuff again. He was happier when he did anyway.

Standing awkwardly behind the cash register, he pulls his beanie off his head and brings a cold hand up to scratch his buzzed hair. His eyes wander the case, the freshly baked donuts and pastries sat carefully placed behind the glass, and when he looks back up, there you were.

In a metallica tour shirt. A warm smile on your face. "Hi." You coo, voice floating through the air. "I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, I opened early---I wasn't sure anyone would come in though" You add lightly, grateful he was your first customer of the day.

"that's alright" He says timidly. Soaking up your voice like morning sun.

He quietly requests a jelly filled donut. Just one he says. You happily get a peice of parchment paper and pick up the donut, carefully placing it in a bag.

"anything else?" You ask sweetly. His dark chocolate brown eyes meet yours as you set his donut on the counter in front of him, his still cold hands stuffed into the pockets of his carhartt jacket.

"that's ok." He says, slightly shaking his head no. He didnt want to be a bother and he was trying to not get caught up in your kind, warm smile that had his heart fluttering.

"you sure?" You questioned, "no coffee?"

"just the donut is ok. thank you, though" He says, politely declining and pulling out a couple of crumpled dollar bills to pay for the donut. You turn around and pour him a cup of coffee anyway. He looked tired. And it was cold outside.

You softly set the cup down next to his donut "on the house." You push the cup and bag toward him as he stares at it for a moment. His eyes sort-of wide. "really?" He questions, seemingly quite baffled by the gesture.

"you are my first customer of the day, after all" You say, shrugging.

He gives you a polite nod and makes his way toward the door, but not before turning around again to catch another glimpse. He pulled his beanie back on and sipped the coffee as he walked, holding the donut in his other hand. He found a park bench near his apartment and sat down, deciding he would eat the donut now.

he pulled the sweet treat out of the white paper bag, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a bite.

the sweet bread and jam melt in his mouth, causing him to fight a smile.

He makes the walk back to his apartment, and shuffles into the slightly grimey room, his boots squeaking on the floor. The smell of fish and salty air clung to his jacket as he hung it on the hook. He tried his best to make his dirt cheap apartment feel like a home. He decorated the walls with old band posters from his room in his uncles trailer, glimpses of what now seemed like a past life. He hung mugs just like his uncle did, to make it feel like home. Sometimes he missed the sense of home his uncles trailer gave him, but he did everything he could to remind himself of it. Although he didn't want to be back in hawkins, he didn't want to forget it either. He stripped off his work clothes to get ready for bed, finding himself daydreaming of the bakery owner he'd met today, who gave him the best donut he'd had in years.

When he left work the next morning, the donut shop was once again, open early. As he approaches the flyer covered windows, he finds himself, dare he say, nervous. He wondered if you made any new pastries today that he could try. His stomach twisted a little at the unfamiliar feeling, he hadn't felt like this about a person in a while, or ever, really. He carefully opened the door, eyes traveling the case of pastries as he walked in.

"Hey there, sailor" You greet as you walk out of the back kitchen, this time a metallica song plays faintly from your radio.

He smiles shyly at your greeting and gives you a small wave.

"What can I do for you?" You ask, turning around and putting on a pair of plastic gloves.

"What would you recommend?" He asks after a beat of silence.

Your face lights up with a warm smile, pleased that he asked your opinion. "I made beignets this morning" You say softly. "they're fresh"

He perks up a little at your words and nods slightly. "that sounds good" He says, a tight lipped but sincere smile on his face.

You nod politely and start to walk into the back and prepare him a little paper boat of them but then stop yourself.

"---do you want to come into the back?" You say, before you even realized what had come out of your mouth.

"--but I reek of sea animals?" He says, intrigued but slightly confused why you're inviting this smelly fisherman into your workspace.

"that's ok. come if you want." You shrug and leave the little swinging counter door open for him to enter if he chooses.

You walk into the kitchen, trays of donuts lining the metal counter tops, making your way toward a small plate of beignets. You pick up the confectioners sugar placed next to the plate and lightly dust a helping of it on top of the fried delicacies. Turning around you pick up a small paper tray and carefully place some of them inside.

"I like the music" You hear his voice say from across the table. "You can turn it up if you'd like. the radios right there" You say, a sweet smile on your face as you point over to the radio on your counter.

"Now some men like a fishin'

And some men like the fowlin'

And some men like to hear

To hear the cannonball roarin'

Me, I like sleepin'

'Specially in my Molly's chamber"

He doesn't turn the radio up. He likes that it's faintly playing, just enough to hear it if you really listen. "You a metallica fan?" You ask, looking up for a moment before lightly dusting the serving you'd prepared him.

He smiles sheepishly, scratching his head. "---In a past life" flashes of his james hetfeild esque haircut running through his mind.

You hand him the serving of beignets, giving him a small nod and then leaning against the counter behind you.

"not so much anymore?"

"I've decided I like the quiet more" He speaks quietly.

The conversation comes to a halt as he bites into one of the beignets you gave him. A sigh of, relief? pleasure? You couldn't quite place it escapes his chapped lips.

"I hope they're good. I've been workshopping the recipe for weeks" You speak, hopeful.

"They're more than good" He says, in the same deep and quiet voice.

"good" You nod, the ghost of a smile on your face.

"Uhm- do you mind me asking what brought you here? ---to seattle, i mean. it's quite a gloomy place for a 20--something--kid to move to---but I guess I'm one to talk" You talk quietly, worried you were talking too much to someone who didn't like that---he was very quiet--you couldn't tell.

Big brown eyes look up from the breakfast treat and at you, he swallows and thinks for a second.

"my hometown is---strange. I love it---but I had to get out of there. and here seemed like a good fresh start, I guess" He says, his voice gruff but kind.

"how long have you lived here?" You inquire, trying not to impose too much

"eight years"

"seven" you say, trying to find common ground "you should start coming in more often, I could use a familiar face" You had regulars at the bakery, but they were all simple hellos and goodbyes and small talk. This one seemed like it could be a friendship. Maybe you wanted more than that with this gruff and quiet fisherman who stumbled into your bakery, but you'll cross that bridge when you get there.

He stares for a moment, seemingly considering and running all the possible outcomes. "Yeah---Yeah."

You smile warmly at him from across the counter. He smiles sheepishly back.

He walks home in the cold and light rain that morning, thinking of ways he could talk to you. He didn't know alot, but he knew that you seemed like someone he'd like to keep around.

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