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curiositydooropened · 2 years

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Cherry Flavored Summer [Chapter One] ☀

The summer of '85 is as hot and sticky as any other, but when Eddie runs into you on his shift at Big Buy, he thinks this year might be his year. Set during season 3.

Pairing: Eddie x femme punk!reader

Wordcount: 8048

Warnings: eventual smut [under 18 DNI please!], drug use, mentions of prison, death, knives, guns, canon typical violence

No Tag List, please follow my library!

Masterlist • Library • Ao3

Chapter Two

Tuesday, June 25th, 1985

The stockroom at Bradley’s Big Buy was hotter than hell. That sweltering, mid-summer heat that clung shirts to backs and curled the hair at the base of necks, and everything in the air wreaked of sweat and that particular static in the air before an electrical storm. The five big box fans had been reduced to one, Robert was worried about blowing the generator, a low hum beneath the grunts and groans of the stock team unloading the weekly shipment. Hot dog buns and crates of ketchup bottles and bags of chips being slung between strong, clammy hands.

The second the truck pulled away, Eddie had slumped himself on a spare crate in the shade and lit a cigarette, hands shaking from heat exhaustion and hard work, and he needed something to take the edge off. His hands left salty sweat on his lips and around the butt, and his mouth filled with hot smoke and that familiar buzz of nicotine. Three puffs in, and his name called from the loading dock rippled a shudder down his spine.

He turned over one shoulder to see Robert, clipboard in hand, waving Eddie over.

Eddie waved his cigarette in return, tempted to tell the manager to fuck right off, and that he was entitled to a smoke break. Even if he’d just had one an hour earlier.

“Gladys is on her break,” Robert huffed. “And I need someone in freezers. People are getting a little too handsy with the popsicles.”

Well, he said the magic word. Eddie stamped his cigarette into the concrete and hoisted himself up the side of the building to the loading dock above, wiping grimy hands against the khaki of his uniform bottoms. Robert grimaced at the stains left behind. “Need me to fight off the crowds?” Eddie grinned.

“Just make sure to keep an eye out for those kids again. We can’t afford another hundred dollars in lost products.” The manager tutted, and Eddie offered a hand-to-forehead salute and pushed past him toward the reprieve of the refrigerated aisles.

Jesus, there was really nothing like it, the smooth chill of air conditioning and frosted glass beneath his fingertips. On slower nights, when spring had just turned to summer and the sun was setting later, heating the pavement and lighting the front windows in deep golds, Eddie would wander to the fridges and stick his face in, just to feel the sting of cold air on his lungs. He’d palm the frozen peas and press cold fingers to the back of his neck beneath his grown out hair. And if it was really, really slow, and if Robert had gone home early, he’d tuck himself into the corner that provided a blindspot from the security cameras, and he’d indulge in a stolen popsicle or two. Cherry or orange only, couldn’t risk dying his tongue for the cashiers and bag boy to see.

This particular Tuesday afternoon in June, the freezer section was hopping. An abundance of chaos in the form of frantic suburban housewives and their tantrum-throwing kids. They were shoving TV dinner after Eggo box into their carts and pushing around other customers who were just there for that same pea-palming reprieve. Eddie actually stumbled into the frozen pizza section to find a robust woman cooling her tits against a Meat Lovers box, and when they made eye contact, she seemed too relieved with the cold to care that she’d been caught.

He made a half-nod and shuffled around the corner for the ice cream to pull stock forward and keep an eye on those popsicles and any shit kids that might be about. He made a mental note to shove a couple of cherries in the back for later.

Fifteen minutes -and ten blissfully numb fingers- later, the rush had died down. He glanced at his watch, digital numbers frosted a bit around the edges, and let out an exhale of relief. Only about a half hour left on the clock, and he was free to head down to the Hideout to meet the boys. He slowed his shuffle a little, hoping to spend the last of his shift in refrigerator bliss.

Three pints of Rocky Road in, a groaned “fuuuuuuck” from down the aisle caught his attention, and he turned on his heel to find the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Combat boots in June, black jean cut-offs and fishnet stockings, a black t-shirt hand-cut and hand-tied up the ribcage, exposing smooth skin beneath, a mop of hair. You stood in front of an opened cooler door, bright blue basket discarded at your left side as you craned your neck to stare up at the very back of the top shelf.

Rocking up on the balls of your feet, you extended every line of your body upward and into the freezer. Calves curled into meaty thighs, and the fabric of your shirt rose up, knots in your sides exposing the curve of your breasts against the frosted shelves before you.

Eddie’s mouth went dry. Not like he was stoned, but like he was parched for words, unable to think around the buzzing in his skull and the rush of blood pumping through his heart to his extremities. He took a languid step toward you, his sneakers acting before the thoughts telephoned in, and the sealing of his freezer door startled you back on both heels. You made eye contact, your brows furrowed in frustration over thickly lined eyes.

“Hey,” you nodded.

“H-hey, hi,” Eddie scuffed at a skid mark on the linoleum.

“Think you can help me?”

His sneakers move of their own volition again, squeaking against the ground as he stumbled your direction. “Ye-yes. Um… yeah.” Jesus, what was wrong with him? Words, Munson. Words.

You cocked a singular brow and stepped out of the way, holding the cooler door open. “I need that last tub of USS Butterscotch.”

You were between him and the ice cream now, and twice as beautiful up close, all raccoon eyed. From this angle, he could make out the sweat sticking your hair to your temples, the mascara smudged near your brow bone. You wore a studded leather bracelet and a chain dipped below the sliced v in your neckline, and Eddie struggled to swallow the saliva pouring back into his mouth as he trailed the silver on your skin.

You cleared your throat, and in a panic, he lunged forward and reached out for the tub of ice cream you’d requested.

That Scoops Ahoy bullshit was leaving the store in droves, ever since the mall opened. Something about cheap residents not wanting to pay ridiculous prices for a cone, but they can’t get enough of that sweet, soft goodness.

This particular tub must have been out of reach for a while. The sides had begun to crystalize, paper top lined with a layer of ice over the label. “Shit, this one’s kind of old. We might get some in our shipment tomorrow.” He offered, finally his mouth caught up with his panicked brain, or vice versa.

“No, that’s fine. It’s not for me. If the kid gets sick and dies, it’s her own damn fault,” you huffed, ruffling thin fingers through your hair. You scent, damp and leather and shampoo, maybe a hint of cherry lipgloss, wafted into the air.

He turned to face you, cooler frosting his backside, chest and face heated at the proximity, and he watched in slow agony as you bent to pick up your discarded basket, the v-neck of your t-shirt dipping just-so, giving him a wider view of the curvature of your skin and the pendant on your necklace, and he rushed two, three, five feet away from you.

“Hey, I said the old one’s fine!” You called, taking a few steps toward him.

He stared down at the tub in a vice grip and licked his lips, nodding. “Yeah, sorry. I have to walk it to the register for you.”

“What, why?”

He swallowed. Shit, yeah, why? “Uh…” He looked down the aisle, anywhere but your approaching figure and the upset hem of your shirt. His eyes settled on the security camera in the corner, just above the blindspot. “We have a theft problem.”

You scoffed, rolled your eyes. “Oh come on, I’m not going to steal a tub of ice cream.”

“No,” he shook his head, cradling the tub in his arm. Anything to keep his core temperature down. “Not you. This shit is popular. I’m not having you get mugged between here and check out.”

You cocked another eyebrow at that. “You think someone, between here and check out, is going to mug me for a tub of USS Butterscotch?”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. You were right. He was being absolutely ridiculous, panicked, flustered. He hadn’t felt this way in years, not since Chrissy Cunningham told him his band was cool at the middle school talent show. And that was Queen fucking Chrissy, prissy Chrissy, goodie-two-shoes Chrissy in her pastels with a bow on top. She had nothing on you.

He allowed himself to rake your frame one last time, boots to hips to clavicle, and flushed when he met your irritated gaze. “Yeah, these suburban moms can get crafty. Last week, I saw a lady knife someone for the last bag of everything bagels.”

You snorted at that, and your glossy lips upturned ever-so-slightly, but you ultimately narrowed your eyes into black-rimmed slits and sighed. “Fine.”

Eddie grinned. “You done shopping?” He glanced into your basket, cheese puffs, pizza rolls, a 2-liter of Coke, a magazine, face-down exposing a perfume ad with a leggy blonde.

You tucked your basket into your chest to stop his snooping and nodded, pointing toward check out. “Yes. Let’s be quick about this. I have shit to do.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiled, stepping in line beside you to make small strides toward check out. He could feel the crystals melting against his arm where his t-shirt dampened and his fingers tingled. “You must not be from around here then. Or you’d know that there’s nothing to do in Hawkins.”

You ignored his comment, tossing a bag of gummy bears into your basket from an end cap.

“You come in for the new mall?” He tried again, ducking his head to catch your gaze.

You narrowed your eyes. “No. Everyone in Hawkins this chatty?”

He grinned at that, nodding, hair shaggy in his eyes. “Just the knife-wielding ones.”

It was much warmer by the registers, the fan above the automatic doors just blowing the heat inward. Brenda was on her shift, wavering on her feet at the register, popping gum between bright red lips. You hauled your basket up and onto the conveyor belt. He deposited your ice cream.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“I know.” You sighed, picking double mint gum off the stand.

“You’ve heard of me?” He smiled at that, wracking his brain for who you were. He knew he’d never seen you before. There was no way he’d forget those legs, those eyes, the dip of your nose.

You turned to him then and tapped black fingernails against the metal nameplate on his chest.

He sucked in his cheeks at that and nodded. “Right, well…”

“Well,” you tutted. “Thank you, Eddie, for protecting me from ice cream thieves, but I think,” you squinted at the cashier in front of you, “Brenda can take it from here. You are carrying a knife, aren’t you Brenda?”

Brenda stared back at you like you were something that slithered through her front door and into her happy space, and Eddie’s stomach skipped at the thought of that.

You took her nonresponse as an answer and whipped some cash out of your wallet. “Oh weird, hoped it might be company policy. Guess you never know when a creep’s going to follow you around the grocery store.”

Brenda took the cash with long fingernails and found you the correct change while you tossed your goods into a paper bag.

“Don’t worry,” you flashed him a wry smile, just over the brown paper. “Eddie will protect you.”

“Who?” Brenda scoffed, and you laughed at that, a loud, guffaw of a laugh that punctured right through his skull and radiated down his body.

You gave him a nod of goodbye and stepped out into the fading sunlight, a halo of honeyed sunshine sucking you into its radiant glow.

Eddie cursed and leaned against the register, running a hand over his face, fingers still wet from the outside of your ice cream tub.

“You’re carrying a knife? I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed.” Brenda scoffed from beside him, but he was too happy to protest, instead pushing off her conveyor belt with a friendly smile and a bow as he slipped back down to the freezer aisle to retrieve his cherry popsicle. He’d think of you while he ate it, the smell of your lipgloss, and the ice in your stare.

—

Your cousin’s house smelled like melted Legos and burned hair, that acrid hot of too small a house with the oven turned on in the heat of summer. The kind of heat that prickled goosebumps of relief throughout your body the moment you opened her freezer to drop in the ice cream.

“Remind me why I’m staying with you in this Hell-hole.” You shouted across the house to where your cousin, Kelly, was getting ready in the back bedroom.

She exited her room, pulling a worn tank top over her head and shrugged. “Because your parents kicked you out and you have nowhere else to go rent free?”

You collapsed into the nearest barstool with a sigh. She was right. Your parents booted you, reminding you that you were an adult, and if you weren’t interested into adhering to their standards of music and dress code, you could figure it out on your own. So naturally, cousin Kelly in Hawkins, Indiana was your only option. You loved Kelly. She was only a couple of years older, and she was a tough broad, not afraid of anything, a real Midwesterner. And you knew she’d offer you room and board as long as you pitched in every once in a while for groceries.

“You going like that?” She scoffed, picking at the shoulder seam of your handmade top.

“What’s wrong with this?” You asked, peeling the thin fabric from the sweat of your lower back. You grimaced. “Okay, maybe I will change.”

The doorbell rang from the front room, and Kelly waved you off to answer it. “Hurry up, my shift starts in ten.”

With a sigh, you heard her greet the babysitter, Vickie, and as you walked toward the guest bedroom, Kelly’s little tyke, Josie, scuttled past you with a squea of excitement. Josie was nearly five, and sassy as all Hell. It actually made you proud, the amount of shit that kid gave you. She ran in screaming Vickie’s name, clutching a Barbie in one hand and a hair brush in the other.

You laughed, shook your head, and weighed a few shirt options from your open suitcase on the guest room floor. Kelly invited you to work with her, claiming that Tuesday nights were fun because there was a live band that was “your style” whatever the hell that meant. You were always weary of the phrase, knowing that there was no way you’d be interested in a live band from Hawkins, but you wanted to support Kelly, and you supposed you should get out of the house now before you were sick of it, see what this podunk town had to offer.

Sliding your shoulders through a leather vest, you heard your name called from across the house, and you rushed your snap buttons and stomped across the house to meet your screeching cousin. Josie sat in the lap of a red headed girl with a huge eyes and an incredibly startled look on her face. You offered a soft smile and wave.

“That’s my cousin,” Josie pointed out, carding her fingers through Barbie’s hair while the babysitter worked through the girl’s. “She doesn’t conform.” She said with a shrug, as though that were a completely normal thing for a kid to say.

You grinned and ruffled Barbie’s hair.

“Hey!”

“Vickie,” Kelly interrupted. “You know the drill. We’ll be back around 1.” And before you or Josie could protest further, she was grabbing you by the forearm and yanking you out the door.

Hawkins really was podunk. You noticed it on your way in, and now, driving through the little downtown streets with the windows rolled down, everything smelled of cow shit and iron and that tang of electricity in the air. The clouds had settled in, that rich grey-green, and seemingly everyone had tucked in for the night.

As you approached the Hideout, the bar your cousin tended, you noticed a handful of bikes outside, a station wagon, and a faded brown van parked in the alleyway next door. You cranked up the window and stepped out onto the sidewalk, following the line of bikes past the gaggle of smokers out front and into the small town bar.

It was surprisingly busy, for a Tuesday, mostly old men. Two old ladies played pool in biker attire, sipping cold ones that dripped condensation onto the felt below. You heard the familiar tune up of guitars in the back corner, and peered around a few heads to see a group of musicians huddled around a drum set. They all wore leather jackets, despite the broiling heat.

“Want a coke?” Kelly offered, sidling up behind the bar and getting started on a few drinks for the regulars that greeted as she entered.

“A beer?” You offered with a smile.

Your cousin made a face and nodded across the bar to a booth with a handful of men sharing beers. The largest wore a Tom Selleck mustache and a tired look on his face. You frowned back at Kelly.

“That’s the chief of police, Hopper. There’s no way in hell I’m serving you beer in here, lady.”

You sighed and nodded. “Coke please.” And twisted round in your seat to people watch a little more. You were curious about the band, and tilted your head past the pool players to see a surprisingly familiar face.

On lead guitar, stepping up to his position to start their little gig, was the long haired, puppy-dog-eyed Eddie from the grocery store. You barely recognized him, long hair shoved under a skull-print bandana, khakis and blue polo swapped for black jean shorts, cropped just above knobby knees, and an Iron Maiden t-shirt, sleeves torn to expose the sinewed arms of a guitarist. But the moment he turned his head to the crowd, cast his eyes toward the bar, you saw the look of recognition flash across his face, the subtle upturn of those plump lips, and he offered you a nod in greeting.

You nodded back, cool and calm, as you turned back to face the bar. You spotted his gaze in the bar-back mirror, unable to escape it. You rolled your eyes and bit back a treacherous smile, an odd buzz kicking at your chest.

Kelly slid you a red plastic cup, full to the brim with ice and fizzy cola. You tapped your fingers anxiously against the bubbled texture. This wasn’t how your summer was supposed to go. You were supposed to go it alone, be independent. And you promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for another God Damn metal head who didn’t know his ass from his elbow, and sure as Hell couldn’t find the clit.

“You good? Want fries or something?” Kelly asked, eyebrows etched in worry.

Your first instinct was to ask a question about him, Eddie from the grocery store, Eddie the guitarist, but you rethought it, knew Kelly would just give you shit. So instead, you tossed a straw into your drink, watched it bob, and nodded. “Fries sound great.”

Then the music started. A skull pounding reverb of distortion via an amp way too close to the back wall. The customers around you started to whoop and holler. The women playing pool through their sticks into the air. Even Kelly had begun to nod her head along. You reached for her wrist to pull her in before shouting into her ear. “For future reference, this is not my vibe.” To which she grinned and rolled her eyes.

Their set went on too long, a series of metal covers that might have been decent had the lead singer not been wearing braces and slobbering over his mic. But as the chief of police slunk out, and a handful of blue collar men staggered to follow, you found yourself watching Grocery Boy shred.

Shoulder length curls bounced and bobbed with each beat, heavily ringed fingers trailing up and down the fretboard, frantic adlibs at each solo, a refreshing difference from the radio hits. Something about the musicality sent a surge of electricity through you. His exposed biceps began to glisten with sweat, and he spent a lot of time with his tongue stuck between his lips in concentration. Occasionally, he’d peak up from under the mop of hair, and catch you watching with that mischievous smile.

After which, you’d kick yourself and turn back to your diminishing plate of fries and third refill of Coke, the caffeine and sugar starting to tingle your fingertips, prickle the hair at the back of your neck. You’d risk a glance at that dirty mirror again, and there he’d be, watching you, image distorted in liquor bottles.

You found yourself wondering just how this would go. Clearly Hawkins was small enough that you’d run into him constantly. It wasn’t like you couldn’t go grocery shopping. You needed food to survive, after all. But outside of that, could you really go the entire summer avoiding this boy? Hiding from that urge to see what else those ringed fingers could do. You squeezed your thighs together and cursed.

When the set finished, the dwindled crowd cheered, and the band, Corroded Coffin - you gagged - thanked them and went about tearing down their set. And then, to your absolute horror, Grocery Store Eddie made a B-line for the bar, long hair flowing around his smile.

In a panic, you slurped down the last few bubbles melting into your ice cubes. He sidled up beside you, sliding a wad of cash across the sticky countertop. He smelled of sweat and body spray deodorant and vaguely of cherry, and you slammed your jaw so tight you tore skin in your cheek.

“Hey, Kelly,” he greeted from beside you, and you shrunk into yourself, mortified that he knew your cousin by first name.

“Hey, Eds, great job tonight. You guys sticking around for drinks?” Panic rose in your chest.

“Nah, sounds like the guys have early shifts tomorrow.” Thank God.

Kelly pocketed the cash, her cut of their tips, and passed you a glance. Your face must have read like panic, because the corners of her lips turned up in a cruel smirk, and you started to shake your head as she made to introduce you. “Eddie, I’d like you to meet my cousin-“

“Hey!” You shouted before your name could pass through her vocal chords. You shook your hands in the air like a lunatic, and she blinked back at you, biting back a laugh. “Don’t go around telling my name to strangers!” You scolded.

Kelly seemed mildly taken aback by your rudeness until Eddie jumped in with an explanation.

“We met earlier at Big Buy.”

“Did you know he carries knives? Around a grocery store?”

Kelly raised her brows.

“Well, I do have a reputation to maintain.”

You turned to him then, too close, elbows on the edge of the bar, brown eyes upturned like a lost calf, and he smiled. His voice got real low. “You enjoy the show.”

You shrugged. “Not really my vibe.”

He grinned at that. All teeth and shaken head. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be.” He reached into his pocket for a lighter and a pack of smokes. “Do you partake?”

You glanced up to where your cousin had been standing to find the spot vacant. She’d taken off around the room to catch up on the rounds, leaving the two of you alone. That traitor. You swallowed and turned back to Eddie, shaking your head. “That shit’ll give you cancer.”

He smiled at that, tucking a cigarette behind his ear. “Well, I’ve got harder shit if you’re really looking to party.”

Your chest fluttered at that. Something about the way he said it, so enticing, this post-show glow a different man than the stammering one who reached into the freezer for you. He was so confident, so blissed out on his own ego.

“Eddie!” His bandmate shouted, the drummer. Jesus, that kid looked young. “You ready?”

Eddie waved him off but kept his eyes on you. Oh. He was really asking.

You swallowed and watched the way he licked the corners of his pink lips, watched the way he watched you. With a sigh, you leaned across the counter for a pen before holding your hand out for his. He gave it willingly. His fingers were tinged pink, the tips bumped with callouses that made you salivate. His rings were cold against your palm. You glanced up at him once more through your lashes. “You work tomorrow?”

He nodded, failing at masking an accomplished smile. “Til six.”

You tutted, scribbling the letters of your first name into the rough terrain of his palm. The ball point smudged over cracks, so you traced the lines to make them more legible. “I’ll see you then.”

—

Eddie spent the rest of the night staring at his right hand, thinking up perfect rhymes to the beat of rain against the tin roof.

His shower the following morning felt like mutiny. He considered washing with his left, holding his right out of the curtain to keep the scratch and scribbled writing, but the letters had already bled from a humid night’s sleep. So he scrubbed with soap and considered a tattoo right above his heart. All the little letters of your name, surrounded by a big ole heart with a dagger stabbed through it. Just where his pick met his sternum. He grinned at the look of incredulity on your face if he showed it to you, and leaned back to rinse shampoo from his eyes.

His shift at Big Buy was torturous. It was just as sweltering, if not moreso, but they received a shipment of frozen goods, so time spent in the truck was a pleasant reprieve from the outside. That didn’t stop his face from heating anytime he thought of you and those mile-high legs, your heavy lidded eyes watching him play guitar, toying with that straw between glossy lips.

He nearly lost it in the staff huddle in aisle 5. There had been a knock-over of soup cans on display, and everyone had been paged to report there for immediate pick up. And as Robert watched them all shuffling cans into the hems of their polos, Brenda asked if they were allowed to bring knives to work. She popped her bubblegum and glared at Eddie’s returning grin.

He was in the back office at five minutes til six, peeling the polo from his back and over his head. He reached into a locker for his favorite Dio shirt and slipped that on instead. He jammed his timecard in the clock a minute too early, impatience taking over, and he gave himself a once over in a tiny cupboard mirror, slicking his eyebrows down with a wet pinky and thumb.

He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t running almost literally into you in the refrigerated section. Your hair was all up and pulled off your long neck, and you wore a black and white polka dot dress that blew up around your thighs with each wave of conditioned air. His sneakers scuffed the ground in a halt, and you stared back at him with tired eyes, the liner smudged at the corners again in sweat and exhaustion.

“Please tell me you have air conditioning in your car,” you huffed as a greeting.

Eddie grinned and glanced up at the west facing security camera. “You like cherry popsicles?”

Jesus, you looked delicious in the passenger’s seat of his van. You had one leg up, boot to the dash, and the other was curled up under you. The hem of your skirt rode dangerously high on your thighs. One arm slung out the window, letting the air flow ripple your limp limb. Your head was thrown back against the seat, hot and bored, and you were slurping the remnants of your popsicle with sinful sounds.

Eddie watched with a dry mouth as the red object went in and out, against your tongue, and his knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “So…” He cleared his throat. “What did you want to do?”

You shrugged, licking the last drops of syrupy goodness from red-stained stick, and set your garbage neatly into an empty cup holder. “I don’t know. This is your town. What is there to do?”

Eddie could think about fifty things he’d love to do right now, none of which were family friendly, so instead he pulled into a shady patch of parking lot near the entrance of downtown, and he craned to look over the steering wheel at the town sprawling around them. Jesus, there really was nothing to do in Hawkins.

The stores downtown were all running out of business, thanks to the mall. He sighed, scrubbed some sweat from his eyes. “There’s the mall, I guess? We could go to a movie?”

You hummed. “Pass. I have a mall and a movie theater where I’m from. Isn’t there anything exciting? Something very… Hawkins?”

Once again, he tried to conjure something up. He thought of nights with his friends, always spent in basements tossing dice or in garages rehearsing for their gigs. Neither of which activity was ideal for a first date, if that’s even what this was. He glanced back at you, licking the cherry flavoring from the corner of his lips. You were watching him with heavy lidded eyes, fanning the sweat from your neck with your hand.

The truth was, Eddie had never officially been on any dates, not in any real sense of the word. He’d taken a few girls to prom. He’d gone to a few movies. Mostly, he took girls to various popular hook up spots to smoke weed and get some. Skull Rock, Sattler’s Quarry, that little shed behind the local pool. All of those places felt cheap now, dirty, not worthy of your… presence, your being.

“Too hot for cow tipping,” you groaned, as though that were an option that you were looking forward to but the weather had spoiled your plans.

He snorted, wrapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of something to quiet for clarity on his radio. No, there weren’t too many cows to tip in this weather, all of them called back to the shade of their barns for the evening. But maybe… He turned his body to face you.

“Okay, so there was like this huge chemical leak in town last year, like around Halloween. And there were a ton of cave-ins. And the government came in to like… I don’t know cover it all up? And they filled in all of these underground tunnels.”

You nodded and slipped your leg from the dash to lean against the door. “Oh yeah, I think I remember hearing about that on the news.”

He nodded, chuckled. “Yes, Hawkins’s claim to fame. Anyway, one of the tunnels was like.. crudely patched up.”

“And you want to take me there and murder me?”

Eddie’s face flushed at the comment, but when he looked up from his hands, you were smirking, leaning forward on the console. That chain around your neck dangled precariously again, and if he followed the line of it, he could peer down once more at the swell of your breasts beneath your dress. “Murder isn’t exactly what I had in mind…” He mumbled.

“And what exactly did you have in mind?” Your nimble finger met his chin and pulled his gaze back to your own. Your eyes sparkled bright in contrast to the dark eyeliner, and the rim of your lips was stained a deep, cherry pink.

He shrugged, but didn’t pull away. “Oh you know, what all kids do in abandoned tunnels. Thought we might tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets, smoke a j, and become blood brothers.”

“Oooh, perfect!” You exclaimed at that, breaking the string of tension between you. “I brought a knife!” And sure as shit, you procured a pocket knife, red handled and the perfect size to fit in your soft hands. You flipped it open and mimed a few artful jabs.

Eddie burst into laughter. “Where have you been hiding that?” He clutched at his side.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“God, and people call me the Freak.”

“Do they?”

Your smile was fond, proud of yourself for calling back your new inside joke, your first one, really, and he hoped for many more. But he couldn’t help but bristle at the nickname. He thought he’d let it roll of his shoulders, embraced it, but there was something so vulnerable now about you knowing this information. You were brand new. He could have presented himself to you anyway he wanted, and somehow the truth of Hawkins and his life was spilling out of his mouth before he could change his mind. He shrugged, nodded, adjusted in his seat until his hands were back on the wheel.

“Well, Freak,” you shifted in your seat as well, and pointed out the windshield with a dramatic wave of your pocket knife. “To the murder tunnels!”

Maybe this was a bad idea.

He pulled over off of Curly, tucked his van into the trees just off the shoulder, and you helped to crank your window up. He grabbed the tin lunchbox from behind the passenger’s seat, and ran around to help you out with a chivalrous hand. The farther south you went, the thicker the woods, and the thicker the woods, the larger the undergrowth. And he found himself consistently helping to lift you over fallen logs.

Everything around was dead. That chemical leak sure did a number on the woods. And although the government had reassured Hawkins citizens that the leak was contained, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder if taking you out here was a death sentence. I mean, you already told him you didn’t smoke because it gave you cancer. God knows what the hell else was lurking on this side of town.

But just on the edge of the woods, where clearings turned to corn fields in the later summer months, a hole opened up in the ground about the size of a small car. Beer bottles and chip bags lay strewn around the opening, which proved that they weren’t the only teenagers to wander down here to take a peak. And soon, the two of you were standing over it, looking down.

You had your hand tucked to your side like a chicken wing, and Eddie couldn’t tell from your expression whether or not you were impressed. Until you extended your other hand to him and instructed, “lower me down.”

“What?” Eddie frowned, looking from your hand to the hole and back.

“I wanna see what’s inside, but I need your help.”

“What if we can’t get back up?” He asked.

You seemed to pause at that, weighing your options, before finally settling on a resolute, “then we’ll huddle for warmth and wait until this weekend when teenagers will inevitably find us and haul us up.” You kicked at an empty can, and it shucked itself in the hole, making a rattle against the stone or concrete below.

The huddle for warmth part sounded promising, but Eddie was keen on hanging out in a mysterious chemical leak hole for multiple days without food or water.

“Fine,” you sighed, apparently frustrated with his indecision, and you squatted and shuffled yourself onto your stomach. “Hold onto my legs.”

And before Eddie was on his own ass, chasing down your calves, you’d crawled to the edge to peak your head through. You’d actually managed your entire upper half before he’d caught up with you and grasped at the meat of your thighs to keep you from toppling, headfirst into the pit.

You laughed, a wonderful melodious sound that echoed off the walls around you. “I can’t see a damn thing.” And then your arms were flailing backwards into his. “Help me up.”

With a bit of struggle, he managed to right you, and you adjusted your dress and your necklace and pulled straw from your hair, and he kept you in balance with a leg anchored on either side of your own, his hands resting softly on the skin of your thighs. If he flexed his fingers, he could catch the flowing hem of your dress. He didn’t dare let his eyes follow the lines of you, instead stayed lock on your eyes, and the huff of a smile playing at your lips.

“What’s on the agenda now?” You smiled. “Secret sharing or blood brothers?”

He reached just past you for that black tin lunchbox and rattled its contents. “How about a party?”

—

The sun had set somewhere far off, past the trees and past the fields, and soon you and Eddie were engulfed in grey darkness and the chill of a summer night’s breeze. Your mouth was dry, all of your taste buds begging for water and salty snacks, and your eyes stung from the smoke and melted eyeliner. You were relaxed though, splayed out against burnt grass like a starfish, watching the clouds roll in above you.

“Should we think about heading back?” Eddie asked from beside you, his voice hoarse and far-off. You heard echoes off the tunnels a few yards away.

“Yeah. Do you have food in your van?”

“What kind of dealer would I be?”

“A bad one.” You giggled at that, a kind of giggle that couldn’t stop, and just beyond it, you sure the shuffle of your date getting to his feet.

He stood above you, hair filled with straw and a wide smile etched across his face, and he held his hand out to help you up. It was a process, a handful of stumbles and more giggles from the both of you, and you locked your fingers with his to stop you from tripping your way through the woods. His hand was really warm and calloused and strong.

These woods were fucking terrifying though. Trees too tall, too ancient, staring back at you with haunted faces made of knots and bark. You felt like Snow White at the beginning of the movie, running from the Huntsman. Your heart began to race, and you tucked into him tighter, pressing the width of his arm into your chest.

He slowed his walk to look at you. “You good?” His smile was lazy.

You darted your eyes upward, toward the tree line and gulped. “What’s the scariest thing that’s ever happened to you?”

“Shit,” he shrugged, continuing your walk. “Probably the last time my dad got arrested.”

You stalled at that. Your conversations thus far had only been surface level. Favorite bands, favorite songs, favorite strain, favorite snacks, party tricks. Until you were too high to ask anything real, and too hungry to focus on anything but the idea of a container of cheese puffs and licking the orange powder from your fingertips.

But his dad getting arrested? That shit was too real.

“I was like fourteen? And I just remember him rushing in and packing a bag. He didn’t say hi or anything. And then like three minutes later, the door was kicked in, and all of these cops like rushed him, pinned him to the ground, read him his rights. Scared the shit out of me.”

“Jesus,” you muttered, giving his hand a squeeze. The rings dug into your knuckles.

He shrugged beside you, helping you up and over a log. “It’s fine. I go visit him every Christmas.”

“Jesus,” you repeated, with a little more emphasis. Unsure of what else to say. Your parents were shitty, sure. They kicked you out, sure. But they hadn’t done anything that bad. If anything, they were the polar opposite of that. Goodie two shoes. Embarrassed to be seen with an anarchist who were too much black and not even crucifixes on her wall.

“My Uncle Wayne stepped up for me,” Eddie continued. “He like, never wanted kids. He was a truck driver, and then when Dad got thrown in the slammer, Wayne came back to Hawkins, got a job at the plant. He’s like… the sweetest guy ever. Always makes me do my homework and shit. Goes to my gigs when he can.”

You thought you might cry. It was that lump in your dry, dry throat, the pinch of emotion in your chest, the squeeze of his warm hand against yours. And you opened your mouth to talk again, but he knelt forward with an arm outstretched.

“Milady, your chariot awaits.”

You were back at the van. You remember the inside smelling more like weed earlier, and the seats were scratchier. But now, as you settled into the passenger’s side, your body sunk into the velvety fabric, your fingers splaying out on the cool plastic of the dashboard. Eddie fished around the back for a minute or two, returning with a half eaten bag of Doritos and a unopened packet of Pop Rocks.

Not much of a sweet tooth, you snatched the Doritos from his hand and dug in. They were stale, but the nacho cheese powder was almost as satisfying as cheese puffs, and you hummed in content as Eddie started the van and set out for your next destination. Occasionally, he’d shove a hand into the bag on your lap and retrieve a few crumpled chips, hand littered with dust.

It took a minute to get back into city limits, light pollution growing from the beyond the woods and farmland, and under the glow of streetlamps, you allowed yourself to have a little look at your driver, your dealer, your date.

He was handsome. You’d decided that the night before, watching him play that solo in the third song. He had a rather defined chin, hid under that mop of hair, mousy brown. He still had flecks of hay and grass just above his shoulder, but you resisted the urge to pick it out. He had broad shoulders too, surprising for such a string bean, but you could tell there was toned and refined muscle under those oversized t-shirts.

He glanced your way, puppy dog brown eyes under long lashes, and cracked a smile on those full lips. “What?”

Your face heated, caught, and you picked at the hem of your polka dot dress, brushing Dorito dust from the meat of your thigh. “You ever date a girl like me? I mean…” It felt hard to swallow. “Are there many alternative girls in Hawkins?”

Eddie barked a laugh at that. “Not even one.” He gave you a once over, deep eyes trailing the tops of your knees to the flop of your hair atop your head. You noticed the linger, the way he bit down on his bottom lip.

You felt a hit of pride at that, some of your sobriety sinking back in, ruffling the fuzzy edges of your high. You sunk back into the headrest, satisfied at his answer.

“You ever date a guy like me?”

It was your turn to laugh. You covered your face with your hand, and you felt his oversized hand reach over to squeeze your thigh.

“What?” He pestered.

You turned to face him, grinning, and nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say I have a type.”

Boys like Eddie Munson were a dime a dozen in your city. And you dated them all, picked up at clubs, fake IDs and too many cocktails, and unsatisfactory evenings that ended in you hobbling home barefoot. They wouldn’t call. They wouldn’t ask about you, until you saw them the following weekend at someone else’s gig, and the cycle started all over again.

“I guess that just means I’ll have to prove I’m different from the others.”

And somehow, you already knew he was.

The top step to Kelly’s house was too small, cramped. She’d left the light on for you, and that attracted a whole ecosystem of moths and gnats, and you were swatting them out of your eyes and trying not to let your teeth chatter from the cold breeze that had blown in. And you struggled around the opening of the storm door, too big for the stoop you stood on.

Eddie stood on the next step down, chivalrous enough to walk you to the door, but he had to step down to get you around the storm door, and it all felt too close and too awkward. Your back ached from laying on the ground for so long, and you desperately wanted to get in and shove some pizza rolls in your face before sleeping for ten hours.

“So, um…” Eddie held the door open for you, boxing you onto the front step. He was at eye level now, all brown eyes and shaggy hair, and despite your discomfort, your heart began to race with that familiar school-girl feeling of a first kiss. “I had a really good time tonight.”

“Me too,” you breathed.

He tucked a hand into yours, running a rough thumb over your knuckles, and the two of you stared down at your hands for a moment. Your nerve endings were electrocuted from the tips of your fingers all the way up to under your ears.

A giant moth rammed itself into the glass of the door. Thwack, thwack, thwack.

You both jumped. Anxious laughter spilled out.

“Jesus,” Eddie released your hand and scrubbed at his tired face. “I’m sorry. I think I’m way too high for this.”

You nodded, but your excited heartbeat slowed into something less promising. You weren’t high enough.

“I just mean,” he grabbed your hand again. “I want to kiss you. Like, I really,” he licked his lips. “Really want to kiss you. But I think I’ll be pissed at myself if I do it when I’m a little fucked up.”

You swallowed. Okay. Shit. Maybe he really was different from those other assholes.

“Can I take you on a real date?”

You nodded again, and watched that beautiful smile of his spread into a lazy grin.

“Yeah? On Friday, they’re previewing Day of the Dead at Starcourt. It’s supposed to be pretty scary. Would you want to go to that?”

“You know I’m always down for a scary movie. Besides, I have you to protect me, right?”

Eddie shrugged and squeezed your hand. “Better bring your knife, just in case.”

And before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance to press your lips against his cheek. The corner of his lip still held a chip flake, and his hair tickled your eyelashes. There was a tiny bit of scruff to his face, a stubble that threatened to grow in, but mostly his cheek was soft, supple against your lips. When you pulled away there was this look of stun across his face, as though you’d cast a spell and he was under it.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, bubbling a giggle out of you, and he stumbled his way down the last two steps to the driveway. “I better go. But I’ll be here to pick you up Friday.”

You nodded and waved.

He continued to back down the driveway to his van. He pointed two fingers your direction and announced, “I’m going to kiss you Friday!”

“You better!”

#eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things 3 #stranger things 4 #eddie x reader #eddie x punk!reader #eddie x you #no y/n #eddie munson #wip fic #cherry flavored summer

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