you’re allowed to get up one day and just decide to change who you are. dress differently, speak up more, laugh out loud even though you’ve never liked your laugh, say what you want to, say hey to people you wouldn’t normally, get that confidence going. we don’t have to stay the way people see us out of the fear that they won’t like the us we want to be.
So insane how the duffer brothers were like, here’s a story about a guy who’s weird and sincere and vulnerable and brave and he’s hated for it, and here’s a story about how he stood his ground and he fought and he died for those he loved and for those who hated him and we, collectively, said no
No he didn’t
He’s alive, and he’s a rockstar, he’s alive and he’s an author, he’s alive and he’s a mechanic. He’s alive and he’s a father and a husband and a nephew and a friend. He’s alive and he’s changed, and different, and wrong, and he’s alive and he’s still weird and goofy and sincere
And he’s fictional, he doesn’t exist and he’s never existed but he’s alive because we all tell each other stories about him over and over and each story is different and in each one he’s living a different life but he’s alive.
Despite the story they tried to tell, we’re keeping him alive
Summary Eddie’s had a long day, but being with you is enough to turn even the worst days into something sweeter [fluff, artsy reader, mild hurt/comfort, smut, 3.2k]
A/N This is some of my favorite smut I've written. Still very much stuck on him.
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It’s much quieter in your neighborhood than it is in Forest Hills. No muffled music or raised voices carry from the houses around the cul-de-sac. Tired men don’t tinker on rusty cars. Unleashed dogs don’t sniff their way through ailing yards that aren’t their own. The only signs of life are cars in driveways and lamplight through windows. The golden sun hangs low in the darkening sky.
Eddie makes a final attempt to exhale the weight of the day away before he presses your doorbell. Not even a second later, the lock clicks and the door swings open.
The smile you offer has him convinced that every butterfly he’s ever seen now exists within the confines of his stomach. It’s as if familiarity and radiance itself exist in the way your lips lift upwards to reveal the glint of your teeth.
“I heard you pull up,” you say. “In case you were wondering why I opened the door in two seconds…” you trail off when you realize you don’t sound as convincing as you want.
Eddie smiles with a fond shake of his head. The action causes more of his curls fall onto his shoulders. He’d never make fun of you for being eager to see him. Especially when half the people in Hawkins care more about his skills beneath the hood than him as a person.
“Sorry I’m later than I said I’d be,” he says as you usher him inside. “Wanted to grab a shower before I came over.”
“Didn’t you hear?” Eddie's brow furrows innocently at your question. “I love the smell of motor oil.”
He huffs out a chuckle that makes you bite your lower lip to keep from grinning like a fool. Then he laughs again, deeper this time, like a funny thought has struck him. But he takes a step closer, cups your cheek, and kisses you. His lips are slow and easy against your own.
When he pulls away, you catch the weariness in his eyes, softened by gratitude as he takes you in. He could’ve gone home. He could’ve turned in for the night. But he wanted to see you too. He needed to see you.
“Hey,” you say softly. “Everything okay?”
You reach out to tuck his hair behind his ears, and he lets you. Any other time, he’d shake it back loose with a playful smirk. Tonight he doesn’t.
He catches your hand as you pull away, and dots a few kisses over your knuckles. Work and playing guitar have calloused his palms. His steel rings glint in the low light of the foyer.
“I’m okay,” he says into your skin. You remain quiet in hopes that it’ll coax more out of him. “Long day at the shop.”
You hum. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. Don’t be.
“Got you something,” he remembers. "Been holding onto it for a couple days." He realizes he’s empty-handed.
“Shit. I left it in the van.”
You chuckle as he presses another quick kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go and pulls away.
When Eddie comes back inside, you’re on the living room couch with one leg tucked beneath you. The TV plays low reruns of I Love Lucy, but you grant him all your attention as he settles beside you. Before you have the chance to ask what’s in the brown paper bag, he pulls out a nice set of drawing pencils and a leather-bound sketchbook.
Your mouth falls open as he passes them over to you, his expression quietly hopeful. Big brown eyes eager for your reaction.
“Eddie…”
“You filled your last sketchbook. And you’ve been needing some new pencils." He rests his forearms on his thighs and licks his lips. "Knew you’d hold off on getting them for yourself so I figured..."
A smile finally breaks across your face.
“These are the fancy kind too," you note as you look over the pencils. "Thank you so much, baby. Really.” He shrugs like it's no big deal even as he bites back the proud quirk of his lips. It was a privilege to be able to do little things like this when he could.
The leather of the sketchbook is smooth as you flip open the cover to run your fingers over the crisp, fragrant pages.
When you meet his eyes again, your gaze is soft and observant, like you have an idea. It feels like you're seeing straight into him. He's handsome. Long curls, kind eyes, plush lips. Even then, it's clear he still wears the remnants of the hours prior, though he masks it well.
“Maybe I can draw you," you propose with the quiet hope he’ll oblige. “To break everything in.
"All you've gotta do is sit back and relax. We can talk, watch some TV, eat my snacks." He smiles at that last part.
After the frustrated customers he had to diffuse today, he can do that. Gladly so.
•••
The warm lamplight and the glow of the TV cast soft shadows across Eddie's face. His long lashes appear heavy with the relaxed way he blinks at the screen. He’s sunk back into the cushions, legs spread just so, hands interlocked over his stomach, rising and falling with his breaths. An empty bowl of popcorn rests on the coffee table along with a hollow box of Jujyfruits.
Five separate sketches of him now constitute the beginnings of your new sketchbook. He tilts his head to peer over at you when he no longer hears the familiar brush of graphite against paper.
The cushions shift as he straightens up and rubs his eyes with lazy fists.
“All finished?” he asks, and you nod. “Can I see?”
When you pass him the sketchbook, his eyes rove over the drawing with the attentiveness of a critic, but void of any harshness or critique. It’s more of an assessment, an appreciation. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Raises the book to get a better look at the hatching technique you used to shade the first sketch you completed.
It’s a straight-on portrait that he’d faced you for. There’s a sense of ease about his gaze. A warmth paired with an underlying pensiveness. He knows he’s being studied but feels more seen than exposed.
Except, Eddie's so much more than you’ll ever be able to confine to a couple sheets of paper. Charming in an awkward way, with one of the kindest hearts you’ve ever known. Loving him is as easy as blinking or breathing. So natural it feels innate. He feels your gaze as he studies the sketches.
When he redirects his attention to you, he offers one of his steady, slow-moving smiles that never fails to make your stomach flutter.
“Always staring at me,” he accuses, too lighthearted to be mistaken for a complaint.
In truth, you observed everyone and everything. But never with the same admiration allotted to Eddie. There were so many layers that you feared you wouldn’t have the time to unravel them all. You’d never wanted to know the inner workings of another person so intimately.
After a lifetime of slipping through the cracks, it sure was nice to be seen in an unadulterated way by you.
“Can’t help it,” you murmur.
Eddie tracks your movements as you grab one of the accent pillows and toss it to the floor at his feet. A second later, you drop down onto it. His breath catches when you place two gentle hands on his knees and spread his legs so you can better settle between them.
"Hope your day's gotten a little better since you’ve been here," you murmur.
Eddie swallows. Sets your sketchbook aside with a jittery hand.
“It has." His voice is thick as anticipation stirs within him. "As soon as I walked through the door.”
You hum as he squirms, hyperaware of your touch as your hands drift along his thighs. His head tips back when you palm him through the fabric of his jeans. Warmth ignites in his cheeks and melts to his torso as his pants tighten in the wake of his arousal. Along the thick column of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobs with another swallow.
It hadn’t even taken much.
His legs fall open wider, like a gate, when you begin to unbuckle his belt. The metal hardware clinks with your movements, breaking the hush between you. You pop the button, drag the zipper down.
“Wanna help me get these off?” A sweet smile plays on your lips as you blink up at him.
Eager, Eddie lifts his hips, and you help him shuck down his pants and underwear. There's a tent in the front of his boxers when you get to them, and he shifts with the new exposure by the time everything pools at his socked feet.
Featherlight, your fingertips ghost toward the apex of his thighs, his milky skin dusted with sparse hair. His muscles twitch at the ticklish sensation, and he braces for the inevitable.
Except your touch flutters past where he aches. Bypasses where he strains toward his stomach. Instead, your hands sweep over his hips. Slip beneath the hem of his shirt to scratch along the low part of his stomach where a thin, dark trail of hair leads down to his need.
His chest deflates on a slow, bated breath. You hide your coy smile in the inside of his thigh in the form of a kiss. Right over the small smiley face inked into his skin. Eddie huffs in flustered amusement.
“This is—”
“One of your favorite tattoos of mine,” he finishes with flushed cheeks.
You grin in feigned surprise. “How’d you know?” You trace your nails back down to his quivering thighs.
His arousal kicks up when you grant him the gentle brush of your fingertips over the rounded fullness that rests heavily between his legs.
“Sweetheart,” he finally sighs, dark eyes molten when they find yours.
“Teddy,” you coo back.
He doesn’t have time to brace when you begin to pepper an alternating line of kisses up his thighs until your lips find the part of him that needs the most.
His breath hitches. “Baby—”
A pleasured shudder rolls through him as you kiss up the elegant curve of the thick vein along his underside. You follow the path of his need all the way to the rosy tip, where a wet, gleaming pearl beads in a testament to his want. You suckle it away. Savor it.
Eddie's eyes flutter shut, body taut as you spit over him and wrap a secure hand around his base. The slick heat of your palm makes his hips stutter as you begin to pull upward in a steady tug. At the top, you circle your thumb around the mushroom tip. You dedicate another swipe of your thumb to a slow trace along his slit.
Eddie is warm and rigid in your hold, beautifully at your mercy, and he knows it. Doesn't mind it. The full hum in his throat unravels into a low, shameless moan when his lips part.
“Yeah, baby?” you meet his gaze and hold it. Heat pools between your legs. “You feelin’ good?”
Eddie reaches out to stroke his thumb across your cheek. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Please don’t stop.”
You wouldn’t dream of it.
As you continue your languid strokes, you mouth at his inner thighs. Kisses, nibbles, licks. He’s so wound up that all of it gets to him. Pleasure tugs low in his gut with a radiance he can feel in his fingertips, his toes.
With a practiced gentleness, your free hand lowers to massage the velvet weight of him that you’ve neglected. A rugged sound escapes him as he writhes. Even more so when you move to lap him again, this time taking him halfway and working what's left over with your hand.
You pull away to trace your lips along his shaft, mindful of every inch and the tell-tale shudder that startles through him. You peer up through your lashes to find desperation etched across his features.
He cups your cheek to get you to pause. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he insists. "Wanna feel you—lemme feel you.”
You clench around nothing as he encourages you upwards.
After you shuffle to your feet, you push your lounge shorts down, followed by your panties. Eddie strokes himself, gaze heavy-lidded as he watches.
No sooner do you move forward to straddle his waist, on your knees with your hands braced on his shoulders. His hands find your hips, but one drifts lower in a curious glide between your parted legs. He graces through your slick folds, then brushes his thumb over your swollen bundle of nerves. He’s gauging if you’re ready for him, but you nearly crumble forward at his thoughtful touch.
“So sensitive,” he notes lightly. A flicker of amusement dances in his eyes as they find yours.
“Because of you.” You pout as you reach down and align him at your entrance.
He catches at your slick warmth and whispers a string of curses. It shouldn’t already be this good. You shouldn’t already be this ready. But both things are true because the two of you have somehow stumbled into your own little perfect world. His hands find your hips as you ease yourself down to welcome him in. Inch by slow inch, every vein and ridge.
You don’t realize you’re whining until you’ve sunken to accommodate all of him. Eddie runs a soothing hand up your back as you lean forward into his chest in an encompassing haze of fullness. Already, he’s touching that devastating part of you that’s so thoughtfully tucked away. He’s the only one who’s been able to reach it. To find it as if the path had been carved for him alone. It’s a homecoming in its own right.
“You feel so good,” he sighs the news like it's hot off the press. Like the words can't make it out of his mouth any sooner.
For a brief moment, stillness prevails as you adjust around him. You tuck your nose into his hair, where the subtle scent of his sweet, herbal shampoo lingers. Instead of canting his hips upwards like he so desperately wants to, he lets you have the moment. Presses a kiss to the bulb of your exposed shoulder, then allows his hands to find the hem of your tank top. You move to pull it over your head. He does the same with his own shirt, biting back a groan as you shift over top of him.
Your nipples pebble in the cool air, even more so when he cups your chest and circles them with his thumbs. The sensation throws you into a shiver that jumpstarts a roll of your hips. Eddie’s fingers return to your waist, a silent encouragement.
Before long, you leverage the bend at your knees to lift off him, then lower yourself back down. A rhythm soon forms, Eddie’s hips rise to meet yours. His thighs quake as a strangled sound of relief spills past his lips.
A whimper escapes you as an invisible string pulls you forward to dot a few languid kisses across the apple of his cheek as you continue to ride him.
“Oh—shit,” he exhales shakily. “You’re perfect, sweetheart.” He sounds panicked and awed all the same.
All you can do is hum at his words. Every time you lower onto him, it feels like he manages to reach a new depth that makes you want to crawl away. Yet your hands find his tattooed chest for the sole purpose of feeling more of him, his warm, dewed skin. A shiver shakes him when the tip of your nail grazes over one of his nipples. Spurred on, you pinch the peaked flesh next, which earns you a particularly hard thrust as he groans. A jolt of electricity rushes straight between his legs with the threat of being his undoing.
“You’re gonna make me come, angel.” The shameless, exasperated way he says it makes you clench around him.
You lower a hand to rub tight, purposeful circles over the tender bud between your legs, the pleasure sharper in the wake of his words.
“I want you to come,” you attempt to keep your voice steady as you lilt. “Want you to fill me up. Want all of you.”
Eddie groans and sags back into the cushions in an air of disbelief. Somehow you’re real. Somehow you chose him. And you’d never led him to believe that things should be any other way.
You lean forward in pursuit of him to kiss his throat, then up along his jaw until you’ve arrived at his bitten lips. The kiss carries the neediness of being on the edge.
“Always gonna want you,” you whisper heavily against his mouth.
Eddie whimpers. “You have me.” His thighs tense beneath you as he teeters on the brink. This time, when his hand finds your waist, it’s to ground himself in the intoxicating rock of your hips.
You kiss him one last time, saliva slinking between you, before you touch your sweaty forehead to his.
“Come with me,” you frantically encourage. “Eddie, please—”
The broken sound that punches out of him sends you into the thralls of a reckless release. It’s swift and forceful like a lightning bolt zipping from the sky. Your walls flutter around him as pleasure courses in every direction. Eddie has no choice but to let go. He jolts beneath you like stricken earth. His stomach clenches in time with each pulsing wave of release.
Eddie’s neck becomes your hiding place. Aftershocks ripple through you both. Your lips begin to press more deliberate kisses to the space where his neck and shoulder join. Beneath you, he sits like putty and softens within the warmth of you. He’s attuned to every small shift you make. You’re not quite ready to relinquish the fullness.
A steady, clammy hand glides up your back and settles at the nape of your neck. When you sit up to meet his tired, satisfied gaze, you're struck by a surge of fondness. Of love. If you could erase his bad days, keep them from ever touching him, you would. But you can’t. They’ll come, for both of you, whether you like it or not.
Still, you had this. Each other. That’s enough to make life a little sweeter, a little kinder. Even on the days that are anything but.
Eddie’s lashes flutter when you run a gentle finger down his nose. “You okay?” you ask.
He shifts beneath you, wincing at his forgotten sensitivity. A small smile pulls at his lips as he finally nods at your question, contentment clear in his eyes.
“Promise?” you ask.
“I promise, sweetheart.”
He offers his pinkie as a seal of truth.
-
Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I promise I see them all!
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