#lexi writes things

[thefreakandthehair]

Eddie ends up at the annual SuperBowl party with his and Steve’s friends, which Eddie truthfully doesn’t give a single shit about but he’s learned exactly how feral Steve gets about these sporting events, and that? That he gives a lot of shits about.

The way Steve sits at the edge of the couch, jumping up in both excitement and rage, the way his hair ends up in his eyes before angrily shoving it back with both hands, the way his jaw clenches and a light sheen of sweat blooms across his neck and down his chest as he bends down with his hands on his knees, voice croaking from yelling better plays and something-something wrap up, third down. Passionate Steve is radiant and beautiful, and Eddie could never pass up the opportunity for such a show.

During the pre-show, their friends discuss the best aspects of SuperBowl Sunday. Robin and Nancy are there there for the food, Argyle and Jeff are there for the commercials, Jonathan and Gareth agree that they actually enjoy the game but won’t say no to a good onion dip either, and Chrissy is with Steve in the here for the game most of all territory.

“How about you, Eddie? Food or commercials? I know it’s not the game.” Steve teases, bumping their shoulders together with a salsa-loaded corn chip in one hand.

“Oh, Steve,” Eddie grins and his eyes flash playfully. “It’s always I’m here for the game, I’m here for the food, I’m here for the commercials, blah blah blah. I’m just here to watch my boyfriend lose his shit over a game he’s not even in and then use that adrenaline rush to my advantage after.”

[lexinympho]

You don't go a day without thinking of how cute Keigo looks whenever his wings go out of control because of you. Sure, his subconscious acts of singing or whistling a jubilant tune are adorable in their own right, but there's something about that physical reaction he sometimes has trouble keeping in check that takes the cake.

The mere sound of your voice has Keigo's body immediately coming to attention, and you always wrestle with yourself to not laugh at his unavailing attempts at taming the crimson appendages. The slight flaps of excitement taking place behind an expression of a similar warmth works its magic and has your heart doing cartwheels on demand, even when said excitement is dampened by a less-than-stellar day of hero work.

Personally though, you'd say the most endearing form of this comes on the days when those less-than-stellar days leave Keigo with a pair of worn wings from a rigorous battle. Those flaps you fell in love with are more evident with the lack of feathers fluffing up at the same time, the size reduction not only bringing more attention to the movements, but in some way increasing the cuteness. The ephemeral period of his wings in that state makes the sight all the more appreciable since his wings rarely ever take more than a week to grow back.

When simply watching them isn't enough, you habitually bring your hands up from the bend of his wings and down to his primaries, becoming captivated by his nonverbal way of showing love. That's not to say he's never good at showing his love for you, it's just a special experience for you seeing it display itself in such a pure way.

He fondly tends to blame you for the instinctive occurence, citing how he used to be so good at maintaining it in public until you showed up (he doesn't convey much frustration though, if at all). And he's conscious of how much you love it, so he can't entirely blame you when he sometimes doesn't bother trying to smother the twitches the instant he feels them tickling at his backside.

It's disenthralling how you don't just admire his wings. You stare at them as though you're wordlessly eulogizing how they hold every bit of whatever you've been missing in life, you touch them with a weirdly firm gentleness that greatly instills their importance to you. They aren't just disparaged wings to you, they aren't just a quirk with promise, they're a part of him, they are him.

And seeing the way you treasure him, that part of him, makes whatever detestment his past made him develop towards his wings fizzle out and blossom into a soft type of cherishment he didn't think he'd ever feel.

©lexinympho 2022, please do not edit or repost my works anywhere on this platform or another

[riality-check]

It starts, as always, with the bees.

They’re what the locals talk about. If you go into town, especially in the summertime when the air is dry and the sun is hot and any scrap of shade or breeze feels like a five star hotel, the locals talk about the bees. The swarms, the droning, the lazy flutters in the gardens and near the porches. 

If you see bees in Hawkins, Indiana, they say, they’re from the Lab.

The Lab isn’t actually a lab. It’s a derisive nickname for a community five miles outside of town; through the woods, near the woods, in the woods, they’re not really sure. No one from Hawkins goes further than the little sign on the dirt road to and from.

Honey Haven. An experimental community founded on trust, cooperation, and the goodness in all men’s hearts. Est. 1966. Population: 565. Settlement: five miles east.

“Experimental” was all it took for the locals to come up with the nickname. They’re a practical group - farmers, workmen, store owners - and not a creative one.

Steve nods politely and gently shoos a bee away from his face as he listens to the chief of police complain, for the fourth time in the two days they’ve been here, about being barred entry and denied warrants, about nearly being arrested himself when he tried to sneak in.

“Something is wrong about that place,” he insists.

“We know that, chief,” Robin says. “That's why we’re here.”

Well, it’s not the whole truth. The whole truth is that they’ve been asking enthusiastic locals for nearly six months now for help. They’ve asked the mailman for what mail he delivers there (beekeeping supplies and letters in, but few letters out), the garbage collector for what they throw out (wood, clothes, a whole lot of paper), and some bored housewives to root through the phone book and call the main line (a cheerful voice answers and promptly starts asking what got them interested).

All in all, it’s fishy. Maybe not as concerning as their client made it out to be, but worth paying a visit. Worth seeing what the deal is.

Worth meeting Eddie Munson, whose worried uncle hired Steve and Robin to investigate his whereabouts after not hearing from him for a year.

“They limit communication,” the chief - Hopper, his name tag says - “but they’ll let you come and go at first. We’ll be able to get more letters in than out.”

“We know,” Steve says, shooing another bee off of Robin. “We got this.”

“I really hope so.”

They say their polite goodbyes and start walking down the road. No cars in the settlement, they’ve learned. Too much noise, too much pollution. They hurt the bees.

Steve and Robin walk five miles down the dirt road in the middle of the afternoon in July. They’d speak, ordinarily, fill the silence with jokes and stories and laughter, but silence is nowhere to be found.

The droning of bees from swarms unseen fills the air, and Steve thinks, while fanning himself with his hands, that the sound could swallow him whole.

Part 2. Part 3 (background lore)

[writingwife-83]

Wise words from a wise woman-

Just scratch the itch and write the scene

[a-little-unsteddie]

wip weekend

hi :’) it’s been a while since i’ve done this and well. i have motivation again so i’m gonna do this. send as many asks as you’d like! definitely thieving the template from @just-my-latest-hyperfixation djdbsb

🪐 - untitled humans are space orcs, human!steve, alien!robin, alien!eddie

🎤 - stuck in your throat, rockstar/single dad!alpha eddie, nanny!omega steve (gift for @lexirosewrites)

snippet from 🪐:

Steve woke to the pungent smell of chemicals and a bright light shining in his face. He blearily looked around, but couldn’t make out any details because of how badly the world was spinning around him. The lights didn’t help, practically blinding him; he could make out silhouettes standing over him, but nothing else.

The realization that he was unable to move didn’t stop Steve from thrashing and trying to escape. He went to scream, but the noise was muffled, which caused him to become aware that there was something filling his mouth to prevent him from making noise. Panic surged through him, and as the world slowly came into focus, so did his memories from the—night?—before.

Flashes of a bonfire in a clearing of the forest.

Laughter, which turned to screaming, then to running.

Eventually tripping; falling upwards.

Steve could just make out a tall, willowy figure standing over him, looking impassive as it observed him. Emphasis on ‘it’, as Steve was sure that whatever was looking at him was not human. It was wearing a white lab coat, holding what appeared to be a tablet that it was using to take notes on. Most notably, though, was the fact that Steve was almost 100% positive that whatever thing was observing him didn’t have eyes to speak of. The skin appeared almost slick, and dark greyish-brown in color. The thing’s face was split in half down the middle of what was probably its’ face, and every few seconds, the two halves parted slightly, Steve could only assume to breathe.

Tearing his gaze away from whatever it was, Steve took the chance to look around the room he was in. The room was monochrome and filled with technology that was nothing like anything he’d ever seen—or even imagined—on earth.

Alien.

Another one of those things approached him with a mask that appeared to be leaking a visible gas, which only caused Steve’s thrashing to intensify, to no avail. Steve was helpless but to watch as the mask was fitted over his nose and mouth, forcing him to breathe in whatever fumes it was exuding. Slowly, Steve’s fighting stopped as his vision went dark.

This is all to say, Steve’s first day in space could have been better.

[coconut-cluster]

hello all I just wanted to pop in and say I am in fact writing chapter 5 of Crowns and Cutlasses, I didn’t just dip after posting the notes lol but I WON A FULBRIGHT so i have been busy and insane

[velocitytimes2]

Synergist (come. over.)

Rating: E Word Count: 8.7k. Pairing: Steddie

Read on ao3!

The line doesn’t flip to static, but stays on and lets Steve hear the clack of Eddie’s rings as his fingers jostle his hair and Steve wonders when he learned to discern that one specific sound. Then, oh but then. Then every noise that has ever been and will ever be is tramped out of Steve’s brain and all he knows, all he ever wants to hear again in his goddamn life is the soft groan that sounds like it’s been yanked from Eddie’s gut. “You’ll be the death of me.” - Or: the misuse of radios by teenagers in the 80's to get their rocks off.

The nightmares never really followed a discernable pattern.

And it fucking sucked.

It would be one thing if they were just replays of the events Steve had gone through the past two years. Those memories Steve had lived.

He’d fought and used his fists, and a bat, and cunning, and a jaw that ached when it got cold, all to get out of the sticky moments. The flashes of memories he had from every moment of the last three years were tamed with the knowledge that he had lived. 

He’d gotten to the other side. 

In all theorem he should come out victorious in his dreams and his nightmares. He’d seen the worst of it and at the end had been okay. He’d lived. He should be able to come out on top in the battles that raged in his head just like he had in reality. He should win.

The fucking issue is, he never did.

It was never that easy. It was never a simple replay. 

It was new monsters every time; a different animal bastardized and remorphed. Mountain lions with loose maws stalking him from between cars in the parking lot of Hawkins High. Sharks jumping out of Lover’s Lake and wriggling their bodies until they grew the legs of alligators to chase and chase and chase. Monkeys without eyes raining from the trees in the woods behind his house, diving into his pool after him and tearing into flesh with fleshy, razor-fanged mouths. 

Never Steve’s flesh, though. Always the person running or swimming just a step behind him, his shouts of warning never coming in time.

And damn if that wasn’t the worst part. 

Always rows of teeth and claws striking out; blood oozing from a different person each night. Their screams the most haunting thing, the thing that kept Steve up when he heard them reverberate in his skull like they were right there. It wasn’t the blood or gore or wriggling tentacles that kept him up, shocked him back awake. It was the fucking screams.

Dustin.

Robin and Nancy.

Max. 

Max and Billy combined as the Mind Flayer strikes true.

Mike and Will. 

Lucas. 

El as she holds both hands in front of her, their only hope.

Eddie. 

Eddie’s heart stopping.

Steve screaming when he found them.

Steve’s hands clawing it back to life.

Eddie not breathing even as Steve begged.

The silence that followed.

It was the screams that haunted Steve. 

They’d won, they were okay. Mostly. But he still heard their screams.

It usually happened every few nights. The nightmares pressing deeper and deeper until he’s suffocating with lungs ripped out of his body as he slams into the offending thing. Fully ready to sacrifice himself in the place of someone he loves so deeply he can’t fucking breathe. It’s Steve’s purpose in the part; it’s something he’s come to complete terms with. He isn’t smart like the younger boys, doesn’t have the uptake of Robin or Nancy, doesn’t have powers like El and isn’t willing to flay himself for the greater good like Max and Billy. He was Steve. He was strong and a bit stupid and would always – always and forever – put his body in between danger and someone he loved. 

So, every few nights the him in his subconscious would try to die in a new and spectacular way, the sacrificial lamb for the good of the people who he loved. 

It was an inevitability Steve was okay with. It had been something he’d accepted as he walked down train tracks with Dustin Henderson for the first time. That if something jumped out of the woods and screeched at them, Steve would be in between the kid and the beast. He would die there if the gods looked down and deemed that he should. 

It was an odd place to exist, the one between scrambling to survive and being willing to go belly up if it meant a friend would live to fight another day.

It was the reality Steve survived in, somehow found himself constantly enduring perils to shield the ones who were truly important.

So he lets the nightmares be a thing, lets them shock him awake, tries to dull them with weed and booze and cigarettes but that only ramps his mind up for worse, so he really doesn’t do that much anymore either. 

They’d been a plague since the Demogorgon had first burst in at Jonathan’s in fall of eighty-three. Back then they’d been vague things that Steve could wake up and chase away with a few gulping pulls from his father’s whiskey. 

Three years and too many gasping breaths later it was an expected reality. 

The sun rose in the east. 

The tides follow the moon. 

Steve Harrington can’t sleep, because any time he gets more than three hours he wakes gasping and sweat-drenched. 

It’s one of those nights; the ones where Steve can feel the terror itching to get out from under his skin as he throws his body from side to side, twisting in his sheets until the panic pulls him under completely to choke him out to the point of waking up gasping. It’s one of those nights when the walkie-talkie the kids had bullied him into keeping close to his bed snaps to life and shocks his half-asleep brain into consciousness. It’s Mike’s voice, pitched low and shaking that comes first.

“Sound off. Over.” 

Steve feels himself groan as he yanks the duvet over his head at the sound, almost asleep and chasing the calm that comes for a few moments prior to the terror taking the reins. 

“Buckley over and out.”

“Max. Safe. Over.”

“Lucas. Over.”

Steve can distantly hear thunder rolling. The rain’s been tapping its nails against his window since noon. Storms always seemed to set Mike off. Probably something about Will talking about thunder for so long.

“El and Hopper. Safe and over.”

“Dustin. Over.”

Steve knows he should answer the call, it is the right thing to do, the thing he’s always done. But. But, this night, a storm brewing in the woods and his brain heavy with the fears of what’s hiding within, he feels overwhelmed. So close to the possibility of a few moments of rest prior to the fear gripping his chest. Just another minute. Five more in the quiet. That’s all he needs.

“Will. Over.” Will’s voice is the most sleep heavy, consonants dragging and slurred together. 

“Jonathan and Nancy.” The exhausted and rough sound of Jonathan’s voice seizes something in Steve’s chest still, all this time later. Steve isn’t sure why. He'd gotten over his romantic feelings for Nancy a year prior but it still gave his heart a tug when she and Jonathan so easily fit into the box of a couple.

Least of his worries, romance. Shove it aside for later. 

“Munson, over.” 

It was sometimes still a shock, hearing Eddie’s voice. It’s the one that haunted Steve the most, when the nightmares came. Dustin screaming, begging, Eddie’s blood gurgling. 

But. 

But. 

He was alive. Everyone was alive. Steve hadn’t let anyone with him die during spring break. The sirens and the hospital and the government doctors had kept them all alive - after. Steve had got the heart started again. Cracked sternum, blood on lips. Eddie’s breathing a crackle but there.

He was close to sleep, so close to a few soft moments of reprieve. He was chasing it, head heavy. 

Safe. They were all safe, confirmed so. 

His eyelids are so heavy.

It’s his turn. He knows it’s his turn. ‘Steve, over.’ It’d be so easy, but something stops his hand, his mouth, his entire being. He’s frozen and exhausted, caught between sleep and awake and maybe he’s dreaming this, hopefully the coming silence meant he was dreaming this. Could sink deeper into bed.

“Steve?” Dustin’s voice cutting the night air, “Do you copy? Over.” Three beats. Let it g- “Steve. Do you copy? Over.” Steve counts them this time. One, two, three. “Steve!” Dustin’s voice has pitched up, worry coating it. “Do you copy?! Over!” One. Tw-

“He’s probably gettin’ all cozy with a pretty gi-“

“Ew, Eddie!”

“What the fuck man!” “Nope, nope, nope.” 

“Look dweebs, I’m just saying, there’s reasons guys don’t answer late at night and it’s usually because of-“

“I’m not having sex, Eddie.” Steve feels like he’s suffocating, so fucking done with all of this and he’s heavy with the sleepiness of insomnia that won’t fucking leave his head. “Over.”

“Steve! What the hell! We called a sound off, are you okay? Over.” Dustin’s voice has a panicked quality and part of Steve feels bad, feels guilty. Part of him wants to scream. Just because. 

“I was trying to sleep, Henderson,” Steve sighs, throwing an arm over his face, “Something you all should be doing, too.”

The line’s static fills the silence, radio silence. Maybe Steve will actually start screaming. It’d be cathartic. 

“You gotta say over, sweetheart,” Eddie jeers, and Steve can see the smile on his face like a burn on his retinas, Cheshire-wide and goading, framed by black hair haloed across a pillow. “Over.” It made Steve’s sleep rattled brain trip on itself, the ease at which he could picture Eddie splayed out summer warm in bed. 

“Yeah Steve,” it’s Robin’s voice now, “at least use proper radio protocol, come on. Over.” 

“None of you did when Eddie was talking about-“

“No! No Steve!” Dustin’s voice had the pitchy height it got any time Robin or Eddie brought up Steve’s dating life. “No talk about fornication on this line! Over!”

“Just this line that’s banned?” Eddie’s voice dripped with mirth, even in low quality and volume from across town.

“Eddie, I swear, you saved the world and-“ 

“How about this,” Steve cuts in and rolls over to prop himself on an elbow, feeling like it’s more of the right positioning to take his frustration out in, “everyone goes to sleep now. Over.”

He flops down, face smashed into his pillow, listens as the kids all trickle off, El then Mike because he’d follow her lead to hell – fucking literally – then Lucas and Max, reluctantly Dustin. Robin, wishing everyone ‘sweet dreams loud-ass motherfuckers’, until it was just Eddie who hadn’t signed off properly. And himself. 

“Hey Stevie, switch channels for me, over.”

“No. Over.” He knows that tomorrow, in the daylight, he’ll probably regret the blunt push off of his friends, but now it was taking everything in him to just choke words out. 

“Steve,” Eddie draws his name out, a whine tinging it. Ever since the recovery, ever since getting everything back to Not-Upside-Down, Eddie had been plastered to Steve’s side. An incessant little thing. Steve hadn’t minded, because an Eddie in his line of sight meant consistent confirmation that Eddie was alive. What Steve had been taught his first-year lifeguarding had worked. Stayin’ Alive, thirty pumps, copper taste of blood on his lips, chest inflate, chest deflate, a coughing body in his arms, not a corpse.

Their friendship had started with Eddie sitting in Family Video with Robin and Steve as they worked. Because apparently saving the world or some shit from an evil superpowered thing didn’t mean you could just… not work. Well, financially it did, actually. The stipend for keeping your mouth shut was astronomical. 

Spending it was an astronomical task. 

Leaving Hawkins was an astronomical task.

Sitting at home, doing nothing, was an astronomical issue.

So. Job. 

Eddie had infiltrated it, then got a job at the music and record shop that opened down the road as the town rebuilt.

Spent his lunch with Steve, watching a half hour of whatever he was watching that day. 

Steve had started to bring the movies home each night, so Eddie could watch the end with him when he came over with a six pack, a rolled joint, and two pizzas.

That turned into talking through shit movies.

It turned into Steve telling Eddie about the dreams, about why he didn’t want to sleep alone at his own home. 

It turned into Eddie telling Steve he sometimes still felt like his sides were wet, like they were still bleeding even though the scars had healed. 

Had continued with Eddie crying, a little drunk, pressed into Steve’s side, thanking him for getting his heart restarted and dragging his body through the gate. 

Had continued with Steve telling him he would have done anything but leave Eddie’s body in the fucking Upside Down.

It ended with Steve seeing Eddie every day. Spending their days off driving around or lazed in Steve’s pool or with Steve cooking dinner while the Hellfire Club met in his dining room. 

It ended with Eddie in Steve’s life, orbiting him as he orbited Eddie.

It, apparently, ended with Eddie annoying the fuck out of him over a walkie-talkie at two in the goddamned morning.

“Pretty please, Steven? I’ll never ask you for anything ever again ever and ever and-“

“For fucks sake! Will you shut him up, please!” Mike Wheeler’s screech comes through and Steve screams a groan at his ceiling, “Over!” 

Steve grapples with his walkie blindly and presses the stupid little button. “Fine. Fine! Munson. What fucking channel? Over.”

“Twenty-seven-point-two-seven-five,” Eddie’s voice is much too smug, Steve is too much of a pushover. Steve can see a clear image in his mind of Eddie curling over his radio, the smile he used in Steve’s dining room when he was DM’ing a campaign showing all his teeth. 

Steve changes the channel.

“Yes, Edward?” He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. A beat of silence. 

A beat longer.

Steve screams. 

“I’m not doing that nerd fucking shit, Eddie, I swear, I’m not playing this game tonight, okay? D1. I’m fucking dead, or something.” 

“Did you… just make a reference to-“

“Please, Eddie.” Steve’s exhausted, his skin on too tight and he cannot. Deal. With. This.

“Bad night?” Eddie asks next, instantly knowing, voice snapping into something caring, softer. The edges are blurring. “You sounded awful.”

So, yeah, Eddie knew. Eddie knew Steve and Eddie knew about the nightmares. Eddie orbited Steve. He’d known since he found Steve screaming on his uncle’s bed, Steve unwilling to drive home in the dark because something had been prickling the back of his neck and he was scared. Didn’t want to be alone. Eddie had sat up with Steve that night, pulling out a stash he had Argyle bring from Colorado that worked quick, and let Steve suck down the entire joint himself while Eddie told him about all the nights he woke up, shaking but unable to sit up, scared he’d actually died and was stuck laying down and alone for eternity. 

They’d forged something then, some kind of comradery that only came when you’re found with tears in your eyes and holding a pillow tight to your chest. It had taken three weeks after they’d both been discharged from the hospital before Steve had tried sleeping in his own damn house again. 

“Yeah, man.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face, letting it fall to his chest with a thunk, letting his lingering animosity fall away with it. “The fucking wasp one.” Tiny bugs swarming the kids and crawling down their throats in the tunnel system, stinging their eyes and crawling between their teeth when they screamed. Rearing tiny teeth-rowed mouths back and taking chunk and chunk until blood made Steve’s feet slide on the floor. By the end of it he’s surrounded only by corpses filled with holes as the wasps turn to him in unison.

“When’s the last time you got some real sleep?” Eddie sounds tired, too, his words loose and open, voice pitched low as he sheds the persona that always got all shined up for the kids and becoming the lazy thing he spoke with when no one but Steve was in the room. 

“You first,” Steve goads, rubbing his sternum in a circle, something feeling stuck in his chest easing talking to Eddie. Eddie got it. Eddie saw him, saw it all. Eddie didn’t hide from it. Steve orbited Eddie.

“Tuesday morning.”

“Shit, Munson.” Steve admonishes. It was early in the Saturday morning hours. It really never got that bad often, not to the point of almost a week of sleepless nights. It had been months and it was getting better but not whole. In the beginning it had been bad, Eddie’s record just three hours over Steve’s when they had finally drunk themselves into oblivion on Steve’s couch, waking up slumped together, hungover but at least somewhat rested.

“Yeah Stevie,” Eddie sighs and Steve can hear it because he keeps his finger pressed on the button through the pause, “C’mon, I showed you mine. How long?”

“Slept most of Thursday, but since then it’s been spotty.” It’s easy to be candid with Eddie, he’d seen it first-hand. Seen the broken shards of Steve shattered in the aftermath of the apocalypse. He’d been there. Robin had an idea but everyone else just didn’t talk about it the way Eddie did with him. 

“You think you’re going to sleep tonight?” Eddie asks.

“Not now that I know the kids are still scared,” Steve admits, already feeling the fitful feeling of constant vigilance scratch behind his eyes, slowly understanding that Eddie wasn’t really here to annoy him. He wanted Steve the way Steve wanted Eddie right now. Someone there in the alone, in the wakefulness. Someone there to keep you warm while shaking to death under the weight of monsters and smoke and bats and red lightening. 

Two suns, orbiting, chasing, on a collision course.

“Me either. Still got some of the last shit I gave ya?” Eddie asks, and as he talks the radio rustles with his movement. 

“Yeah, Eds.”

“Roll one, smoke with me.” And Steve isn’t sure why, if it’s the need to be Very Much Not Alone Right Now, if it’s Eddie’s tone – the silent beg Steve knows is hidden there, if it’ll even help but not above fucking trying to stave off the demons, he agrees. He lets the walkie list to the side as he opens the bedside table, sitting up and starting to grind the flowers. “Stevie?” 

“Yeah man,” Steve mumbles as he licks the paper to seal it, “I’m fuckin’ rolling, Eds. Hold your horses.”

“You are the slowest fucking grinder, I swear.” It’s said with a snigger, and Steve flicks his lighter to take the first long lungful before responding as he blows it out.

“The fucking mouth on you around the kids, dude.” He doesn’t let his button go as he takes another long, slow pull, knowing Eddie will wait for him if the static doesn’t come back. “Stop making the kids think about sex, Eddie.”

“Oh, mom,” Eddie laughs when Steve finally allows the rumble of static to return, his voice taking on revelry even when tired, “you don’t think their little brains are just chugging along with pure and wholesome thoughts twenty-four-seven, do ya?” There’s a breathless laugh and then Eddie’s choking and coughing and Steve knows it’s from laughing as he inhaled, having seen it happen on the edge of his pool too many times to hear the sound and think of anything else. “Have you seen the way Wheeler looks at El? Or how Byers looks at Wheeler? Kid’s probably-“

“Eddie come on man!” Steve groans, throwing his head back. Eddie’s cackling on his end when Steve chokes on his own pull. 

“Come on, Steve, you don’t remember being a fifteen-year-old kid? Creaming your pants when you saw boobs for the first time?” Eddie can barely get the words out through his laughter at Steve’s disgusted noise, a hint of sleepless hysteria lacing it all.

“That’s fucking disgusting, Munson, what the fuck?” But Steve’s laughing anyway because Eddie’s laugh is an infectious thing, you catch it and the symptoms take over within seconds. 

“Where’d you see your first pair of titties, Steve Harrintgon?” Eddie’s giggling, and Steve has an uncensored, weed-addled urge to reach through time and space to be able to touch Eddie then, feeling the giggles shake his body. 

Collision course, creeping closer.

“Oh shit,” Steve says, holding the joint up and watching the smoke curl from the end of it lazily in the moonlight. “Fuck probably a movie? I dunno.” He thinks maybe Jaws, when Tommy had stolen it from his older brother and they’d watched it at twelve. “Maybe a Playboy I stole from my dad? Fuck, I was, I did that for years.” He’s laughing, the weight of the weed starting to press him down into the mattress on his back. 

Eddie tsks as Steve giggles, “Oh Stevie, what a naughty little rich boy.” 

“Oh fuck off, what was yours?” 

The static crackles for a few moments and Steve’s worried he’s said something wrong, the anxiety that bubbled under his skin every moment of every day after that night in the Byers’ house years ago flaring up to a boil.

“Found one of my old man’s VHS’s when I was fourteen.” Steve closes his eyes to look at his mental image of Eddie, seeing him scrunching his nose up as his hands fidget. “That was an interesting damn day.” He sounds a bit short of breath when he adds, “Definitely learned that I was into one over the other pretty fucking quick.” 

Steve’s not dumb, this time, he thinks. He gets it in a second, gets it because it makes things slot together in his brain in a way that hadn’t been there before. It’s the opposite feeling of when Robin had said just as little to him. He’s not sure how or why it feels that way, now.

“Yeah?” He probes, tries for as gentle and soft he can, even with his heart rate stuttering heavier in his ribs.

“Yeah, Steve.” Eddie in Steve’s mind curls in on himself and Steve can’t have that, doesn’t want that. “Robin told me she told you and you didn’t yell.”

“I was blindsided by that one.” Steve says simply, pulls again, joint half gone.

“And not this?” Eddie’s laugh has turned sour and Steve feels pushed off kilter by that. 

“I mean, I’m not saying I expected it? But it… I dunno man it makes sense?” It feels right, is something he doesn’t say, unsure of how to even quantify it in any way except his stomach feeling settled by it all. “I’m cool with it, Eddie, if that’s what you’re fuckin’ chewing your nails over right now.” 

“How did you?” But there’s a little laugh coming back, Eddie’s voice softening back down into warmth again. 

“You do it when you're stressed.” Steve says simply, taking a deep breath, because it was that simple to him. Just part of Eddie that everyone had noticed at this point, they had to have had. Steve had. Knew the way Eddie’s teeth tore at cuticles as he watched a room he wasn’t comfortable in, always feeling like the outsider, always in motion. Knee jumping, head shaking, fingers twitching. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, Harrington,” Eddie’s breathless as he laughs at Steve from the other side of town. “Full of goddamn surprises.” 

“I contain multitudes or some shit.” Steve rolls his eyes, parroting Nancy’s words from some time junior year when things were easy and he was happy and the world hadn’t ended and he could sleep through the night and look at his pool without imagining Barb or see a blue car and not feel terror tug on his gut. 

“That you do, Stevie.” 

“I mean,” Steve feels loose, too loose because Eddie’s always giving him the good shit, and his mind is unlocking and picking up pieces he’d tossed aside haphazardly to look at later, “I get it, you know?”

“You… get it?”

“Yeah man, I mean, dudes, right?” It makes sense to Steve, so it has to make sense to Eddie, who was smoking the same shit. “Like, yeah. Guys can be hot.” The aerobics instructor comes to mind, arms that bulged out from a ripped shirt. “Girls are hot, too. But not to you. Guys are hot, but not to Robin.” It makes sense, Steve thinks. Total sense. Something he’d toyed with and rolled around in his brain for months and months now. Tried the taste of it when his parents had drug him to some party in the city and he’d immediately left after, found a bar that was dark, and hidden, and didn’t card him. It had been eye opening, not shocking when the man had kissed him. Not really. “I guess for some people it’s both.”

“O-kay,” Eddie drawls the word, stretching it longer than Steve really thought necessary as he sucks in a breath of smoke. “How about we resume this train of thought sometime else, Steve?” And there’s a shake in his voice, something that Steve hasn’t ever heard lately, in the Rightside Up. It sounds like uncertainty. Steve doesn’t like it, doesn’t like an Eddie who isn’t sure footed, isn’t commanding the room. 

“Sure.” Steve rocks from side to side gently, feeling the mattress shift under his body. “Tell me what’s got you so worked up tonight.”

“Well I just came out to you,” Eddie laughs and Steve doesn’t like that it feels more forced than their previous giggles, “so there’s fucking that.” 

“You didn’t die, Eddie.” Steve says, jumps three steps forward, knows that’s where they’re going to end up. 

They always ended up there. With Eddie shaking and scared and with Steve holding his hair back as he pukes out the demons all while telling Steve the entire time he’d been gone, heart stopped, body ripped apart in an alternate dimension. 

“Stop doing that, Steve.” Eddie’s voice is smaller, and Steve hates it, hates when Eddie isn’t laughing or smiling or full of levity and confidence. 

“No.” Steve smiles small as he says it, feels a little less hollow because he’s needed, he’s here, Eddie’s here. Two suns on a collision course. Creeping closer. Impending doom. “You’re alive, Eddie.”

“I don’t particularly feel like it right now,” Eddie whispers, voice almost too low for Steve to hear over the walkie, his ears having to strain some to catch all eight words. 

“’s okay,” Steve’s words are starting to slur just a bit, the weed finally washing over him in the big waves, full strength. Boom, crash, heartbeat slow. “What makes you feel alive, Munson?” 

“I don’t-“

Steve cuts him off, knows what to say because he’s said it so many times. “Music. Eddie, music. D and D with your friends,” he starts listing things, “what else?”

“Playing with the band,” Eddie starts, voice already more even keeled. “Watching horror movies with Robin?” Steve laughs and he feels his own flame of life flicker at that. 

“That’d make anyone feel alive, shit,” Steve responds, hoping the smile is coming to Eddie’s face, loves how it looks when it cracks his face open, like the sun finally bursting from behind the trees at sunrise. 

“Good booze,” Eddie’s got some of the old him back, clawing a bit back to normal. It had gotten easier as the time had moved forward, to get themselves back when the Upside Down tried to drag them under. “Shit, this shit? Weed and music and booze and sex.” The last word is a groan and Steve feels a flash of heat all over. 

They’d never discussed it, probably because of the elephant in the room Eddie had just shot with coming out, but now… now Steve wants to. Steve wants. It’s a terrifying realization to have with a head swimming with weed and insomnia. He has no other word for it, no clarity, but he wants. 

“Have you…. Have you slept with anyone since everything?” he asks, feeling almost wild. Because the weed’s made his tongue loose and the radio static keeps the conversation just far enough past his grip to scare him. 

Boom. Sudden impact.

Eddie’s voice has changed when it comes back through, sounding lower and headier and Steve’s lost in it. Fucking drugs. “Nah Cassanova, I haven’t. Have you?”

It would normally be so easy, so simple to turn on the typical Harrington charm to the point of casual deception. Of course, he had, of course one of the many, many dates had turned into something that sparked enough life in him for Steve to bring them back to his house where only ghosts of happiness followed him down the halls. 

But, they hadn’t. The candle that had heated his heart up, had made him want in that way had been snuffed out two years prior, something final had fractured with the bullshit and left him drafty, hollow.

“Nah, Munson, you’re the only one to see the gifts those bats left me up close and personal.” He answers, head sinking further into his pillow as he sucks on the end of the blunt, the smoke warm as it traps itself in the recesses of Steve’s lungs. He holds it there, tries to remember what falling into bed with someone felt like. Tries to imagine hips, curves, tiny waists. 

It really, for some reason he can’t find, can’t name, can’t finger, doesn’t work. 

But when Eddie’s voice comes back, fills his ears and his mind and his ribcage, Steve catches a spark trying so very hard to flicker in his chest.

“Oh Stevie, you’re a damn flatterer.” 

The breath whooshes out of Steve’s chest, smoke billowing from his lips and his nose at the same time as a laugh is dragged out from the place below his sternum. 

“How’s it feel to be on the receiving end of some of then infamous Harrington Charm?” Steve asks, giggling, loving the way the static on the other end of the line doesn’t feel like an empty space, but a comfort. Like if he tried hard enough he could feel the weight of Eddie dipping the bed beside him, warming the sheets with his skin, thigh pressed into Steve’s.

It wouldn’t be like they hadn’t been in that position before, hadn’t been high and wrapped up with one another. Save the world, see a guy die, snap his breastbone with chest compressions in a hellscape while their other friends try to convince him to drag the body – the fucking body because that’s all Eddie had been for too many fucking seconds that drug and drug and drug ­– out, finally get his heart and lungs back online long enough to hoist the limp weight through a portal… well. The idea is there. 

Steve had started the spring break with no interactions with Eddie Munson.

Now the lack of him next to Steve leaves something twisting raw and ragged in his stomach. 

“I’m swooning,” and Steve thinks he hears Eddie’s voice catch on the end of the word, imagines smoke of his own trailing out from between Eddie’s lips.

It is a thought that shouldn’t trip Steve’s brain up so much. Yet.

“Well, you’re the first in…” Steve’s own voice trails and a giggle scratches his throat as the absurdity of it well and truly hits him. “Since Nancy. You’re the first one to swoon since- since Nancy.” It’s there, out in the open between them now, radio waves drifting through Hawkins, over roofs and between the clouds. Or however the fuck radios worked, he didn’t have a clue. Didn’t need to when Eddie’s voice is back, worming its way into every sliver of open space in Steve’s head. 

“Then you must’ve only been dating blind broads, no idea what they’re truly missing.” Eddie’s voice comes with a tsking sound, the rustle of something in the background causing Steve’s brain to pop an image of Eddie lying in bed, a hand behind his head, all long lean muscle, tattoos crossing paths with scars, smoke hanging low in the air.

Steve’s heart jumps, because his brain had omitted a shirt on Eddie’s chest, had put the other boy in just boxers and socks because Steve had seen him like that. Sleepy eyes and ruffled one morning when Dustin hadn’t been able to get Eddie to answer on the walkies and Mike had pleaded Steve to drive. To make sure the gate was closed still, even though the old trailer had been gone, burned, the ashes watched over in a secure facility. The government had supplied the new one Eddie and Wayne lived in now. 

Wayne had thrown a fit when the feds had offered a house closer to the size of Steve’s, saying they could take their hush money and double it, put it in an account so Eddie could have the best doctors in the world as he healed. His nephew had tried to die for them, it was the least the fuckers could do. Wayne’s words, not Steve’s. 

Steve, however, had been inclined to agree.

Owens had a furnished trailer on the lot five days later as Eddie still lay prone in the ICU. 

His guitar had been the only thing that had gotten out of his home before the feds had hauled it off to scorch and torch the big bad evil gate. Dustin had made sure, had delivered it like a trophy to the hospital and Eddie had made the most delighted noise around the breathing tube the doctors had refused to remove until the blood and fluid had completely drained from Eddie’s lungs. 

Steve had also slept next to Eddie in that outfit. Two arched backs curling towards each other when the world got to be too much, too loud, when the backfire of a motorcycle down the road had Steve’s hands shaking. When the flapping of birds nesting outside the window had Eddie’s head whipping around. 

Bare chest, curling tattoos sliced with scars, black hair across a pillow, long fingers-

“Stevie?” Eddie’s voice shocks Steve out of the drugged train wreck his brain was hurtling towards, imaging Eddie without all his clothes. Alone. In bed. “You there, babe?” 

“Sorry,” Steve’s voice has changed and thickened and he really has nothing else to say, nothing he can say. Luckily, Eddie’s good at filling silence, pulling Steve’s brain from the sand it traps itself in on nights like this.

“Don’t be,” Eddie’s tone is still low and soft, scratched over by static, a buzz that Steve can feel vibrating under his skin. “You never got anything to apologize for, Steve.” He listens to the words Eddie gives him freely, kindly, woven in the hush of too late night or early morning, Steve’s lost the time in the haze the joint has put him under. He lifts it to his lips again, just for something to do. “Wanna know what I think?” 

Steve’s brows crease together and he forces the smoke out of his lungs to answer, “Think about what?”

“Your dry spell.” 

The laugh that is pulled from Steve is genuine this time. Eddie Munson had never met a topic that felt off limits. It had grated on Steve for a day, maybe two. Then they had had bigger shit to deal with and now… well now it felt like it was safe. Nothing flapped Eddie. He just said the thing he wanted to say, didn’t fuck with the thought of consequences. A stark contrast to how Steve had been raised.

“Fuck’s sake, fine, sure,” Steve’s still laughing when he answers, stubbing out the rest of the joint on an ashtray and turning on his side, “because even if I say no, you’ll tell me anyway.” 

Eddie’s laughing again too, when Steve releases the button and the radio is able to pick up his voice again. It’s warmer than any high Steve’s felt and he doesn’t really even try to fight that thought off too hard, tonight. 

“I think,” Eddie starts, and Steve shuffles in his sheets, shoulder popping as he pulls the blanket up closer to his ears, like if he covers his face and the walkie this conversation can keep existing in the floating place Steve feels his head is in right now. He can almost hear the lick Eddie gives his teeth as he’s getting ready to dive into something he feels will crawl under someone’s skin, “I think you just know none of those girls will touch you as good as you deserve.”

Steve’s breath hitches, high in his throat and he’s so so glad Eddie can’t hear it. Glad that Eddie doesn’t wait for a reply as he trucks right the fuck along. 

“Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, now that’s a man who deserves to be savored.” Steve isn’t sure if it’s the connection or the weed, but Eddie’s voice is getting strung out, pulling on the syllables, making the blood coursing through Steve’s heart heat up, warmth filling his ribs. He knows, in some logical corner of his brain that isn’t high, that it’s the feeling he got when Nancy had kissed him that first night they had in his bedroom. Desire, unfurling in his muscles, flush squirming its way over his skin. “You aren’t a quick fuck, pretty boy, are you? Need it nice and slow, hm? Seems like you, to want every touch savored so you can really feel it.”

It takes Steve almost too long of a moment to realize his fingers have drifted down to trail over the strip of stomach left naked from his shirt, fingertips skating over heated skin. “Christ, Eddie,” he’s able to choke out of his throat, words too tight to hide the shock in them. “You can’t just say that.” His heart had taken to speeding itself up of its own accord, blood thrumming deep in the veins. 

“Mmmm,” Eddie drawls, “I did though.” It’s coy, so fucking coy and so fucking Eddie that Steve’s lungs are punched out because yeah. He did. “Should I stop?” And there it is, the easy out, the one Steve usually throws at a girl when she pulls back for air while kissing her on his couch, more than usually praying she says yes. They all have so far. 

Steve though, Steve doesn’t want this to stop. His fingertips have tucked themselves, resting, in his waistband. His other hand is gripping the walkie-talkie like a lifeline, a preserver in the tide of Eddie Munson’s voice. 

“Should I stop, Stevie?” Eddie asks again, sounding breathless, just as gutted as Steve is, and he isn’t sure, can’t think of a moment when this switch had flipped in the conversation. It’s sudden and feels like whiplash and it’s so incredibly hot that Steve’s dizzy with need and want and a high. He wonders if the weed’s been laced, but knows Eddie’s better than that. Wouldn’t, not unless Steve asked. Wouldn’t do anything unless Steve asks because he’s Eddie and Eddie is good and all-encompassing and here, alive. He was dead and he came back to life under Steve’s hands and maybe his voice will revive something deep and dormant in Steve. 

So, Steve clicks the button on the side of the walkie and the word rushes forth. “No.” He squeezes his eyes shut and his hand presses a hot brand against the lower half of his abdomen. “You shouldn’t stop.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie’s words are a breath as soon as Steve’s finger releases, then the line doesn’t flip to static, but stays on and lets Steve hear the clack of Eddie’s rings as his fingers jostle his hair and Steve wonders when he learned to discern that one specific sound.

Then, oh but then.

Then every noise that has ever been and will ever be is tramped out of Steve’s brain and all he knows, all he ever wants to hear again in his goddamn life is the soft groan that sounds like it’s been yanked from Eddie’s gut. “You’ll be the death of me.” 

The static is back now, and so Steve chases after Eddie in the ether, chases the noise, prays it comes back. “You started it, Eddie.” And he should leave it there. Absolutely should. He doesn’t. “Don’t tell me you can’t finish it.” 

Steve counts to five before the crackle of the line shifts, letting him know to anticipate Eddie’s voice. “Baby, I play to win. Always.” There’s a giggle there, something in the high that Steve’s body echoes without permission just because it feels good, it feels right, and that’s terrifying, dizzying; Steve leans into the feeling. 

“Didn’t know this was a contest,” Steve butts in, thumb brushing the hair that scatters down his stomach and into his pants, wets his lips. “What’s the prize?” He isn’t even sure what the game here is, just knows that his skin is too hot in the greatest way possible and his cock is a thick weight below the hem of sweats and it’s all due to Eddie’s fucking voice. 

None of that even touches the fact that it feels normal, feels like an extension of something they’d been circling for months, since Eddie’d gotten home and they’d taken to spending days in Steve’s pool or in a boat in the lake or on the top of the hill outside of Hawkins, joints and cigarettes and brushing fingers. 

“Interesting question,” Eddie muses, and Steve closes his eyes again so maybe he can hear Eddie’s voice better, trap it in the space between his ears. He can hear Eddie click his tongue, and the sound jolts across Steve’s nerves like a shock. “The prize for me,” he draws it out, makes Steve hold his breath and he doesn’t even know why, “would be hearing you fall apart, hear the pretty little noises Steve Harrington makes when he finally reaches the breaking point.” 

“And for me?” Steve asks, should hate the way his voice goes up and breathless and how his hand is inching down further into his pants. 

“Well, I’d think, darling, that you’d like much of the same.” Eddie pauses, doesn’t let the static come, doesn’t let go of the button, Steve waiting like he’s about to leap from the ledge of the quarry. “Is that what you want?” And there’s a touch of uncertainty there, like Eddie is coming to and Steve’s fast to jump in.

“Yes, Eddie.” It’s a plea, a reassurance, it’s a little too close to everything, but Steve will worry about that in the sober light of morning, when his head isn’t being enveloped in the sound of Eddie’s voice and the hot rise of want in his veins. When his hand finally stretches down and he takes his dick in his fist, Steve goes completely taut, a moan ripped from his lungs. 

“Holy fuck,” Eddie’s voice grounds Steve as he strokes down for the first time, thumbing the slit and catching the slick of precum that had beaded there. “That sound has to be illegal.”

“Your voice,” Steve tells him, shaking his head and squeezing himself on the next downstroke, “is a weapon.” 

 “Do you like the way I talk to you, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, doesn’t wait a second for Steve to answer as he groans and Steve echoes it, mind racing with snapshot images of Eddie in the same position as he is, splayed out in bed, sweaty and restless from nightmares and no sex, listening to Steve’s voice. “Want me to tell you how I’d take care of you?” Steve’s nodding until he realizes that Eddie isn’t here, Eddie’s hands aren’t on him, Eddie isn’t whispering in his ear.

“Ye-yeah. I. Yeah.”

“Oh my god, shit, this is-“s Eddie cuts himself off and Steve feels heavy, limbs unable to move when Eddie’s voice isn’t there. “I don’t think you know how much I want to devour you fucking whole, Steve,” he admits and Steve is breathless and never wants this moment to end. “I want to take you apart with my fucking hands and tongue and-“ he cuts himself off again and Steve whines, knows how the sentence ends but isn’t willing to fill the blanks in on his own.

“Thought you played to win,” Steve pants, his pace picking up, toes curling when Eddie comes back on and it isn’t words but a moan that Steve gets in response. He wants to swallow the sounds Eddie is making, wants to feel them against his tongue. He hasn’t been this keyed up in months, in years, maybe ever. Christ. 

“God, I want to shut you up with my cock.” And that. Well that’s something entirely. It’s debauched and crude and Steve is so into it that he has to bite his hand to keep from coming undone right then, backing off from his strokes so he doesn’t have to stop hearing the things Eddie’s telling him. “The mouth on you, I fucking swear, gorgeous. Those lips were made for it, all pretty and pink?” Steve’s breaths are getting caught in his throat now, panting little things that he can’t control as he squeezes his cock at the base, tip leaking a puddle on his stomach. “Mess up that damn hair, shit I’ve wanted to pull on it since junior history. So fucking pretty, Steve.” 

Steve can picture it, can feel the weight of Eddie on his tongue and the press of hardwood under his knees. They’re in his foyer, Eddie not being able to wait to get upstairs and Steve just sinking down to his knees because who says no to Eddie? Why would they? When he sounds like this? They’d be fucking crazy.

“Don’t-“ Steve grits out when the silence stretches too long and his squeeze on himself too hard and the whole thing too much, “holy fuck don’t stop?” He asks, unsure if he’s allowed, if he’s broken this thing between them but he hasn’t, thank fuck he hasn’t, when Eddie starts speaking again.

“You, fuck, Steve, god you’d be stunning. You are stunning, but god, fuck, I can’t, the way you’d look on my-on a bed.” Eddie’s voice pitches up and Steve can feel it, can feel the energy in his veins, can hear the energy sparking through Eddie’s, something deep in him unlocked and spilling its contents between the two of them and Steve finds himself chasing the little pieces, any little bit of Eddie he can find in the words as they static their way between houses, between worlds. 

“Do you want to fuck me in your bed, Munson?” Steve asks as he starts stroking himself again, unable to stave off the need to touch and feel and chase the heat of Eddie’s words with his movements. He means it as a joke, as a little bit of a poke into Eddie’s side, but it comes out wanting and high pitched and needier than Steve’s ever heard himself sound in his life. He can’t take it back, but he doesn’t want to and that’s a problem but it’s a problem for morning because right now Steve is on the edge of and orgasm and something that feels a whole heap bigger and he’s gripping it, clutching it, chasing it down with gritted teeth and loose lips and holy shit. Eddie Munson is going to kill him and he’ll probably say thank you at the end of it all.

“Oh my holy fuck, baby,” Eddie’s tone is so close to sending Steve over the edge and he moans to the ceiling of his room, the blades of his fan spinning around the raw edge to it. “God yes, in my bed. On the fucking couch. The back of your car. Anywhere. Steve, anywhere.” And Steve’s imagination is working overtime, popping images in his brain of every scenario and he hasn’t gone there, hasn’t done that (yet, his brain goads, yet), but he wants so deeply his balls ache and his fingers tremble. Eddie bending him over, Eddie with one of Steve’s legs over his shoulders, Eddie sprawled on a pool chair with Steve on top, hips grinding down, cock spurting spunk across Eddie’s chest-

“Holy fuck, Eddie, shit, I’m going to-“

“Yes, baby,” Eddie’s voice cradles him as Steve’s hand speeds up, breathy moans punctuated by each stroke of his thumb over the head, “just like that. Lemme hear you, please, fuck, let me hear.”

And so Steve does. The line crackles for less than a second before he’s pressing his button down, panting into the receiver and then moaning throatily, head thrown back, hips fucking his fist as cum soaks the inside of his sweats. He thinks Eddie’s name is on his lips, thinks he sobs it, the weed enough of a dampener that he isn’t sure. He sees white, toes curl into the bed as his hips chase his fingers, oversensitive and pulsing in his fist.

“Holy shit.” Is what he gets when his body calms down enough for his hips to settle, for his breathing to fill the open space and his finger to relax, letting the static fill the room before Eddie’s back. “Holy fucking shit, Steve.” He’s high enough to soften the blow of it all, the realization that Steve just came from Eddie’s voice and nothing else something that he’ll have to deal with - of course he’ll have to deal with it sometime but not now because Eddie’s pants are matching his own and Steve feels like he could float away without Eddie’s voice anchoring him - rooting him to his bed. 

“Guess I lose?” is what he finally is able to say after the line crackles for a second, his chest still heaving and hand rubbing off the cum on his sweats. 

“I think we both did,” Eddie’s still breathless, and some part of Steve is so fucking proud that he did that, but also panicking that he did that, “I, um, well, yeah. When you did.” 

He doesn’t let Eddie hear the absolute heady moan he lets out at that, cock twitching heavy in the crease of his hip and thigh. Holy shit. He’d cum to Eddie’s voice and Eddie had cum to him cumming. Steve was in heaven, this was too good.

“Fuck,” is all he gets out in response, because really nothing real had rebooted yet and his nerves were still pulsing from orgasming harder than he had in years. 

“Yeah. Fuck, Steve.” Steve is shocked when he realizes he wants to chase those words with a kiss. Wants to kiss that tone from Eddie’s lips to see how it tastes. 

So. Okay. It didn’t go away with the orgasm, the warmth in his chest and ribs and stomach. Noted. 

“You good?” He asks instead of acknowledging it all because acknowledging it didn’t feel good with the wash of weed pressing in on him. 

“Better than,” Eddie mumbles and Steve feels it too, feels his body lax enough to crave getting pulled under; to maybe close his eyes. He does.

“That was…” Steve trails off, grips at his hair before realizing how gross that was and shaking his hand away from his face.

“Hot as shit.” Eddie responds, and Steve can still see him, behind his eyelids, sprawled long limbs with tattoos, sheets kicked to the base of the bed, orgasm flush. 

Oh god. This was going to be an actual problem.

“Yeah,” he agrees, feels the word thick in his throat.

“Yeah.” Eddie echoes, voice thick, maple syrup in winter, a worn soft quilt, the most comforting thing Steve can think of when it sounds like this. “Feel better?” Eddie asks, voice almost sheepish.

“Kinda, yeah,” Steve whispers back, head swaying gently. “You know, who knew weed and cumming would relax me?” He jokes, huffing a laugh.

“Real fuckin’ bewildering shit, huh?” Eddie asks, some of the swagger coming back to his voice, coaxing another laugh from Steve. He laughed so much around Eddie. 

“Yeah man, yeah.” It’s all his brain can say, all it feels safe to say because if he starts talking he’s not sure what else will come out of his mouth. He’s high, and pumped full with endorphins and he thinks he’s a little bit in love. 

Well, huh.

He must let the silence stretch on for long enough that Eddie thinks he’s fallen asleep, because as he blinks into the dark, hoping that each time he opens his eyes Eddie will actually materialize next to him for him to reach out and get to touch (he really, really wants to touch right now), Eddie says quietly, “Night Stevie. Sweet dreams only, ‘kay?” And then static. Nothing but a long, crackling line of it between him and Eddie. 

He drifts in and out of sleep, starting awake any time Eddie talks in his dreams, thinking maybe he’d shown up in Steve’s bed after all. 

Collision course. 

Implosion. 

Carnage. 

No survivors. 

Steve wakes up alone. 

[spacedlexi]

Would love to hear u talk more about Clem and Minnie mirroring one another if u haven’t already 🦅

i have Not >:) cracks knuckles

talking about minnie can be hard since she Really only exists in eps 3 and 4. eps 1 and 2 keep the twins pretty mysterious we only learn a few things about them. i think the most important thing we know about them tho is that they (or at least minnie) provided a sense of relief for the ericson kids. tenn saying how minnie would sing them "dont be afraid" when they were feeling scared. i think its safe to assume she wrote the song Specifically to have a way to make the other kids feel better when things were rough

when the twins die the kids lose this emotional support and we can tell its been hard on all of them (some more than others). but then in comes clementine. our girl whos been carrying the "light in the darkness" motif since season 1. and although she got that shit a little dirty in seasons 2 and 3 (ava going off in s3 about how clem and aj are light and hope and shit so we're still supposed to see it (and recognize that clem has become so Dark in s3 without aj)), she got her light back when she got aj back and she'll die protecting him

clem (and aj) fall very quickly into the hole the twins left. now its clem who makes them feel safe. first with finding them food then protecting them against the raiders ("youre our savior clem" "we were more scared than we let on when you met us. you made that go away"). its not an accident theyre put up in the twins room. and with the way violet grabs the frame and looks at it sadly we can even assume clem sleeps in minnies old bed (also the old torn down paintings seem to only be on ajs side of the room and hes got his whole "i wanna be an artist too" thing going on). clem has unintentionally taken on minnies old role of making the kids feel safe and reassured

then we finally meet minnie. and based on how the others described her there is definitely a piece of herself that shes lost (that shes killed). her light is gone now. and although her motivations have been warped, they remain the same. i do genuinely believe she is still trying to protect the ericson kids and do whats best for them, but just in the only way she thinks she can to stop more people from dying. she might even think the pros of living with the delta are worth the cons. clementine is the one teaching them to fight back but minnie knows from experience that fighting back just gets you killed, so she feels like if she can just stop clementine then everything will be fine ("youre the FUCKING problem here" "i wont let you get them all killed" and she does seem genuinely concerned if clem and vi are fighting in the cell. and obviously we know she doesnt want anything to happen to tenn). both minnie and clem want to protect the ericson kids they just have conflicting opinions about which is the right way to do it. but minnie Does show her ass when she ends her "if you just do what they say you can live" speech with "you can be rewarded just like i am" 👀 oh girl... she didnt just give up she gave in. killing sophie was her breaking point and i really wish we knew more about how that scene went down outside of lillys dramatic retelling i would like to see it objectively please. but based on the way lilly tells it, minnie (im sure begrudgingly) accepted her place at the delta before it even came to that, and was probably just pulled along by sophie when she tried to escape. which is probably why (im assuming) lilly gave her the choice to kill sophie to stay with the delta (her New family), and she did... she kills a piece of herself when she does this (only compounded by the twin imagery), and i think her seeing clem fight back reminds her of sophie and brings all those feelings to the surface. and if she can just kill clem everything will be ok, cuz it worked last time....

minnie singing "dont be afraid" when attacking them on the bridge. a song that once brought them peace now being used to herald death. but since she approaches already singing it she was probably singing it to soothe herself as she succumbs to her bite, walking away from the wreckage she blames on clem, her delta family dead (she Did care about them in a fucked up way), using a herd of walkers against them the same way clem used a herd of walkers to attack the boat. all minnie cares about at this point is finding tenn, and she does, and shes gonna take him with her. just like clem looking for aj, finding him, and taking him. but where clem would die to protect aj, minnie wants to kill tenn to take him "home" with her. add to this ajs feelings about ending up alone without clem and wanting to be walkers together if it came to it. this is why tenn dying on the bridge feels narratively fulfilling to me even tho i hate it 😭 tenn wants to be with minnie (and sophie and their parents) and death doesnt scare him. it kinda comforts him. him and minnie dying together here is like the dark fate clem and aj barely avoid

and then vi fitting into this as she became tenns caretaker after the twins left. she also wants whats best for him so her and minerva fighting at the end for tenn is interesting. especially since violet (and louis but he wasnt tenns caretaker the way vi was) can die throwing him over the gap. i like the layers violet adds to being in the bridge scene, and it makes it even more sad when she cant protect him because thats all shes been trying to do since before clem and aj even showed up. plus aj shooting tenn puts violet in a similar position to louis in regards to marlons death

i really love the ways violets route adds to all the minnie and tenn stuff. and the way we can see clems influence change her. how a saved violet is ready to fight with clem but a kidnapped violet believes in minnies goals and thinks giving up is the safest plan for everyone. because regardless if you save her or not violet ALSO wants to keep the ericson kids safe and just doesnt know the best way to do it. clem encourages violet to step up and minnie encourages violet to give up (warping her character growth which is why i cant Not save her 😭 and the betrayal of it all). using violet as a common denominator is another way to differentiate between clem and minnie. then throw the romance on top of that.... you can see why i get a little...Sillay.. this is ALSO why i dont like vinerva in any romantic capacity post the events of ep3 and why i love seeing vi with clem. its what they each encourage in her. minnies weakness, clems strength.... why seeing vi and minnie fight clem makes me want to cry but seeing clem and vi fight minnie makes me jump off the walls LETS GOOO

and i havent even talked about lilly yet.... how if lee took lilly up on her offer in S1 about stealing the RV together clem couldve ended up in her custody.... i definitely believe clem looks at minnie and sees some broken scared part of herself in there. she is Fiercely Loyal and would do anything for her family so if she was raised (or broken) in that environment (and it seems very "ends justify the means" with the delta as it sounds like its actually pretty good over there if you can look past the intimidation and torture and kidnapping) i could definitely see her being the one standing behind lilly in some other universe. its what lilly still tries to do with her but its too late (and so lilly tries it with aj instead which is still a way to get to clem). but clems grown now and shes been making her own choices for a long time. shes already been through this with the new frontier (and hell even with carver at howes). she'd die before she gave in. and minnie made the choice to kill her sister to save herself

even with the little info we actually have on minnie she still works pretty well as a foil to clem. this is why i find it easier to talk about minnie when comparing her to clem like i feel like its her main purpose. i feel like theres still more i could say its just eluding me. its not a coincidence that minnie almost takes clem down with her in the end. why shes the reason clems able to get bit. minnie blames clem for her own demise and she's gonna get in one last fuck you. and minnies fate is one clem is desperately trying to avoid. kinda 👀 to be taken down by your narrative foil

[cosmo-lexies]

A proper writeblr introduction

Hello people, you can call me Cosmo. I’m not a spacial doggy, no matter what the gossip says (I'm gonna turn this sentence in my new tagline). I have been around here for a while but I had never dared to do an introduction until now.

What can I say about me? I'm a Spaniard, my home is in Galician. I started to write in English to learn the language but I found out that I liked it.

I'm searching for other amateur writers. I'm really into urban fantasy, specially shapeshifters (you know, werewolves. I haven't gotten over Teen Wolf yet) and romance (with bi character is always better).

I have another blog for NSFW stories: @hotcosmo

My WIPS

Wolf Trip (My current WIP):

Senior year, the last chance to discover your true self before adult life. Jon was ready to enjoy it with epic plans: getting a spot on the basketball team, figuring out what university would be his new place the next fall, and of course, finding the absolute perfect prom date. But, seriously, since when do the plans of a seventeen-year-old boy work out as expected? Instead of parties and dealing with his new status like one of the popular kids, Jon found himself facing the fact that he's not your average human anymore. Romulo, the hot and strong young wolf who decided that Jon's essence was too irresistible not to spice up it with a little bite, had to deal with an emotional teen with a very aggressive newborn inside while they had to sprint across America to find a safe place where Jon can learn how to live in a world bigger than before. A world full of new creatures and magic where your position in the food chain may not be what you expected.

The Imperial Sorceress (complete):

Lady Dominica, High Sorceress of the Empire and the eldest of his coven, and his apprentice Ludovica have to confront a powerful semi-divine creature never seen before in imperial lands which is destroying the military forces of the empire and find out why the creature is helping the alliance of the Southern kingdoms to conquer the city of Lorencia.

Midnight rituals, season 1:

"A witch, a vampire, a werebear, and a human are in a clearing in the middle of a forest…" This could be the beginning of a bad joke or of a riddle; however, the witch was summoning an ancient demon while the human tried to avoid it; the witch and the vampire were in love but they fight more than anything else, and the werebear, well, he is there being a very handsome guy and tried to no one ended up dead. The peace of the small town of Santo Hills (Pennsylvania) is in danger and only the hardly credible team of four supernatural teenagers has some opportunity to avoid a massacre in the town.

Dylan, season 1:

"Do you know this feeling of whatever you do, you're going to fuck it? For me, it's not a feeling it's my day-to-day. Hooking up with someone older, yelling at my social worker, or kissing a girl for whom I feel nothing is only a small part of my problems. The big part is my powers which my family knows nothing about. Fuck, I don't know how I survive until graduation. I should talk to them, should I? Ahhh, fucking l…"

Malicious Wood:

"After Ragnarök, paradise emerged, Yggdrasil blossomed from its ashes, and a new pantheon was constructed, ushering in a new era. But time passed and nothing in this world was created to be at peace forever. Asktré accompanied by his sons Lunnec and Fenrir, return home after an arduous and fruitless journey. Against Aktré's wishes, they are unexpectedly drawn into the investigation of a series of mysterious murders in Odinia, Midgar. Could an Ashman and two hybrids discover the truth behind these heinous crimes? Malicious Wood serves as an enthralling introduction to New Yggdrasil a world base on Norse mythology post-Ragnarök where the delicate balance between Realms is starting to change. Can those born of an old world save a new one?"

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

I used to have Lexi push her bangs out of her face as a nervous tick thing but I changed her hairstyle so that doesn't work anymore but she still messes with her hair cause that's been her Thing for so long and man her hair must be so greasy LOL

Apologies to those beta reading you'll have the inconsistency of her bangs and braids styles still in there cause I hadn't changed it yet whoops

[lexinympho]

He just woke up to find you roaming the kitchen in baggy clothes and house slippers as a blanket twice your size is draped over your shoulders. Dark circles have formed under your eyes from the long night you had, your lips are chapped, and your hair is out of place. You can't help feeling self-conscious and dipping your head down a bit as he stares you down from the entrance, but you still greet him with a small grin and a simple, "Morning."

He doesn't respond right away, which almost scares you, until he flashes a lovestruck grin of his own and huskily speaks, "G'mornin' beautiful."

Choso, Iwaizumi, Kunigami, Hirugami, Present Mic, Draken, Hawks, Gojo, Chifuyu, Bokuto, Nanami, Bachira, Aizawa, Kakucho, Geto, Mirio, Akaashi, Iemon, Higuruma, Niko, Mitsuya, Kirishima

©lexinympho 2022, please do not edit or repost my works anywhere on this platform or another

[thedarkestgreys]

Fexi - 29 ❤️

sorry for the wait sweet anon! also i may have blacked out writing this one because it's over 700 words and i'm not sure how. under the cut for length!

“You have nothing to worry about,” Lexi reminds her husband over Facetime as their separate glam teams get them ready for the Grammy’s in conjoined rooms. Not that anyone in the room knows she married the rapper in a private ceremony three months ago - all anyone really knows is that they met at a Grammy’s party two years ago and have pretty much been inseparable ever since. Fezco snorts lightly as Gemma - his personal assistant - hands him his take out order while his regular groomer cleans up the lines on his buzz cut. “They got you presenting with a guy known for takin’ his fuckin’ shirt off at any fuckin’ chance he’s given. These the Grammy’s baby, an’ music types ain’t all prim and proper like you’re acting buddies at the Oscar’s, you feel me?” Lexi rolls her eyes, much to the annoyance of her MUA Jesus. The man tuts at her and despite Fezco’s insistence that actors like Lexi are way more serious than musicians, she sticks her tongue out at the older man before he starts cursing at her in Spanish about messing up her makeup. “Real mature Lex,” Fez snickers as she throws a French fry at Jesus. “You win one fucking Oscar and everyone thinks you have to be like, a full time adult or something,” she complains lightly as Louise hands her a stack of rings for her left hand - her engagement and wedding bands mixing in with the other jewels easily. They may not be ready to tell the whole world they got married, but it doesn’t mean she’s about to walk a red carpet without her wedding rings. Fezco’s lucky, he’s been known to wear his fingers full of rings for years, even before he and Lexi became a Hollywood It Couple. She, on the other hand, has always been known for her more understated taste in jewelry, something that quickly became a problem when Fez proposed. “Hate to break it to ya shorty, but you just turned twenty-five like, two months ago. Been a whole ass adult for a minute.” “Oh my god, you know what I mean,” Lexi exclaims as a team of hair stylists start taking out the hot rollers that have been setting her hair. “You win for a dramatic role and people think that’s all you are capable of. Need I remind everyone I got my start on a CW comedy as a teenager? I have comedy skills.” “Aight baby, I hear you.” There’s a lull in the conversation as their respective teams start making them actually get ready, but Lexi’s unwilling to end the call, even though Fezco is literally in the room right next door. They’re expected on the red carpet in less than an hour, Fezco being a big time nominee for the night and every single outlet on the face of the planet is going to want a sound clip from him about his chances of winning big. She blows her husband a kiss before she get dragged into the bathroom to step into her gown for the night - perfectly coordinated with Fez’s suit for the evening. “We gotta go now,” her PA Morgan says, eyes trained to her Apple Watch. “Fezco is waiting outside the door.” With one last round of thank you's to her glam squad, Lexi accepts the clutch where Morgan has stored her essentials for the night with a grateful hug. Just like she was told, Fezco’s waiting right outside her hotel room door, whistling low when she steps over the threshold. “Too fuckin’ gorgeous,” he whispers as he pulls her in for a kiss, both Morgan and Gemma begging them to remember the makeup. “Can’t believe I get to call you my fuckin’ wife. Just don’t let that lil bitch do sumn inappropriate up on that stage tonight shorty, I ain’t hadda knock anyone out in a long ass time, but I can fight.” “No one’s ever getting in between us,” Lexi reassures him. “How about this though, if your name is the one I get to read off that card tonight, I’ll announce you as my husband and we can just put it all out there?” Fezco’s eyes light up. “Forreal baby?” “Yeah,” she says, leaning in to kiss him again. “I’m tired of hiding it.” “Aight,” he replies with a wicked grin. “You on Howard.”

[stainedglassdaisy]

“Litte Howard and that drug dealer? I don’t buy it.”

“I dunno man, stranger things have happened. They probably met when Rue went missing.”

[thefreakandthehair]

Steve dreams of the Upside Down long after it's been closed-- particularly as it relates to Eddie. (Perhaps it's not so closed after all.)

Completed for Spooky’s Halloween Movie Writing Challenge (shoutout to @eddieismissing for hosting!)

Prompt was from Donnie Darko: "Some people are just born with tragedy in their blood."

Read the tags on AO3! Hope you enjoy! Reblogs, comments, and fun tags are always appreciated. <3

tagging some peeps I talked to about this or fic in general, please ignore if you please!: @bayouteche @fruityfourgalore @newton-pulsifer @kkpwnall @flashyysins @finalgirllaurie @stevethescareington @werewolfsteve @bi-loser @munsonsblacknailpolish @shesapeachsconebob @strawberryspence @corrodedcoughin

[coconut-cluster]

you're here! you're back!! how have you been?? <3

im here! hello! I’ve been mostly good!!! much of my time since the semester let out and around work has been filled with dnd and I am having a delightful time with it, I finished Dimension 20’s Fantasy High a bit ago and I’ve just been rewatching that for days. Fabian Aramais Seacaster is so Roman-core

[fexicoded]

If anyone is interested... I started writing again and have a whole ass playlist dedicated to my newest WIP. I'm working on the narrative side of this piece, as I've written a shit ton of dialogue, but I wanted to give you guys a taste of what's to come.

I'm not really sure where this is going to lead me to and if it's going to be a one shot but I'm having a lot of fun writing it and hopefully will find the energy, and creativity, to push through and actually write the whole damn thing and eventually I will get back and write chapter 3 of my other fic but I'm having a lot of writer's block with that :(

P.S. if you're interested in my playlist let me know in my inbox, or dms, and I'll send you a link!

Sneak Peeks to the writing under the cut