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findafight · 2 years

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Thinking about a pjo au where Steve's been a permanent camper for...forever. idk I only have two vivid scenes of it in my mind.

First, Dustin is a son of Hephaestus and has been trailing after Steve since his first summer when he was ten and was stuck in the Hermes cabin while he was unclaimed. (The Hermes cabin is really split into Hermes kids and Unclaimed kids. It's big and warm but there's still that unspoken divide there. Hermes, it seems, despite being the patron of the unclaimed children of his godly peers, is always quick to claim his own. They'll be in the cabin together anyways but, well. He seems to see their pain of being unwanted more than others.) So whilst there Dustin, ten and fascinated by camp, imprinted on the oldest, snarkiest unclaimed kid there. The unofficial Head Camper of the unclaimed (as you cannot be a head camper if you are unclaimed), Steve.

Which is how Steve ended up going to Hawkins for the summer before camp three years later with Robin (daughter of Selene, who he met the year before and got on with like a house on fire) at his side, in the stupidest uniforms known to man.

And working at scoops is how they end up finding Eddie, who seems to be able to see through the Mist just fine, and who monsters are after. Which, shit. Means he's eighteen or nineteen and has lasted in the outside world without camp, a remarkable feat. But! They've got bigger fish to fry! Like getting to camp.

Dustin babbles as Steve drives, Robin in the passenger seat, all the way to long island. He tells Eddie about camp, about sword fighting and capture the flag and the banquets and campfires. He tells Eddie about the forge he spends so much time in, all his friends, the Party, the way he's wired the radios to work across the country so he can speak to Suzie (daughter of Athena, a secret kept from her adoptive mother who was told Suzie was her father's cousin's child) all the way in Utah in the fall. Robin pipes in, every now and again, offers information about the gods, how camp runs.

Steve focuses on the road. He talks about the kids, Dustin's friends mostly, and Robin, and the rest of camp. It irks Eddie, that this guy who took out a Chimera with a baseball bat studded with, apparently, magic nails, isn't really adding anything. Dustin's been at camp every summer since he was ten, Robin came two and a half years ago, and Eddie knows their godly parents too. So he leans on the driver's seat, close to Steve.

"so." He says. Casual-like. "Who's your" he wiggles his fingers "godly parent?"

Steve shrugs. "Unclaimed." He says. His hands grip the steering wheel.

Eddie hums. Notices Robin glancing at him and shaking her head. Ignores it. "Well. Bummer. How old were you when you found camp or whatever?"

Steve's knuckles turn white. He answers.

"six months."

Eddie doesn't get it.

"you've only been at camp six months? But-you talk like you've been there for longer. When you guys found out how old I was you were all surprised, wh-"

"you asked how old I was. As far as Chiron and Mr. D can tell, I was six months old when I was dropped off with a note that had just my first name on it at the edge of the woods. Dryads brought me to them when they found me. Been a full time camper ever since."

There's. Heaviness, in the silence that follows.

Eddie knows about abandonment and wanting more and knowing he deserves more. Knows how much it means to him that Uncle Wayne took him in and calls him son so affectionately it may as well be true. And. Steve said he was unclaimed. That he's been at camp since he was six months old. He's been a full time camper his entire goddamn life. Ain't that a kick in the pants.

Steve shrugs again. "Neither of my parents want me, my mortal parent couldn't get rid of me fast enough and my godly one hasn't made a peep. So. I look after the other unclaimed kids. It's how I met Dustin."

They don't talk about parents so much after that.

and idk plot things happen blah blah blah

THEN.

Steve sees a kid, maybe ten, on the edge of the woods. He pauses, concerned. Camp is safe for the most part, but there are still monsters in the woods. Drifting over, he sees the girl has a scarf loosely over her head, like a veil, letting dark curls fall in front of her eyes from how she's pulled her knees up to sit. He doesn't recognize her, but that doesn't really mean much.

"hey! You okay over here?" He says, hopes he comes off as friendly. His nerves have been frazled and he just wants to sit by the peer and watch the sunset with Robin and Eddie after dinner. Breathe easy for a little while.

The girl smiles at him, tilts her head to the side. He kneels in front of her, trying to make himself smaller so she's not afraid.

"I'm Steve. You doing okay here? It's not really safe to be alone in the woods..."

The girl reaches a hand out, her skin baby soft. She sighs. "I know exactly who you are, Steve Harrington." She says.

Her eyes, he realizes, are so much older than a ten year old's. He says nothing as they look at each other.

"do you remember," she starts, "when you first gave your offering to me, specifically?" And Steve knows, even though he already knew, who this is.

He nods. She brushes her thumb across his cheek, tenderly, motherly, for all she looks nearly half his age. "You were four. Barely old enough to really understand what the offerings of food you scraped into the fire were for. But you did it, and you did it for me. Very few ever do it just for me. But you were looking for a home, and I was the one you thought could help you find it. You kept doing it for me, giving up your best bite, every day after."

"yes." He says, because what else do you say to a goddess? To a goddess you have prayed to when you could think of no one else who would care to listen?

She releases his face and stands, slowly, before reaching out her hand for him to take as he gets up himself.

"I have a proposition for you." She says, swinging their hands between them, as children are wont to do.

"oh?"

She squeezes his hand. "Yes. I cannot tell you your godly parent, even if I knew who, as my siblings and peers have made it clear that sharing that type of secret is not allowed." She gazed up at him, big dark eyes surrounded by tight black curls escaping her veil. "And what a shame that is. Leaving you Unclaimed."

Steve squeezes her hand back. They slowly walk towards where they shall eat. "well. That is the gods' prerogative."

She hums. "They are a fool, whoever they are. But. Their foolishness is my reward. That brings me to my offering for you." She stops, they are near the amphitheatre, turning to face him fully and holding out her other hand for him to take. "I have heard your prayers to me at each meal, seen you care for your fellow campers. I have watched you grow and change into someone trustworthy, someone loyal and caring. I have seen how the children gather around you for comfort and how you freely give it, how you take comfort in your service to others." She breathes deeply, as though to steady herself. "I have seen my fellow gods look over you, an Unclaimed child of no-one, who never truly lived in the outside world before coming to the haven they made, and I have been angered by it. You are steadfast and loyal. You are brave and protective. You have worked hard to create not only a place that is safe, but a home that is welcoming."

She smiles widely now, giddy. Steve still does not speak. A lump caught in his throat.

"it is that last fact, that has led me here today. I offer you this, Steve. My cabin is yours to do with what you will, to give a home for those homeless. For so long as you tend my hearth and keep the home, should you accept it, I would give you my patronage." She releases his hands to reach up to cup his face between her small hands. She brushes away the tears that have gathered on his cheeks.

"I offer you the home you have given so many, the place to belong you have been building for others, Steve of Camp Half Blood. Will you accept this? The one gift I can give my most loyal knowing worshipper since the Vestal Virgins?" They both giggle, absurdly, at this.

Steve nods. "Yes." He whispers, "yes, Lady Hestia, I accept your patronage."

She pulls his face down, goes up on her tip toes, and places a gentle, loving kiss on his forehead. When she pulls back, her eyes reflect the bonfire that has been lit beside them.

"go, then. And tend to my hearth and your home." She says, and releases him fully at last.

He turns to the fire, to the tables laid out, to his fellow campers watching him and the goddess from their benches. He scratches the back of his neck. Smiles.

Dustin, as he so often does, breaks the silence. "Holy shit!"

Beside Steve, Hestia is gone.

#steve harrington #platonic stobin #robin Buckley #eddie munson #dustin henderson #steddie #only hinted at but eh #stranger things #fics #also Eddie's mum is Hecate because i think itd be funny #also. im emo about this.#finda writes stuff #finda's rambles #pjo stranger things #and in last olympian hestia takes the form of s young girl so

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unamused-boss · 10 months

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Good energy

Okay. This is my first ever fic on here, so I do appreciate polite criticism pls! Plus I've read almost everything for every character I am unhealthy obsessed with... sooo here we go!

Billy Hargrove x Fem Reader

(Billy might be a bit OC in this)

Warnings: strong language, under age drinking

Summary: When Billy moved to Hawkins Indiana he expected rednecks, hicks, and cows. Which he did see and was very much disappointed with. But that was until he sees some color pop out of no where one night in Hawkins.

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Billy was spending his time in Hawkins as patiently as he could, which was close to none. The people were bland, the school was bland, and the weed was bland. 'God I want out of here' was a common thought that crossed his mind through out his day. Between having to deal with his shit-bird of a step-sister Max and with the ass kissing wannabes that do nothing but stick to his ass. All Billy wanted to do was go back to California. The sunsets, the beaches, the waves, the girls, all of it he wanted it all back. The only slight enjoyment he got was when he took the title as 'King' from 'King Steve'.

Currently Billy is walking out to his camaro, wait on his bitch of a sister, drive as fast he can home, hopefully avoid everyone in his house, then go out and get drunk in someone else's backyard. But the universe had other ideas... those idea's being Tommy fucking Hagan. He saw him running up to him from a mile away.

"You gotta be shitting me." Billy muttered irritatedly leaning against his car. Billy to a long drag of his cigarette, hoping for some relief.

"Hey Billy!" Tommy slightly shouted, he seemed somewhat winded from his short run. " You got plans tonight?"

"No, what's it to you?" Billy replied, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Well there is gonna be a party down by the quarry tonight." Tommy said with a grin on his face.

"Okay? So what's that gotta do with me?" He was getting irritated now. Not only was Max running late but Tommy was still here.

"Harrington's got some girl coming with him, probably his rebound from Princess Wheeler..." That perked Billy's interest, making Steve miserable is his favorite thing to do. "So, what do ya say Hargrove?"

Billy stood still for a minute. No expression on his face only throwing his cigarette on the ground and snubbing it out.

"Count me in... Can't wait to steal Harrington's new girl." Billy laughed as he moved to the driver's seat of his car.

'little shit can skate home' He thought as his car roared out of the parking lot.

On the other side of town at the Chadwick (that will be your last name... sorry not sorry) residence...

Steve was pacing a hole into the floor as his childhood best friend went through her clothes.

"Do you seriously want to go with me tonight? I mean you moved away when you were in sixth grade now you're back... and I mean NOTHING has changed!" Steve was stressing way to much about one party, that being your first party back in Hawkins.

"Steve I'll be fine, the energy that you are putting off right now is not good." You smiled to him. "Good energy will come to you if you let it, you love parties what's got you so worked up plus you've changed for the better."

"That right there! This hippie shit is what is wrong!"

"Steve. If you're gonna worry about me like some mom don't come with me then okay." You didn't want to hurt his feelings but you wanted to have fun. "I get they are all judgy and whatever other adjective you used on the car ride over here, but I don't care. I like who I've become, so "this hippie shit" is trying to decide on the flowing warm skirt or the flowing purple pants!"

"I just don't want you to get mixed into the wrong people." Steve retorted.

"And I won't. I get the you broke things off with all of your old friends and who ever this Billy guy is but you don't have to protect me." You reassured.

"Fine." Steve sighed. "And go with the skirt it will look better with the top."

You smiled to him. "Thank you Steve... now get out I gotta change."

Steve made his way to get out of your room for you to get ready. "Yeah Yeah whatever."

. . .

The time was currently 12:39 am. While the party in the quarry has been going on for quit some time now. Many of the familiar faces of the so called popular crowd made their way in, those faces being Tommy, Billy, Tina, Carol, and among a few others. Billy was buzzed. It may not be a back yard but at least he'd get drunk at the end of the night. Music was blasting from some dude's portable speakers. There was a bonfire lighting the night away. Everyone was either dancing or talking, a few were some were throwing up in the bush. Billy was about to down another drink when Tommy came hurdling right into his back.

"What the hell Hagan." Billy shouted not only for him to hear him but also out of anger.

"Harrington's here with his new girl." He laughed. "You gotta see her, Carol come over here!" Tommy ran and in quick follow so did Carol. Billy sauntered his way over, with what little drink he had left, to where the two love birds perched themselves. And that is when Billy Hargrove saw a burst of color. There she was. She didn't dress like anyone else in Hawkins (Think Stevie Nicks Style). 'She couldn't be from this shit hole. Her hair was frizzy and a but unruly. Her skin glowed with the warm light. The clothes held to each curve of her body but flowed so elegantly as she walked. Who is this babe, not chic she's to pretty to be called a chic, and why was she with Harrington.' All these thoughts pondered Billy's mind.

"Holy shit." Carol said. Tommy and Billy can bot clearly see the shock on her face.

"What?" Tommy questioned, "Do you know her?"

"That's Y/N Chadwick! She moved in the sixth grade!" Slapping Tommy's arm. He gave no response only to be in more shock than Carol.

"Ain't no way... she looks great." That comment got a direct and aggressive response from Tommy. To which he responded with a vocal "Ow!?".

With you and Steve, you guys were just strolling by the bonfire. A cup of jungle juice in your hand with Steve was cupless due to being the driver of the night.

"So first party back in Hawkins, how does it feel?" Steve asked.

"Pretty far out, kinda better than any party from the city." You answered joyfully. To be honest you were happy to be back in Hawkins. City life was fun but it was getting to be to much for you.

"STevE!" An uneven voice yelled out across the rocky yard from us. You saw a girl with bangs and a bob cut calling over to Steve. Clearly she has had her fair share of alcohol.

"Hey Robin!" Steve responded. " You don't mind if I go talk to her do you?"

"No, go have fun!" You cheered. " Go flow, relax!"

"Good energy." Steve gritted through his teeth with a smile as he made his way over to this Robin girl. While you stayed right by the fire with your drink.

Billy saw his opportunity, you were alone and he could talk to you with Steve out of the way. Billy made his way over to you by the bonfire. You look to the guy that has just appeared beside you in the moment.

"Hey." He said it very smoothly.

"Hello." You respond with a sweet smile. Billy could just stare at you smiling. 'Come on man... you just met her get it together.' Billy thought.

"I've never seen you around before, I'm Billy." As Billy introduced himself, he took a step forward to close some space between the both of you. You ,however, stayed where you stood just smiling to the guy Steve was telling you about.

"So you're Billy." You grinned to him. 'God why do the jerks have to be so pretty'. "Steve mentioned you a few times but he didn't tell me how handsome you were."

"Well at least you get the in person experience." Billy answered, " So from what I've heard you have returned to Hawkins."

"Yes I have, what's it to you?" You questioned with a grin.

"Well sweetheart I wanna get to know you, I get you moved back but I am no longer the new kid on the block."

"Well what do you wanna know?" He is trying to be sly. You wanna see were this plays into. His eyes glance behind you.

"If you're gonna ask me if I'm dating Steve you would be wrong." You stated. "He was my best friend as a kid that I kept in contact with, plus he has a lot of stressed energy."

"So you're a hippie girl?" Billy said it as if he was fascinated by you. " Could you tell me what my energy is?"

"You're very hostile." You answered. "You are very tense, you have not relaxed since you have started talking with me. If this is some front you're putting on... I don't dig it." Billy was stunned.

"I'm not putting up any front." He retorted.

"Billy you seem like you have a lot of inner conflict with yourself, and don't try to say other wise." You said. "I already know about the stuff you've done around here and to Steve."

"What?" Billy is confused. "I thought you were into me but now you're giving me this psychoanalysis shit." Billy was clearly getting frustrated with you. So much so it was able to catch Steve's attention.

"Listen, I get some of the stuff I say is weird but I'm not wrong and you know it..." You said. "And I am into you but not if this front you're putting is what I'm getting."

Billy could not believe it. He was getting rejected, rejected by a beautiful girl. ' What the hell'...

"Billy." She cuts him out of his thoughts. "I would love you get to know you if you let me." She stepped closer this time, gently placing her fingers into his. She looked to him, he wants to answer but words aren't coming out of his mouth. 'Say something stupid... anything.'

"How about next Saturday, at 6... good for you?" He said this more gently this time. His frustration and building agitation was gone now.

"I would like that Billy." You answered with a smile, a smile that caused Billy to return. It was like a moment was set in place for you both. Billy could no longer hear the laughing or music, all he was looking at was you. There was something different about you, in a good way. Billy wants to know what that is. Your somewhat romantic moment was busted when a certain head of hair popped up next to you.

"Do we have a problem, Hargrove?" Steve asked. Not only did he get too distracted that Billy walked up to you but he seemed to have been in a sort of deep conversation with you. If you can call it that.

"No. No Harrington we're all good here, right sweetheart." Billy answered, he grinned.

"Yeah, we're fine Steve... I'll see you later Billy." You walked away with Steve. Well more like Steve dragging you to his car to leave after the interaction. You gave a small wave to Billy as you were dragged away.

"What was that all about?" Tommy asked drunk and confused.

"I think I got a date." Billy answered still looking off to were you left. In that moment Billy Hargrove had a thought he never thought he would have... 'I hope this works out.'

When you and Steve reached his car, he instantly went to mom mode.

"What was that about!" Steve shouted, frazzled at the look and thought of the two of you interacting.

"I think I have a date." You giggled. Steve paused...

"WhAT!"

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Okay so I'm gonna end it right there. Please tell me what you think, I would love to hear feed back. As well as what to do to improve myself.

Thank you so much for reading!

#billy hargrove x fem reader #fem reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove #stranger things #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #dustin henderson #eleven hopper #demogorgon #vecna stranger things #x female reader #hippie #80's

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punk-in-docs · 2 years

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🕷Is It My Body🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader

6.9k words

Summary: Eddie Munson drives the way he looks like he would drive.

No finesse and all maniac speed. Seemingly more concerned with thumping the stereo to get it to work properly, than what’s ahead in the road.

You’re clamped into that passenger seat for your life with sloppy drunk hands. Nudged somewhere between half sober and half cut. Recognising the blurring drag of safe safe Hawkins outside your window.

Or;

The one where Eddie gives you a ride home after your friend ditched you at a terrible party.

! ! ! This follows on from my first Eddie one shot which you can read here ! ! !

Of all the ways you pictured the ending of this party, it had to be said, this right now? Oh, it would be so very, very low on your list.

Scraping the heel of it in fact.

You’d wanted to bail. Stalk off home by yourself and send Linda a pissy message by way of your absence.

Or maybe you’d get black out drunk. Sink to the bottom of a cup again and again. End up passing out on that shitty cracked plastic sun lounger in the garden.

Wake up in the morning still laid there, with a splitting head and cotton mouth. Crunched crushed solo cups and beer cans littered all over Kyle’s too green lawn.

You didn’t think it would be that you were being driven home, way before curfew, a lick too fast, in a tacky old van, with an interior that’s all stale weed and distant stench of spilled beer, emanating from the scratchy balding carpet in the back.

You’d never have guessed your night would be this. Eddie Munson and all the dreadful rumours about him that curled around his character, and his threatening reputation. And he’s plucking you out your misery to take you home.

He practically sprung down the street to the clunky old heap of a van. Swung open the passenger door- for you. His rings clack sharp on the door handle. Dumb grin lights up his entire maniacal face. Ladies first.

Who cares if this was your drunken stupidity blindsiding you at its finest… Anything was preferable to staying even within 20 yards near that house teeming with jocks, bedrooms, and hormones lost to drink.

“Your humble chariot.” He mock bows to you. Slipping his hand to yours and helping you climb on in.

Your stunned brain takes a second to realise his hand has yours. Holding yours. Electric skipping on your fingers. Your mouth gapes a little, and you swallow when you look down just to check.

Yes. That would be his fingers wrapped around yours. Warm gentle skin. Cold rings. Big manly sized palm. His chain bracelet sliding down his wrist.

You thank him. A tiny little peck of a word. Almost slurred from your lips.

His hands are way way softer than you thought they’d be- damn . No guitar calluses how is that even logically possible.

His touch withdraws and there’s that Cheshire Cat grin. Again . Locks eyes with you.

You turn away and move to shift a couple of tapes out the way of your ass before you sat on them. Iron Maiden’s Piece of Mind, and W.A.S.P’s Inside the Electric Circus. It wouldn’t do well to ingratiate yourself to Eddie by mangling the cassettes of some of his beloved bands.

“Belt up, pencils.” He encourages sweetly. Elbow slung off the door. Orange street lights drip and spill into the cold wrinkles of his leather jacket arms.

And you do. He stays round your side. It’s unnerving that he watches you fumble for the buckle with drink numbed fingers for a second.

“Geez. Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” You play around. Self awareness making your cheeks throb all warm. You flick hair off your hot forehead once more.

He doesn’t rise to the bait. He stands there until he’s satisfied.

You click the belt to the buckle with resounding success. The fucker has the nerve to loop a finger under and tug on it twice. Just to check.

You frown all bemused again. God, he thinks you’re so irresistible to look at when you do that.

“Precious cargo here. I don’t take risks.” He slams your door with a careful creaking thud and takes to his side.

Your brows shoot up. Disbelief stains your expression.

“I highly doubt that.” You gawk to yourself as his door creaks and slams and then he shifts into his seat.

Risk-less? He who wanders around your school with a metal lunchbox full of weed and roll your own papers.

He who was taking this random girl he’s only just really met, home from a shitty party. Not caring to abandon her to fester all on her own.

Rounding up those little lost sheepies, huh, Munson?

My specialty, babe.

He twists his hand on the hanging set of keys in the ignition, and the engine whines and then decides to be merciful and putter to life. Rock is suddenly shredding your ears from the radio.

Instant loud aggressive thrash guitar, drums that pound like thundering war, and a shrieking male singer starts to wail through the speakers.

‘I got pictures of naked ladies, lyin on their beds. I whiff that smell and sweet convulsion, starts a swellin inside my head.’

You don’t mean too - but your mouth curls into a smirk. The very overtly roaring sexual nature of the song. Nothing was subtle about it. The chorus screaming about animals and fucking like beasts.

He winces at the too loud volume and flicked those bambi bourbon eyes across at you to sharply turn the dial down.

It’s kinda endearing really-

He looks almost sheepish you heard it. Looking around as he pulls away and off into the road.

Made you smile and your stomach all slippery with heat inside, that he worried about the delicate state of your ears. Maybe it was the vodka still squirming in your stomach you can blame that on.

You had a feeling it was a pure habit. You could picture him in his state of bliss with music turned up to deafening. Head banging with that waved mane flying as he drove. Rings and fingers snapping where he tapped his hand flat on the wheel to the beat. Window down, hair tugged by the rioting wind. He’s loud, unapologetic and so messy with the unclear way he moves through life.

And Eddie drives the way he looks like he would drive. No finesse and all maniac speed. Seemingly more concerned with thumping the stereo to get it to work properly, than what’s ahead in the road.

You’re clamped into that passenger seat for your life with sloppy drunk hands. One clutching at the door. The other hooked to the ripped seat. Nudged somewhere between half sober and half cut.

The fuzzy twirl of your eyes and mind, the blurring drag of safe safe Hawkins outside your window, indicates the alcohol that still flushed in your system making your cheeks and neck warm.

Or maybe that’s just because of your proximity to him. You don’t let that possibly ruinous thought get any roots down. It was drink.

It was the drink doing all the thinking and talking. Right?

Too much vodka and the nice offer of a lift home- that’s all. Full stop. Period.

Death metal cassette tapes are strewn around your feet. You realise when one slides over your shoe. Album covers with skulls and glowing red eyes. Crimson red and matte black struck with blue lightning. Skull sneers. Skeletons and their yellow bones exposed with ripped flesh. Searing eyes in dark sockets.

The cassettes are clunking onto your feet when he turns a corner. He curses when more fall over your boots. “ Shit, sorry. I just sorta throw stuff on the seat.” Takes his eyes off the road for a split second to turn to you. Hair flicks at his cheek with the twist of his head.

“It’s ok.” You state softly. And it is. You’d put him out with him having to take you home. Not the other way around.

Leaning down a little, you scoot down to pick them up. Leaf through, but not enough to make him think you’re being nosy and poking around in his things casting judgement.

“Wasn’t exactly expecting to give anyone a ride home from a weed deal in the woods behind Kyles house.” Eddie explained with a wry grin.

“No? Shame. Your client seemed like such a great guy.” You snarked. You shared a smile as you remembered the rude jerk who’d spat abuse at you after stomping off with his purchase from Eddie.

You’re looking down at the tapes in your lap you’ve gathered up to safety from the floor. Looking at a few of the covers. Some you recognised. Some weren’t your scene, but they looked intimidatingly metal.

You hold up a Cramps cassette. “This one is good.”

Eddie jerks his head to you like you’ve suddenly sprouted devil horns and pansies out your hair. Cynicism rooted deep in those eyes.

“No way.” He says with quietly mounting confusion.

Your face falls. Trying to keep up with him is keeping you on your toes that’s for sure.

“No way, what?” You seek. Amusement tipping up your smile. His enthusiasm is infectious.

“You gotta be bullshitting me. There’s no way you know who the Cramps are, Pencils.”

“What you think I only listen to poppy shit like Madonna and Wham?” You ask him.

“I had my doubts.” He shrugs all teasing.

“Pirate boots seemed very Adam Ant. I misjudged you on that one.” He confessed. Once again with you, he’d drawn the wrong conclusion. Shot a blank.

You reached down and plucked at your belt. “Yeah, well.”

The bright plastic bangles. The earrings. The huge proofed up and waved hair. None of it was really you. You’re strewn with borrowed essences from Linda’s wardrobe. Not yours.

“The way I look tonight, I don’t exactly blame you for thinking that of me. I look like every other dime store airhead at school who thinks Tears for Fears are dreamy as hell.” You admit.

He goes quiet for a beat. Licks his bottom lip. Chews it a little with his teeth. “Still, you- uh.” Another pause.

“You look pretty good from where I’m sitting.” He says.

“With this hair?” You ask. Skating your hand up and feeling the wavy springy curls that await you. Layered in so much crispy Rave hairspray you seriously had to think twice about being near anyone lighting up tonight.

“It’s not the hair I’m lookin at, Pencils. It’s the girl attached to it.” He decided honestly. His gaze was on the road. But he turned his head towards you.

Caught your eye for just a second. His honest answer blew you clean away.

“You’re not high are you?” You ask carefully with implied mirth. Eyes flicking up and down his face to drink in that expression.

Because there’s no way on earth this cool guy is flirting with you. It’s just not possible. His type is probably some ultra goth rock chick in ripped fishnet tights and leathers on a Metallica poster. Or on the back of a roaring Harley.

He slaps a ring clad hand over his heart. Crinkled that already creased Hellfire t-shirt. “Scouts honour.”

“You? Scouts?“ You doubt.

“Goddamn it Pencils. Stop needling me, man. I can only take so many hits in one night.”

You turn to look out your window. Wet your lips and chuckle.

Your neck crawls with heat. Spine flushed with dizziness, cause my god, that was out of left field and so unexpectedly sweet. You can’t even think of a witty cut back of a response.

Got me there. Munson. Cat fully got my tongue.

“You gotta tell me how you’ve heard the Cramps now. C’mon. My mind is teeming with such vivid stories.” He piped up.

You chuckle. Again. Lay his teeming mind at rest.

“I work in the record store. The one over on Franklin.” You tell him.

Every shift when it’s your turn to click in a cassette to play, your boss, Sal, rolls his eyes back and grumbles with whatever you put on, be it some gritty paced punk, or some glam shock rock. Basically anything that interrupts his usual whining, hour long prog rock noises. Dirges of King Crimson and Genesis.

“You do?” He checks. “Well damn. In that case, It looks like I may have to consider growing some balls, and asking you for your number.”

Those words smack you straight in the gut. In a great way.

You find yourself nodding. “Ok. I may be a little drunk still, but I’ll give it to you, that was smooth.”

“I’m very good at admitting I have no balls.” He says seriously which makes you bark out laughter.

He rolled his hands in the air as he spoke. Wrists hanging off the wheel. “I wasn’t gonna bring it up at all actually...”

“Your balls?” You joke.

It earns an unguarded smile from him.

“Not on a first acquaintance.” He says in a stuffy put-upon voice, holds the steering wheel and flicks those dangerous eyes over at you.

“But y’ know? Timing wasn’t great back there. It didn’t seem like the cool moment to hit on you when you were all angry and looking like you wanted to put your whole fist through a wall.” He clenched one hand on the steering wheel.

“Mmm. No not my fist. Maybe my friends head though.” You grumped with an evil smirk.

“I really can’t read you right, can I?” He insists with mocking frustration. Bouncing his knee like he’s nervous.

You watch his profile when he grins. You cannot pin him down either. It would be like trying to herd sand.

“I’d say you’re doing pretty good, actually, Munson.” You tell him with a nod. Nervously picking at the plastic covering a very worn Metallica cassette.

There’s just something magnetic about him. You’re certain you’ll never discover what it is - you’ve been trying to decipher it ever since he leapt up onto that lounger next to you. Crazy and bounding. Spilling over with energy.

Perhaps it’s in the sheer unpredictability of his character, it’s as wild and chaotic as the rest of his rugged appearance. The way those whiskey-black eyes swallowed you in when you spoke. The crinkled dips that shaded either side of his bright eager smile. Something playful about that full smile. Almost boyish.

Maybe it’s the way he dresses like something spat straight out the glossy pages of Rolling Stone. Appearance shrined in pin badges and patches, and a poorly stitched denim vest.

Even in physique he would admit that he looks undesirable; like a cross between a shaggy wet dog and a newborn foal. The way he talks about himself makes it sound like cause he’s not straight out of a bullshit J-Crew beige catalogue like so many others, that no one could possibly find him hot.

He’s far more original than any of the athlete meat heads at your school. You like that about him. No one is like him that you’ve ever seen.

Despite the devilry and bad press you’ve heard of him, it was so unbelievably touching the way he shifted into being entirely nice and unassuming so as not to unnerve you even further tonight.

The way he dropped every ounce of attitude, in order to make you feel more comfortable. That was something.

There was definitely something in the way that he just took a minute and talked to you; the loser girl sat all alone in the dark. On the fringes. Toasting on her own and pointedly avoiding the rest of the party.

Alright, so you’d never decipher this guy, but something in you recognised something in him. Freaks always find their way to other freaks. Isn’t that the saying?

“So you’d be cool with me getting your number and maybe even, I dunno, ringing it at some point?” He checks.

“Well. You’re my knight in shining Dio vest. So I guess I do owe you.” You say all playful like you’re still thinking about it.

You’re well past thinking about it at this point. Fuck playing coy. You’d rip your own arm out the socket just to give him your number.

“And yeah. I would be very cool with you ringing it, also.” You added, and really just tried not to sound as geeky as you felt saying it aloud.

“Cool.” He smiled. You watch those dimples ripple in his cheeks. He wipes a sweaty palm on his jeans.

He made the turn onto your street. You scanned the houses. “Tell me when I’m getting warmer here, pencils.”

“At the end on the left.” You tell him. Scanning eyes along the sleepy street. Limned in cheap yellow street lights and dark slants of shadows bursting all over the houses.

Your street wasn’t exactly the classiest in all of Hawkins. A few shabby houses here and there. Your place was definitely not the picture postcard of shining grand suburbia.

Your neighbours had broken or wonky chain link fences separating their yards. And old clunkers sat rusting on your neighbours drive on the house to the right. Somewhere distantly gruff dog barks punctuated the night and it’s low buzzing hum of streetlights.

You didn’t live anywhere fancy but it’s not bad. Your home. A split level ranch house with a scruffy browning lawn and faded pea green paint on the wood panelling, framed by the four second floor windows.

There’s some huge sprawling trees in your otherwise bare yard, a yellow flowering vine honeysuckle climbing up the wooden terrace nailed to the side of the house. It was okay. Not exactly a palace. But not a dump either.

“How wicked pissed are your folks gonna be that I’m the one bringing you home?” Eddie asks as he brings the van to a shuddering stop alongside the curb.

He’s eyeing the dark front window like a strict parental hand is gonna flick the curtain aside any minute and glare out at the street. Eye at the pair of you in scathing disapproval.

“Well, my dad walked out on us when I was four. And my mom is currently somewhere near Bondi Beach.” You tell.

Eddie glances to you with a huge vulnerability falling open in his expression.

“You’re here all by yourself?” He asks or states. That thought weighs on him. You going home to a dark empty house. That doesn’t settle right. Sticks in his throat like a scraping rock.

“My sister works nights at the Diner just outside of Hawkins. And she stays with her boyfriend sometimes. Mom’s away for a few more days. Off where she usually is. Circling the globe.”

His face warrants you to explain. A gentle frown on those dark brows that just escape his unruly bangs.

“She’s a stewardess with an airline. Hence the travel. She’s home when she can be, and she sends postcards and always leaves a healthy amount of pizza and beer money pinned to fridge. So - I’m golden.” You click your tongue and make a thumbs up gesture as you shift Eddies precious tapes off your lap, back into the overflowing glove compartment.

Eddie nods and looks back to your dark house. He feels saddened by the way you’ve no one to go come home too. Opens a pit in his chest.

Sure, his predicament isn’t entirely foreign to yours. His uncle takes nights so he rarely sees him. Passing ships and all that. His mom couldn’t care less about anything that wasn’t binge drinking a hole in her gut and remarrying asshole after asshole. And his old man? Prison took him away years ago.

But Wayne was good to him. He had someone good. Shared his trailer and his only alright cooking skills with his nephew. He was gruff sure, made terrible coffee, and never talked too much. But he was level headed. Dead intent on keeping Eddie in school and out of trouble til he - finally - graduated.

Wayne was a sturdy salt of the earth man who knew what an honest day’s sweat and toil was. Eddie had sworn long ago he’d grow up to be more like him, and less like his dad, who wasn’t worth the muck on his shoes. He didn’t want to be lumped with the heavy tonne weight of the Munson family name.

Eddie knows with iron clad certainty that when he wakes up tomorrow half sprawled in his bed, that Wayne will have put some leftovers in the fridge for him, along with a fresh six pack. The smell of fresh cheap laundry detergent will be soaking through the trailer. New pack of reds on the kitchen counter. It was invisible care but it was there. Threaded through their trailer even if Wayne himself wasn’t.

You wouldn’t have that. Not here all on your own.

He doesn’t stop himself unbuckling and getting out his side to come straight around to yours. He opens the door for you - again.

You take his offered hand again and ease out the van to come and stand down in front of him. Your boots click on the tarmac drive.

He seems to stand next to you not quite knowing what to do. Or where to put his eyes. Awkwardly holding his hands on his hips at his belt. Floundering between looking at you, and looking at your house.

The silence seems suffocating for a moment. Only broken by the distant noises of cicadas and their hum and that damn dog still barking it’s head off down the street.

“Thank you. For taking the trouble to drop me home.” You say again gently. Layering on the gratitude. Because you are grateful not to have had to walk all the way here in the dark, drunk, alone. In pinching boots. Charlie would strangle the daylights out of you for doing that.

“Y’know. Civic duty really.” He clasps a hand over his chest. Shaking his head. Waving it off as nothing.

You slowly meander to the cracked weed strewn drive to your door. Eddie shoves his toes at crackling stones underfoot. Your shoes seem to echo so loud against the house. Little stabs of kitten heels.

“I uh, couldn’t live with myself knowing I left a Cramps fan all alone there listening to very inferior music.” He chuckles with a giddy grin.

“Don’t know how you would’ve slept soundly tonight.” You go along with his little joke.

Wobbling a little as you laugh. So unguarded you almost snort laughter. You smother your laugh with your hand to stop it.

You feel his hand on the white leather of your boxy jacket shoulder. Steadying you again. “Found your feet yet, pencils?” He grins.

You nod. Reassuring him. Your legs were still distantly related to the plights of your brain. But you’re whirling more and more into sobriety with each second. Too many solo cups and a beer starting to take their toll.

“These fucking boots. I tell ya. Lethal. Don’t know how Adam gets around in these.” You mumble. Trying to balance in the pointy things when drunk was a challenge you were ill-equipped to tackle

In truth they were starting to hurt. Stupid pointed toes. You’d throw these at Linda’s head when you saw her next.

“Well, he has the Ant’s support on stage.” Eddie guesses. Shoving his hands now in his jacket pocket, safely convinced you’ve remembered how to walk in a straight line without toppling.

You point a finger at him. Shaking it in emphasis. “Of course.”

You’re realising that at some point in your slow promenade down the drive, eventually you’re gonna have to stop when you hit porch or house.

You start patting your pockets trying to allocate the lump of your keys. Something bulky gets a pat in your right pocket. You halt dead.

Fuck-

“Oh shit.” You curse as your fingers stumble through a metal hoop and pull out a set of keys. You wrangle them out and hold them up.

Eddie’s looking at you for clarification as you curse. “Shit. Shit. Shiiittt.”

Linda’s car keys. You don’t remember how the fuck they ended up sneaking themselves into your pocket.

You catch his eye and then you’re both grinning like possessed maniacs. Eddie’s smile grows so wide and it makes your heart pound. You stand there under the dingy orange streetlights laughing your asses off with each other.

You have to playfully swing at his arm to get him to shut up. Or he’ll get Mrs Abernathy over the road twitching her net curtains, puckered old face of hers with her rollers in, peeking out and seeing what the noise is at this ungodly hour.

Like his shredding music didn’t wake everyone in a two mile radius when his van was prowling on down the street.

He lets you take a playful swing at his arm. Doesn’t budge an inch when you shove him. He’s stuck on watching you smile so giddy.

Karmas a bitch.

“I’d say that’s a fair form of payback.” Eddie grins like the devil he’s rumoured to be. More leering naughtiness in his face than on the scarlet demon on his t-shirt.

“Ohhh. She’s gonna be pissed. I will never hear the end of this coming out her big lipsticked mouth.” You tell him. Making a face.

“A trait I’m sure her lover boy appreciates.” Eddie jokes crassly with you. You only just manage not to snort again. Too much laughter bubbling at your stomach almost hurts, holding it back.

“Jesus.” You exclaim, as you find your keys and weigh them in your palm. Penny metal smeared across your sweaty hands.

You stand there and hold your keys. Cause whatever the hell this is, you don’t want it to be over just quite yet. Not yet.

Why don’t you want this part of the night over yet?

Oh yes. That’s right. Because Eddie Hellfire Freak Munson is stood behind you when you turn back and look at him. Like a rockers wet dream.

All stunning wild hair haloed in muddy orange streetlights. Eyes a shining pool of whiskey dark chocolate, and those pillowy pink lips, you just wanna spend hours mouthing at, and feel his groaned response. Fingers twisted in his hair. Feel him slide his tongue into the cup of your mouth and flash yours along his teeth.

You bet he could be a great kisser with those. And those hands, you wanted them on you in any capacity. Everywhere. Skid in your back jeans pocket. Cupping your ass. Warm skin and cold rings burning on your back. Cupping your neck. Tilting your jaw up as he mouthed and sucked over your kicking pulse. Biting your throat.

So apparently you’re a much hornier drunk than you ever cared to realise.

Especially when a long haired, unconventionally pretty boy, with a heart of pure melting liquid gold, crosses your path.

You uncurl your tongue from the roof of your foolish mouth and try and think back to those flirting tips Linda read you from that issues of Cosmo once. Sat on her bed in your plaid pyjamas eating cookie dough. She then pulled out a playboy mag and started to compare tips and tricks. And whether or not small tits were prettier than big ones.

But when your drunk brain shreds that not very useful memory to incoherent babbles, you struggle to locate any form of flirting or Cosmo tips on behaviour, so you’re left with an embarrassing plea sat on the tip of your tongue.

“So, what’s the best way to, well. Do you still want, I mean you can have my uhm. “ You’re gesticulating with your hands and getting precisely fucking nowhere. Your tongue tying itself in knots.

You just end up stammering. “Number. My. Um. Number.” And gesturing to yourself. You went to pieces.

You’d kick yourself for this display later on. You really would. Until your shins bleed.

Then he has to go and smile that imperfectly dazzling grin at you. Make you stammer like a moron.

“Hell yes.” Is his reply.

Before you can ask, he’s yanking a thick sharpie out his pocket like it’s nothing. He bites off the lid and rifles through his pockets for paper. He comes up empty-

So he pulls up his sleeve. And that’s where it gets very interesting-

He steps up very very closely to you. Talk about hairs breadth. He’s even more damning up close.

Those bambi eyes are even more stunning with distance halved between you. He’s all cool intimidating craziness and flirty eyes. Smelling like leather, tangy weed and some spice of plain soap. Taste of hops and red ash still swirl heavy on his breath.

He tugs up his leather sleeve. Bat tattoos fluttered across his forearm. He’s handing you the pen. Lid pushed on the end.

You look down and take it. Your hair almost brushed into his. Bangs touching. Eyes intent on yours. Close enough to touch but he doesn’t close the gap. Doesn’t touch. Just looks.

His smile curls up soft at the corners. You felt your reaction to it tug at your stomach. Gnawing.

You never thought it could be so sexy not to be touched.

The desire to kiss him has not gone away. Nor is it likely too. You’re pretty certain your spine will melt soon. Puddle away into nothing and pool sticky at your feet.

You swallow and take your grip around the pen to hold it with a tiny tremble in your fingers. It’s unnerving him being close yet at the same time, you ache inside for more. So much more.

More that wouldn’t be right considering how you’re still a little tipsy.

“You’re not worried it won’t rub off?” You ask him before you commit your number to his arm with some pretty hardcore permanence.

His smirk widens again. One day you hope you find out what that means. Contented that perhaps you never will.

“Isn’t that kinda the point now, Pencils.” He smiles. His eyes glow. You don’t know how, but they do. It’s nearly hypnotic.

You gently reach over and hold his wrist by his chain bracelet. Thumb over his pulse. Start scrawling letters blacker than bruises on that lily white arm that’s exposed to you. All bones and corded threads of sinew faded in half shadow, the other half drowned in light.

You notice he has other things scrawled on the back of his hand in wiggling blue biro. Times and dates. Because of course that’s where he writes down his weed dealings.

You finish and click the lid on the pen and pass it back. Fingertips brushing as he gently plucks the pen off you. He rolls his sleeve back down. Did always try to keep a pen on him. Never know when he might urgently be needing it.

He’s glad he didn’t forget it tonight.

Now he’s rocking one of the best semi-permanent tats he’s ever gotten. And it follows the beautiful unique shape of your phone number.

The bottom few digits peek out his sleeve and run along his wrist. Clasping the bottom of his palm.

“I’ll have to stop by that record store of yours sometime soon, too.” He adds. Looking nervous as he fiddled with his rings. Twirls it around and around his finger. The one with the skull on his left hand.

You’re so giddy your cheeks dully hurt from smiling.

“Absolutely. Come check it out. I apologise in advance for Sal. He just came out that way.” You shrug in a mysterious explanation.

“I’m on the edge of my seat.” He commented idly. “You work weekends?” He seeks. Building a pattern in his head.

“Thursday and Tuesday nights too.” You add. He nods. Makes a mental note.

“Maybe I’ll see you around school?” You hope sweetly.

“Man, I don’t know. I heard something about finals and exams earlier. Put me off. Doesn’t sound like my kinda scene.” He grins.

You definitely know what it means that time. 100% Flirt.

You smiled. “You should give it a try sometime, Munson.”

“I always happily take a pretty girls’ advice.” He says suggestively.

“Wise man.” You offer. He bows his head and his hair curls forwards over his shoulders.

He clasps his hands behind his back. Looks boyish all of sudden again. Kicks something across the tarmac with his shoe. A small stone skits away.

You turn towards your door to slot the key in the lock. He’ll never forgive himself for losing his opportunity. For once he seizes onto the little scrap of bravery life gifted him.

“Hey, uh.”

You turn back and your hair bounces when you look at him.

“Not to come off too strong or weird whatever, but… If you’re ever finding yourself home, alone, you know, mom and sister not around then, maybe we could hang out? Order pizza. Watch a really bad movie or two. Have a smoke-“ He offered.

Brows raising to see what you think. Fiddling with his rings on his fingers behind his back. Nervous tick. He looks like he’s expecting you to shut him down. He’s biting the inside of his lower lip waiting for your answer. He’s adorable.

“I’d love that.” You tell him with a nod.

“The smoke?” He counters. Checking that was cool with you. One brow of his crooks up. Maybe he was corrupting the goody-two shoes art student.

Your responding grin makes his belly completely flip over. Head over heels.

“Hell yes.” You echo back his genuine words.

“Only if you let me pick the movie though.” You bargain. Raising your smile to something cheeky. Defiantly winning. Twisting your hand in the lock. Hearing it give the other side.

“Nothing sappy.” He warns. In hope-

Poor misguided boy.

“Footloose is it. Gotcha.” You accept. Your grin is positively Machiavellian. He suspected there was a little spitfire spirit to you.

“American Werewolf in London.” He counter offers.

“Fine. In a double bill with The Fog. And maybe Carrie.” You add.

He tilts his chin down in an incline of a nod. “Deal.”

“With tootsie rolls. Butter popcorn, and Twizzlers.” You piped up.

He chuckles. “I see your demands and raise you a cold six pack and a joint.” He tilts his head looking crafty. “And Jolly ranchers.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.” You smile at him. Opening your front door and pausing on the front step with your hand on the doorhandle.

He stands there on your drive and you share another few seconds of that gaze that turns your bones to water. Electric bursting in your veins. Stunning you.

You definitely like him

“I may give that school thing you suggested a try. So I guess I’ll see you then.” He says in parting.

“You know. If you need directions there or anything just call me.” You dare. Unable to hold back a big grin.

He winced in taking a breath and an agonised face. “Ooo. Low blow but, fair.”

“Have a good rest of the night, Pencils.” He says in parting.

He hovers awkwardly before floundering with a weird wave that somehow turns into a two fingered salute flicking out from his temple, before he turns away and off back down the drive. Wallet chain hitting his leg as he moved.

You stand at the door and wet your lips. Your hand is so clammy on the cold door handle.

“Wait, Eddie?” You call across to him. You hop down the doorstep and onto the path.

He spins back. Hair flying as he hears the clack of your boots hitting tarmac again. You’re moving closer to him. Walking and trying to act like you aren’t half drunk and wobbling across your lawn to him with one very clear goal in mind.

He twists to face you and his eyes are all big and curious. Smile still warm on his lips.

“Yeah?” He answers. Biting his lower lip. Hands floundering not knowing what to do.

You walk right up to him and don’t waste a second. You lean in real close and kiss his cheek.

You pull back and he’s blinking at you with such a rosy blush creeping into his cheeks, that lets you know he wasn’t expecting that - at all.

He’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you. And in the best way. Being the town pariah was hell when it came to attracting any sort of attention. From either gender.

Chicks glared at him like he was a leper. They went for the popular guys on route to college with good families and fucking picket fence futures. No one went for him. Never him. The metal head reject, with scruffy mad hair, with only his beloved warlock, a Judas Priest t-shirt, and a blunt to his name. A trailer park upbringing staining him as a hopeless cause for life. He could never scrub that stain away.

“Thanks. For the, tenth time, for seeing me home safe. A very metal move.” You say. Embarrassed with yourself. Blushing and stepping back.

Taking your hands off him and hoping you didn’t just read this wrong and fuck it all up.

You’re all wet lips and he can’t can’t stop looking at your mouth. You smell like cherry gloss and cigarette smoke and some faded fruity perfume that’s all peaches and rose petals lingering on your jacket.

And now he’s realising his inaction is making you ramble, and you’re stepping back and away-

Before he can fully know what’s got a hold of him, he’s drawing you back in.

His hand is under your chin, his rings are cold and they chill you to send shivers racing down your spine. Your hand finds itself sliding down his leather clad arm and holding on for dear life as he kisses you back.

His other hand tugs the corner of your jacket. Keeping you surrendered to him.

Holy shit. His lips are magic.

It’s dirty but somehow unbearably sweet. He tastes of beer and reds. Some long lost taste of mint too.

Unpractised. Maybe even a little sloppy. It’s graduated from something all rolled in sugar and very innocent to something far messier and dirtier.

He pushes his plush lips to yours. They’re wickedly soft and you simply curl into him. Brain blown completely away to heaven, blown away to wherever, away to god only knows- who cares.

You chase for one more second of his mouth when he pulls back. When you do break apart it’s a good thing you’re both holding each other up. Cause, fucking whoa.

Eddie swallows to speak. His thumb smears against your jawbone. You fight off a full body shiver. “I was not expecting that Pencils-“ He grins.

“Just wanted to show you my gratitude is all.” You say. Not moving your hand off his arm.

His other hand is still very much respectfully on your hip. He didn’t even dare try and move it from the side of your jeans.

“No other reason?” He asks softly. His lungs are burning, winded.

“None.” You shake your head. Meeting his eyes and smiling. You look criminally good with bruised lips and that little naughty hellfire glint living in your eyes.

“I think I’m really gonna have to find out where school is now.” He nods. Playing along to your joke with him. “Just got a whole lot more interesting. The fact I might see you around.”

“Might?” You nod. Sounds almost promising.

“Yeah that’s my way of saying I’ll absolutely be looking out for you. But I wanted to sound all cool, and casual about it.” He offers very openly. His fingers tap lightly against your hip. He’s all gestures and swinging his hands when he speaks.

You’ll be damned if this guy doesn’t wear his heart right there on his sleeve with all the zips and chains and metal patches.

“I don’t mind obvious.” You tell him. Stepping back cause you should really be going inside. Tame the way your heart is swooping around your chest like it has a mad mind of its own.

“Good. Good.” He says. A goofy little grin on.

Mourning the way his hands feel pulling off you. You stand close and he tucks his hands into his pockets otherwise he’s too tempted to reach for you again.

“Night, Munson.” You smile as you turn back and do make for your front door this time.

He softly calls across to you where you’re stepping in your door. Shaded in the silent hallway that awaits you. Streetlight orange down your white jacket back.

“Could you salvage my deadly reputation and try and forget that I’m not gonna seize any sort of dignity, and I will be calling you way too soon, Pencils.” He offers.

You laugh. Putting a finger to your lips. He was making that dog down your street bark even louder. Yapping its head off. You dread to see Mrs Abernathys curtains flick across the street. There’d be hell to pay tomorrow.

“I need an answer, here.” He answers Hollering louder. Stands there with his arms open wider. More dogs starting to bark and howl at the disturbance.

You’re laughing even harder. “Fine, yes. Now shut up!” You hiss, grinning at him across your lawn. You love how he didn’t give a shit if he woke up this whole block.

He waves at you all silly as you head inside.

You can’t resist peering out the window in your front door. Watching him practically twirl around in a circle in giddiness, manic energy and a hop in his step as he walks back across to his van. Leaping up to his door.

You chuckle to yourself and you swear to god your lips are still tingling from that completely out of the blue kiss.

Eddie’s shredding music is dull as it thuds and blares around inside his van. He starts the engine and pulls away.

He spies the Cramps cassette tape you left on the passenger seat. He taps his fingers against the wheel in tune to the drums of Black Sabbath.

His eyes flick down to the number scrawled on his wrist. Best tattoo ever.

He’s smirking all the way home.

🕷 Feast your eyes on the following bit? 🕷

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rottenaero · 1 year

Text

CW: Injuries, talk of death

Roommates part 8

Ao3(More content, but is a chapter behind)

Part 1

Part 7

The walk to the Wheelers takes what could’ve been hours, but only felt like minutes. Steve couldn’t recall much of what happened during it, the tripping, the talk with Eddie, yeah, sure.

But nothing much after that stands out. The ground doesn’t shake again. The lightning is surprisingly tame. His sides hurt like hell but that’s not surprising.

He has to lean into Eddie to keep his balance while Nancy opens the front door. When is creaks open and he goes to walk in, the bites scream at him,

He sucks on his teeth as the wound throbs, and his hand tightens around his flashlight.

“You good, man?”

Steve looks up and meets Eddie’s eyes, “Yeah, fan-freaking-tastic. Ten out of ten, no complaints.”

The metalhead shakes his head, “Seriously, I need to know if we need to grab some medical stuff while we’re here. Not like I know how to use it, but…” He trails off, before offering his hand.

“I’ll be fine, let’s just focus on getting the guns.” He grabs his wrist for a second, just to give a reassuring squeeze before walking inside, ignoring the burning heat that lay underneath the bandages.

Eddie follows behind him, muttering something about just take the damn hand, and he tilts his head his way to give a glare.

Eddie’s palms immediately raise up, “I didn’t say anything. Did you say something? I didn’t hear anything.” He laughs-awkwardly, before jogging to where Nancy was standing by the stairs.

“Might be time to get a maid, Wheeler.” Robin breathed, glancing around. Steve took notice of the way she swayed to Nancy’s side.

“Let’s just go, I don’t want to be here longer than we have to be.” The brunette mutters, before jogging up the steps. Eddie and Robin followed almost immediately, and Steve planned to too,

Except right after the third step he heard something. A voice.

He couldn’t make out what it was saying, but he had no doubt it was Dustin. Even the echoey way it resounded couldn’t shake that underlying tone he always had.

He walks back down. “Dustin?” He tries. It comes out quiet in the large house. He tries again. And again. A little louder and louder each time.

Finally, he says fuck it.

“Dustin?!?” Steve yelps, looking around. He can still hear him. “Dustin!”

He turns wildly, the voice is moving, like he’s pacing. “Dustin can you hear me?! Dustin!”

“Dus-Hello?? He- Hello?!”

“Maybe he does have rabies.” He barely hears it, thinks he imagines it, then Nancy’s calling his name.

“Steve, what are you doing?”

He whips his head around, along with his flashlight, which causes a yelp from Robin.

“He’s here,” He starts, breathless, “Henderson, that little shit. He’s here, he’s like- In the walls. Just listen-“

There’s silence.

“Dustin?”

“Dustin!! Dustin, Dustin? DUSTIN!! Can you hear me?!” He screams, and finally the sound reverberates.

A few seconds later he can hear it again, the voice,

The voice that is, again, undeniably Dustin’s. By the way Eddie’s face lights up he can tell it’s not just him hearing it.

Then it’s Nancy’s turn to start yelling his name, as she starts moving around.

Steve follows Eddie to a set of curtains as he pulled them open, which, did he really think he’d be there. “Alright, either this kid can’t hear us or he’s being a total douchebag.”

Eddie nods, “Oh yeah, wouldn’t put it past him to ignore us cause he thinks he’s funny.”

“Will found a way.”

“What?”

She’s quick to move around, trying to click on a lamp. “Will, he found a way to speak with Joyce through the lights.”

“Lights…Switch, try the switch.”

Nancy huffs, “It’s not working.” She tries a couple more times, and Steve turns away, pointing his flashlight around before it settles on the giant ceiling light.

Which is glowing, some sort of glittery haze around it. “Guys, you seeing this?”

He barely hears it when Nancy approaches the light, too fixated on the way it looks, how there was an air of warmth around it. She puts her hand into it, and specks of white and orange dance around her fingertips.

“Woah.”

Every time Steve completed another round on the pedal, his side would flare up.

Which means, his side flared up quite a few times on the way to Eddie’s trailer. It was like a warning, every time the chain against the wheel clicked. His eyes glazed and he could barely make out the road ahead of him, just following the dark figures moving ahead. Autopilot mode.

He went on it a lot, usually at work, washing dishes, cooking, he’d zone out.

It was perfect for the moments that he was overwhelmed, the world would fizzle out. Sometimes he did it when he was bored, just to make time pass that bit faster.

He shouldn’t be doing it. Not here, not in a place when any second a demo-dog could come,

And was the clicking his bike or was it the noises it makes as it circles in?

It’s warning.

A conversation.

He’s weak right now, they’d head for him first, they’d be fine. The guys would be fine.

He whistled, three short ones, just in case. The blurs ahead of him take a sharp right, and when he attempts to follow, his hand slips right off the handlebar.

When did they become slick with sweat?

With Steve’s momentary confusion, he doesn’t notice the bike tilting, how he’s still pedaling on autopilot.

It falls, he slides.

His left-hand goes forward, a sad attempt to block the fall.

He doesn’t register the crunch, or the gravel skimming his palm.

He registers his side ripping open further.

The white-hot. The grating scream he fights to keep in. The blood seeping out of it.

He looks up. His eyes are still blurry, why are they still blurry? Is he crying? Not here, not now.

He looks up, and sees it.

See’s the thing that keeps him up at night. The reason why he bought a new clock that doesn’t tick for the trailer.

A demo-dog, or rather three, are staring at him from the woods. Their flower petal mouths are shut, for now. One points its head into the air, it’s slow, like a dog smelling something.

The bites tinge, and it looks directly at him, letting out a chittering noise.

Blood attracts demogorgons.

Steve shuffles, grabs his bike with the hand that he didn’t fall onto, and jumps on.

The blurs ahead haven’t noticed his fall yet.

He’s bleeding.

They’re still pedaling.

There are more clicks, from behind him, the beasts.

No one would notice.

There’s the padding of footfalls on the edge of gravel some ways back.

He can’t help it.

Steve turns the bike around with his right-hand, and pedals away.

There are no shouts of his name. He thankful.

They haven’t noticed.

There’s clicking though,

And it’s different from the one on his bike, and he’s reminded of two years in the bus. The noises the beasts made as they circled in.

Low, guttural, predatory noises.

It’s behind him but it feels like it’s everywhere.

This time, he’s not on autopilot.

Hard to be when you could be caught, torn apart at any moment.

Although,

He’s already being torn apart.

The skin under his bandages stretches and suddenly they aren’t just under his bandages cause they’re ripping open further.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He gasps for air, and he can’t get enough, even when it feels like his lungs are about to burst.

And is this how he’s gonna die?

Steve Harrington, the badass babysitter, the brute force, the tank, dying because he couldn’t pedal a bike fast enough after falling off.

Would this be a hero's death? Because honestly, they didn’t even know he saved them.

The road cuts off to a neighborhood he knows only has one exit, and he takes a sharp turn off the side of the road.

There’s a bike path down this way, one that years ago, he used to ride along with Tommy. He cuts through the woods.

There’s screeching being him, and he’s sure that the pomegranate red mouths have opened. That it’s too late to hope. “Fuck.” Steve mutters.

It’s at that moment he goes over a particularly large bump, and the bike goes flying.

He’s not holding on tight enough, not with one hand.

It doesn’t land right, and now he’s back on the ground. THe creatures slow in front of him.

“Fuck!” He lets out, louder this time, and he inches away. He tries to use his left arm as momentum, but it doesn’t move.

The crack, the break.

He’s gonna die.

Please, I just told Eddie.

What will they think?

That he ran away?

‘Just like you always do, Harrington!’

How much of his life before the upside down had been spent running?

From his parents, the fact that he was a massive douche, away from who he is?

Is he crawling backwards?

Just like when he was born.

One of the demo-dogs gets tired of waiting, and sprints forward.

Eddie was a bike kid before he got his van. He loved them. Always riding around town when he was younger, anything to get away from Al. He liked how it felt when the wind blew against him.

It was easy to get lost in the familiar feeling of pedaling, easy to forget where he was, or that there were people around him.

He just biked to his trailer. Just like he had done those days after school in fifth grade, when his dad was out.

Him and Wayne would sit together on the couch and listen to whatever records he had, mostly Elvis Presley and John Lee Hooker.

Wayne, who probably thought he was serial killer.

“Christ…” Eddie muttered to himself, and slid to a stop at the trailer came into a view. He heard a few tire squeals and he grinned.“Alright Stevie, let’s get back to our world.” He turned his head back to get a look at him,

And his heart stopped.

“Where’s Steve?”

Nancy glances behind her, and her eyes widen. “He was- He was following us, he definitely was.”

Eddie turns to Robin, brows furrowed. “ You were in the back with him for a bit.”

Her hands were shaking, and she staring at the ground. Like she had seen a ghost. “You don’t think something took him, like Barbara?”

“Holland?” He asked, even though he knew exactly who she was talking about cause there was only one Barbara. “What? Of course not, he’s a fighter, so we would’ve heard it, right?”

Except,

Eddie couldn’t have heard it. He was too far ahead, daydreaming. And with the lightning starting back every two seconds it was hard to hear much.

Nancy gasps, “Blood.”

“What?”

“Blood.” She repeats, turning pale, or at-least, he thinks she did, it was hard to tell with the light.

“The demo-creatures love it, and if he’s bleeding through the bandages-“

“They would’ve smelt it…” Eddie murmurs. He feel goosebumps rise on his skin. “The bike, the peddling, would’ve made it worse, and- Shit-!” He’s about to hop on his bike when Nancy grabs the handlebars.

She looks contemplative, “He knows the way to your place. Maybe they… Maybe the chased him and he’s gonna lay low. He’s smart, he’ll be okay.”

“Yeah…” Robin nods, “Yeah, he’ll be, he’ll be fine.” She huffs, and walks into the trailer. Eddie is more skeptical.

“He could still be hurt! We biked far.”

Nancy ignores him, and follows Robin.

“At what point could he have left us? Was it early on? What if he got caught-“

“Eddie, he’ll be okay. We need to go.” She hisses, and grabs his wrist, dragging him inside.

He bites his lip, “Fucking, fine.”

He looks up to where the entrance to the real world is, to see something poking through it. The elastic webbing or whatever was covering it snapped, and drips down.

And there’s the kids.

And Dustin who is smiling triumphantly. “Hi.”

Eddie waves his fingers, “Hey man.”

They get through the gate with the help of Dustin’s rope. He eyes them all suspiciously when they’re through.

“Where’s Steve?” He asks.

Nancy shifts uncomfortably, Eddie glances to the ground.

Robin lets out a sniff, “He’s, uh. When we were biking, he ran off. We didn’t see it, don’t know what happened.”

Erica moves forward, “What?”

Nancy crosses her arms, “He was bleeding, before he left. Not a nosebleed but, if one of the demogorgons or something caught a whiff…” She trails off, and Dustin glares at her.

“That bastard left so you wouldn’t get hurt.”

She nods.

“And why was he bleeding?!”

“There were these- these fucking bat things. They dragged him through the water portal and used him as a chew toy.” Eddie’s voice is wobbly, and he doesn’t realize until the words are out.

He’d just gotten the guy,

And now the guy has disappeared to who knows where.

The guy could be dead.

“Fuck.” He whispers to himself, and rubs incessantly at his eye. He can’t cry right now, not in-front of Dustin.

But Steve had left.

He’d left them so they wouldn’t have to face whatever was chasing him.

“Eddie, you okay?”

He couldn’t be dead, surely not, he’d lived through this how many times? Not this time.

No way.

“Eddie?” Lucas asks again. He looks up. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh shit! That’s right! You two are dating!” Dustin yelps, and Eddie flushes, “You aren’t supposed to know that yet.” He hisses.

Robin’s eyes widened, “Whoa, when did this happen. I mean, I know he’s liked you, for like, ever, but is this recent or has he been lying?”

“They’re dating?” Lucas looks astonished as he stares at Eddie. Erica huffs, “Obviously, you weren’t sitting by them during the basketball game. Anyways, this is not what we should be concerned about.”

“Right, yeah.” Lucas starts, “Are we gonna sit here and wait?”

Eddie is quick to nod. “Yeah, definitely. Plus it’s easier to keep an eye on red.” He says.

“Speaking of, how are you doing?” He turns his head to her.

She’s pale, and her music isn’t playing anymore. “Shit!” Lucas is quick to grab for the walk-men, but she shoves his arm away. “Turn it back on, we can’t repeat what happened before.” He scolds.

She doesn’t listen, in fact she takes the headphones off around her neck.

“I don’t-“ She starts, before pausing to breathe. “I don’t, like, feel him anymore.”

“That’s great!” Lucas shouts, before wincing, “Right, not supposed to shout in a wanted mans house.”

She shakes her head, and looks to Eddie.

“Before this all, did you notice any signs, in Steve, I mean.”

What?

“What do you mean?”

“Headaches, nightmares, nosebleeds.”

He thinks back.

And yeah.

Yeah, okay.

He sees where she’s coming from.

It would make sense, why nobody heard it, cause by the times his bones would have snapped they would’ve been too far ahead.

But that’s not what happened.

Because Steve’s alive. Because he would’ve told them if he was worried. He would’ve at-least told Robin.

“How long ago did yours start?” He asks.

“After Billy died, just before school started again and I started seeing Ms. Kelly.” She states, twirling the cord of her head phones nervously.

He nods, “His shouldn’t be Vecna related them, he’s had them since he lived with me, a result of the concussions. For the nosebleeds, he said he’s broken it a couple times, and nightmares?”

Eddie shrugs, “I don’t blame him for the shit you guys had to go through.”

“If you’re sure.” Nancy mutters.

“I am, Steve’s not stupid. He may not want Wayne and I worrying, but if he was truly worried about something, he woulda told us.” He states.

“Especially if he thought he’d die, he’d say goodbye first.”

She nods, tilting her head to face the floor, causing her brown curls to hid her face like a shield. “Got it.”

Robins at her side in less than a second, bumping their hips together.

“Hey, the dingus’ll be fine. He’s made it this long being a super awesome monster-fighter.”

“Alright,” Nancy huffs. She seems put at ease by Robin. Her posture relaxes, and she shifts closer. “If you say so.”

Oh,

Steve would love this when he comes back.

Max interrupts the sweet moment. “Okay, but still. I’m sure even if you had the effects before, you could still be affected. The thing that sets the events set in stone is the visions.”

She turns to Eddie.

“He ever zone out? In this past day, at-least.”

“He used to, cooking and shit, not today though, as far as I know. Look why are you-“ He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Stevie is fine, maybe it’s just a freak occurrence that you don’t feel this guy anymore.”

Her brows furrow. She glares at him. “I don’t like the idea that he’s been killed either, but I’m just trying to bring up a what-if.”

“Whatever.” He mutters, and crosses his arms. “But there is no way in hell that’s what happened, he would’ve told us.”

“Or maybe he wouldn’t have.” She snaps.

“Maybe he ran away so we didn’t have to see him die. He’s always been the backbone. He brushes off our worries and hate when people show concern for him!”

“Shut up!” Dustin yells, and all eyes turn to him.

“Be quie-“ Lucas starts, but he's cut off.

“Steve isn’t fucking dead, he’ll be back. He can’t be dead.” His voice is wobbly, and his eyes are misty. Eddie almost reaches out an arm. Max scoffs and leans back, and he realizes that her eyes are wet too.

And Eddie forgot. Forgot that she almost died yesterday, that she knew Steve too. She’s trying not to get her hopes up.

Eddie wishes he could do that.

Act like he doesn’t care.

But he can’t.

Not when he cares so goddamn much.

Because Steve’s alive, and she’s acting like he isn’t. That he won’t be coming through that portal anytime soon.

He can’t deal with it.

He wasn’t gonna make this hour or two they wait for Steve anymore unbearable than it has to be.

He can’t deal with her theorizing right now.

He can’t deal with the fact Dustin is stifling tears by pinching his sides.

Or Luca’s worries that Max should keep the headphones on just in case,

The way that Robin and Nancy are looking at him,

Eddie stands up, “Come get me when he comes through. Need a minute.” He passes the kitchen on the way to his room, and his eyes pass over a note on the fridge.

‘Eddie, do your own chores.

Steve, make sure he does his part.

-Wayne.’

Eddie slams the door to his room shut behind him.

He needs to do something to occupy himself.

He catches sight of one of Steve’s Swim-Club T-Shirts in his closet and snatch it.

“Shower seems like a pretty good idea.”

I thought the last chapter would be the longest at 2k words, but this ended up being like 3,500 so…

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things ficlet #steddie ficlet #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #crisisinverted17 #crisisinverted17's roommate au

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wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart · 1 year

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accidental beard stobin

Steve suddenly wearing Eddie's battle vest and leather jackets all the time except it can't mean anything he and robin literally wear matching heart jewelry

Robin looking suspiciously flustered when she leaves band practice late, holding Vickie close, except it just be girls being girls because it is Steve who drives her everywhere

They only realize what happened when Dustin congratulates Steve on "finally getting the girl" (cue both of them pretending to throw up whenever they see each other for like a month) (ppl still think they are dating)

#excuse for more pda with the actual s/o :)#stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #steddie #dustin henderson #stranger things

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honeybear-yammy · 2 years

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Wild Girl

Warnings: cursing, smut, mentions of drinking, sexual themes, slight degrading kink, car sex, unprotected sex, public sex, being watched in the act

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Summary: In which Y/N goes to a party with her boyfriend, Steve which ends with car sex.

You gasped and moaned out as you bounced on Steve's cock. The two of you had just been at a wild party and things got steamy between you and Steve so you both had decided to come out here so both of you could be pleased. And now here you were, riding Steve like it was the last time you'd ever be able to.

"Oh fuck, good girl." He cooed as you bounced on his hardened cock. You held onto Steve's shoulder for support and you now began to grind against him instead of bounce. The feeling of his cock nestled deep inside of you was euphoric. You fucking loved it. Honestly, you could never get enough of it.

You continued to grind against him as both of you moaned out in ecstasy. You had been super excited to come to this party with Steve but, you were so glad that you both decided to leave the party to go do something even more fun. You bit your lip as you grinded against him more and your head fell back.

After a while of grinding against Steve, you went back to bouncing on his cock once again. As you were fucking yourself onto him, you saw Steve look out the car window. Confused, you decided to look out the car window as well as you continued to fuck him. Your eyes then widened when you saw a few of his close friends standing there watching you both fuck in the back of Steve's car.

You were about to stop but, Steve stopped you. You looked down at him confused but, he just had a devilish smirk on his face. "It's fine, babe. Just let them watch." Steve said with a smirk. Embarrassed, you continued to fuck yourself onto your boyfriend as his friends watched you both. "Fuck, I love it when you're my little slut." Steve said with a smirk. "Taking my cock so well while my friend are right there watching you. Fuck, you're one wild girl." He said.

He was right, you were a total slut for Steve. And honestly, the fact that his friends were watching the two of you fuck did really turn you on even more. You were also starting to like the idea of being watched by someone else while having sex with Steve. You felt that familiar knot building up in the bottom of your stomach and you knew that you were going to cum any second now.

You clenched around his hard cock, signaling to him that you were ready to cum. "You gonna cum for me, princess?" Steve asked as he moaned out. You nodded desperately and moaned out as you continued to fuck yourself onto him. "Fuck.." He growled. "Come on, cum, cum for me, babe." He groaned out. With that your eyes rolled back and your legs trembled as you gushed all over his cock. He came the same time you did, shooting his load deep inside of you.

You both began to catch your breath as your boyfriend Steve looked back out the car window again at his friends. He then rolled down the window with a smirk. "Enjoy the show, boys?" He asked with a devilish smirk. They all nodded and you felt your cheeks heat up. "Fuck man, your girlfriend is fucking hot. We didn't think she was that wild." One guy said with a smirk.

"Well, she likes being watched while I fuck her like the little whore she is, don't you babe?" Steve asked with a smirk. You nodded and bit your lip. "Well, the show is over now so go back to the party. I'll meet you all back there again soon." He said. The guys all took one last look at you before walking off. As they were walking out, Steve called out to them. "Oh, hey! and, there will be another showing later." He said with a smirk. Later? This was going to be one hell of a night.

Author's Note: tysm for reading!

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alicetallula · 2 months

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Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang 2023/2024 - Jurassic Disaster by ainsalaco - Part II - 12.04.2024

Follow-up of the drawings for the Jurassic Park AU done with ainsalaco for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang :3

Part I / Part III / Part IV

Woman Inherits the Earth - Robin, Eddie, Steve and Dustin in the jeep during the tour - Jurassic Disaster by ainsalaco - 12.04.2024

Done using watercolors, ink pens, gel pens, colored pencils, graphite pencils, alcohol markers and acrylic paint pens

AO3 post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post

#stranger things reverse big bang 2024 #stranger things reverse big bang #strbb 2024 #strbb #stranger things #crossover #stranger things x jurassic park #jurassic park movie #jurassic park au #jurassic park #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #fanart #fic illustration #tallula03's art

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 1 year

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Halloween 1989 but no one coordinated their costumes so Jonathan, Steve, and Dustin are all Bill, Argyle, Eddie, and Mike are Ted, Lucas and Robin are both Billy the Kid.

Only Will (Socrates) and Nancy (Joan of Arc) are alone in their Bill and Ted costumes; Max is Jason this year, and El was convinced by Max to be Freddy Kruger

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kassifieddocuments · 7 months

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should i write a silly little ghost au. just because.

octobers over? true, however. spooky yet silly is fun all the time

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #dustin henderson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #those are the guys who are most likely to be important in it if i do #🐐's aus

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spnsisterimagines · 2 years

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if glee and stranger things had a crossover mr shuester wouldve had a whole week dedicated to will byers missing and required his students to follow jonathan around and sing to him to comfort him or sum

#stranger things #glee #mr shuester #will byers #jonathan byers #rachel berry #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #matthew morrison #eddie munson #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #byler #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #finn hudson #santana lopez #brittany s. pierce

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ashes-writing · 2 years

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the power of love pt three | stranger things ; s.harrington

A/N ; Annnd, I'm back with another part. Thought I'd go ahead and post this now because it was the closest thing that was finished/ready out of everything I'm working on. I'm really loving this whole little thing, tbh. This one is gonna be kind of slowish burn. Looots of sexual tension, hidden flirting and other stuff, I think. I'm trying to play on the fact that I think Steve is a protective sort and his love language is more small actions over words for the most part. That being said ugh I am so excited for where I feel like this is going.

Pairing ; Steve Harrington x Henderson!Fem reader.

Timeline / Other Stuff to Note ; part I | part II can be found by clicking. As previously stated, nothing from the Upside Down + its unholy terrors is gonna happen here but there will be mutual pining and angst and teen romance-y plot stuff. So if you prefer slice of life instead of the extra (Upside Down and unholy terrors) then this is something you miiight like. Maybe. Also, apparently, reader suffered from the genetic disease that Dustin had himself.. I can't spell it properly, but it was the reason that his teeth only just grew in right. Another fun fact.. Reader has kind of an alternation of both Stevie Nicks and Madonna's clothing / fashion style, so when I'm writing I'm picturing either really ethereal hippie or just straight up vixen type stuff that 80's Madonna rocked. She/you/reader changes styles with your/her/readers moods.

Tag List ; @musichealsscars @allelitesmut @hcloangcls @aries-arcade are the only people on my Stranger Things tag list. Optional tag goes to bae @rampagewriting - no pressure at all. if you'd like to be added to my taglists for Stranger things or anything else, please let me know or add yourself -> here.

Warnings ; girl on girl bullying / a lil shoving match. rumors and bullshit lead to a fight on Steve's end also. Lots of lingering sexual tension and a little cute awkwardness.

Other Stuff ; tag list doc || my rules - fandoms and some characters I write for || requests are open - headcanon asks and filth/fluff letters only btw... Still no wrestlers and I beg of you -> send me things. Please. Pretty please.

I do not consent to my work being reposted elsewhere or copied/reworked/rewritten and reposted here or elsewhere. You don't own this, I do. So like... don't steal my shit.

You don’t expect to talk to Steve outside of tutoring sessions because so far, you really haven’t. You’re certainly not expecting to lock eyes with him in the mirror on your locker door the next morning. You turn around and promptly find yourself body to body with him.

Steve drags his hand through his hair because honestly, he’s not even sure what made him walk over to your locker when he spotted you in the hallway. All he knows is he can feel Tommy and Carol’s eyes burning a hole through him from where they stand. And it’s awkward as hell to have happen but for some reason, his mind chooses to replay the massage you gave him the night before and this comes with the neat little side effect of him still being able to feel the way your hands felt so soft and delicate as they moved over his skin. He’s so dazed that he misses the first three times you’re trying to get his attention. And then you’re pushed against him again and your tits are pushing against his chest and he nearly goes into a tailspin. When he spots the idiot football players who were the reason, he flips them off and yells at them to watch where they’re walking because they nearly ran you over.

You laugh quietly and when he finally gets done shouting back and forth with the idiot football player who nearly knocked you into him just now,you’re the one staring up at him. Lost in chocolatey eyes and dazed. You haven’t moved your hand from his bicep where you put it when you toppled into him either and as soon as you realize it, you can feel your body burning hot. And you mumble an apology before quickly pulling your hand back to your own body. “Need something, Harrington?” you finally ask the question for a fourth time because he’s not in a daze like he was. You laugh quietly.

“Thank you. My neck uh.. it wasn’t stiff when I woke up.” - It’s weak as hell and yes, he’s aware of this. But he’s just not sure what else to say, lately, his charisma seems to have just vanished and the fact that a simple conversation that used to be easy-peasy for him, especially with the girls, is suddenly harder now for some reason, this is frustrating to him.

He felt like this with her, at first. Kind of. It’s so much worse this time around, especially to factor in that the poor guy is doing everything he can not to get sucked in and be weak again because he can’t take being hurt. He’s terrified of another risk that’ll leave him heartbroken sooner or later. Because he’s got himself convinced that somehow, he won’t be enough. He wasn’t for her.

You laugh and nod. Then you raise up on your toes and fluff the front of his hair. It’s just a distracted and absent-minded gesture that you’re fully aware you probably shouldn’t be doing and yet, you can’t resist. When Steve’s brain does the brr - time to shut down thing that it started to lately when it comes to you and your innocent little gestures, he grabs your hip before he can stop himself from doing it. Then he mumbles a rushed apology and hurries away, over to the safety that his best friends Tommy and Carol provide right now. Away from you and the danger of temptation.

Because he’s making no mistake about it, temptation is exactly what you happen to be.

Once Steve is across the hallway and distracted by Tommy and Carol so he can’t see you, you lean yourself back against the closed locker beside yours and you fan yourself with your folder. Valerie sees this and doubles over laughing as she clears her throat.

“I thought you were ‘above’ the Steve Harrington effect? What’d you do to him anyway? Whatever it was had him zoinked enough that it prompted Carol to get my number from her ma and call at like.. 10.”

You laugh and shrug. “He was tense so I gave him a massage? Wait… what’d she say?” and as you ask, all the times you’ve thrown up at her that you’re not interested in gossip or anything come around to bite you because she smirks and shakes her head and she absolutely refuses to tell you anything other than sooner or later, you’ll figure it out.

You roll your eyes and pout. “I don’t wanna figure it out. I wanna know.” Valerie gives you a questioning look. “How sure are you about that, hm?”

“Please?” you plead as the two of you walk into the bathroom together.

“Well, apparently, your little massage kinda got him a little hot and bothered.” Valerie is teasing you. "He uh... He pitched a tent, woman, what the hell kind of massage did you give him?"

She has to be lying, there’s no other explanation. It’s not like you give massages that are that good, after all. Your jaw drops and almost instantly, you’re trying to… Picture it for yourself, which of course, makes you clench your thighs and swallow hard when you not only manage to picture certain areas of Steve Harrington’s anatomy -like you’ll ever get to see it, and the realization has you frustrated for some weird reason, but your mind goes one up and offers up an interesting spin on the massage you gave him from the night before.

Nicole is leaned against a wall, smirking at you. When you lock eyes with her, you blow a bubble with your gum and spin around. “Do you have to linger?”

She steps a little closer. “Steve’s better than you. I wouldn’t even bother trying if I were you. You're just a little girl. Your teeth didn't even grow in right until 9th grade. What in the hell make you think you can handle Steve Harrington, hm?" She purrs out the words a if she's being super nice but you know better. After she reapplies her own lipstick, she continues, laughing as she steps up to you again, " Last I heard, you're legs are closed so tight somebody would have to surgically open 'em.. And make no mistake. He doesn't want you. He wants a lay...”

You roll your eyes again, scoffing at her. And given your short fuse, you step closer with a hand on your hip. “Aw… are you still jealous he kissed Bonnie in the 7th grade and not you? Are you jealous because you spent all of last year following him like a lil lost puppy but he only had eyes for Wheeler? Is that what this is?” you laugh and blow another bubble before adding calmly, “I’m not trying. But if I wanted to, you wouldn’t stop me, Nicole.”

“You’re a nothing, alright? A nobody. Steve’s only even around you because he wants to get his dick wet again.”

You laugh and step close all over again. “Why bother with me though, hm? I mean you’ve all but thrown your panties in the mans face since we were in middle school and yet… Not a single glance your way. Maybe you should stop trying, Nicole.

“Goddamn.” Valerie is choking and gaping at you. Normally, you don’t try to engage or anything and your usual tactic in a confrontation is to simply ignore and pray it disappears on it’s own. So the amount of spunk and sass she’s just heard from you are… Definitely a bit of a shocker.

And she’s not the only one shocked, because you’re gaping at yourself for saying it. For going there and egging it on in the first place.

Nicole steps closer. Sizes you up and laughs, rolling her eyes. “Go play with your colored pencils, little girl.”

“I love that shade of green on you, Nic.” Valerie smirks as she steps up, grinding her fist against her open palm as she stares her down intently. “Goes real nice with your eyes.”

“I’m not wearing…–” the meaning of the comment sinks in and Nicole doubles over laughing. “Oh my god, that’s rich. You think I’m jealous of baby teeth?” Nicole looks at Valerie and Valerie shrugs. “If the shoe fits, skank.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.. My teeth didn’t grow in until I was 13. When did your tits grow, N?.. Oh.. wait.” you cringe at her in mock sympathy, “Sorry." you laugh and roll your eyes. "I forgot you're still rocking a kids training bra. See? I can do it too, N." you shrug it off. You hate doing what you've just done, but you hate the concept of being a quiet little pushover and letting anybody think they have any sort of power to hurt you anymore even more. It was a lose-lose, a necessary evil.

The comment about your teeth bothered you. It used to bother you a lot more, but assholes like Nicole all through elementary and middle school gave you a thicker skin. Despite the thicker skin though, it didn’t mean the comment wasn’t going to sit with you all day. And you were annoyed with yourself for even stooping down to her level to begin with, but you’d been feeling feisty lately.

If she wanted to keep it up, you were pretty confident you could keep it going all day. When Nicole shoved you to shove past you though, that lit the fire completely and the next thing you know, you’ve shoved her back. And then it’s spilling into the hallway.

Steve’s just about to go into his classroom when he hears shouting from outside the girls bathroom. He glances that way out of vague curiosity and when he sees you and Nicole shoving back and forth -after you’ve gone for today’s choice of wild and big earring, big bold red hoops in your ears and taken those off, he shoves through the crowd.

Nicole’s boyfriend has started to carry her away and Steve picks you up by the hips and does the same. Valerie laughs and catches up to you both as Steve stands you on your feet. He’s trying not to smile or laugh or anything, but he’s also looking you over in concern. “What the hell was that about?”

“Nicole’s jealous because she’s the only girl you haven’t stuck your dick in, apparently.” Valerie answers, shrugging. Steve grumbles and rolls his eyes. “She started it, didn’t she?”

“I didn’t help..” you mumble, shrugging.

“Yeah, well.. I’m pretty sure whatever she said to you was worse. She uh… She started it with Nance too.”

“Lemme guess. The priss didn’t even try to fight or anything.” Valerie rolled her eyes, the disdain she personally felt for Nancy Wheeler clear and unhidden. You elbow her and give her a warning look. “Val, easy.. That’s kind of his ex.”

“She didn’t, actually. Said she was above it. Then I found out she was under Jonathan Byers, so..” Steve cringed and you winced and muttered quietly, “Yikes.”

“What’d she say?” Steve asked you as he continued to check you over in concern.

“The usual.. My teeth didn’t grow like everybody else’s, I'm nothing, I’m weird.. I was fine until she shoved past me. Then I just snapped. Like.. say what you want but don't you dare touch me, especially not shoving into me." you shrug.

Steve’s fist clenched and he caught himself glancing in Nicole’s direction. Rolling his eyes when he caught her looking in your direction with an angry death glare on her face. He stepped closer to you, almost protectively. And he got you looking up at him. “Hey.. if she starts again, tell me, alright? She’s always doing this when I even look at a girl.”

“Yeah, she’s a bitch. It’s not.. Like it’s not a big deal or anything. Kind of thick-skinned by this point.” you shrug. Steve flips Nicole off when he glances her way and sees her whispering back and forth with an old friend of Carol’s that Carol stopped talking to recently. Then he turns his attention back to you. “Yeah, well.. It’s still kinda my fault?”

“How? I’m tutoring you because I wanna. You didn’t hold a loaded gun to my head, Harrington. Relax. I’ll be fiiiine.” you raise up on your toes and fluff his hair again and then you walk away.

– ( later that day )

“Hey, are you dating that Henderson chick? Y’know her legs are binded with molasses, right, buddy? You feelin okay, Harrington?” Johnny asks, smirking as he gazes at Steve, waiting on an answer.

At first, Steve tried to ignore the guy but he just kept going. And going. By the time he got to the part of the conversation where he’s telling Steve that you're a prude and an ice queen and if he wants to get his dick wet he needs to look elsewhere, Steve’s just fed up with the shit.

Before Tommy even has a chance to grab him, he’s hopped the bleachers and the two basketball players are rolling around on the floor. And Steve is growling, swearing and making every threat under the sun as Tommy and Billy drag him away to the locker room.

“Fuckin tell ‘em, Danny! Nobody messes with her, got it?” Tommy tells Johnny’s friend Danny.

The coach benches Johnny and Steve for the afternoon, but Steve doesn’t mind, honestly. And he’s still wishing he’d gotten to land just one more good right hook before Tommy, Danny and Billy drug the two of them apart.

But above all else, he’s wondering what the hell got into him in the first place. Because every single time he thought about what Johnny was implying -that he’d tried to get with you in the past and been rejected, made him want to strangle Johnny in the first place because he'd tried. Like you belonged to Steve or it was any of his business to begin with. The thought cropped up before he could stop it, ,, you're not gonna be enough for her man, no sense in even trying to get territorial."

By the time practice is over, he’s cooled off. And he happens to be walking past the open door to the art classroom.

You’re still inside, painting something on a huge canvas. Stevie Nicks playing in the background as Valerie and two or three other girls, one a blonde from his class named Robin or something, are sitting on counters talking back and forth and apparently, watching you paint.

At one point, someone flings paint at Valerie. Valerie flings it back but they’re hiding near you and the paint hits you instead.

You dip your hand in turquoise paint and start to chase Valerie around the room and he laughs to himself. And after another minute or two of lingering in the doorway to the classroom, he finally manages to make himself leave.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x henderson!fem reader #steve harrington x henderson!fem reader imagine #steve harrington x henderson!fem reader fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fanfiction #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington x reader imagine #// so this reader is... super detailed - borderline OC.#// i'm s till learning the ins and outs of a reader x character story.

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once-upon-an-imagine · 1 year

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I read you stranger things incorrect quotes from April and I found some of my favorite show. Those are all from Brooklyn Nine-Nine

*****

Robin So we have good news, and we have bad news.

Steve: My Nana always said, "Bad news first because the good news is probably a lie." Fun fact: she made me cry a lot.

---

Dustin: So, I'm going to grab a healthy breakfast.

Steve: Are those gummy bears wrapped in a fruit roll-up?

Dustin: Breakfast burrito, but yeah.

Steve: I pity your dentist.

Dustin: Joke's on you. I don't have a dentist.

---

Nancy: I can't wait to see the inside of Steve's house. I'm gonna learn everything there is to know about him.

Argyle: I bet it's really fancy. Like Beauty and the Beast fancy.

Robin: No, it's probably just an empty, white cube

---

Argyle: Hello, good sir, I'd like your finest bottle of wine, please.

Clerk: That will be $1,600.

Argyle: Great, I'd like your $8-est bottle of wine, please.

---

Steve: There's one thing I want, and it's not that big. I just want you to make me cool in everyone's eyes.

Robin: Not that big?

*****

OH MY GOD! I LOVED ALL OF THESE SO MUCH 😂😂😂😂😂😂 they are perfect!!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 I wanted to get some B99 and Modern Family quotes hahahaha these are perfect! I might do more later on because I loved this so much! ♥️♥️♥️♥️

#submission #submitted by kjs-s #incorrect quotes #stranger things #stranger things quotes #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #argyle #brooklyn nine nine #source: brooklyn 99

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unamused-boss · 6 months

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Take out Night

Billy Hargrove x Fem oc Hello! Just before we begin this is a fic that will introduce another Oc that I have created. A Billy x Oc to be more precise. I have seen so many other creators, some whom I am mutuals with, make amazing oc. And I wanted to jump on the train with it. Plus I really want Billy to have a weird gf! So I have made a character for Billy hargrove and I hope you like her.

It was all strange when the two first got together. If you mean the Cali boy going after probably the weirdest hot girl in town then you'd be correct. Because that is what happened when Billy Hargrove asked out, and is still going out with, Phoebe Brown.

Yep, Hawkin's local weirdo. Has been seen walking bare foot within the woods. Constantly seeming like she has consumed an intense amount of drugs even though she doesn't even drink or smoke. Claiming it ruins the soul of the body. Her dark brown hair always done up in a new style. Along with her clothes matching her presence, comfortable.

It was a month long gossip train as to why Billy would ask out such a peculiar girl. Many of Billy's, so called, friends said it was because he lost a bet or was looking for something easy. But what the masses do not know it took Billy a whole month before Phoebe even said yes to a date. Billy claimed he has never liked Hawkin's heifers, as much as Phoebe has told him to stop calling them that, he wanted something he thought would bring him excitement. So when he laid eyes on Phoebe Brown, he knew it was her.

Well to get that out of the way with all the sentimental shit that we will get into later. Lets focus on where our couple is at presently. It is the middle of December for Hawkins with a blissful, not to Billy, cold outside. And in front of a little chinese food restaurant sat a charged blue camaro where our couple sits. It is just another of their many at home date nights tonight. Let's see where the night will take them.

“Do you have to do this every time?” Billy asked his girlfriend. Who at the moment has her nose deep within a menu of said Chinese restaurant.

“Yes, what if I wanna try something new?” Phoebe said back to him, still with her face in the pamphlet of the menu.

“Babe there is no doubt in my mind that you have not eaten the whole menu since we have discovered this restaurant.” Billy reasoned with her. “Can we please order the food so we can go back to your house”

Phoebe faced him with a smile gracing her face. “You know, for such a big strong guy, you can be very soft and cute.” The statement flusters Billy, she knows this. But he will always keep his tough guy act up till they get home. So in response to his girlfriend's statement, he turned his head away from her. Which did not help because she could see his ears turning red which meant he was blushing. Phoebe just giggled at him, “Get out of the damn car.” Was all he said to her, but not with any mean intent behind it. So that is what you did. You both got out of the car to make your way in to order your dinner for the night.

“Hey Billy, Hey Phoebe” The cashier greeted, “What can I get ya?”

“We’ll get the spicy chicken combo and spring rolls to go with it.” Billy answered to the cashier.

“We will also take the Lo mien and crab rangoons.” Phoebe added on with confidence.

“Um, who paid?” Billy sassed to her.

“Um, who’s job is it to pay?” She simply sassed back. “I also paid for your gas, be a good boyfriend and pay for your girlfriend's dinner.” Billy just rolled his eyes to her.

“Alright coming right up.” That was all that needed to be said for the two to take their seats in front of the window to wait on their food.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Phoebe asked.

“Okay, hit me.” Billy said thinking it was gonna be a challenge.

“Why did you ask me out?” She asked simply.

Billy was silent for a minute. “This isn’t a trap is it? Last time this happened my tire got slashed.” Billy panicked.

“No it’s not… I just- I just think there is someone more suited for you than me.” Phoebe admitted.

“What like some cow on the cheer team?” Billy said very aggressively.

“Billy- I’m serious.”

“The reason I asked you out was because you were different from every other girl I have ever dated.” Billy told her, looking into her honey colored eyes.

“But-”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” He stopped her. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and if I had to go another month of chasing you around to simply look in my direction then I will. I know I’m not the best guy, but you have made me realize that I will do whatever it takes for us to stay together.” Billy’s eyes softened as he looked at her. Phoebe's once tired looking eyes became wide while staring at Billy as he spoke. No guy has ever said something like that to her. Yeah, she knows she’s weirded Billy out before but he still stayed with her.

“Billy” She spoke softly, a smile making its way onto her face. He smiled back at her, taking her hand into his on the table.

“Order 37!” Was shouted out, to which brought the couple out of their trance.

Once the food was picked up. The couple made their way to the camaro to go home. The drive was silent, it was warm and comfortable. Just the quiet tone of one of Billy’s rock tapes playing from the window. As Phoebe was looking out the window to the dark outside of the night. She saw the glimmer of snow, she gasped as her eyes lit up. Even though it had snowed for the past few weeks, with every new snowfall Phoebe got excited. She loved the cold weather unlike her boyfriend. Billy heard her small gasp from beside him; he made a small glance over to her to see she was staring out the window. He just smiled at her expression, he couldn’t have asked for anyone better. The couple usually didn’t express too much emotion in front of others, not too heavy on pda other than a quickie in the janitor's closet. But the nights such as these were Billy could get away from his house to go home with her. To spend the night cuddling and watching trash movies they can make fun of. It was pure bliss for Billy, He loved it He loved her.

The car came to a stop in Phoebe’s driveway. With her parents out of the house for the next few days that meant more time with Billy, and being able to eat in the living room. The food was set out on the coffee table, blankets were prepped, movies prepped to be watched, and Billy’s side ready for Phoebe to cuddle into. The chosen pick from the Family Video tonight were American Ninja, obviously Billy, and Smooth Talk, clearly picked out by Phoebe, the two had very distinct tastes. The two watched and ate with glee for being in the other mere presence. In the middle of one of the movies Billy pauses it out of nowhere.

“Heey?” Phoebe said in confusion to his action.

Billy turned to her, now her side is cold. “Why did you ask me that question at the restaurant tonight?” Billy was curious. He wanted to make sure no one said anything to her and so she wasn’t in her head.

“I just- I just started thinking about the types of girls you went after before you got with me.” She said, “And I felt like I was a downgrade.” Hearing this broke his heart. “ I’m noy like Tammy, Tina, or Nancy… It's stupid but I can’t help but feel insecure sometimes. You were told about me from people that judged me and still chose me after everything. I just don’t get it sometimes.”

“Like I said before, you are unlike any girl I have ever been with, and I love it. I love you.” Billy said.

“You said the L word.” Phoebe giggled at him. Billy’s smile broke out after you said that.

“What are you gonna punish me?” He teased. In response Phoebe places her soft lips onto Hargroves. It felt like a puzzle being completed when they kissed. Phoebe became more forward and started to slowly push Billy back until he was on his back while she was sitting on him still kissing on her couch. The kiss slowed and the two started to pull away. Looking at one another for a moment. Until a sly smirk appeared on Billy’s face.

“I should say the L word more often if that’s my punishment.” He flirted. Phoebe just laughed at him then pulled him up right to continue where they left off. In the movie obviously. Billy played the movie and Phoebe snuggled back into his side.

“Just so you know.” Phoebe started. “I love you too.” Billy smiled and kissed the top of her head. The night was perfect, as always.

Hope you enjoyed! Like always if you have feed back I would love to hear it.

if you wanna see anything specifically with Billy and Phoebe just request or comment.

Thank you, love ya bookies!

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove x female #stranger things #fanfiction #billy hargove imagine #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #dustin henderson #eddie munson #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #80’s #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #stranger things billy

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punk-in-docs · 2 years

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🕷Your web,I’m caught🕷

Eddie Munson x Pencils (OC) slow burn series, Part I

7.6k words

Summary: Snorting laughter at the disappearing Jocks back. Marlboro red clamped between his lips. Smoke slithering out his smile. Between the cracks of his straight teeth.

When you saw who it belonged too. The laugh. The cigarette smoke.You weren’t even suprised.

Who else could it be-Who else would be doing a drug deal on the outskirts of a high school party, in the woods, at almost eleven at night, but Eddie “the freak” Munson.

Authors note; So, I wrote this because I probably have Eddie Munson brain rot, and because I just love this funky lil freak ok? It’s kinda long. No smut (yet) I might do more parts. We shall see. ~ (any feedback or comments are very much welcome folks)

It was through Hawkins like wildfire on bone dry kindling. One spark of friction and the whole thing soared to churning flames in a hot second.

No survivors.

Kyle Rothman’s parents were going to visit family in Elwood for some big fancy party.

Anniversary, you’d heard. Funeral, someone else had bemoaned.

Eight o’clock Friday night. Kyle’s House on 1280 Abalone Drive. Bring your own beer.

This is how you found yourself bundled unwillingly into the plump passenger seat of your friend Linda’s station wagon come Friday night.

Bouncing along on the safe suburbia streets to a godawful party, peppered with the usual dumb jocks and poisonous cheerleaders. The freaks and nerds tended to stay in their own lanes. Keep well away.

Lucky fucks.

Two six pack of Coor’s sat rattling at your feet. She’d spent half an hour teasing your kinked hair all big, and persuading you to slick on some blue eyeliner and glitter. You drew the line when she approached you with this tube of waxy fuschia lipstick.

You batted her hand away with contempt and let her slip huge plastic blue earrings in your ears instead. It goes with your top. She’d chirped.

Technically, her top. It was a loaner.

Really, you’d tried so goddamned hard to weasel out of it.

You considered pulling an all nighter as an excuse. A painting you’d forgotten to do for art class. A Chem lab final. The fact you didn’t take Chem non-withstanding. Or a sudden very fast acting sick spell to dodge the draft.

Mom’s away. It’s me and Charlie. And she’s on nights now. I can’t leave the house, Linda.

Your door has locks, now doesn’t it? Don’t be square. We’re seniors. One little party to take the edge off.

I’m good with my edges the way they are, thanks.

She wore down your stubbornness with the sugary sweet relentless attitude. Harder than grainy sandpaper against your onerous mood. She won. Softened you into submission. Ground you down and drowned the fight out of you with her strong army of ‘pretty pretty pleases’.

With a heap of maraschino cherries dumped on top for good measure, she wrapped you round her little finger like a silk ribbon with promises of movie nights and lots of beer. Pizza too. And her eternal love and devotion. She promised to buy you some weed. Give you her Soul. Her first born.

She really really wanted you to go with her to this fucking party. God knows why. She’ll spend the night with her jock. Not you.

She sat next to you in the drivers seat. In her hot pink tiered skirt and skinny white high heels. Blond curls all frizzy and piled half up on her head with a pink scrunchie.

Her little lilac purse with a long strap sat perched on your hip. Containing four condoms, gloss, and a pack of lifesavers zipped securely inside.

Told you right away what kinda night she was expecting to have.

She’s brimming with energy cause her meathead is going tonight too. On the basketball team and practically a clone to High School royalty, Jason Carver. And her new squeeze is persona-non-grata with her strict parents for bringing her home once past curfew, and half cut. So this is one of the only chances they get to make out and do hand stuff in the guest bedroom.

Atleast someone’s excited for tonight. And thank god it’s her. You want to stay festering in the land of piss and vinegar with a scowl slapped on your face. Razor slashes of your glaring eyes landing on all those preppy idiots.

Because you liked to sit at an easel, armed with your mad array of bold paints and a brush. And you actually liked and were good at it. That instantly afforded you some hatred from the athlete crowd.

Linda reaches over and nudges you with a bony elbow. Knocking you out your self imposed funk. You side eye her for being a pest. She sing-songs cheery cooing words at you over husky Joan Jett on the radio. Words all prim and sickly like butter wouldn’t even melt.

“C’mmooon. There’ll be drink. I heard that Jason is bringing some of his dads liquor.” She trills away like tweetie pie.

“There’ll be a lot of jocks too. Lot of jocks on a lot of drink. They won’t know the difference between a viable mate and a wet hole in the ground.” You pointed out. Scuffing the door with the tip of your shoe. Black. Faux leather kitten heel boots.

She’d shoved those at you too. The boots. You wore the same size. Annoyingly. Instead of clinging to the comfort of your usual paint spattered reeboks. She wrinkled her nose up and tore your sneakers away from your grip. Turned away to dust more neon pink blush on her cheekbones.

“You’re gross.” She grimaced at you as she turns a corner. The bracelets on her arms slap and click together as she shuffled the wheel.

“Gross but right.” You poured back. Flicking hair out your eyes. It felt stiff and dry with all the stuff she rubbed and sprayed on it. The noxious chemical stink of too much hairspray and her candy-like Revlon perfume choked the interior of her car. You usually kept your hair back with a scrunchie. Possibly with a pencil or a paintbrush tucked into the bun.

“Just try and not be a catty bitch. Get a drink. Have a dance. Take that iron rod out your ass for once.”

“Its good for my posture.” You sniped at her as she smacked her glossy lips together in the rear view - not checking the car behind her or anything important like that.

“Pretty bad for your sex life though. Yours is particularly tragic right now.” She shot back dryly. Dry as sand and that dig was below the belt.

“Volume series tragedy is what I was actually aiming for.” You grinned at her. Layering the charm on thick.

Not letting her blows have anywhere to land. You scooped up her words and threw them back at her before the typical Linda shrapnel got it’s chance to pierce your skin.

It had been a while, sure. But that didn’t mean you were going to a kegger, to get blackout wasted, and end up dry humping the nearest small dicked athlete in a letterman two tone jacket. You liked to think you had taste. And a little modicum of class.

“You know I don’t get to see Jonny very often. Not since he made the team. I’d look like a loser turning up tonight all by myself.” She whines. Bitching. Stomping her foot on the gas pedal like a brat.

“Next thing I’ll have to start having to sit with the freaks at lunch. Christ, can you imagine?” She scoffs. “Me at the losers table with freak Munson and the rest of his social rejects.”

You gave her a look for that. Blasted her your chilly side eye for her small mindedness.

They were nerds, sure. Into D&D, metal music or band.

They weren’t lepers.

God forbid you ever said this aloud. But, you actually admired the way that some people didn’t conform to the mind numbing rules of popular or preppy. You liked that they cared enough to be themselves. Fuck what others say or think. The punk attitude clinging deep in you found it ballsy and brave.

Maybe they were all braver than you were- hiding yourself away in art class or the Library day after day instead of having to decide what table you’d be sorted onto. Or welcomed at. Chained too.

You weren’t entirely sure Linda would save you a space at the table with the royalty. You didn’t belong there. Your clothes weren’t preppy and cute. You didn’t wear bubblegum neon colours. Or trade gossip. You knew who Siouxsie and the Banshees were. That most likely tipped you into nerd territory. Loser crowd recruit.

You’re sure there’d be a place carved out, so where, for one the arty type, like you. Eternally graphite smudged hands, or flecks of paint dried gummy in your hair. Leafing through your sketchbook and scribbling away. Eyes down, plugged into your Walkman and latest Talking Heads or Smiths cassette.

“Could you be more of a stuck up snob?” You asked with rising hilarity in your voice.

“Yeah.” She preened. Slowing down to make the dreaded turn onto Kyles. Bounces the huge clunky thing onto the nearly busy, paved driveway.

“I am dating a jock now, you know.” She hums. Pleased with herself.

Your eye roll was almost audible.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands after and check for crabs.“ You bat your mascara thick lashes all sickly as you coo the words at her.

You grab the beers and grumpily make your feet leave the car. It’s a trudge but you manage it. You slam the car door because you needed to direct your still seething annoyance somewhere.

She bumps her door shut with her hip and properly wiggles her feet into her heels. Long tanned legs of hers bare and peeping out her pink skirt. A gauzy white top and swingy pink earrings stood neon out her bouffant blonde perm. You weren’t flashing nearly as much.

You wore your white leather jacket with the squeezing black and gold belt she nipped around your middle. Made your tits look awesome, and bigger, her words not yours. Her bright blue top that hangs off one shoulder. Soft black jeans and her back heeled pirate boots which click as you walk. She’d been obsessed with Adam Ant for a while.

Onto your wrists she’d threaded yet more bright jewellery. And the plastic hoops dangling from your ears, you kept on having to untangle it from your hair every four seconds. Your wavy fringe kept on flicking in your eyes.

You stand with the beer and look up at the split ranch style house in front of you. Cicadas humming already. The lawn is green and fuzzy short and the street lights cast a dozy orange thrown into pools everywhere. The house is set back and stood alone. Well spaced out from the neighbours. It backed into the tall dark woods. No risk of noise complaints.

Brown wood and overhanging eaves. It’s a big place. Each window lit up a drowsy yellow. And crowds of voices roils. The tell tale whump-whump of whatever lame ass pop music is blasting along and pulsing at the walls and shaking the windows from the inside.

You step towards the front door. Linda actually scurries along in her heels. Jason’s jeep parked right upfront means the cavemen had already descended. She fluffs her hair and grips the door handle. Slowly jerking it open. It was too loud to hear knocks anyway. The party was in full swing already.

The first thing you do when you come inside? Wince.

Club Tropicana is bellowing loudly through the house on what is very clearly very deafening speakers. The drum beats drown your ears. The thrum of the base plucks the air. You feel the thud of it through the thick squashing carpet.

Someone’s made a vain attempt to party up the place. Twinkle lights glimmer in the living room where many bodies are dancing and throwing hands in the air. Fierce chilli red. Neon green. Sapphire sea blue, spots of light dotted and swimming around the dark ceiling where the lights were poorly tacked. Last minute attempt you’re guessing.

Red cups sloshing drink everywhere. Half drunk beer cans and bottles stood on every flat surface. Some toppled over and leaking dark dribbled spots into the carpet. The dank smell of cigarettes and some musty weed clouds the air.

High schoolers are strewn across the couch. Some making out. Two seconds from dry humping right in the open. Some were chatting. Laughing at their own drunkness. Crowding the narrow hallways.

Linda scans around the crowds. Flirtily shimmying her fingers in a wave when she sees her Jock. She almost bounces on the spot. Giddy smile splitting her lipstick.

Her boyfriend lumbers across and you’re quickly forgotten on the doormat. She takes her purse off you. And one of the six packs.

“Bye?” You state to her with a frown as she preened and laughed as they joined hands.

“Find you later.” She breezed. Her smile was so wide. Cheeks full of blush. Fake and real.

“Wrap it before you tap it.” You growl at her. Narrowing your eyes to pin slits. She flips you the bird when she totters off after her gorilla in basketball threads.

Not four seconds later they’re wrapped around each other like leeches. Tongues down throats. Waxy glossy lipstick all over their chins. He whispers something in her ear when they break apart and they wind through crowds headed for the stairs. Beer forgotten. She’s giggling he’s got a shit eating grin on.

That had taken all of eight seconds past your feet crossing the doormat before your abandonment.

When Four Tops starts blasting. You’ve decided; you must seek out some liquor. You can’t be forced to suffer this indignity of a night in any kind of sobriety.

You growl to yourself. Your mood just plummeted so way far down it could be in the South Pole by now. A pit of acid and spiky nails and broken glass was your stomach. Mood went from foul to fouler.

Armed with one six pack, you heft your way to the kitchen. Pushing past dancers and athletes that line the doorways. Elbow past a couple very loudly making out. They don’t even notice your shouldering byYour reward for basically commando busting your way through crowds is the sight of the kitchen. For some reason the lights are off and purple lights are drowning the room. The colour of Lilac and moody nightshade bruises. A huge bowl of ruby red punch half gone sits on the island. Spiked no doubt. Fine by you.

Liquor bottles stand with tops ripped off, cheap whiskey and vodka. Beer kegs on rosy towels on the floor in the far corner. Red solo cups are scattered everywhere. Crushed, used and not. Chips are half eaten in a messy bowl. Popcorn too. Spilled all over the place. You didn’t envy the cleanup.

You grab a clean one and dunk it into the punch. It spills down your fingers and you suck the drips away. Sip some. The terrific cheap sugar of something that tasted like it was trying to be fruity, combined with the bitchy bite of vodka. Perfect.

You lean against the counter and nurse a cup. You dive back for another. The first slipped down way too easily. Cherry red staining your tongue. Vodka seeping into your legs and arms with its lazy sluggish heat.

You wrap one arm around yourself and stand leaning against the counter. The granite dug into the back of your hips painfully.

Some Basketball jocks who barely lift their eyes to regard you as a form of life, bustle rudely past and knock into you. Sloshing your cup to spill down your top. Drink rolls in drips off your chin.

“Watch it loser.” One of them drunkenly snickers at you. Tossed the words carelessly over his shoulder as they go to draw more shitty beer from the keg. His friend laughed at his crass remark to you.

Fuckin meatheads.

You scoff under your breath. Mood sour you slam your hand down on a can of beer and take your still somewhat full cup out the back door you can see left wide open the other side of the island.

You mumble a curse word at them loud enough to hear as you slip past. “Pricks.” You catch one of their hands with their cups so they drop it by surprise.

“Bite me, babe.” One slurs. Leaning over and holding the handle. Opening his arms at you like some twisted invitation. His gruff words didn’t threaten you.

You turn your head and spit words at them. Eyes narrow under your frizzy fringe. The drink helping get your tongue bold.

“Go find some balls to play with. Idiots” you snipe as you feel the delightful sensation of stepping out the house and into the dark back yard.

You brandish the V’s at them with your fingers and your chipped blue nail polish as you slip out the door and into the mild night. Shoes clicking down the steps. You hear their sneers as you leave.

“Stupid bitch.”

You walk around the perimeter of the pool. You don’t want to know why there’s floating beer cans and a bikini top strewn at the bottom.

You keep walking. Your feet only just unsteady. Out towards the very far back of the yard. The dark border of the trees seemed threatening. Huge towering trunks and dark leafy tips barely grazed by the starlight. Silent sentinels of night. No light snuck back here. Barely any orange light from the street or the rooms of Kyles house reaches all the way out here.

There’s ratty lawn chairs and a couple of empty cans rattling around on the lawn. Evidence that some people were partying here before you. But went back inside to dance or drink. Or went into the huge woods looming just behind you for some clandestine privacy. Or to try and scope out a bedroom.

You take your jacket off and spread it beneath you before you settle down on the end of a blue lounger. The plastic creaks with your weight. Sinks just a bit into the spongy grass. You sit yourself down and take your first deep breath.

You look at that busy house down the slope of the garden. The trash floating in the blue square sear of the pool. The windows limned in yellow. Crowds jump and burst within. Many voices and thudding party pop carry out to you. It’s a Madonna song now. Drifting up the grass that freckled, speckled with slithers of ochre light from the street. The other half carved in dark linear shadows.

You were drunk. Slightly. Not wanting to be here. Definitely. On the peripheral like a distant planet in orbit. Trying to find the place you could belong too. You didn’t know if you ever would. For some people it seemed damn easy. The need to fit. To be.

You had your art. Your drawings. Your craving for your Walkman and the solace of your music and what that bought you. Your job at the record store which you live love loved. Even though your boss, Sal, who was mercurial and was all cynical-moody as anything. But underneath that crusty exterior he was good to you. You still loved it.

You had a sad set of dreams pushed back, way back, nesting under your skin.

One day maybe if you were very lucky, you’d be far outta this town living them dreams. You sure as shit hoped so.

It wasn’t so bad. When all was said and done, at the very least, you didn’t just melt into an easy personality to please other people. Slap on a fake persona to get others to like you. Paste it on every morning. Beam a smile and wear things falsely. You couldn’t bear being that shallow just to have girlfriends to chit chat with at lunch. You couldn’t live that way.

When you tip your head back. You find yourself all of a sudden laying back. Body dizzy. Mind swirling. That punch was strong. You suspect it wasn’t just vodka. Maybe some tequila thrown in there too. You drank it too quick to decipher.

You don’t fight the movement. Spreading back. You can see stars. The majesty of the heavens. All those endless scattered white pearls that wink and shimmer in the endless blue between spots of murky smeared cloud.

After a long minute, you sit up to keep on knocking back your drinks.

You toss back more red vodka punch and don’t stop until the cup is empty. Red dregs. The wonderful snap of vodka makes you hiss through the sting as you finish it.

Nothing is stopping you tonight. One down, then you’re cracking open the cold beer. The satisfying hiss and the hoppy cheap mist spurts over your fingers.

“Here’s to edges.” You toast your beer up to no one. “Mine in particular.”

Your head felt fuzzy. Your tongue loose. You welcomed the sensation. Let it bleed through you and unwind the taut bowstring of your tension. You could really use a smoke right about now. You have to hide them at home. Charlie wouldn’t approve.

You swig the beer. It’ll have to do. It’s definitely cheap and tasted like it. But it’s cold and you just need to unwind your tightening steel wire spool of anger.

Fucking Linda. Fucking Jocks. Dragging you here only to ditch you in favour of sucking face and now probably busy right now sucking other body parts with her gorilla of a boyfriend.

You kick one of the crumpled cans on the lawn with your pirate booted foot. The resounding crunch and rattle comes off far far louder than you’d thought. Knocking off into the trees. Bouncing back like a slap, off the house.

It’s then you hear that maybe you didn’t have as much privacy as you had previously thought.

An odd sort of whispered hissing starts growing louder. The steady crunch of a twig being broken underfoot. Rustling of brittle paper leaves under a sneakered foot. The distant tang of Marlboro smoke curling around the trees.

Someone. Or more than one someone, was in the woods behind you.

The voice comes again. Deep enough to be a guys. Pitchy enough to still be a whisper. “The fuck was that?”

Another voice answers. Louder. Confident. Whispers not tamping down his volume. His tone is mocking.

“Look man, I don’t have all night. Quit wasting my time. 25 for a half ounce. Or I walk away right now and take the sweet stuff with me.”

Your drunk head strains to hear more. You lean further back. Like that will make one scrap of difference. You slosh down more beer and listen through the breeze ruffling the imposing wall of trees.

You hear some more rustling. The unsteady shuffling of feet. A sighed huff. The slap of something into an open palm.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” The sarrcy confidence voice answers. There’s a soft rustling of a plastic baggie.

“Whatever, freak.” Comes the grumble.

“My, my, Such manners. You kiss your mommy with that mouth.” Sneers back the voice. Lilt of humour and sarcasm composing his words.

You turn your head back to see someone break out the shadow swallow of the tree line. A guy in a letter man jacket breaks away and stalks drunkenly through the garden on wobbling legs. Shoving something like a crinkly plastic bag down deep into his pocket. Green and white baseball cap backwards on his head.

He doesn’t seem to notice you sat in your spot. When you raise your beer to take another sip your movement catches his eye. He almost trips over his own feet. Frowns at you.

“What you staring at, loser?” He barks grumpily at you. Bit his teeth around the insult.

You don’t offer a response. You swallow your retort down.

Something about pot making you lose brain cells, him not being so stupid as to take the risk. Needs all the help he can get.

You kinda hate yourself for staying silent But you let it go. You chug more beer. And just try and sit here and not feel.

He turns back and lumbers his stupid way back towards the house. Feet stomping over empty beer cans. You swallow down more beer and watch the party continue on without you.

Apparently, so was someone else.

A sudden flick coming from behind you makes you startle. Twisting back. A lighter being struck to life as this amazingly noiseless person behind you finally came out the tree line.

“That was one hell of a charming duuude.” Mocked the voice. Snorting laughter at the disappearing Jocks back. Marlboro red clamped between his lips. Smoke slithering out his smile. Between the cracks of his straight teeth.

When you saw who it belonged too. You weren’t even suprised. Who else could it be-

Who else would be doing a drug deal on the outskirts of a high school party, in the woods, at almost eleven at night, but Eddie “the freak” Munson.

The undisputed ruler of the geeks table in the cafeteria. Adored by his crowd of younger freshmen. His followers. His little band of devoted lost sheep. Recruited to the dark side to play his sadistic D&D campaigns. This older senior who was always gilded in chunky metal rings, chain bracelets, and rock and roll.

Something about him from afar shrieked messy danger; whether it was the careless swagger he walked with, or the unpredictability of when he’d burst into something crazy or unstable.

Climb on tables, throw food, shout at the top of his lungs with his hands cupped beside his mouth. Antagonise Jason and his pack of Jocks every chance he got. Spray paint ‘Hail Satan’ in glaring neon red across Principal Higgins door like he did last semester.

That last one was technically a rumour that it was him who did it, but you still kinda believed it to be dead true. It seemed his style.

He saw how you’d sprang around to look at him. Heart kicking in your chest as he made you jump.

“Sorry. Shit. Didn’t mean to startle you there.” He held his hands up. Skull bandana in his back pocket flapping against his ripped jeans. Orange tip of the cigarette burned bright like an evil eye in the dark. Lighting up his face and his pillowy lips.

His earlier cocky confidence seemed to have been flipped away, perhaps as a sign of how genuinely he meant his words.

You watch him slowly saunter across to where you’re sat. Nimble footsteps on the soft grass in his sneakers. The only noise coming from how the chain on his jeans swung into his legs. The zips and some of the metal badges on his jacket shining dully in the night air.

The deep tar pit of those black eyes tugged you in. The frizzy rockstar mane curling down to his shoulders. Sticky Ink black, echoing the shade of his eyes. The messy cut of his Jean jacket draped over leather. That blood red demon blazoned on his white raglan Hellfire Club t-shirt - you’d never seen him wear anything else.

“You’re the least scary thing I’ve come across tonight. Trust me.” You tell him. Sipping more beer. Hearing it slick around against the sides of the can.

You weren’t sure why but him being here had you on edge. You didn’t get nervous walking through a whole house of preppy morons. But here, now, you notice nervousness crunching down on your stomach.

Why nervous?

Not because you were scared of him. You felt safer alone with him out here than any of those knuckle-heads inside.

You think in some warped kinda way you wanted to impress him-

Ok, where in the cursed fucking pits of hell had that proclivity bloomed from?

He stops a decent distance away from you. You couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. He was looking at you warily.

You stared at the grass below your borrowed pointy leather shoes and the half empty warm beer in your hands.

“Are you, uhm. Alright?” He seeks. Gone was the earlier plucky confidence. His voice is fully tender.

“Oh I’m just peachy, thanks.” You smite nicely at him. Voice dripping dark sarcasm.

Those wild black eyes narrow with more concern.

“Sure about that?” He checks. Voice tipping up. Smoke exhaling from his mouth.

You summon the courage to look over at him. Bewildered.

He explains by tapping his finger twice under his eye. Still looking intrigued.

You shrink in self consciously. Folding in. Wipe under your eyes. When you bring back your hand, mascara sits weepy and smeared on your finger. Probably running under your eyes a little in your annoyed frustration. You hadn’t realised.

You sniff and wipe your eyes. Who cares anyway. No one was looking at your makeup. They weren’t bothered with you. That stung. But it was true.

Eddie was the first person to actually acknowledge you as a fully fleshed human being. To actually speak to you.

“It’s nothing. Really.” You assure him. Smiling mildly. Unable to believe the guy who had the words loser and freak tossed at him like bullets every damn day is asking you if you’re okay.

“Don’t worry I’m not so wasted that I’m out here sobbing by myself. You don’t have to deal with an emotional girl.” You consider your mood. “Maybe a pissed off one though-“ You added softly.

You loosened your grip on your beer. Flicking your fringe out your eyes again.

“Hey-“ He starts. And it’s so sweetly tender it makes your lungs skip. His voice seems to deepen a little from that anarchistic shriek and shout you often hear from him.

You peer over under your kinked fringe. He thinks how freakin adorable it looks on you. Hits him like a freakin clap of lightning.

Your hair all wild and teased, back combed to hell, and then those eyes. Doe, bambi, sparkling eyes shining in the dark. Side of your face caught all caramel smooth in the peachy-orange light from the street. Despite the smudged eye makeup blacking under your eyes, actually, he kinda likes that dark smouldering look.

You’re fucking pretty.

Fancy that. Eddie Freak Munson talking to a real pretty girl at a High School party. What’s becoming of him?

“You’re out here drinking alone, sweetheart. I just put two and two together is all. My mistake.” He admits sheepishly. Meshing his fingers together as he spoke. Animated. You watched the way his rings glinted in the darkness. Cig wobbling on his lips as he spoke.

“Well. It’s coming out four. Munson.” You admitted gently.

Your very girlish instincts did a little elated hop with the way he called you sweetheart. Those idiots inside had called you a bitch and loser. He had called you sweetheart-

“You know my name.” He grinned all boyish. Hands on his hips, clasping onto a belt that had a handcuff buckle.

“Colour me impressed.” He flits a wink at you. “I didn’t know we were on a surname basis.”

“You’re the local troublemaker and weed dealer. Of course I know your name.” You answer. You didn’t live under a rock.

“Mommy and Daddy have my picture pinned on the dart board at home, huh sweetie?” He tilts his head again and grins all wide and playful. Framing his face with his thumbs and hands like a mock photograph. Smoking cig trickling lazily up to the sky.

He walks a slow circle around you on the lounger. He can’t keep still evidently. Kicking beer cans out the way. Kicks one down the slope of the lawn. Comes back around you like he’s assessing you coolly. Casually. Grey smoke trails in his wake.

Something tells you he’s almost proud of the accomplishment of being considered near infamous. Anything but the poisonous fucking trap of being considered ‘normal.’

“Yeah. They show me a picture of you every morning. Your face slapped over wanted posters serve as a warning to parents all over Hawkins county.” You joked with fake gravity. “I might be indoctrinated into your dangerous devil D&D cult if I don’t watch out.”

“I relish the chance to corrupt more innocent souls. Especially pretty ones.” He says in a mock gravelly devil voice. Sticking his tongue out at you. Widening his eyes to look scary. It makes you almost spit out a mouthful of beer for laughing.

He’s a goof under all that threatening metal persona. You suspect a soft warm heart of gold lurks under that denim and leather chest too.

You offer out the can of beer to him. “Sorry. It’s a little warm but-“

He smiles and stands for a moment. Assessing you. Eyes growing almost warm.

“Poisoned, Snow White?” He jokes.

“I don’t need that on my conscience. Not to mention the stoners in school would flay me alive for taking you out.” You comment. Waving the can out at him between two fingers.

“Sold.” He says.

He drifts in just close enough to take it from you. His rings clack against the thin metal. Crosses and skulls and all things bad bad bad and demonic adorn his hands.

“Sharing beer and we’re not even on a first name basis.” He says as he takes it and pulls back a swig.

You absolutely kick yourself for the way you watch his neck elongate from tipping his head back to drink. Hair down his back. Wavy over his shoulders.

You give him your name. First and last. It tumbled out your mouth before you could stop it. Your drunkenness sliding you right on into trouble.

He raised the can at you in a salute. Repeated your surname at you. Rolled it around his mouth. As if he was tasting it like he was the beer.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He smirked as he did a mock bow and dipped his head at you. Swigging the beer once more.

You bite your lip and wipe your clammy hands on your soft jeans as you turn away and force yourself to look at something much less- distracting. Dangerous?

You settle on looking at the house. Music still bouncing out the place. Voices spilling out boisterous. You watched a guy stumble out the back door to puke into the bushes by the kitchen window. Maybe a newbie.

Eddie saw it but ignored it. Kept his dark gaze stuck on you instead.

“How’s it you ended up out here?” He asked. Passing the can back to into your hand. You take it and cold silver rings brush your hand. Sparks skip over your skin.

“Well. Firstly the music-” You grimaced.

He chuckled archly.

“Fuckkkk I know right? This party could totally use some Motörhead.” He proclaimed.

“Or some Talking Heads.” You agreed.

His eyes lit up. “Stop making sense.” He said approvingly. You smiled at the inside joke.

“I did actually come with someone. But they ditched me before we were even in the front door. They’re upstairs right now, and probably having sex on the pile of coats in the guest room.” You estimate.

You watched Eddie’s brows raise up a little. Ballsy.

“That’s real shitty.” He states without hesitation. But that smile is creeping back.

“Tell me to get lost if it is none of my business. Sweetie. But uh, did you come here with a… boy. A boy who is maybe a friend. A boyfriend?” He seeks slowly. His head tilting. Rolling his hands as he talked. Manic sprinkled on manic.

Leaning to one side as he asked. That floppy hair leaning over his shoulder. Coming closer and making an unsure grimace as he slowly chewed over that last word. Cig at his side between two fingers.

You shake your head for no. His eyes glint a little.

No boyfriend. Knows who Talking Heads are. Goddamn it, he may have to start turning up the dial to flirt with you some point soon.

His smile turns up at the corners. How have you never noticed that under that manic rock n roll energy it’s actually such a great smile.

He takes another drag and spun away for a second to toss away his cig before it burned out. You hear the way the chains on his arms hit the leather jacket across his chest.

You clarify as to why you were here. How you were dragged along here by your teeth.

“My party friend, Linda, dragged me here. Blonde perm. No braincells, lots of leg and hormones. Idiot Jock strap for a boyfriend.” You explain.

“Alright for some.” Eddie grins at you. His eyes look sharp as black ice in the dark.

“I guess.” You smile. Stretching your feet out. “Maybe not for her though.” You snark in dirty insinuation. It makes him smile across at you.

You both laugh at your joke and it softens him a little to see it.

He spins away and suddenly hops up onto the lawn chair near to you. Flurry of energy. Standing on it and trying to keep his balance. You looked up at him where he stood. Dirty sneakers balancing on the plastic slats.

“I swear I do know you from some place.” He says. A calculative look on his face. He repeats your surname again. Tasting it in his mouth. Arms now crossed over his chest. He leans towards you so slightly. Bending down.

“Uh, School?” You state obviously.

He clicks his tongue. Looks mischievous. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

That figures, actually.

“Big building. Students. Teachers. Classrooms. Finals.” You explain.

He’s walking up the lounger. Testing precarious steps on the cracking plastic. “It’s vaguely familiar to me.” The chain on his leg swings again with his steps.

“We had a history together in middle school. Mrs Grey’s class.” You offer. Though he’d looked different then, his mannerisms weren’t dissimilar to now.

Just now he had the demon tats and rocker hair to back it up.

“We did?” He questions. Or states. He’s unsure. Or testing the waters. You can’t tell. His mystery is his charm. Unreadable expression.

You remember some of his antics. You doubt he’d ever turned his eyes toward the classroom board even once the whole semester.

On the days he deigned to turn up, he usually spent more time scribbling his own little lyrics or campaign ideas over the assignment paper he’d been given on his desk. Or drawing devils, monsters and skulls with leering forked tongues, in a thick stubby sharpie. He took tormenting your teacher as a personal mission.

Any time he was called on, he answered with bite, with wit and a - deeply buried disguised - degree of intelligence that meant he could walk this class - if he really, really wanted too. You found it almost admirable. It was almost enough to make you develop a crush on him.

His dislike for conformity and following the establishment rules had him cemented as this jagged little pill of a troubled guy who couldn’t care less about school. Or grades. People looked at him and saw no more than trailer trash trouble. The rebel Munson kid who lives in the trailer park off Kerley.

“I’m memorable from all the way back then?” He asks. Doubting he was even worth remembering from last week. Let alone going back years.

“Yeah. You made me laugh.” You tell him bravely.

Whether it was the way he snuck in late, or asked to borrow a pencil. Threw balled up pieces of paper at the popular crowd to antagonise. Made stupid distorted faces behind Mrs Grey’s back. Contradicted her til she was red in the face.

“I sat behind you, didn’t I?” He remembered. Then he snaps his fingers. His chain leather bracelet jangles. “Pencil girl.”

You nod. “Nice nickname.”

He drops suddenly in a jump to the ground. Burst of energy. Sits himself facing you on the end of the lounger. Knees spread. Holds out a flat hand to you to shake.

“Nice to properly meet you again. Pencil girl.” He grins at you.

You blush. You actually feel your blush crawl it’s molten way up your cheeks. Eddie Munson is offering his ring clad hand out for you to shake.

You meet his eyes as you look over and take it. Slip you palm into his warm one. Clutch of metal surrounding your fingers as you shake. The brackets on your arms clack together as you jerk your arm.

“Nice to properly meet you too, Eddie.” You grin.

His eyes look warm as he beams at you. Those dark eyes all melting and dark liquid chocolate in their gaze. Your knees almost brush his ripped jean kneecaps where you’re leant over to shake his hand.

He seems awfully unconcerned about letting go of your hand any time soon.

Because he’s come closer to you, you can smell the beer on his breath and the the sharp acrid of cigarettes woven into his clothes. Along with some faintly tangy scent of weed, powdery laundry detergent.

Up close he’s even more terrifying. Those wild eyes bordered in shade by that even wilder tangle of hair.

“How come I rarely see you around. Pencil girl.” He asks genuinely. Sliding his hand out of yours at last. When you break away to look at his hand sliding off yours, you only realise then you’d been staring.

“Well I do actually go to my classes.” You tease.

He clutched over his heart like he’d been pierced with a mortal wound. Choked, Gasped your name.

“Mean.” He grins. Those melting eyes turn all puppyish. Holding the space over his heart like it hurt.

“I guess I mostly live in the Art classroom at school. Or the library. That’s where I am most days. Most lunches and my free periods.” You tell him.

He smirks. You can’t tell what that means.

“You’re telling me you’re secretly one of us.” He lowers his voice to a whisper.

You frown. Oh it’s a good look on you. It bunches up little wrinkles between your brows.

“One of us?”

“A freak.” Eddie grins. His grin slowly grows.

“Is that an official diagnosis? Dungeon master?” You ask him.

Twisting to fully face him where you sit on the lounger. You feel Linda’s top slide down your shoulder. Your bra strap is showing. Eddies eyes flick to it for the barest second.

“Totally. I hereby brand thee. Fellow freak. Pencil girl. Welcome to the club.” He puts his hands over his hair, mimes placing a crown on your head. Arms outstretched around your head. Surrounding your puffed up hair.

You smile. The scent of warm old leather and cigarettes smacks you in the nose. He waved his fingers either sides of your temples. Your stomach squirms. Butterflies kicked to life.

He’s a freak. And a goof. And so are you.

And, oh christ, you think you might like him-

“Great. So when’s my swearing in ceremony. What do we do? Sacrifice virgins or goats, what?” You play around.

“Friday nights. I’m afraid the sacrificing of virgins is messy. But necessary.” He waggles his brows. Trying to look serious. You doubt he ever looked serious in his life.

You snort. You can’t help it. You cover your mouth. He shakes with laughter too. Chest bouncing with it.

Your head is swimming drunk and you can only just believe you’re sat out here shooting the shit with Eddie Munson of all people.

And for once in your life, you’re enjoying one of these terrible shitty parties.

The new music dancing across the lawn catches Eddies ears. The mellow base and chirpy singing.

He rolls his eyes over to the house in disgust. ‘Just the two of us’ is crooning across the lawn. Tacky. Saxaphone riff, and Bill Withers smooth whiskey-dulcet voice.

“I’m gonna be puking in the bushes soon if they carry on with that shit.” He nudged his head across to the open door. The golden rectangle of the kitchen door that glowed in the night. Spilling light up the slanted yard.

“I think, my friend isn’t going to be surfacing any time soon.” You wince at the thoughts and all that could possibly entail. Whether or not she’d bother to come find you. Skirt twisted around her waist. Lipstick all smeared around her puffy mouth. Hair mushed. Cheeks glowing.

You should go and find her. But- you really don’t want too. Nothing could move you from this lounger.

“I should go back inside.” You say out loud. You stay stock still.

Eddie shoots you a look. Disbelieving.

“Listen. Anyone who sits on the outskirts of this fuckin idiotic makeout party and listens to Talking Heads is plenty alright with me. You’re better off.” He points a thumb into his Hellfire clad chest when he says ‘me’.

Where his t-shirt was disturbed, you see a dark triangle of a guitar pick on a necklace around his neck. Some ink on his skin. You want to see just exactly where those tats end and begin.

Your gaze is drawn to the house as a gang of jocks come out to the back yard. Some to stand and chat with their friends. Some to smoke. They seem to have clocked you both. Eddies mood changes.

“Let me give you a ride home, pencils.” Eddie says suddenly out of nowhere. His voice took on a deeper tone. Duller.

You aren’t sure you heard him right. What?

You turn back and see a very sincere look stained across that anarchistic expression. His eyes almost deepen.

“Are you serious?” You ask him.

“Not often. But just then? Yeah. I wouldn’t feel right walking away, leaving a pretty girl like you alone and vulnerable out here. Not with that crowd of assholes circling.” Eddie says as he scans along the row of them with, clearly, no love lost in his tone.

“Uhm.” You churn over your thoughts. Fragments of choppy sense returning to your tipsy head. “Yeah ok, Sure. Thanks.”

Eddie smiles. That palm of his is offered to you once again. And you take it.

You wobble on your feet on the soft grass.

He smiles. Steadies your elbows with his hands. Both hands clutching on for your safety. He draws you close. Just a little. His dark eyes dart with slight starlight.

“Us freaks gotta stick together. Man.” And then comes that rock n roll mischief smirk. Your belly melts.

You think you like being a freak after all.

🕷 Fancy a sneak at the next part? 🕷

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