#stranger thigs

[luckybyler]

So I just fund out that Finn Wolfhard won a Kids Choice Award. So, congratulations 🎉👏🏻!!!

[marinhosh]

Here, take this.

[luckybyler]

Did he arrive pre-burned or is that on his neck and chest an allergic reaction?

Mike Wheeler sat on the plane for four hours and twenty minutes in this goofy ass outfit

[whosjunglejim4322]

Incarnadine - E.M

Warnings ® angst, fluff, SMUT, you suck him off<3 Established relationship, mentions of injury, scars, Eddie has nightmares and is still recovering from the Upside Down, lots of reassurance and praise, he's needy but he will never admit it, this story involves wounded Eddie, you show him how beautiful he really is, no matter what <3 good boy! Eddie

Today marks five months exactly. Chatter still moves around town like an echo of an old friend. People are still nervous when they're in crowded spaces, even more nervous when they're alone in their homes, big and ostentatious or small and quaint. They still talk about him like he's a monster, like he's not a victim.

It's excruciating. And maybe you're selfish for saying that, but knowing what you know, it's hard to hear anything negative come out of any snooty or high strung suburban residents mouth's.

The only saving grace is being able to be with him. Everyday, give or take. But this week he will be under your care entirely. After what happened to Chrissy Cunningham, and what happened after, which is regarded as 'the incident', the town of Hawkins did nothing to cover Eddie's medical bills. Despite the fact that he and your friends became faces of a bullshit cover story - to save everyone else's asses.

Wayne has been doing doubles for the past four months and twenty nine days, but his boss has given him an out of town gig that pays twice as much, and goddamn it he will make everything right again. That's his words, not yours. Wayne has taken it hard, understandably so.

You had to explain to him, and your boyfriend alike, that you love Eddie. Dearly, without judgement, with an open heart and mind. Eddie isn't a pass off, and you making sure he's alright is second nature, not obligatory in any definition of the word.

Eddie hates this feeling, admittedly. Like he's a burden, like he's got to be watched after and like everyone has to redirect their lives for him of all people. You'd kill him if he ever said that out loud. The only thing that makes it even remotely worth it, is that you're the one here by his side every day. And not just at the hospital anymore, but here, in his home.

Now, you're gonna be a permanent resident for the foreseeable future and he can't hide his excitement despite the physical pain he's in.

"Eddie, Eds, baby -" Your scolding falls on deaf ears and turns into a full blown giggle before you're able to establish any actual authority. The brunette is too worried about kissing your face like an overly excited golden retriever, elated that you're finally here. "you're not healed."

You keep your eyes from staring at the mauve and plum colored scar that decorates the side of his neck.

He groans petulantly, nipping your earlobe. His chest and back and sides are still on fire after all this time. It doesn't really go away, it just simmers down like someone has stopped on the flames. He's gotten used to it, but not enough to push it. Not enough to forego your advice and pounce you like he normally would.

"l probably won't ever be healed, what harms' a little lovin'?" He toys with the strands of your hair that are unruly, smiling down at you like he hasn't been through the literal pits of hell and back. It'll never not amaze you, his resilience. He doesn't even notice it in the creases of his smile lines or the shake of his hands.

"We have plenty of time for lovin', Munson. Just not right away. I haven't even gotten a good look at your pretty face."

His blush burns across his nose, cheeks, and brow bone. You reach up to cup his jaw, to stroke his skin. He leans into the touch like he hasn't felt your warmth in eons, sighing through his nostrils. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, and opens them when you lean in to kiss his chin.

"I really...I'm glad you're here. You don't have to -"

You flick his nose.

"Shut up, I love you, dummy. Don't you know that I practically begged Wayne to let me tend to sweet little Eddie? Hmm?" You've grabbed two thick handfuls of his hair, swinging it above his head like puppy dog ears. He chortles, scrunching his face.

"and by the way, you're right. I don't have to do anything. I want to." His cheeks are squishy and moldable between your palms, lips pouty and too kissable to bear.

He believes you. He believes it in the way you peck his mouth over and over again, little strings of your shared saliva in the middle. He believes it in the way you allow him to wrap his arms around your middle and pull you close to his still healing body. In the way you trust him enough to let him grab your hands and place them on his waist.

You tense, and then relax when he pulls away with sparkles in his eyes.

"Just didn't want anyone else to be here playin' doctor with me, did ya sweetheart?"

The nights always start the same. Eddie gets up halfway between the movie that's on, wincing and giving you an apologetic smile. Cold showers help when they burn, which seems to happen mostly at night. You're still new this, to the interdimensional eldritch horror situation - but you know enough about it through Dustin Henderson's graphic retellings to know that it is having some residual effects.

As far as when they will go away, if they go away, everyone is still in the dark about it. No one has had such awful injuries from being in the Upside Down, and survived.

Doctor Owens is only sure about a few things. It won't spread. And it won't kill him. However, the pain will stay as long as the scars do.

Eddie is still apprehensive about letting you see them. The one on his neck is the only one that's visible. Instead of waltzing out of the bathroom with just a towel around his lithe hips, he returns fully dressed, wet hair drenching the tops of his broad shoulders. It's like this for almost an entire week.

And you're not angry, you're not hurt. You're just worried. Worried about the tossing and turning in his sleep, the fearful whimpers that sometimes escape him during the midnight hours. He sometimes even clings to you so hard in his half consciousness, that you wake up with fingerprint shaped bruises.

Tonight is no different.

His hair is still damp against his pillow case, he wriggles and writhes and mutters words you can't quite interpret. Your back is facing his, warm and solid. You feel him twitch and whine, and it tears you from the half conscious state you're in.

You roll over, carefully placing your arm around the expanse of his hip, resting your nose against the nape of his neck. This usually calms him down, sometimes he even sleeps through the whole night if you hold him like this.

"Burns..." His voice is small, almost silent. Your body reacts instantly, removing itself from his proximity so you can sit up and give him a once over. He rolls over onto his back, and a tear slips from the corner of his half opened eyes.

Your heart cracks in half, and all of your love for him spills into your body, lighting you up like a bonfire.

"What can I do? Please, tell me what to do." The lump in your throat is obtuse. He reaches out, grabbing at your arm like he's offended you left him. He blinks a few times, licks his lips, and you know he's awake now.

"Ice pack - there's an ice pack in the freezer." He sounds reluctant, like the idea of you doing anything for him when he's like this, hurts. It should be the other way around. He thinks to himself. He's in too much pain to put up a fight about it.

You bound out of bed, around his long legs and over the clutter on his floor until you're booking it towards the dark kitchen. Slinging open the freezer, you search for a quick minute until you see the blue ouch sitting atop a miscellaneous selection of frozen meat and vegetables.

A Hershey's bar in the door calls for your attention, but you save that thought for a later time.

"Got it," you breathe out, returning to the quiet room. Eddie is sitting up, panting, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. His bottom lip quivers and you feel like you're breaking in half. You sit across from him, moving his hair out from in front of his face. "baby, let me see."

He stalls for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling. He has to prepare himself for the worst, for you being so terrified of how he looks now that you may run. He isn't the same, his body isn't the same as the one you touched before. He takes a deep breath.

"I gotta...gotta get this off." He gestures to his shirt, arms stiff from the searing pain coursing through his nerves. You move slowly, gently. You grasp the hem of his shirt, Black Sabbath, and carefully lift the material past his abdomen. A strained whine leaves his lips when it's almost over his head, when he has to lift his hands in the air so you can pull it off.

The moonlight is beautiful. A pale iridescent light that serves as a reminder, I'm here you're safe, I'm bathing lovers in my essence. It's the only thing that illuminates his body, the still healing skin. They're pink and purple and form ridges and valleys across his belly, sides, chest. It takes your breath away, the thought of those things doing this to him. You gasp when a tear cascades down your bottom lip.

Wiping it away fervently, you realize you've been staring. Eddie is so still you have to look up at him just to make sure he's still here.

Big brown eyes stare back at you, glossy. He looks crestfallen, like hes waiting for the worst. Waiting for you to scream, look disgusted, call him a monster. His bottom lip is wobbling again, and you are careful to avoid the injuries when you reach over and smash your lips into his.

It takes him a moment to realize that you're kissing him. Not just kissing him, you're fucking consuming him. Now he's the one breathless, clenching fist-fulls of his bed sheets while you hold his fevering face in your soft palms. Your noses are scrunched together, neither of you can breathe, and you hold it for just a moment longer so that you can taste his tongue before you're pulling away.

"Holy fuck." He pants. For some odd reason, the pain has lessened.

"Lay back, tell me which one hurts the most okay?" You say it like you his pupils aren't blown out, like his breathing isn't eerily steady. You say it like he isn't blush and kiss bitten. He listens, leaning back. How the fuck have you made him speechless?

You crawl beside him, sitting on your heels and pretend not to be disheveled. His hand has found purchase on your hip, rubbing circles against the skin that's exposed from your shirt rising up.

"The one in the middle...s'the worst." He watches you with intensity, every move, every breath. You hover over the healed wound with the blue ice pack. His belly tenses.

You're light with your hands. So gentle, all he feels is relief instead of discomfort or pain. The doctors had been rough, probably had something to do with their own biases. But you. You're a fucking angel, your touch is heavenly and all consuming. He's melting into the mattress, sighing in relief as the coolness graces his skin.

You feel your heart piecing back together, looking over to see his eyes half lidded, his tears dry. He keeps a steady pace with his thumb against your hip.

"Better? Worse? Talk to me." Your voice isn't scolding. It isn't judgmental. It's curious. He smiles like he's drunk, staring up at you. He's never looked more beautiful.

"Better, much better." There's a mischievous lilt in his tone. You quirk your eyebrow, giggling.

"What is it, Munson? You look like the cat who got the cream. Or however that goes," you trace the blue veins that branch outwards at the corner of his inner elbow. "it's cute, but I feel like I should be worried."

"I thought you'd think I was horrendous. A real freak show." He tries to sound like he's half joking, widens his eyes comically and snarls his lip sardonically - but you cock your head, confused.

Eddie thought you wouldn't love him anymore.

"Are you fucking insane?" It's the harshest you've sounded all night, and he can't help but to chuckle. It hurts his ribs, but the giggles bellow from him like smoke.

"Eddie, you're the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. I don't say that to blow sunshine up your ass, I say it because I mean it," you stroke his face, and he seems bewildered. "you're so pretty it hurts. You always will be, to me. How could I? Why would I-?"

You sound like you're on the verge of tears again, and his bones feel heavy, stomach churning. He sits up, disregarding the burn, and places his warm palms against the sides of your neck. You look at him like he's just said something inhumane.

"Baby, hey," he presses his forehead to yours. "I love you, I'm sorry."

You shake your head, his curls tickle your face. "You don't have to be sorry Eddie, of course not. Just...I love you so fucking much."

He wants to cry again, but he doesn't. He mouths the side of your cheeks. Your eyelids. The tip of your nose. "I love you too sweetheart," he pecks your mouth. "more...more than I'll ever really be able to say." And again. And again.

You probably shouldn't be as slick between your legs as you are right now. But you can't bring yourself to feel guilty about it. Not when he's kissing you like this, the way he knows you like, in a way that you haven't felt for three entire months because of the state his body has been in.

His hair billows through your fingers, and you absentmindedly pull him closer to your mouth by the roots. He groans in your mouth, a sound that reverberates through your throat, downwards behind your ribs. It flurries through your body like a memory that's so close you can taste it; feel it.

You pull back hastily, wired from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. He looks so goddamn pretty, so messy and raw. You stroke his plump bottom lip with your thumb. He resists the urge to suck it into his mouth. He doesn't know if you're ready for that type of thing yet.

"I wanna suck you off, Eddie."

Well fuck.

He looks as incredulous as you expect, eyes practically bugging out of his head. His cheeks puff outwards when he lets a breath out.

"Really? You're serious?" He knows the answer. You're looking at him like he's the reason for your starvation.

"I want to...I want to make you feel good Eds," his cock was already growing, now it's practically bursting at the seams. You grab his big hands, bringing rough knuckles to the surface of your lips. "wanna make you cum. Will you let me? Do you want that?"

He feels a little dizzy. He honestly didn't know when you two would ever be able to do anything like this again. Hell, he couldn't fathom you liking his appearance anymore, let alone asking to suck his dick with the lilt of a beg in your voice.

"Jesus Christ, yeah baby 'course I want it. Y-you're sure you want this- ohh, ohh sweetheart."

You've already brought your palm to his pants, stroking the twitching appendage underneath. He's so touch deprived he doesn't know what to do with himself, so he settles for throwing his head back, gripping at the sheets once again for dear life.

You don't want to wait. You're set a fire on the inside, between your legs aches to be filled but you're too focused on making him feel good to really want anything done about it. Him. That's what matters right now. The desperate groan that escapes him, the vein bulging at his jugular.

"Lay back baby." You kiss his throat, and he does as you ask.

You're careful when you kiss his chest. You move around the scars, teetering around the perimeters. He's stuck between wanting to close his eyes, and wanting to watch every move you make. You're careful, delicate like he's the most important thing in the world.

As you kiss the trail of hair underneath his belly button, across alabaster hip-bones, you pull his bottoms off all the while.

From your position, it nudges against your chin when it's out of the confines of his pajamas, dribbling with precum, sticky all the way down the shaft. You coo, kissing the tops of his thighs. Eddie doesn't know what to do with himself. He's never felt this vulnerable, this fucking horny. His balls are about to burst.

"Eddie...you're so hard. Baby, mm, my boy." You grip the very base, starting your mouths ascent from there. He whimpers into the cool air of his bedroom, holding on by a very thin veil of consciousness. Your elbows rest between his thighs, belly atop his mattress. You close your eyes and hum when you get to the swollen, ruby tip.

"Oh god - please," he doesn't know what he's begging for. For your mouth, your being, your soul. His fingers grasp your face as your tongue gathers the pre arousal that's made such a mess of him. You have to hold his shaft steady so that the twitching doesn't move him away from your lips. "feels so fucking good, you've no idea."

The praise is getting to your head. You feel wetness leaking from your hole, dripping into your underwear. You pull his cock forward slightly, angling it so that you can take him in your mouth.

His whole body clenches when you slide it in.

He's moaning obscenities into the wind, writhing like he's too overwhelmed to think. He is. It's been so long. Too long, since he felt you like this. Since he felt your mouth. You're feeling the same sentiment as you begin to stroke what you can't fit, from the thatch of brunette hair to the glossy head. The salty aftertaste of his pre-cum keeps you satiated.

It's intoxicating, being able to make him feel like this. Feeling him fill your mouth and throat up like this. Just knowing the sounds he's making are not only for you but because of you - that's enough to have you on the verge of an indescribably neediness yourself.

"Taste' so good Eds, missed this."

It's barely coherent, but he knows your voice too well - knows your sweet talk too well. The most excruciating part is that you mean it, you say it with so much truth he feels it in every part of his body.

You suck him off like you've missed it as much as he has. Because you have. You're not shy, not ashamed. The sounds are lewd and sticky and wet, it's driving him fucking mad. He reaches down to grasp one of.your hands that are around his cock, replacing it with the intertwinement of his fingers.

You take him further, till the head of his cock touches your uvula, and you gag. Eddie groans like he's in pain, but you know he isn't. He's thrusting up into your mouth, chasing all of your warmth, all of your spit even though most of it has leaked from your mouth and coated his balls and inner thighs.

"Ohhhh shit, m'gonna cum baby I can feel it," he looks down, fucked completely out by this point. You're a fucking goddess, messy hair and a wet mouth and fluttering lashes. "don't stop, p-please."

You wouldn't dream of it, not when he's so close. Not when you can feel the muscles in his abdomen clenching, convulsing. Not when he sounds so pretty, so unbelievably yours.

You moan around him, elated by the fact that you're able to please him like this, and Eddie is a goner.

"Cu-cumming!" He's barely able to breathe it out.

He shoved his face into the pillow beside him, biting down on the fabric. The sound that rips through him is animalistic, and you have to use a good bit of your strength to keep his thighs parted as he spurts his seed into your mouth, down your throat.

You don't let up until you've swallowed every drop, every remnant of his arousal. His chest is rising and falling with such a rapid pace, you're almost worried you've hurt him.

But then he's looking down at you, with your mouth releasing from his semi softening cock. He's got glossy eyes again, blotches of red on his neck and chest and face. His hair is sticking to him like saran wrap and this big, dopey smile is etched across his face. His tongue darts out to lick the perspiration from his upper lip.

He doesn't have to ask for you to start moving towards him. When you're in close enough proximity, where he can actually manage to move a limb, he's grabbing your face and pressing your lips to his like a man starved.

Your giggle echoes his own.

"When I'm mobile again," he suckles your tongue, tasting himself.

"I'm showing you no mercy, sweetheart"

[steddieasitgoes]

written for @eddiemonth Day 9 Prompt: Cowboy cw: mentions of alcohol read on ao3 | link to my ao3 Eddie Month series

Eddie’s been in a lot of bars over the years, but none quite like The Lonesome Cowboy. 

Sure, there’s a wrap-around bar along the back where bartenders dressed in god-awful cowboy and girl uniforms shoot the shit with their regulars. Shelves and shelves of liquor sit on the wall behind organized according to price — the most expensive glistening at the very top. But, unlike the bars Eddie frequents, there doesn’t seem to be a collection of spiderwebs around those. 

Where Eddie’s used to dimly lit dive bars, The Lonesome Cowboy is lit up like a damn supermarket. Okay, maybe not a supermarket, but it is bright, is what he’s getting at. Warm can light mixed with the occasional flare of colored ones from the small stage in the opposite corner. There’s also a disco ball hanging over the crowded dance floor. A fucking disco ball! 

The ornate wood walls are covered in saddles and cowboy hats. A mural of famous country musicians stretches across the room, and American flags hang down from the railing on the second level. Of fucking course, a place like this has a second level. Rich ass country people. 

The dance floor is crowded with bodies, everybody line dancing to whatever song the band on stage is currently playing. A rowdy group hoots and hollers around a mechanical bull where a petite girl is hanging on for dear life. 

It’s so not Eddie’s scene, but he’s a good friend. A phenomenal friend if he’s being straight with himself. And as a phenomenal friend, he sometimes goes places where he knows he doesn’t belong, like this bar in Nashville. Especially when said bar is hosting Gareth’s celebratory engagement party. 

“I still can’t believe Gar-bear over there is the first one of us to get hitched,” Freak says, tipping his beer bottle to his lips. 

“M’not,” Jeff snorts. “He always was the most approachable out of all of us in high school.”

“Yeah, but landing and keeping someone like Chrissy?” Eddie whistles, shaking his head fondly. He catches sight of the happy couple on the dance floor, dancing hand in hand as they move across the floor. 

“Yeah, well, Gareth is many things, but a quitter.”

They toast to that before falling into conversations that jump from topic to topic.

It’s been a few years since the whole gang got together. They keep in touch, a telephone call every few months from the Freak. Postcards from Gareth’s adventures with his girlfriend turned fiancee. He sees Jeff the most since they share an apartment in Chicago. But nothing beats getting the band back together in one location. 

Before they know it, five songs have come and gone and the atmosphere in the bar is electric. Freak excuses himself to the bathroom (“‘M too young to have a bladder this shitty,” he groans before wading through the rambunctious crowd). 

A comfortable silence falls between Eddie and Jeff as they nurse their respective drinks — a standard beer for Jeff and a whiskey sour for Eddie that Gareth insisted he try. It’s too damn smooth for his liking. Though, maybe that’s just the guilt rising up like bile in his throat after he glanced at the price tag. Gareth might be picking up the tab, but Eddie doesn’t need to be draining his bank account liquor. Especially not when he has a wedding to plan now. Still, it would be even ruder to waste it, so he takes another sip and tries to hide his grimace behind the glass. 

Eddie’s eyes drift out to the dance floor where Gareth is line dancing up a storm next to Chrissy. He spins her around in a flashy, look-at-me sort of way that would be annoying if it weren’t him. It’s actually really, fucking endearing. He may have his doubts about true love, but Gareth has found the real deal that’s for sure. A fact he makes sure to tell him several times as the night goes on. 

Drinks keep flowing, music keeps playing, and before long Eddie’s the only one still sitting at the bar. Freak’s been summoned to the mechanical bull by some of Gareth’s work friends. And Eddie basically shoved Jeff onto the dance floor a song and a half ago to go dance with one of Chrissy’s best friends who kept making eyes at him.

Everyone’s fully embraced the energy in The Lonesome Cowboy, everyone except Eddie. He doesn’t mean to be a buh humbug, quite the opposite, really. Sitting at the bar is just more in line with his comfort zone. Especially now that the band is passing out cowboy hats to the crowded dance floor in preparation for a new dance they’re teaching them. 

“If you’re not going to join the fun, can I at least get you another drink?” a silky smooth voice asks from behind him. 

An astute observation that the goofy bartender who had  left for the night hadn’t picked up on, despite Eddie’s empty whiskey glass sitting empty on the bar behind him for hours.

A pretty voice and an attentive eye? Oh, I’m screwed, Eddie thinks, already biting his lip as he turns around on the barstool. 

Hazel eyes like honey glimmer under the warm light of the bar top, pulling Eddie into a daze. The cacophony of noise disappears, as does his surroundings. Vision blurred until all he can see is the bartender in front of him. It’s a wonder he manages to break their locked stare, but he’s glad he does as he takes in the man piece by piece. 

A frayed suede vest is slung perfectly over the man shoulder’s, just like every other bartender in the place. But it looks better on him than any of the others. It sits over a tight white button-up that clings to the man’s shoulders. He has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, strong forearms unabashedly on display as he raps his fingers against the wood bar top. 

The counter is high, obstructing Eddie’s view of the lower half of the bartender, but it doesn’t take a genius to imagine what he’s wearing. The uniform in the place seems to be tight blue jeans and bedazzled cowboy boots, and he can’t imagine Mr. Cowboy Cassanova over here straying from the heard. Though, he is interested to see just how much better he wears the measly uniform. A man with those kind of arms definitely hits the gym more than occasionally. Eddie’s sure he has an ass to prove it, too. 

The only thing out of place on the man is the cowboy hat. Unlike his coworkers, it’s angled weird, barely pulled down on his head as if doing so would ruin his hair. And by the looks of the wisps of hair falling around his eyes, it’s a gorgeous head of hair. 

Eddie’s not one for Western fantasies; the thought is basically boner killer thanks to the hours and hours of Gunsmoke he watched with his uncle in his youth, but right now it’s working for him. 

Really fucking working for him. 

Jesus H. Christ! 

Mr. Cowboy Cassanova is a gift from the universe, and Eddie wants to take him apart with his teeth. 

“So,” the man asks, clearing his throat. “What can I get you?”

You. 

“How about we start with a name,” Eddie says instead. He pillows his chin in his hands, elbows digging into the wood bar as he looks up through his lashes. 

“Name’s Steve,” the bartender replies, a slight hint of pink to his cheeks. “And yours?” 

“Eddie,” he responds, watching as Steve carefully cleans a glass with a pristine white cloth. 

“You here with the happy couple?” 

Eddie hums, glancing over his shoulder to find Gareth and Chrissy surrounded by all their friends jumping and dancing around them as the pair do some fancy little duet. Gareth swings Chrissy around his waist before picking her up in his arms and planting a kiss on her lips. Shows off. 

“Why aren’t you out there with them, then?” 

“Not much of a dancer.” “More of a drinker then,” Steve states rather than asks. 

There’s no time to respond before Steve’s pouring top-shelf bourbon into his shaker. Followed immediately by a helping of lemon juice and simple syrup. Eddie watches, entranced, as Steve shakes the shaker in his confident, skilled hands. He flips it with ease, the yellow-orange liquid flowing into the glass. Steve slides the precut orange slice onto the rim before reaching for the cherries. Two for Eddie’s drink, one for his own mouth. Stem and all. 

The glass slides in front of Eddie with magical ease, but he’s too captivated by Steve to reach for it. Eyes glued to Steve. Watching his jaw moves as he chomps on the cherry, the slow bob of his throat as he swallows before his fingers are at his lips, pulling a perfectly knotted cherry stem from his mouth. 

Tease. 

Oldest party trick in the book, but it works. Oh, how it fucking works. 

With Steve’s big eyes glued to his, he reaches for the glass and takes a tentative sip. It’s another whiskey sour, but this one is in a league of its own. Perfectly measured and shaken. 

Steve’s not the only one who can be a tease, he thinks, as he brings the glass away from his lips and moves his tongue along the rim, lapping up a stray droplet that didn’t make it back into the glass. 

“Tasty,” Eddie says, tilting the glass for another slow drink. 

If Steve’s mere presence was captivating, seeing him with a smile so wide his eyes crinkle in the corners is damn near enchanting. Eddie thinks he could get drunk off the look alone. An impressive feat, given the high tolerance he’s built up over the years for booze and pretty boys alike. 

Reaching into his pocket, Eddie pulls out a few crumbled bills and passes them across the bar. Steve glances down, brows knitted together. “Your buddy’s already covering everyone’s tab.” 

“I know,” Eddie says slowly, eyes locked with Steve’s. “But I can still tip you, can’t I.” 

Eddie’s not expecting the bright laugh that bubbles out of Steve, but it’s music to his ears. Way better than the country twang that’s been playing on endless repeat for hours. He wants to bottle it up and save it for a rainy day. 

“I’ve got a tip for you,” Steve says, shoving the bills into his back pocket. “Next time you come to a country bar, at least wear a cowboy hat. Really gets you into the spirit.” 

“Is that so?” Eddie asks, eyes flicking up to the crooked hat barely resting on Steve’s head. Maybe it’s the whisky, maybe it’s Steve’s kind but intense gaze. Whatever it is, Eddie feels confident as he leans across the bar and plucks the hat off of Steve’s head. With a tilt of his head and his signature smirk, he flips it in his hands and up onto his unruly curls. “S’that better for you, Steve?” 

Something dark flashes in Steve’s eyes before they begin to dilate. Pupils blown wide as he leans against the bar, closing the distance between them until their forearms are touching and their noses are mere centimeters apart. 

With a tilt of his head, Steve brings his lips to Eddie’s ear. He’s so close Eddie can feel his warm breath wafting over him. It sends a shiver up Eddie’s spine and a rush of blood down to his dick. 

“You know what it means when you take a cowboy’s hat, don’t you, Eddie?” Steve asks in that silky smooth, confident but teasing voice of his. 

Eddie’s knees practically buckle at the sound of it in his ear and the closeness of Steve. But he holds himself together. Giving in now is too easy. The chase has always been the fun part for him. 

He pulls back just enough to be able to look Steve dead in the eyes and cocks his own head to the side, again. Plasters on an innocent smile that he knows won’t fool Steve because of the fire burning in his own eyes.

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy, right?” he asks in his own silky smooth, confident voice. And then he leans in so close that the brim of the hat bumps against Steve’s forehead. There’s no time for apologies, though, as Eddie positions his lips a breath away from Steve’s ear this time. “What time do you get off, big boy?” 

[hellcheer-heaven]

Hellcheer Shenanigans: Shameful vs Shameless

Well I was hesitant to upload this because of how Chrissy and Eddie are portrayed here (in terms of the joke and in terms of anatomy). After a brief discussion with @a-strange-inkling and @bisexualchrissycunningham they let me know that it’s all good.

[luckybyler]

Please tell me there's more than that

-_- that's it?

[the-prince-of-the-deep-comic]

Page 1. Will wakes up on a weird island of sorts before being woken by a figure in his dream. El comes to check on him.

Next

[quixoticall]

I was talking about tcgu but I'll take anything 👀

Well I will proudly say that I have been doing some serious writing on both To Hell I Go (which is my other passion project, a Western!AU) and This Could Get Ugly this weekend.

I even put a little sneak peak blurb under the cut as a thank you for motivation me.

[steddiemode]

And IT BEGINS (●'◡'●)

[marinhosh]

Byler hands?

ps: I have the headcanon that Will lives with his hands stained with ink, because I live with my hands stained with ink so he will too.

[findroleplay]

hi, hello, hola, hey! 🪬 19, male, advanced novella literate writer, looking to write steve harrington from stranger things against an eddie munson or a billy hargrove! i prefer to write steve as the more submissive partner if nsfw were to ensue. i’d love to continue their story onwards as if eddie never (spoiler) got killed off and i’m very open to slipping them into different alternate universes and such. i write on discord & aim to exceed the character limit with my responses and hope my writing partners can do the same! please interact with this post if you’re interested and i’ll reach out 🐉

-

[thegnomelord]

Gnome, my good man, what's your thought on a trickster spirit!reader within the cod monsterverse? Like, he can be a malicious or a purely mischievous spirit who likes to mess with things and play around. As all spirits are, he's a free one, and refuses to be tied down—relationship wise. Which would probably be for some good angst in regards to one/some of the boys pinning for an unrequited!reader. Anyways, I can just see him being an absolute menace to the other boys :3

Better yet if he's a regular fuckbuddy, but even during sex he's still running his mouth, making crude jokes or some offhand comment that makes his current buddy all "???". The only way to shut trickster!reader is to stuff his mouth with some dick or ride/fuck him so good all he can get out is a bunch of whorish moans.

Just.... thoughts on trickster spirit!reader 😞😞

ooooh yessss, trickster spirit reader like anansi that's very clever but also a fucking troll. Reader that's an absolute menace to anyone in charge, a giant pain in the skull that takes every word seriously, as Price figured out when he remarked 'It's raining cats and dogs' and trickster reader literally made it rain cats or dogs, or some general said trickster reader was driving him up the wall so he ended up stuck on the ceiling lol.

Also I absolutely love love love the idea of brat reader and brat tamer 141. Like, you're a free spirit, to try and chain you don't is about as good of an idea as making the spirit of the sea stay with the sailor who loves her, and the old heartless man of the sea can tell you how well that goes.

So the boys let you roam, they let you have your fun; Holding your gaze across the bar when you're flirting with a faceless stranger, not pushing when you shrug their hand off your shoulder to go grind dance with a person you just met, biting back and resisting following you when you disappear to the bathroom for a quick fuck. You're not oblivious of their jealousy, your kin thrive on creating these emotions in others, and quite frankly it's fun to see how far you can push them.

But oh, little trickster, they may let you do as you please, but that doesn't mean your actions don't have consequences.

MDNI

Eventually you burn away all their patience, eventually, the need to show you why it's them you always return to burns too hot and you end up pinned on the bed, or the floor, or whatever semi-flat surface is around.

This time you're pinned beneath Soap who's half shifted, big burly body bruising your hips with the strength of each bounce, sharp claws digging into your ribs to give him a good hold on you. The headboard bashes against the wall every time he fully drops down on you, the springs creaking and digging into your back.

"Fuck puppy-" You moan so loudly you're sure half the base can hear but you can't give a single fuck about it when his ass is so tight around your cock. "So good- shit, you feel- fuck, fuck, fuck- really know how to chase that bone huh- hm!-" Your mouth runs automatically, the your hands sneaking out of the handcuffs easily so you can grip his hips.

Soap is beyond words, animalistic wolf brain too preoccupied with getting your cock as deep in his ass as he can. His tail wags back and forth, wide canine tongue stuck out of his mouth as he bounces on your cock harder, thick thigs tensing to drive you deeper into his velvet soft depths.

"Oh no you don't." Gaz snickers and snatches your arms. He's much more graceful than Soap when he sits on your chest, leaning over you and pinning your hands over your head. "You didn't let us touch you, you're not touching us." He smirks, the tip of his cock laying against your lips, and you could be fooled into thinking he's a trickster too.

You grin and purposely clench your teeth, looking up at him with challenge.

Gaz clicks his tongue, keeping your arms pinned over your head with one hand. His other hand curls into your hair and tugs just as Soap clenches around you. You're in no way responsible for the whorish moan that falls from your lips, eyes closing and mouth opening.

Your eyes fly open when Gaz pushes his hips and shoves half his cock into your mouth. "There you go, got your tongue." Gaz chuckles, pushing his dick a bit deeper. Another sharp tug is all it takes for your mouth to close around his shaft, eyes hooded, hollowing your cheeks as you suck on his cock. Gaz's cock muffles your moans when you get a taste of his precum as it beads down your throat, your mind melting through your cock as the two sergeants fuck all that trickster intelligence out of you.

[syoddeye]

hear me out... and this might sound stupid (because it sounded way cooler in my head)

Kate using her code name "Watcher" + exhibition kink

i'll see myself out

where are you going, get back here!!!

go for watcher

kate laswell x f!reader | 1.9k words cw: exhibitionism, semi-public outdoor masturbation, vibrators, dirty talk, kate laswell calling you puppy a/n: lightly edited. posting and running!

“watcher?”

“go for watcher.”

“i’m in position.”

“are you?”

the purr to kate’s voice is your first clue she’s in a good mood—a relief since her vaguely worded text sent late last night did not inspire confidence.

>> eight pm. wear the usual. 

five words, followed by a pin drop for the precise location. you checked three times on your phone to ensure you were in the right place, then slipped your wireless headphones in. 

the park is mercifully quiet. peeking over your shoulder, you count the couples dotting the waterfront on benches or picnic blankets. you came early with a book to stake out a prime spot: an unobstructed view of the water and a modicum of privacy. thanks to the city’s efforts to rewild patches of the wharf, a nice thicket of ornamental grasses, shrubs, and flowers mostly obscure you from behind.

“yes ma’am.”

“good. you have what you need?”

you pat the folded blanket on the bench beside you and your bag. “yes ma’am.”

“and the…?”

heat flutters in your gut, and you nod, repeating once more, “yes ma’am. in position.”

she doesn’t ask any further questions. this isn’t the first time she’s tasked you like this, nor will it be the last. both of you know the words, the limits, and the rules. the call mutes, and the anticipation ratchets immediately. a frisson works its way down your vertebrae, one by one, and beneath the lightweight trench, you shift. thighs rubbing together, wetness already pooling under your skirt.

when a few minutes pass, long enough to watch a few boats in the harbor depart for their evening cruises, you think to check your phone. ensure the call wasn’t dropped. of course, the second your hand even twitches in the direction of your bag, the toy securely snug in your cunt whirrs to life.

“fuck,” the curse flies out of your mouth in a whisper. the hand you intended to grab your phone with instead raises to your face instinctively, though you lower it after a second.

“good girl,” kate returns. “open your coat, then hands down on the bench, baby.”

it’s unfair how wet you feel from less than a minute, especially with how you know it’s on one of the lower settings. your hands tremble as they unfasten the coat’s belt and part the material to let it hang open. your knees part instinctually, preceding the instruction that typically follows. then, despite the growing ache, you curl your fingers around the worn wood and stare into the bay. a dozen boats are out tonight, and you know kate’s on one of them.

she whispers in your ear a few more times with a low rasp, cooing from a distance when your breath hitches and cracks. her words heat your face alongside the fire in your abdomen, stoked by the toy. the vibe ramps up to a six out of ten, faintly audible at this point if someone were to try and join you. it’s torturous, hearing people on the path behind you, within spitting distance.

“kate…” you whine, knees shaking, wood cutting into your hands. your cunt throbs, fingers flexing in place.

“pull up your skirt, let’s see where she’s at.”

biting your lip, you start to turn your head to check for passersby, but kate chirps.

“didn’t say to look around. c’mon, baby. skirt.”

in the back of your mind, you know she wouldn’t really let a stranger see you like this. it’s just the thrill that someone could—or so you think as you gingerly peel your skirt up your thighs. you lift off the bench an inch to hike it up further, when two voices accompanied by footsteps cut through the headphone’s dampening.

“kate–”

“i see ‘em, you’re fine. christ, you’re soaked.”

you glance down and let out a shaky breath at the sight of your slicked thighs. the tail of the toy bobs with the vibrations, dripping. your attention is torn between the state of your pussy and the couple mere paces behind you, chattering on about the view. a foot drags on the pavement.

“blanket.”

in an instant, you snatch the blanket beside you and drape it over your lap, and muster the best, most casual i’m admiring the view and nothing else expression you can. 

“excuse me,” the man asks, flashing a smile as he and the woman you presume to be a wife or girlfriend walk around toward your front. “are you waiting for someone?”

the bench you occupy is certainly big enough for three or four people, and you’re plopped in the center of it. you open your mouth to answer and nearly choke as the vibe cruelly speeds up. without thinking, you cross your legs and nod furiously.

“yep. i am.”

the couple lingers, looking around the quiet park. “well, until they get here, do you think we could–”

“no, you can’t.” you blurt out, tight with frustration. usually, you’re kind, sweet, and patient. all the things kate likes about you, but the toy butts against that fucking spot that nearly has you seeing stars. only by digging a hand into your thigh under the blanket gives you the motivation to focus. “i’d like to be alone.”

the woman tugs on the man's arm and mutters something about leaving you alone.

“fine. have a nice night.” he says flatly, clearly ticked off, but he goes willingly with his partner.

kate’s back in an instant. “look at you, how mean.”

you groan quietly and pull the blanket away as the couple heads out of view. “you’re one to talk. y-you, fuck, turned it up…”

“oh, was that mean? here,” she says flatly, and the toy stops moving altogether. you reel, torn between literally taking matters into your own hands and pawing at your clit, and sitting pretty as she expects. “fix your legs. you don’t move unless i say so, puppy.”

the name hits your cunt like a slap, and you bite back a moan. the ache is almost unbearable as you uncross your legs and spread them wide. goosebumps dot your skin, the back of your neck prickling in renewed anticipation. “kate,” you start. “please, i’m sorry.”

she chuckles dryly, and you hear the sound of a cork popping. “yeah? you want me to turn it back on?”

you nod. the air chills the stickiness coating your pussy and inner thighs, the ribbons that snake down your ass. a shiver travels through you as a gust of wind blows in from the water. “please.”

something creaks on the other end. “we’ll see. why don’t you touch that pretty clit of yours instead. give her some attention. let me see the manicure i paid for.”

you ignore how she laughs when your hand instantly slides over skin, at the pleased hum that echoes your hiss. gently, as you’re incredibly worked up, you rub your fingers between your folds and cover your fingers in your slick. then, heart stuttering, you start to rub small, tight circles over your clit. it’s instantly too much and not enough.

she whistles low. “i like the color. suits you, compliments you nicely. a little more pressure.”

“it–”

“no back talk, baby—jesus, there’s gonna be a stain on your skirt.”

you keen at that, fingertips skimming the silicone where it plugs your hole. as if a pat will bring it back to life. she coaches you through the next several minutes, meanly cutting you off each time your breathing shifts, betraying precisely where you’re at. 

“mm, fuck.” kate, wherever she is, isn’t just testing your restraint but her own. you highly doubt she’s touching herself. when she gets like this, fresh off a string of bad days, probably when shit’s gone sideways elsewhere in the world, she needs to practice control at home. with you, preferably. needs to orchestrate something that’s guaranteed, to boss someone around who isn’t going to go rogue or challenge her. a good girl, as she always calls you.

“it feels so good,” you whimper, nearing the precipice yet again. your pussy clenches around the useless toy, nub twitching under your stroking fingers. “i can’t–can’t wait to show you.”

“yeah?” she asks, drawing a deep breath. “you gonna show me the mess you made when i pick you up?” 

you nod, lip swollen from biting it repeatedly. 

“always so good for me, baby. maybe i ought to…” she trails and briefly sounds distant in your ear. that’s when the vibrator returns to life, making you nearly jerk off the bench and onto the ground. “keep touching yourself.”

with one hand clutching the bench and the other working your clit, your eyes close to slits, blurry with unshed tears. fuck, you are so, so close.

“that’s it. keep going. can you hold it until ten?”

“i can–i can try.”

gradually, the vibrator climbs its settings, alternating between pulsing beats and ceaseless current. the warm, thrumming pressure of an orgasm returns, gaining strength as the toy maxes out. you pinch your clit and sharply tap your cunt a few times and hear kate groan.

“remind me to figure out how to mic you up. watching how wet you are doesn’t beat hearing it.”

you laugh, strained and breathless. sweat drips down the back of your neck. “kate, can i come? please?”

she hums. “beg just a little more, puppy.”

another burst of heat, twinned with the tension drawing tight in your belly, flares beneath your skin. the vibrator’s buzzing finds that spot again as if kate has that much control over it, and it hammers insistently. you’re going to come—with or without her permission—and you know what happens if you don’t earn it first.

“please, kate. please let me come, i need it, please.” 

the longest twenty or thirty seconds of your life pass.

“let’s see it.”

permission granted, you lean into it. your back arches off the bench a bit, still of a coherent enough mind to try and keep up the appearance of someone simply enjoying the evening. you stifle more moans as your orgasm climbs the last few steps, cresting then hurtling through your body in a shockwave. you whine and whimper as you come, squirming uncontrollably as kate takes her time lowering the vibrator’s settings until it’s still. the tail twitches where it hangs, your pussy pulsating as if greedily flirting with the idea of another.

“good girl. deep breaths.” she purrs, voice thick with affection. “do me a favor and leave that in for now.”

you nod, weary, and wipe your hand on your thigh. when she doesn’t scold you, you tug your skirt down, grimacing at the wet spot that immediately forms. the fabric soaks up the little puddle you left and clings to your ass as you stand. thank god for your coat.

“where are you?” you ask, scanning the water.

“heading to dock a, baby. i’ll be there in there in two minutes. can you walk alright?”

you huff and roll your eyes, risking whether or not she’s still watching. slinging your bag over a shoulder, you stretch your legs as you start for the docks. “it’s not like i got fucked fucked.”

she chuckles. “we’ll see how you feel in an hour.”

your core throbs at that promise, and you smile wickedly to yourself. a moment of silence passes as you near the water’s edge, and you see kate’s boat pulling closer. 

“watcher?”

“yeah, baby?”

“i love you.”

“i love you too.”

[nobodyinourstars]

I'm patiently waiting for Byler in s5 of Stranger Thigs. Imagine if Mileven's toxic fandom started reading Mileven fanfics and cried every night because the ending wasn't the toxic way they wanted, while Byler's fandom throws a huge party in celebration. Thats my real dream.

[cloudycleric]

i am autistic & i love stranger thigs.