#answer sabbath | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vingtetunmars · 1 day ago

Text

Teenage Dirtbags

Pairing: Eddie Munson X F!Reader

Summary: Childhood friends turned rebellious teens, you and Eddie Munson have always been thick as thieves — sneaking out, breaking into abandoned diners, and laughing at the world that doesn’t get them. Her parents disapprove, the school calls him a freak, but none of it matters when they’re together.

Tags: NSFW, smut (18+), fluff, friends to lovers, childhood friends, coming of age, mutual pining, rebellious teenagers, "us against the world", parents disapproval, impulsive getaways, eddie munson is a sweetheart, p-in-v, confessionnal sex. No descriptions of reader. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: Save to say most of my fic inspiration for Eddie is from songs. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 9.4k (oh wow)

masterlist

1979

You were going to snap.

The plastic spork bounced off your tray and skidded across the table. You didn’t even need to look to know who threw it—same kid who’d been messing with you all week. Earlier, it was a balled-up napkin. Yesterday, it was a grape. Today, it was everything short of a full-on food fight.

You kept your head down, picking at the sad excuse for macaroni on your tray, hoping he’d get bored. He didn’t.

“Hey,” the boy behind you whispered, yanking a lock of your hair just hard enough to make your eyes sting. “You put glue in it or something? Why’s it so crunchy?”

Your jaw clenched. You bit your cheek to keep from turning around and launching your milk carton at his face. The din of the lunchroom made it easy for teachers to ignore—unless someone got loud.

Which someone did.

“Cease your torment, cretin! Or I shall summon the Lord of the Underworld himself!”

Your head whipped up. The boy behind you froze.

Standing at the end of your lunch table was a skinny kid with a buzz cut, a tattered Black Sabbath patch safety-pinned to his denim vest, and a tray of untouched lunch balanced on one hand like a waiter. His other hand pointed accusingly, finger straight and eyes wide like a televangelist on TV.

“What the hell, Munson?” the boy behind you asked.

The new kid didn’t answer. Instead, he dropped to one knee in the middle of the cafeteria floor and raised both hands to the ceiling.

“Dominos. Ravioli. Infernum-malarkey!” he bellowed, deepening his voice into a theatrical growl. “Oh great horned one, curse this mortal with itchy skin and uncontrollable gas!”

Laughter burst out from nearby tables.

You blinked.

Then—you laughed too.

It started as a confused giggle and turned into a real, actual laugh. Loud enough to startle the kid behind you into silence. He slunk away without a word, disappearing into the crowd.

When you turned back around, the buzz cut boy had taken a dramatic bow.

“Eddie Munson,” he announced. “At your service.”

You stared at him for a beat, then smiled, “You’re weird.”

He beamed like you’d just handed him a trophy.

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

And just like that, the empty seat across from you wasn’t empty anymore.

1984

The hallway erupted like someone had hit “play” on a fast-forward button—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices rising as students flooded toward freedom. But right in the middle of the chaos, you took your time.

Your locker was stuck again. You wiggled the handle with practiced irritation, muttering a quiet curse under your breath.

And then—

Slam!

A hand hit the locker next to yours with dramatic flair.

“Need a spell, m’lady?”

You didn’t even have to look. The smug tone, the scent of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke—it was unmistakable.

“You’re gonna bruise the metal if you keep doing that,” you said, lips tugging into a smile despite yourself.

Eddie Munson leaned against the lockers like he owned the hallway, grinning at you through his mess of curls. His denim vest was half-unbuttoned over his Hellfire Club tee, and he had a binder stuffed with loose papers under one arm. Somehow, he made chaos look cool.

“Maybe it’ll bruise back,” he quipped, giving your locker a gentle kick. It creaked open instantly. “See? You just have to speak its language.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping back so you could grab your books, “you keep me around. Which says so much more about you than it does about me.”

You bumped his shoulder as you closed your locker, and he didn’t move an inch.

“Plans tonight?” he asked, falling into step beside you like he always did.

“Not unless you’re planning something.”

He grinned wider. “I may or may not have found a way into the old diner by the train tracks.”

You arched a brow. “Eddie.”

“It’s abandoned! Kinda. Mostly. Anyway, I hear the power still works.”

You stopped walking and turned to him, arms crossed. “If we get caught again—”

“We won’t.” He leaned in with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “We’re ghosts, remember? Shadows. Teenage legends.”

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a quiet laugh. “You’re full of shit.”

“And yet,” he echoed with a smirk, “you keep me around.”

You rolled your eyes again, but there was no hiding the fondness in it. You always rolled your eyes around Eddie. And he always stayed close anyway.

Like he had since the cafeteria, five years ago.

Later that night, the lock was rusted, the side door warped just enough to slip a crowbar through. Eddie grunted as he wedged it in, muscles tense, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. With one good shove and a metallic clank, the door creaked open.

“After you, partner in crime,” he whispered, bowing with a flourish.

You stepped inside, the soles of your sneakers crunching on old tile dust. The air smelled like mildew and grease that had long since congealed into memory.

A few rays of moonlight filtered through cracked windows, casting long, silvery shadows across the booths and checkered floor. The whole place looked like someone had locked up in ’64 and never came back. A half-burned “Daily Special” board still hung above the counter. A stack of chipped coffee cups waited behind the bar like someone might show up to pour a round.

“Holy shit,” you breathed. “This is so cool.”

“Told you.” Eddie’s voice was soft, reverent even. “Place is like a time capsule. All it needs is a jukebox and someone to roll by on skates.”

You wandered past the booths, running your fingers over the cracked vinyl cushions. The red had faded to dull maroon. He followed a few steps behind, glancing around with wide eyes like a kid in a haunted house—excited, cautious, thrilled.

“Bet there’s still silverware somewhere,” he said, hopping over the counter with a thud. He pulled open a drawer, rattling around. “Bingo.”

He held up a rusted spoon like it was buried treasure.

You chuckled, ducking behind the counter with him. “I’m stealing a salt shaker. This is too good not to commemorate.”

“Here,” he said, digging deeper into the drawer. “Comet-brand bottle opener. Still shiny.”

You pocketed it with a grin. “We should open a museum.”

Eddie stood up on the counter, arms spread wide. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Hall of Bad Decisions. Featuring cigarette burns, petty theft, and a distinct lack of adult supervision.”

You laughed louder this time, the sound echoing off the walls.

The truth was, no matter how dusty or broken the place, it always felt electric with Eddie around. Every forgotten building was a playground. Every half-dumb idea felt like genius. With him, even rusted cutlery felt like gold.

You leaned against the counter, smiling up at him.

“This place is gonna be ours for a while, huh?”

He looked down at you and nodded, his grin softening.

“Yeah,” he said. “Until the next one.”

Eddie’s van purred softly in the driveway, headlights off. The glow from the porch light was enough to see the curve of his grin as he leaned across the driver’s seat to look at you.

“You sure you don’t want me to summon Satan again?” he teased, voice low. “Might scare your mom into going easy on you.”

You laughed quietly, hand already on the door handle. “Pretty sure she’s more terrifying than Satan.”

He tilted his head, mock serious. “Valid.”

A beat of silence passed. You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said. “That diner was… weirdly magical.”

He smirked. “Like I said—teenage legends.”

You leaned over and bumped his shoulder gently. “Call me when you get home.”

Eddie saluted you, then added, “I’ll keep an eye out for demon cops. You never know.”

You rolled your eyes, but it made you smile as you slipped out of the van and jogged up the front steps. You gave him one last wave before unlocking the door and slipping inside.

The smile dropped as soon as the door clicked shut.

The hallway was dim, the only light coming from the kitchen. Your mom was sitting at the table, elbows resting on a half-folded newspaper, her fingers pressed against her temple. She didn’t even look up when she spoke.

“You know what time it is?”

Her voice wasn’t angry—just tired. Drained in that way that made your chest twist a little.

“Yeah,” you said softly, stepping out of your shoes. “I lost track.”

Your mom finally looked up. Her eyes flicked to your jacket, your tangled hair, the faint whiff of dust and old grease you carried back from the diner.

“You were with him again.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

She sighed and sat back in her chair, eyes heavy. “You can’t keep doing this, sweetheart.”

You stayed by the doorway, hands in your pockets, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you mumbled.

“Not yet,” she said. “But trouble follows that boy like a shadow.”

You didn’t say it aloud, but you thought it anyway.

Good. So do I.

Without another word, you walked down the hall and shut your bedroom door behind you.

The only light in your room came from the moon outside your window. You crossed the floor, dropped your jacket on the bed, and fished into your pocket.

The bottle opener from the diner caught the moonlight just right as you turned it over in your hand.

You smiled again—just a little this time.

The smell of questionable pizza and overcooked green beans lingered thick in the air, but it didn’t matter. You were already weaving through the tables with your tray in hand, heading toward your table—the one where noise, weirdness, and near-constant laughter were part of the deal.

“Okay, but we cannot open with ‘War Pigs’ again,” Gareth was saying, waving half a sandwich like it was a conductor’s baton. “We’re becoming predictable.”

Jeff leaned across the table, chewing thoughtfully. “People like predictable. It’s crowd control.”

Doug piped up with a mouthful of tater tots. “Predictable gets you heckled.”

“And heckled means notoriety,” Eddie added from the center of the chaos, his boots kicked up on an empty chair, half a Twinkie in hand. “Notoriety builds legacy.”

You dropped your tray across from him and plopped into your seat, arching an eyebrow. “You guys planning a set list or starting a revolution?”

Eddie pointed the Twinkie at you like a preacher. “Both, sweetheart. Both.”

“You’re late,” Doug said, nudging his tray your way. “We almost gave your seat to a freshman.”

“You touch my seat, I take your soul,” you deadpanned, snatching a tater tot off his tray.

He shrugged. “Fair.”

“Anyway,” Eddie said, pulling a notebook from beneath his jacket like it was classified intel, “we’re down to two opening tracks—‘The Trooper’ or ‘Symptom of the Universe.’”

You bit into your apple. “You’re seriously debating this like it’s the damn Super Bowl.”

“Because it is,” Gareth said, dead serious. “Thursday night. The Hideout. Four people in the audience max. Maybe five if Jeff’s mom shows up.”

Jeff raised his soda can. “She always does.”

“I’m just saying,” you said, setting your apple down, “no one in that bar cares what song you start with. They just want something loud, something angry, and maybe to get a free beer if they flirt with the bartender.”

Eddie beamed at you. “And that’s why you’re an honorary member of this band of degenerates.”

“Honorary?” Doug asked. “She literally helped us roll for loot two weeks ago.”

“I fell asleep halfway through,” you reminded him.

“And still somehow survived the ogre ambush,” Gareth muttered.

“Yeah, ‘cause Eddie kept rerolling behind the screen.”

Eddie gasped, hand on his chest. “Are you accusing your fearless Dungeon Master of cheating?”

You grinned. “Not accusing. Just observing.”

He tossed a crust of bread at you. You ducked. The others laughed.

The table was loud, obnoxious, and borderline unbearable to anyone sitting within a ten-foot radius. But to you? It was home. You didn’t care about the campaign schedule or the band drama half as much as they did, but it didn’t matter. You were part of it anyway.

Here, no one tried to change you. Or warn you away from being yourself. Or away from Eddie.

Which, judging by the way he was still looking at you over the rim of his soda can—with that crooked smile that always spelled trouble—you’d have to deal with later.

But for now, you kicked your feet up beside his, stole another tot from Doug’s tray, and settled into the noise.

Later that day, you were walking toward Eddie’s locker, planning to meet up before heading to the parking lot. But you knew something was wrong before you even saw it.

The crowd gave it away.

A couple of underclassmen lingered nearby, whispering and pretending not to look. A few seniors passed, snickering behind their hands. That knot in your stomach twisted tighter with every step.

And then you saw it.

FREAK

Spray-painted in jagged red letters across Eddie’s locker door. The paint still dripped, fresh and bold and proud.

Eddie was already there, standing in front of it like it wasn’t even his. He had one hand in his pocket, the other gripping the strap of his bag, eyes scanning the word like it was graffiti on a bathroom wall and not a personal attack.

You approached slowly. “Jesus…”

He looked over at you, then back at the locker. “Creative, huh?”

“Are you okay?”

He snorted. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

But you didn’t buy it. Not from the way his mouth pressed into a thin line. Not from the way he wouldn’t touch the door.

“It’s bullshit,” you said, voice low, sharp. “We should tell—”

“Don’t,” he cut in gently. “It’s not worth it.”

“Eddie—”

“It’s just a word.” He finally reached forward and popped the locker open like the paint wasn’t even there. “I’ve been called worse. Hell, I am worse. Freak’s kind of a promotion.”

You stared at him. He looked tired. Not angry. Not even hurt. Just used to it—like he’d seen this coming the day he first wore a Dio shirt to school and never looked back.

He pulled out a book, slammed the locker shut, and slung his arm around your shoulder like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go do something illegal.”

You tried to smile. Tried to match his energy.

But you kept glancing back at that word. And the way he didn’t even flinch.

You weren’t even in a bad mood until you heard the voice.

“…yeah, I did it. Told you I would,” some guy was bragging just outside the door. “Spray-painted it right on his locker. FREAK—like billboard size.”

A snort of laughter followed. “No way.”

“Swear to God. My cousin had that red paint in his garage. Took like three seconds. Guy’s a loser anyway—no one’s gonna do shit.”

Your jaw clenched. You peeked out through the cracked door just enough to see who was talking.

Ryan Garrison.

Smug. Stupid. Already walking away with two other guys, all of them laughing like they’d just pulled off a harmless prank and not openly vandalized someone else’s property.

Your hands curled into fists inside your sleeves.

You didn’t say anything then. Not yet.

But you had a name now.

And something about the way Eddie had looked at his locker yesterday—like it was a fact of life, not something he deserved to fight back against—stuck to your ribs like ash.

This wasn’t going to slide.

Not this time.

Behind the bleachers, Eddie was sitting on the concrete, knees pulled up, lazily plucking at the strings of his guitar. The smoke from his cigarette curled lazily into the air. He didn’t look up when you approached—he never had to.

You dropped beside him, legs stretched out, pulling your sleeves over your hands.

“I know who did it.”

He paused, just long enough to let the words settle. “Did what?”

You gave him a look.

He sighed through his nose, set the guitar down gently beside him. “Doesn’t matter. I already told you—”

“It was Ryan Garrison.”

Now he looked at you.

You could see it then—how his jaw tensed for just a second. Not surprised. Just… disappointed in the predictability of it all.

“He was bragging about it in the hallway,” you went on. “Didn’t even bother to whisper. Just loud and proud with his dumbass buddies like it was a joke.”

Eddie leaned back against the wall, looking up at the sky. “God, I’d love to be that stupid. You think life’s easier when you’re that full of yourself?”

“Probably,” you muttered, then nudged his knee with yours. “But also… I have an idea.”

Eddie turned to you slowly, brow arched, curiosity piqued. “Oh no.”

You grinned. “Oh yes.”

“What level of felony are we talking here?”

“No felonies,” you said sweetly. “Just… maybe some light vandalism. Minor property damage, at worst.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I say we skip last period,” you continued, “grab a carton of eggs from the corner store, and redecorate Ryan Garrison’s shiny little Camaro.”

Eddie blinked. “You want to egg his car?”

“Don’t you?”

There was a long pause. Then:

“I do love performance art.”

You bumped shoulders. “Thought so.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like he was trying to be the voice of reason, but couldn’t quite resist. “You’re gonna get detention.”

“You’ll be right there with me.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not letting you do it alone,” he said. “If you go down, I’m going down with you.”

“Us against the world,” you said, holding out a pinky.

Eddie linked his pinky with yours. “Always.”

The lot was mostly empty, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the faded lines and scattered cigarette butts. Ryan Garrison’s Camaro—sleek, waxed, obnoxiously red—sat like a trophy near the back row.

You crouched behind a scraggly bush with Eddie, both of you gripping your smuggled plastic bag of ammo: a dozen slightly-warm eggs from the corner store fridge. You could barely contain your grin as you peered around the shrub like war criminals on a covert op.

Eddie whispered, “Okay, listen. We do this fast, like guerrilla warfare. You take the driver’s side, I’ll take the back. We launch, we leg it. Got it?”

“Got it,” you said, cracking your knuckles dramatically.

“One… two… go!”

You darted out from cover, pulling an egg from the carton mid-run. The first one hit the windshield with a glorious splat. The second one smacked the driver’s side door, dripping yolk down the shiny paint.

Eddie whooped from the rear bumper. “Eat poultry, you shiny bastard!”

He chucked two in rapid fire—one hitting the trunk, the other bouncing off the rearview mirror with a satisfying crack.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, breathless with laughter. “We’re going to hell.”

“We were already going to hell!” he shouted gleefully, winding up and letting one rip straight at the hood.

Then, “HEY! WHAT THE HELL?!”

You didn’t even turn around to confirm. You knew that voice.

“Run!” you yelled, grabbing Eddie by the sleeve.

You both took off, legs pumping, laughter bubbling out of your chests as Ryan’s furious footsteps pounded behind you.

Eddie tossed the empty bag over his shoulder as you rounded the edge of the lot, diving into the passenger seat of his van while he jumped behind the wheel.

He jammed the key into the ignition. “Come on, come on, come on—YES!”

The engine roared to life just as Ryan came into view, red-faced and livid, streaks of yolk still dripping down his car in the distance.

Eddie peeled out of the lot with a screech of tires, flipping him the bird out the open window. You slammed the door shut just in time and nearly doubled over with laughter.

“Holy shit!” you gasped, clutching your stomach. “We’re actually gonna die!”

Eddie was howling, one hand pounding the steering wheel. “Did you see his face?! He looked like his soul left his body!”

You were breathless, wild with adrenaline and glee, wind whipping through the open window as the town blurred past you.

“That felt so good.”

Eddie glanced at you as the wind whipped through the cracked windows, hair tousled, eyes gleaming.

And in that moment—in Eddie’s van, hair messy, heart racing—you felt more alive than you had in weeks.

Just two teenage dirtbags with egg-stained hands and nowhere else to be.

The van was parked at the edge of the woods, a spot you both stumbled on years ago—your unofficial hideout from everything. The trees opened into a clearing that caught the last light just right, turning everything gold and soft and quiet.

You and Eddie were lying side by side on the grass, backs pressed into the earth, heads tilted to the sky where the clouds burned orange and pink.

The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving a slow, syrupy warmth in your chest. One of your shoes was off. Eddie’s jacket was draped over both of you like a shared blanket.

He was playing with a blade of grass between his fingers, eyes half-lidded. “Do you think the eggs did any actual damage? Like, cosmetic damage. Paint-eating level.”

“I hope so,” you said softly.

He chuckled. “You’re terrifying.”

You turned your head toward him. “You’re just now realizing that?”

He gave you a lazy grin, and the world shifted just a little.

It was quiet for a moment. Not awkward. Not tense. Just quiet.

Then Eddie spoke again, voice lower. “You ever think about how long we’ve been doing this?”

You blinked. “Breaking and entering? Vandalism? Petty crimes in general?”

He snorted. “No—well, yes—but I meant… this. You and me.”

You swallowed, heart thudding. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

He plucked another blade of grass. “It’s weird, right? Everyone else seems to… grow out of their people. Switch friends like seasons. But you stuck.”

You smiled, looking up at the sky again. “Maybe I just like weirdos.”

“Lucky for me,” he muttered.

You didn’t say anything for a moment. You were too busy trying to memorize this version of Eddie: eyes soft, voice gentle, golden light kissing his cheekbones.

You could feel it again—that fluttery thing in your chest that always showed up when he got quiet like this. You’d buried it for years under jokes and reckless nights and pretending you were just partners in crime.

But it never really left.

And now, lying beside him like this, it itched behind your ribs.

You turned your head slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You know… if you ever decide to grow out of me, I’m locking you in that abandoned diner.”

He tilted his head toward you, smirking. “You’d have to catch me first.”

“Oh, I’d catch you.”

He chuckled, and the sound felt like home. Then, more seriously, “Not gonna happen. You’re stuck with me.”

Your chest ached in that soft, good way.

“Good,” you said, almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t really want anyone else.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was full of something unspoken.

And you let it hang there, golden and quiet, in the space between your shoulders and his.

You should’ve known something was off the second you walked through the door.

Your mom was in the kitchen, humming. Humming. She hadn’t done that since... since she took your journal and called it "worrisome." And your dad was pretending to read the paper, though he hadn’t turned a page in five minutes.

Your stomach dropped.

“Sweetheart,” your mom called, too brightly. “We’re having dinner with the Darrows tonight. Come change, would you? Put on something… nicer.”

You blinked at her, halfway out of your shoes. “The Darrows?”

She smiled, the kind that never reached her eyes. “You remember their son, Nathan? He goes to the youth group at Trinity.”

There it was.

“You invited someone from church?” you asked flatly, incredulous. “Why?”

Your dad folded the paper like he’d been waiting to jump in. “He’s a good kid. Polite. Plays varsity basketball.”

“He wore loafers to gym class,” you muttered, arms crossing tightly. “He said Dungeons & Dragons was ‘satanic.’”

Your mom’s smile faltered just slightly. “Maybe it’s time you spent time with people who could be a good influence on you.”

You stared at her, chest slowly filling with heat. “This is about Eddie.”

“No,” your dad said—too quickly. “This is about your future.”

You laughed. A cold, stunned little sound. “You think I’m gonna marry Nathan Darrow?”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“You’re trying to fix me,” you snapped. “Like I’m broken. Like Eddie broke me.”

“He’s not—” Your mom stepped forward, her voice soft but sharp, “—the kind of person you should be around.”

That did it.

You didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. You just turned around, walked calmly to your room, grabbed your bag, and climbed out the window like you had a hundred times before.

You didn’t knock.

You didn’t have to.

Eddie opened the door the second you reached the top step, like he already knew it was you.

He took one look at your face and stepped aside, wordless.

You dropped your bag on the floor with a dull thud, toeing off your shoes.

Then you just stood there, in the soft yellow light of his living room, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

Eddie watched you quietly. “They tried again, huh?”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. “Tried to sell me off to a Bible boy.”

He didn’t laugh. He just opened his arms.

You stepped into them without hesitation.

He held you tightly, chin resting on the crown of your head.

The trailer was quiet now. Wayne was working the night shift, and the TV buzzed low in the background, playing some late-night rerun no one was really watching.

You were both at the tiny kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal between you, cold by now. Eddie was lazily flipping through a tattered Hit Parader magazine while you stared at your hands, still a little wrung out from earlier.

Then, suddenly:

“Let’s get outta here.”

You blinked. “What?”

Eddie looked up, grinning like a spark had just caught in his brain. “Like—out. Just for a night. Let’s go somewhere.”

“Where?”

He shrugged, leaned back in his chair. “Chicago. Why not? It’s what, three, four hours from here?”

You stared at him.

He was serious. And maybe a little sleep-deprived. But also serious.

“You want to drive to Chicago tonight?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

“Eddie, we don’t have money.”

“I have ten bucks and half a tank of gas.”

“I have eight,” you said slowly. “And a granola bar.”

“See? That’s a feast,” he said, mock offended. “We’ll live like kings.”

You snorted. “What would we even do there?”

He shrugged again, that boyish, chaotic light in his eyes. “Get lost. Walk around the city. Maybe sneak into a punk show. Or sit on a rooftop and scream at the skyline. Doesn’t matter.”

And the thing was… it didn’t.

Because he was looking at you like you were the point of it all. Not Chicago. Not the getaway. Just the idea of being free with you.

You looked at him for a long moment, then said softly, “Okay.”

His smile grew, slow and wide. “Yeah?”

“Let’s be stupid.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You threw your bag into the back. He brought a couple of tapes, a hoodie, a few crumpled bills, and his lucky lighter. You didn’t even ask why.

As the van pulled out of the trailer park, the town faded behind you like static. Streetlights blurring. The stars overhead flickering faintly, and the open road stretching out in front of you like a promise.

“Freedom tastes like exhaust fumes and bad decisions,” Eddie declared, one hand out the window like he could catch the wind.

You laughed, head resting on the seat. “We’re gonna regret this.”

“Maybe,” he said, glancing at you with a crooked smile. “But not tonight.”

And for once, it felt like you could breathe.

Like running wasn’t running away—it was just running toward something.

Something that looked a lot like him.

They didn’t even check IDs.

Maybe it was the smeared eyeliner and scuffed boots. Maybe it was Eddie’s jacket with all the safety pins or the way you both walked in like you belonged.

Either way, you were in—bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, the ceiling dripping with condensation, someone screaming into a mic like the world was ending and it needed to be loud.

You and Eddie lost yourselves in it. No one from Hawkins here. No judgmental stares. Just noise and lights and sweat and freedom.

He grabbed your hand during a guitar solo and spun you in the crowd, his hair sticking to his forehead, laughing like he was seventeen and unstoppable. You grinned wide, your voice raw from yelling, from singing along even when you didn’t know the words.

Later, after the band finished their set and you’d slipped out a side door that led into an alleyway full of graffiti and old posters peeling off the bricks, Eddie fished out a joint from his pocket like it was treasure.

“You carried that through state lines?” you asked, eyes wide.

He just smirked. “You’re welcome.”

You both leaned against the alley wall, the buzz of leftover adrenaline in your chest, sharing slow, quiet puffs between bursts of laughter.

The world softened.

The city was asleep, or pretending to be. Traffic lights blinked for no one. Steam rose from the grates in the sidewalk. You and Eddie walked side by side, dazed and giddy, your fingertips tangled together without thinking about it too hard.

You were both too high to be cold, too happy to care.

You kicked a stray can down the street. He tried to hop on a newspaper box and nearly fell off. Everything was hilarious.

And then, in a lull between laughs, he said, “Y’know, this feels like a movie.”

You glanced at him, lips parted in a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Like… the part right before the world gets all complicated again.”

You were quiet for a moment. The good kind of quiet.

Your hand tightened around his.

“I don’t care if it gets complicated,” you said softly, watching your steps on the sidewalk. “As long as you’re in it.”

He looked over at you—really looked—and for once, didn’t deflect with a joke.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. No dramatic tone, no grand promise. Just fact.

You nodded, a little dizzy. From the weed. From the night. From the boy beside you who made this whole goddamn city feel like home.

“I’m glad I have you,” you murmured, barely audible.

He squeezed your hand.

“Right back at you, trouble.”

The world was pale and still when you woke up.

Your head rested on Eddie’s chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing gently rocking you awake. One of his arms was curled around you, his other hand half-asleep against your hip. The old blanket he kept in the back was tangled around your legs, and the van windows were fogged from the inside.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

There were no words.

Just the soft hum of morning settling in, the birds starting their songs, the ache in your limbs from a night lived hard and full.

Eventually, Eddie blinked awake, eyes squinting at the light filtering through the windshield. His gaze flicked down at you. He didn’t look surprised. Just… calm.

You gave him a sleepy smile.

He smiled back.

Nothing was said. Nothing had to be.

Eddie parked a few houses down from yours like usual. The sun had fully risen now, casting golden light over the familiar neighborhood. Lawn sprinklers clicked on. A dog barked somewhere nearby. Everything felt painfully normal.

You sat in the passenger seat for a moment, your bag in your lap, neither of you ready to break the spell completely.

“Well,” you sighed, hand on the door handle. “Back to pretending.”

Eddie leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel. “We’ll make it out again. Next time—maybe even with money.”

You smiled, heart pinched in the best way.

You opened the door, swung one leg out—then paused.

Leaning back in, you reached across the console and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks for running away with me,” you whispered.

His eyes widened just a little—but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t joke. He just smiled, slow and warm.

“Anytime, trouble.”

And with that, you slipped out of the van, hugging your bag close, and vanished up the side of your house just before the neighborhood fully woke up.

Eddie watched the spot you disappeared into for a few seconds longer, his fingers brushing the spot on his cheek where your lips had been.

School was out, and the Hellfire boys were all grouped near the back of the lot like always. Gareth leaned against Jeff’s car, drumsticks tapping lightly against his thigh. Doug was halfway through a story about a kid who fell asleep in math and drooled on his own worksheet. You were only half-listening, the zipper of your backpack clenched between your fingers.

Eddie was off to the side, scrawling something into his well-worn campaign binder, crouched on the curb. The sun caught in his hair. His chain hung loose. He looked ridiculous and perfect.

You smiled without meaning to.

“Alright, nerds, same time Thursday?” Eddie called out, shutting the binder with a dramatic snap.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jeff grinned, already sliding into the front seat.

The group started peeling away, shouting jokes and farewells, backpacks slung over shoulders.

You waved at Doug and Jeff as they piled into the car. “Later, losers.”

“Bye, honorary loser,” Doug called.

You turned back just in time to catch Eddie’s eyes. He grinned, and you shot him a mock salute.

“Drive safe, Munson.”

“I always do,” he lied, winking as he slid into the van.

You didn’t look away immediately.

And he didn’t either.

Then, with a little wave, he backed out and rolled off toward the main road.

You were still watching the van disappear when Gareth stepped up beside you, arms crossed.

“So,” he said casually. “When are you gonna tell him?”

You blinked. “Tell who what?”

He gave you a knowing side-eye. “C’mon.”

You tried to laugh it off. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure,” he said, drawing the word out. “Totally. You just happened to stare at him like he personally invented sunlight.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

Gareth just smirked. “I’m just saying. The rest of us already know. It’s just you and Eddie who haven’t figured it out yet.”

You turned away before he could see the color rising to your cheeks.

“See you Thursday, Gareth.”

“You owe me five bucks when you finally kiss,” he called after you.

You flipped him off over your shoulder—but you were smiling.

His room was a mess of posters, records, and the distinct scent of weed curling through the air. The window was cracked just enough to let the smoke drift lazily outside, and the two of you were stretched out on the floor, backs propped against the edge of his bed.

Eddie held the joint between his fingers, gesturing with it as he recounted the latest Hellfire session like he was reading from a holy text.

“And then—this is the best part—Doug’s bard tries to seduce the necromancer’s skeleton minion, like full-on charisma roll, flowers, everything—”

You choked on a laugh, nearly dropping the soda can in your hand. “What did you do?”

“I made him roll with disadvantage for being a creep,” Eddie said proudly, eyes alight with glee. “And the skeleton punched him in the face.”

You snorted, nudging your socked foot against his leg. “God, you’re so mean to them.”

“I’m fair,” he corrected, passing you the joint with a grin. “It’s not my fault their stupidity knows no bounds.”

You took a hit and leaned your head back against the mattress, exhaling toward the ceiling, warm and light and a little dizzy in the best way.

Eddie kept talking, something about a cursed dagger and Jeff accidentally summoning a demonic goat, but you weren’t really listening anymore. Not fully.

You were watching him.

The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he moved his hands too much when he got excited. The little scratch in his voice when he’d smoked just enough.

Something in your face must’ve changed—softened, maybe—because he stopped mid-sentence and tilted his head at you.

“…Am I that interesting,” he asked, smirking slightly, “for you to stare at me like that?”

You blinked, startled.

Heat crept up your neck.

“Maybe,” you said, too slow, too honest.

He blinked, the smirk faltering for just a second—then he looked away with a quiet chuckle, scratching the back of his neck like he didn’t know what to do with the silence that followed.

You passed the joint back to him, your fingers brushing his. Neither of you commented on how long that touch lingered.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking toward the window.

“You’re weird,” he said finally, voice a little softer now.

“You’re weirder,” you murmured back, your cheek tilted toward your shoulder as you watched him.

Then, after a beat, you blinked and looked away.

“…Sorry,” you said softly, the word slipping out like it was pulled from somewhere deeper than you expected. “For staring.”

Eddie didn’t answer right away.

You figured maybe he was trying to think of something funny to deflect with, like he always did. But then you heard the creak of the mattress as he shifted closer, and when you glanced back at him, he was already looking at you again.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. No smirk. No teasing.

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

Eddie leaned in just slightly, one elbow resting on the floor, hand curling near your knee but not touching.

“I like it,” he added, voice low.

Your breath caught.

“Like what?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“The way you look at me,” he said. “Like I’m… something.”

You blinked. The joint burned slowly between his fingers. You didn’t even notice the smoke anymore.

“You are,” you said before you could stop yourself. “You’ve always been something.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a laugh, like he didn’t know what to do with the truth of that. “You’re really gonna kill me, aren’t you.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

He looked at you, his eyes tracing yours like he was trying to memorize the way you looked when you were this close. When the light was soft and low and you weren’t looking away.

“Because I’ve wanted to kiss you for, like, ever, and if you keep looking at me like that…”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish.

You leaned forward, slow but sure, giving him time to stop it—he didn’t.

Your lips brushed his in the softest, smallest movement, and then again, fuller this time, your hands finding the fabric of his shirt to hold onto.

Eddie let the joint fall into the ashtray. He kissed you back with both hands cradling your face, warm and a little clumsy like every nerve in him was firing at once. His thumb brushed your cheekbone as he pulled you closer, tasting like weed and soda and every shared laugh you’d ever had.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate.

It just was.

Something about kissing Eddie felt inevitable now — like you’d already been halfway doing it for years in every shared secret, every getaway, every “you okay?” and “come with me.”

The weed buzzed warm through your limbs, making everything feel hazy at the edges. Soft. Slower.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed against your lips, eyes flickering over your face like he wasn’t sure you were real. “You’re really doing this to me, huh?”

You smiled, fingertips tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Just shut up and keep kissing me, Munson.”

That got a breathless laugh from him, the kind that disappeared into your mouth as you pulled him into another kiss. Deeper this time. Messier. Less careful. His hands slid up under your hoodie, thumbs tracing the skin of your waist like he couldn’t believe you were letting him.

You rocked into him just slightly — enough to make his breath catch, enough to let him feel you weren’t playing around.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, mouth trailing down to your jaw, then under your ear. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“You’ve been ruining me since seventh grade,” you whispered back, tilting your head to let him in.

You felt him smile against your neck, his hands tightening on your hips like he couldn’t help himself.

“Take me to your bed.”

Eddie’s eyes widened — pupils already blown out from the joint you shared earlier, but now they were all you could see. “You sure?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.

You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure.”

For a second, he didn’t move — just looked at you like he was trying to etch this moment into his soul. Then, carefully, he lifted you off his lap and helped you to your feet, tugging you gently by the hand toward the bed.

Once you were sitting at the edge, Eddie stepped between your knees, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Still with me?”

You answered by kissing him again, pulling him down with you until your back hit the mattress and he was leaning over you. You could feel him — his cock, hard and pressing into you through layers of clothes — and your cunt clenched in response.

Hands fumbled with zippers and fabric, laughter slipping between kisses as you both struggled with nerves and anticipation. You helped him pull off your hoodie and toss it somewhere on the floor, followed by your shorts. His shirt went next, then your bra, then your underwear — and suddenly you were bare beneath him, flushed and glowing.

Eddie’s eyes roamed every inch of you like he’d never seen anything so sacred.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Like… shit, I don’t even have words for you.”

Your face flushed deeper. “Then maybe just kiss me.”

And he did — from your lips to your neck, down your collarbone, teeth grazing gently as his hands explored you. When his fingers found your folds, he paused at how soaked you were.

“You’re really like this for me?” he murmured, running soft, slow circles that made your thighs twitch. “Goddamn…”

Your back arched, head falling back with a gasp. “Eddie…”

He took his time, working you open with gentle touches, one finger inside you, then two, curling and coaxing until you were clinging to his arm.

Only when you were writhing, panting, nearly coming undone from just his fingers, did he reach for a condom from the drawer.

You watched as he pulled his pants and boxers down, revealing his cock — flushed, thick, and hard. You swallowed at the sight, nerves and need colliding in your gut.

Eddie noticed. “Hey,” he whispered, leaning over you again. “We go slow, alright? You say the word, and I’ll stop.”

You nodded, hands trembling slightly as he rolled on the condom and settled between your legs, guiding himself to your entrance.

The stretch was slow — deeper than anything you’d felt, and you gasped, eyes fluttering shut. Eddie stilled, brushing your hair from your face.

“You okay?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah… just full.”

He kissed your temple. “I got you, sweetheart.”

When he started moving, it was careful — slow thrusts, each one deeper than the last, his hands bracing on either side of your head. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting more.

Every drag of his cock against the walls of your cunt made heat bloom low in your belly. His name left your lips like a chant, and in return he whispered yours with quiet reverence.

“Feels so good… you’re so perfect,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly as his thrusts got a little faster, a little harder. “I’ve wanted this—God, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Your fingers clawed into his back as the tension built in your core — a tight, spiraling burn. And when his hand slid down to circle your clit just right, it tipped you over.

You came with a cry, clenching around him, and that was all it took.

Eddie moaned your name as he buried himself deep one last time, spilling into the condom with a quiet, shuddering gasp. His body collapsed over yours, forehead pressed to your shoulder as your breaths mingled in the thick silence.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

Just breathing.

Just there.

Eventually, Eddie rolled to the side and pulled you with him, your limbs tangling as you lay together in the warmth of it all.

You stared at each other in the dim light, faces flushed, lips swollen. Then, shyly, you leaned in and kissed him — soft and slow.

“Still high?” he murmured.

You smiled. “Maybe. But also just… happy.”

He brushed his thumb over your cheek and grinned. “Me too.”

Your head rested on Eddie’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart as your fingers absentmindedly traced circles on his skin. The room had gone quiet except for the hum of the amp in the corner and the soft rustling of sheets every time either of you shifted.

His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

“You good?” he asked eventually, voice a little raspy from smoke and breathless moans.

You nodded against his skin. “Yeah. Really good.”

A beat.

Then his voice dropped quieter, more uncertain. “So… that wasn’t just a high thing, right?”

You tilted your head to look at him. His eyes met yours, softer than you'd ever seen them. There was no teasing in his face, no cocky smirk. Just Eddie — wide-eyed, open, vulnerable.

You shook your head. “No. It wasn’t.”

A long breath left him, like he’d been holding it since the second your lips first touched. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve had feelings for you since, like… forever. And if I just ruined everything by being a horny idiot, I’d probably walk into traffic.”

You laughed quietly, scooting up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t ruin anything. I like you too. You know I do.”

He let that sink in, blinking up at the ceiling for a second. Then he turned back to you, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “So what does that mean for us?”

You hesitated — not out of doubt, but the weight of saying it out loud.

Then you smiled, heart full. “I think it means you’re my boyfriend now.”

He blinked, a beat of silence… then lit up like someone plugged him straight into the power grid.

“Yeah?” he grinned. “Like officially? I get to tell people you’re mine and everything?”

You smirked, tucking your face into his neck. “Only if I get to tell people you’re mine too.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you impossibly closer. “You’ve always had me.”

There wasn’t a formal declaration, no big gesture. Just the two of you tangled up in each other, whispering and laughing and exchanging quiet kisses until you both dozed off.

And when Eddie drifted to sleep with his arms still around you, he had the softest, dumbest smile on his face — like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

The cafeteria buzzed with noise, same as any other day — clattering trays, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, the occasional yell from the jocks’ table. But none of that mattered as you made your way toward your usual spot.

You slid onto the chair beside Eddie with a lazy grin, and without saying a word, you reached into your pocket and handed Gareth a crumpled five-dollar bill.

He blinked, then slowly smirked as he took it. “Knew it. Knew it.”

Eddie glanced between the two of you, confused. “Wait, what the hell is this?”

“She owed me five bucks,” Gareth said casually, tucking the bill into his jacket. “Told her the day you two finally kissed, she’d owe me.”

Eddie’s brows shot up. “There was a bet?”

You shrugged innocently, picking at your lunch. “It wasn’t a bet. It was a prediction.”

Gareth snorted. “Same difference.”

Doug leaned forward, frowning. “Wait, kissed?”

Jeff narrowed his eyes. “Are you two—?”

Gareth grinned smugly. “Oh yeah. They’re a thing now.”

Doug blinked. “Since when?!”

You leaned back with a smile. “Since Friday.”

Then, just to twist the knife, you added casually, “Might’ve been more than just a kiss.”

There was a beat of silence before all three of them — Gareth included — let out overlapping groans of “Ew!” and “Dude!” and “We did not need to know that!”

Eddie was laughing, head thrown back, clearly loving every second of it. “God, I love this table.”

Doug covered his ears. “There are things you keep to yourself, man!”

“I did!” you said through laughter. “I was just being honest!”

Jeff shook his head. “There’s honest, and then there’s traumatizing your friends at lunch.”

Eddie leaned in, dropping his arm behind you on the chair. “They’ll live. Let them suffer.”

You grinned and rested your head against his shoulder for a second, completely unbothered by the dramatic reactions surrounding you.

Gareth muttered, “If you guys start making out at the table, I swear I’m transferring schools.”

You winked at him. “Noted.”

In the weeks since that night, everything had shifted — but in the best way. You and Eddie were still you — still sneaking off, still laughing until your stomachs hurt, still thick as thieves — but now there were kisses between conversations and fingers laced under the lunch table. He left scribbled notes in your locker. You stole his flannels. Everyone in school knew, and honestly, neither of you cared.

Being with Eddie was easy, loud, chaotic, and soft in all the right places.

But even with how bold you both were, one line remained uncrossed: your parents.

Until one afternoon, completely unannounced, Eddie Munson showed up at your front door.

You were in your room when the knock came. Then the second knock. Then your mom calling your name, a note of confusion in her voice.

When you came down and rounded the corner into the living room, you nearly choked on your own breath.

Eddie was standing in front of your parents, hands folded politely in front of him, hair surprisingly tamed, black jeans swapped for clean, hole-free ones, and his usual graphic tee replaced with a collared shirt. A button-up, no less.

He looked like someone had dressed him for a church bake sale.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. Sir," he said, with the most forced, dramatic smile you'd ever seen. “I hope I’m not intruding. I just wanted to formally introduce myself.”

Your mom was too stunned to speak. Your dad just blinked.

You, on the other hand, stood frozen behind them, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You could practically see the effort Eddie was putting into this performance — the polite tone, the slightly bowed head, the complete absence of any skull rings or visible chains.

He even brought a Tupperware of cookies. Store-bought. But he tried.

Your mom finally said, “Well… that’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Oh, I do my best,” Eddie replied with a small chuckle, glancing briefly at you behind their backs — and the look he gave you was pure mischief.

You were going to lose it.

You walked him out with the front door clicking shut behind you, silence stretching over the porch like a blanket. The evening air was warm, a slow breeze rustling the trees above as you both stepped down the driveway toward his van.

Eddie was quiet for once, hands in his pockets, still wearing that ridiculous button-up. His curls had started to frizz a little from the heat, and the edges of his nerves were just starting to show again.

You didn’t say anything until you reached the passenger side.

“That was stupid,” you said, arms crossed, but your mouth was tugging into a smile.

Eddie turned to you, playing innocent. “Define stupid.”

“Showing up like that. The shirt, the cookies, the ‘yes ma’am, no sir’ routine—”

“Hey, that was sincere performance art,” he shot back with mock pride. “Do you know how hard it was not to swear for twenty minutes straight?”

You laughed, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, your fingers brushing the fabric of his cleaned-up façade. “It was so stupid.”

He gave you a crooked grin. “But did it work?”

You looked up at him, letting your eyes soften just enough to let the truth slip through. “Yeah.”

Eddie exhaled, just a little. “Good.”

You leaned in, pressing a hand to his chest, fingers curling against the collar of his shirt. “You didn’t have to prove anything to them.”

“I know,” he said softly, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “Wasn’t for them.”

Your heart fluttered.

You let that hang between you for a second before pulling back, smirking. “Still stupid.”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “But you like stupid.”

You nodded. “I like you.”

He kissed you gently — not rushed, not greedy, just warm and sure and a little amused. When he pulled back, he whispered, “Same.”

Then he opened the driver’s door with a dramatic bow. “Until our next ridiculous adventure, m’lady.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed him lightly toward the seat. “Go before my dad changes his mind.”

He blew you a kiss and climbed in. As the van rumbled to life and pulled away, you stood there barefoot on the driveway, grinning like an idiot.

Yeah, you liked stupid.

Especially when stupid came with a heart like his.

Things didn’t change overnight.

Your parents didn’t suddenly love Eddie — they weren’t inviting him over for Sunday dinners or quoting Iron Maiden lyrics at the table — but they were trying. The edge in their voice softened when they said his name. The disapproving glances turned into skeptical ones. Your mom even smiled at him once, unprompted.

That was a big day.

Eddie kept being Eddie. He didn’t start tucking in his shirts or going to church — he just showed up with a little more patience and a lot less noise when it came to your parents. He didn’t mock the rules anymore (at least not out loud), and you made sure not to push every boundary just to prove a point.

You were figuring it out. Together.

And as for the two of you?

It was good. Stupidly good.

The dynamic hadn’t shifted much — you were still sneaking off in his van, still laughing until they wheezed, still lying side by side under open skies talking about nothing and everything — but the label gave it something extra. Something real.

Calling each other “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” didn’t change who you were. It just put a word to what you'd already been feeling for a long time. Like a puzzle that had been finished for months but was missing that one last piece.

Now, it was all there. In place. Whole.

Sometimes, you’d look over at him while he ranted about guitar solos or rolled a joint with theatrical flair and think — God, how did I ever live without this?

And sometimes, he’d catch you staring and smirk. “You’re doing it again,” he’d tease.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

You'd smile, lean in, and say, “That’s because you are.”

And Eddie — blushing, grinning, stupid, hopeless Eddie — would mumble something like “Damn right,” and kiss you like he meant it.

Because he did.

And you never stopped letting him know you meant it, too.

#kar's fics ☆#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things

341 notes · View notes

thepinkpanther83 · 1 month ago

Note

Can you write this adorableness with Eddie as person B and reader as person A. Like reader can't sleep because her mid is racing of thoughts of Eddie and she says screw it at goes to him in the middle of the night? Please?

Sleepy Confessions

One-Shot Request: “Sleepy Confessions” Eddie Munson x Reader

💌 Author’s Note: This soft, sleepy slice of Munson-flavored comfort was requested by the lovely @meankenna, who always seems to know exactly what my heart needs to write. Thank you for trusting me with your vision- you are the reason this tender mess of midnight courage and tangled limbs exists. It was a joy bringing this tender, late-night Eddie moment to life. Hope it gives you all the heart flutters and cozy sighs. 💕

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Summary: You can’t sleep. Not with Eddie Munson taking up every square inch of your thoughts. One sleepless night at the trailer, you finally give in and cross a line you’ve been dancing along for far too long. What waits on the other side? Something softer… and far more dangerous, than you ever expected.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Sleepy Confessions

One-Shot Request: “Sleepy Confessions”

It’s way too late to still be awake.

But sleep won’t come, not even close. You’re curled on the Munsons’ lumpy old couch, a blanket twisted around your legs and your arm tucked under your head, staring up at the water-stained ceiling like it’s got answers. Spoiler: it doesn’t. Neither does the ticking clock over the kitchen doorway or the occasional rumble of a semi barreling down the road outside.

Wayne’s on another night shift, and the whole trailer feels like it’s exhaling without him here. Too still. Too quiet. Except your brain.

It’s racing.

Eddie. That’s the problem. That’s always the problem.

You replay dinner in your head- how he offered you the last slice of pizza without blinking, how he flicked his straw wrapper at you, and then laughed so hard he nearly snorted soda. The way his eyes had lingered on you a little too long when he thought you weren’t looking. Or maybe he wanted you to see. You don’t even know anymore.

And God, the way he said your name earlier… soft, like it meant something. Like you meant something.

You drag the blanket over your face and groan into it. None of this is helping.

You toss the blanket aside with a sigh that’s more frustration than fatigue. Every part of you is buzzing- limbs heavy with sleeplessness, but your brain? Fully caffeinated on a potent cocktail of What ifs and Just kiss him already.

You mutter it under your breath before you’ve fully decided:

“Screw it.”

The floor is cold under your bare feet. Your oversized hoodie barely covers your thighs as you pad down the narrow hallway. The trailer creaks under your weight, groaning softly like it’s in on your secret. You wince at every little sound, half expecting to wake a grumpy Wayne from the ether- but he’s gone. Night shift. It’s just you and Eddie. Like always.

Eddie’s door is cracked open, just a sliver, but it glows with soft amber from the string lights looped haphazardly around his wall. You catch a flicker of lava lamp motion- swirling, slow. There’s music playing faintly from the cassette deck, something dreamy and distant. Maybe Floyd. Maybe Sabbath on a softer night.

You hover there for a moment. Two. You think about turning back.

But then you remember the way he smiled at you tonight. Like he wanted to say something but bit it back.

So you knock.

Well. More like you nudge the door with your knuckles. It creaks open a little wider, betraying you.

He doesn’t stir.

You step inside.

His room smells like cedar, cheap cologne, and the faint remnants of weed. It’s stupidly comforting. His curls are a mess on the pillow, one bare arm tossed over his head like he’s auditioning for a Renaissance painting. He’s breathing slowly. Peaceful.

You almost feel bad.

Almost.

You inch closer, every step a minor rebellion.

“Eddie,” you whisper.

No response.

You swallow, nerves finally catching up to your heart. God, what are you doing?

You linger beside his bed like you don’t belong there- but also like you’ve never belonged anywhere else. His room is a cluttered mess of band posters, worn tapes stacked in milk crates, and that familiar scent- Eddie. Something about him always smells like smoke and the woods in fall. Like trouble and comfort in equal parts.

He shifts under the blanket, mumbling into his pillow. You reach out, fingers trembling, and brush the slope of his shoulder. “W-wake up,” you whisper, like you’re afraid the moment will break if you speak too loudly.

He groans softly, long and dramatic, like a grumpy teenager, a gravelly rasp that rumbles low in his throat. His brow scrunches before he pries open one eye.

“Mmmm… what do you want…”

Your heart seizes. But you’re already here. Standing in the warm glow of his room, barefoot and shaking.

You bite your lip.

You could still back out. You could say you just wanted a glass of water. Or ask him what that weird noise outside was.

But none of those lies would fix the way your chest feels like it’s going to cave in.

“I… umm…”

He rolls, sluggish and bleary-eyed, one arm flopping across his chest. His curls are a halo of chaos, face still slack with sleep, but one eye peeks open- barely. “You could’ve chosen someone else to wake up and bother, ya know?” he mumbles, rubbing his cheek into the pillow. “Just tell me what-”

“I love you.”

The words hit the air like a dropped glass. Sharp. Sudden. Irretrievable.

Silence.

And then… He freezes. Not in that awkward, I’m-about-to-reject-you way. No, he freezes like a man hit by lightning.

There’s a moment of silence.

The kind that stretches thin and golden, heartbeats suspended in time.

Eddie blinks once. Twice.

Then he shoves himself up on one elbow, sheets falling off his bare chest, curls in his eyes. He looks at you, like really looks at you. Like the world just flipped upside down, and he’s trying to figure out which star you fell from.

“…I love you too,” he says. Voice low, hoarse with sleep but sure, like he’s never meant anything more.

Then, with a lazy smirk curling his lips: “Now get in my bed right fucking now.”

You blink back at him, stunned.

“Wait- what?”

He throws the blanket open with one hand and reaches out with the other, fingers brushing yours. “C’mon, sweetheart. You wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me that, and you think I’m letting you walk outta here without at least one solid cuddle? Get in here.”

Your feet move before your brain can catch up. Your oversized hoodie rustles as you slip into the warm cocoon of his sheets. He pulls you in without hesitation- no dramatic speech, no overthinking- just wraps you up like you’ve always belonged there.

His arms settle around you, one draped heavy over your waist, the other sliding up your back like instinct. Like muscle memory. Like he’s been dreaming about this exact moment for weeks.

Your forehead finds his. His nose bumps yours. Neither of you says anything for a while.

It’s just quiet breathing and the hum of his lava lamp, casting gentle waves of red and orange across the room. Your fingers tangle with his beneath the covers- warm and twitchy, and when your pinkies loop, he gives the tiniest squeeze.

“About damn time,” he murmurs. Voice like gravel and honey. “Thought I was gonna have to write a ballad about you or something just to get it outta my system.”

You smile into the dark, your hand brushing the soft spot at the base of his neck. “You still gonna bother me in my dreams now that I’m in your arms?”

He chuckles- a sleepy, rough sound that vibrates through his chest. “Sweetheart, if you’re in my arms, I hope I bother you in your dreams.”

A moment passes. “Hell, I hope I wreck ‘em good.”

You laugh, and he pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin like he’s shielding treasure.

Then, quieter- like it’s just for you and the night to hear:

“You better be here when I wake up. Or I swear on my entire Dio collection, I will come drag you back.”

You grin. “Promise.”

His thumb strokes along your spine once… twice…

Then it stills.

Eddie Munson falls asleep with a smile on his lips and the one he loves in his bed.

And for the first time all night, your mind finally shuts up.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @meankenna

Masterlist

151 notes · View notes

dzvelinaskebiyars · 1 month ago

Text

Inspired by this song˙˚ʚ(´◡`)ɞ˚˙ tw: angst<3 tagging: @shintaru dividers aren't mine! I don't remember whose these dividers are(´Ａ｀。

Hajun:

You sat quietly on his apartment floor, the surface cold and hard against your skin. The absence of his little brothers and the joy that they always brought in the house was heavy, only defeating silence filled the dark room like a smoke curling in the air, heavy and choking. Lights were off, the only thing that saved the room from completely succumbing to darkness were windows and bright sun outside. And here you were, sitting on the floor in front of your boyfriend, bandaging his bruised fingers.

His eyes glued on your hands, observing how gently you treated his bruises. And yet, he looked like he was far deep in his thoughts, in his own world, completely detached from reality right now. He knew it was just another day for you, another day of taking care of him after his fights even when he told you that he could do it himself, and he hates it. He hates how it's becoming norm for you, how it's becoming daily task for you. You used to scold him for getting into so many fights, and he really tried to listen, but now you've come to accept it - that you couldn't keep him away from the danger that he, himself, was jumping into. So, you shut up about it too.

There was time when Hajun used to admire MMA fighters as a kid and had passion in boxing but now all those innocent times have passed. He doesn't even know why his heart keeps his old fixations when he already lost the spark for it. The moment it became his only weapon to survive, the moment it became something that got him involved in underground gambling and the moment he had to surrender himself to rich people and get locked up in cage - one he couldn't return from - his heart grew numb to something he had passion for.

That's when his world became grey, that's when he grew numb to most things in his life, that's when his lifestyle got dirty and his life messed up. But then there were you. You, who brought some colours back in his life. You, who made him feel something. You, who he felt more like human with, instead of a hound dog abandoned in the ring. But even so, he has already gone too far in something he couldn't come back from. And he could see that it also affected you.

"Done." You spoke out of nowhere, snapping him back to reality. When his eyes meet yours, you could tell that something was bothering him. His gaze looked so...lost. But he was looking at you.

"Thank you." He said, his voice rough from staying quiet for so long so he cleared his throat.

You observed him for a second before speaking again. "You don't have to feel guilty." Hearing that, he looked at you again with slightly wider eyes, caught off guard. "You said they attacked you first. Of course you'd have to protect yourself." You gave him dismissive shrug as an attempt to show that you don't blame him for getting into a fight.

"Yeah, I know..." Hajun answered, almost whispering. He looked like he had so much to say but didn't know how to, didn't have right words for it but still, you patiently waited for him to make up his mind. "But...I'm sorry." He finally added, his fingers tightened together in a firm fist.

"You don't have to apologi-"

"I do. I'm sorry that I've been worrying you all this time. And I shouldn't have accepted his request again, knowing what he'd want from me and rest of Sabbath..." He murmured loud enough for you to hear, but he sounded so tired that he could barely control his tone.

With a sigh, you reached to cup his cheeks with your hands. "You didn't have bad intentions though. And don't apologize to me. If you have anyone to apologize for the most - it's you." You explained while eyeing his bruises and wounds he got from his fight and that shut him up quickly.

You do understand that it's his job, that he's doing this for his brothers, that he gets into few street fights which isn't rare in Korea, but you dislike it. And what you dislike more than his violent environment is how he treats himself, how he doesn't care what happens to him as long as his brothers will be fine and well fed. It breaks your heart to see him acting like a vessel for his family.

Hajun remained quiet, he didn't have anything else to say. What you didn't expect him though, was him wrapping his arm around you and bringing close to his embrace. His silence only adding to the heavy situation. Then he rested his second hand on your waist and his chin on your shoulder. He didn't know what to say in that moment but he really, really wanted you to stay.

Vinny:

Today was the day half of Korea dreamed of, people were busy cheering for the winner of League of Streets, Jay Jo. But he wasn't the one you were looking at, looking for. Instead, it was the boy next to him with ruby red hair, his face down in shame, his hands trembling.

Vinny....

It's beyond the imagination of crowd how useless he feels right now. He sacrificed everything, he worked hard, yet why...why?! Why is it that he could never have the win? Why is that he's just never enough? Honestly, even you didn't know how to cheer him up anymore.

But still, you waited outside for him while he was getting tested for doping, putting your jacket back on due to cold weather that doesn't seem to be changing. While you were waiting, your thoughts were on Vinny. What were you supposed to say to him? What could you possibly do or say to cheer him up right now? Would he even accept it? Or would he push you away?

While these thoughts kept haunting you, Vinny came out of the staff room with gloomy face. Your attention immediately shifted to him and your heart ached at the sight of him. He looked so devastated but as always, trying to mask it up.

"Vinny!" You called out his name to grab his attention. He raised his head at the sound of your voice, turning around to face you with surprised expression. But his face turned gloomy again in matter of seconds.

You walked towards him, getting closer and closer with each step while nervously thinking about what to say. You'd congratulate him but what should you congratulate him for? If you ask him how he's doing though, that would make him feel even more pathetic, considering Vinny doesn't like getting pitied. Then maybe you should tell him that he tried his best, but even tha-

"What?" His voice snapped you back to reality, realising you're already standing close to him - too close. His heterochromic eyes rest on your face.

"I...Um...You were amazing out there." Your voice came out hesitant and you immediately cursed yourself for that. C'mon, you were supposed to say it confidently!!

Silence.

Neither of you said anything after that. The only thing you heard was the sound of his breathing and your heart that was going to burst out of your chest any time soon.

"Are you kidding me?" He snapped. Vinny's voice wasn't loud, he wasn't yelling - no. But his tone was sharper than any blade, enough to catch you by surprise.

"No? I'm not kidding. I think you were amaz-"

"What about me is amazing?" He asks, this time without any bite in his voice nor sarcasm. "No matter how hard I trained, I still couldn't win this competition. How is that amazing?" His eyes narrowed at you but not in distrust, but in desperation he tried so hard to hide.

"Vinny, no matter what you say, you were amazing today. And I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks so--"

"Shut it."

"I'm proud of you-"

"I said stop."

His sharp voice kept cutting you off, leaving you no other choice than shutting up. With a soft sigh, you gave up. His eyes were now glued on the ground, lost in whatever he was thinking. After that, he turned around to walk away but your voice stopped him.

"I didn't say it out of pity. I truly am proud of you, Vinny."

Wooin:

The sound of water running filled the quiet bathroom, the unpleasant smell reached Wooin's nose, so he held his breath. He washed blood off of his hands, his knuckles were bruised, his lip cut open, blood making his lips sticky. He tried to clean himself up as fast as he could since his dad's guard was waiting for him. His dad...He would be so mad...

The sound of door opening caught his attention. Wooin thought it was probably his bodyguard checking if he was done, so he didn't look up, he didn't even want to see him. But then-

"Wooin?"

The familiar voice of female, that familiar voice he grew to love, reached his ears and he didn't hesitate to turn around, despite being surprised. "[Reader]? What are you doing here...in boys' bathroom?"

You stared at his cut lip, bruised knuckles, blood on his clothes, messy hair and exhausted eyes, like he just wanted to give up. Your heart ached at the sight of him. It's so unusual to see him looking so vulnerable. "I...heard that you got into fight so I was worried." You answered, hesitantly reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Wooin, however, didn't let you do that due to his shoulder already aching and shifted away instead. "I'm surprised my guard let you in."

"Oh I forced him and threatening that I would snitch on him about his relationship with our history teacher." You said in light-hearted tone to ease the tension and thankfully, his lips twitched into ghost smile, but it faded away too quickly.

"Anyway.... Do you need help in cleaning up?" You gently offered.

"Hm, maybe if I was four and still taking bubble baths." He sarcastically says and turns around to wash his knuckles again.

"Okey... Why did you get into fight though? You could get in trouble."

"I already am in trouble." He corrected. "Surprising, isn't it?" His tone drips in sarcasm again, habit he accidentally picked on since he was young.

"Answer my question." Now you demanded after noticing that he tried to avoid it. "Did they say something to you?"

Wooin sighs and mutters something under his nose but you couldn't catch it. Then he puts his hands in hand dryer, the machine immediately activates. "Just something stupid." He states dismissively.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you questioned him further. "You wouldn't act like this over something stupid."

You watched him take his hands out of the dryer, checking if his hands were still somehow wet - they weren't. "Does it matter? I've set an example of why they shouldn't get cocky with me. Doubt they'll do it again unless they want free tickets to hospital."

"Fear isn't solution, Wooin..." You spoke again, now concerned to how he started thinking. Like him. "Well-" you tried to change topic to don't sound accusing but he cut you off.

"If they refuse to show respect, making them scared will force them to."He says, not looking at you.

At that, your heart broke. He has changed so much after that accident, it's like he's completely different person. You know that he was defending himself, it's not like him to throw fists out of nowhere without being provoked to do so. But... "Is that whar your father taught you?" Before you could stop yourself, the question rolled off of your tongue on its own.

At that, he froze. Not visibly, but he still did. His eyes slowly moved up to your face and he opened his mouth to say something but the sudden knock on the room made you both go still.

"Sir, are you done? We should hurry." Wooin's so-called bodyguard - that was literally taking him to man he needed to be protected from - interrupted, calling for Wooin with urgency.

"Yeah, coming." Wooin answered, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking away from you. Leaving you with thousands of thoughts and heavy heart but maybe you also left him with one.

#Spotify #windbreaker webtoon #windbreaker manhwa #sabbath crew #wooin windbreaker #wooin yoo x reader #wooin yoo #yoo wooin #yoo wooin x reader #joker wb #joker windbreaker #joker windbreaker x reader #vinny windbreaker #vinny hong #vinny hong x reader #this is shit but whatever

134 notes · View notes