𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐭
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Your secret fling with Eddie Munson hadn't gone entirely under wraps, particularly to the know-it-all, Dustin Henderson. With the help of Robin and Steve, the three conspire to reveal the truth, resulting in two of the most awkward people going on a date together...
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, slight crying, alcohol consumption, awkwardness, insecurities, closeted sexuality, implied coming out, secret relationship, and some explicit sexual content: fondling, mention of porn, mention of oral, and unprotected vaginal sex (fairly minor, not the focal point).
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | This piece has literally been sitting in my Google Docs since June 26th, because when rewatching Friends, I though it would be a cute idea for a fic, so you'll see a lot of lines and parallels from the episode (season 5, episode 14). It's devastatingly unfortunate Matthew Perry passed when I was finishing this up. So, in memory of him and a toast to friendship, here is this fic. Be safe, appreciate life, and enjoy <3 I love you all.
𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.
“Did you guys see that?!” A pointed finger of accusation was targeted against Eddie Munson, completely oblivious to his knowledge.
Steve Harrington had grimaced at the mush that was once a solid cheeseburger residing inside the slobbery mouth of Dustin Henderson, as the kid spoke with such urgency, clearly unperturbed by his lack of food etiquette and social decorum. But such skills could not be expected much from Dustin Henderson. That is unless, of course, an actual adult of authority had been in the presence, to which a gummy smile was expected to assuage whatever insulting comment about the need for manners that “The Hair” would proffer in disgust.
It was the second Saturday in a row that Steve’s been bombarded by the abuse of the children to let his residence be used for a pool party. He doesn’t understand how exactly he lost the backbone to say no to four teenagers, but the phenomenon had manifested into reality, and at the very least, a compromise was made for the young adults—of whatever weird mesh of a friend group this was between older teens, younger teens, crossover shebang—to tag along for a hot afternoon of relaxation.
“Yeah, Eddie’s hair totally looks like a wet mop.” Max Mayfield snickered between her sips of a twisty-straw-in-lemonade action. In truth, seeing lushes locks of black stick to his face and neck was quite amusing, especially when made worse as the metalhead re-calibrated like a dog, shaking his hair as a means of getting rid of the chlorine water that weighed down his head. One that could always get a good chuckle out of anyone.
“No! Not that! That!” The ghost trail that was of Eddie Munson walking inside the Harrington villa, as pointed to by Dustin as a means of evidence, did little to provide any context of support to whatever it was he was avowing about this time. In many instances, those close to him knew to just let his diatribes continue without interference. The kid’s standards were impossibly high; people’s mistakes of simple wrongdoings were always criticized by his superiority. ‘“Oh, I’m just gonna head to the bathroom real quick.’” Dustin mimicked, mocking the voice of his Dungeon Master with dramatic gestures of flailing arms. A testament surely to get his character killed in next week’s campaign, should he have been caught by the man.
“Yeah, Dustin, that’s kinda, like, a natural occurrence in life.” Mike Wheeler deadpanned with a patronizing voice to annoy, as it’d been known to exasperate his friend. It’d even gained a couple laughs from the lounging bodies strewn about in the breadth of the gardened backyard.
Lucas Sinclair had jumped at the opportunity to prod further, barking a deafening cackle. “Yeah, remember that bomb you dropped after the school’s attempt to serve enchiladas?” He slapped his knee with joy. “You had the janitor running from the stalls!”
That one really got a good laugh out of everyone. But before Max could even venture at an attempt to cater for further details, Dustin struck on offense to defend his honor from the sharings of his intimate privacy, definitively emphasized with an agitated tone of vexation. “No, no! You pinky swore that you’d never speak of it! Do I need to tell everyone what Erica found under your bed?!” Old reliable; blackmail, the bargain of a lifetime.
“The hell is under your bed, man?” Steve pondered, flipping a seared patty with a slab of American cheese ready to go. If it was anything like what was under his bed, he’d surely want no one to know.
“Nothing!”
“What I thought.” Dustin muttered with a glare, as Lucas shrunk in his chair to evade any potential threats of further questions that lay on the tips of his friends’ nosy tongues. “But again, that is not what I am talking about.”
Always the civil one out of the Wheeler clan, Nancy reassuringly stepped up to support her brother’s friend in need, settling everyone down. “We’re sorry, Dustin, go ahead.” It was to be expected she’d gain a heartfelt thank you from Dustin Henderson, himself, once the debacle simmered and the turbulence had passed. Nancy Wheeler always did have a special place in the kid’s big heart, particularly after the caring gesture of the 1984 Hawkins Middle’s Snow Ball Dance.
“How can you all be so blind?!” Dustin seethed. “You’re telling me none of you find it even a little suspicious that Eddie just so happened to go to the 'bathroom' right after Y/N’s excuse of wanting to 'change,' like, hello?!” He huffed. “They’re totally screwing!”
Dustin Henderson felt devastatingly vanquished when a unanimous vote of disbelieving what’s hurtled his way with no mercy. He felt useless- undermined. Like the bag of Fritos left behind when children would rather fight over Doritos or Sour Cream n’ Onion Lays, rather than appreciate the artistry of a simple corn chip, left alone and forgotten until a last resort when moms took too long to make dinner; never to be cherished in the dark corner of the bulk size box of Frito-Lays. Of course, they wouldn’t believe him. They didn’t witness what he had to tragically witness. He heard it so vividly. So hauntingly vivid. Sometimes, it kept the poor boy up at night. Last week- last Friday- Hellfire’s Friday, such an exhilarating night now befouled by the auditory version of what he learned in the ninth grade compulsory course of sexual education.
How naive of him to believe your actions stemmed from the kindness of your heart; offering your chauffeuring abilities to pick up the freshman after their campaigns, sauntering inside with a sickeningly sweet smile to pair with your tender greetings, and always wanting to lend a helping hand to the Dungeon Master, because “it just seems like so much to clean.” Puh-lease! The signs had been flashing in his face. The ulterior motives screaming in his ear. What sane person deliberately chooses to waste their time picking up three boys revved up with excitement and sweat after the thrills of Dungeons and Dragon? Jesus, shit, it was Friday night, don’t you have any plans?! Yeah, plans to stick your tongue down their Dungeon Master’s throat. Tainting the sanctity of Hellfire with your debauchery.
Dustin Henderson had forgotten his dice. Sometimes, he wishes he would have just let the damn things go.
“God, baby, a quickie- let’s just do it right here real quick.” Eddie’s begging voice vibrated behind the closed door of the drama department, seeping through the open cracks beneath the door, all for Dustin’s ears to hear.
And he tried to give him the benefit of the doubt- the kid really did. Pet names were far from unusual by use of Eddie Munson. The one instance the Byers dropped back into Hawkins during Spring Break, it was no doubt Will the Wise had to get a taste of the new man running the show, and when Eddie had given Byers the innocent compliment of being such a sweetheart, the kid blushed into oblivion, stuttering a thank you in return. Hell, not to mention the infamous “big boy” that followed Steve Harrington around wherever the man took on motherly duties. So, Dustin brushed it off. But the moment had quickly transpired into something cringe worthy to the fourteen-year-old who didn’t know better. It should have been his cue to run, but the fiery design of his dice cost him six bucks of his chores earning, and they weren’t about to be discarded, as if the sweat of his forehead meant nothing from an afternoon of bending over the mop bucket to clean the kitchen floors.
There are moments at night when he speculates if this is the doings of the heavenly man above that his beloved, Suzie Bingham, always mentioned; punishing Dustin in consequence of eavesdropping on a private matter that surely was not intended to be heard. But can you really call it eavesdropping when you were merely trying to retrieve your dice? No! You can’t!
“They’re already waiting for me in the car.” You whined against his lips. The figurine that was poking your hip was the last thing accounted for in your mind, as Eddie had showcased you onto the wooden table of the prop room. Lips smeared against yours, his hand had squeezed a chunk of your meaty thigh, bringing you forth to keep you in close company. “We can’t.” Can’t what, huh? Find the dignity to do it outside of school grounds?! Freaks!
“Little shits.” Dustin had appallingly gasped at the insult, feeling the stabbing wound of betrayal hit him in the chest as you laughed along, hand clutched over his heart to appease the pain of such affliction. The dramatics. “Come to my place after.” Eddie delicately kissed loving pecks to your lips. “That way,” his finger trailed up your thigh, “we can have our alone time, and I can finally get a taste of that pretty pu-”
Dustin Henderson knew to run away at that point. Safe to say, the kid never got his dice back.
“Are you insane?!” Motherly hand on the hip, Dustin didn’t appreciate Steve’s disciplinary tone of voice, sounding too much like his mother, Ms. Claudia Henderson, for his liking, as everyone agreed with Harrington’s proclaimed delusion against the boy. “Munson doesn’t have the skills to screw, let alone someone as hot as her.” He chuckled in disbelief.
Oh, boy, was he wrong.
“Mm, j-just like that, uh!” Your pelvis pummeled into the sink, tainting the precisely picked pristine porcelain by Mrs. Harrington, herself, as Eddie rutted his hips into the dampness that was your bikini bottoms to chase a release that was on the brink of snapping.
It was your fault he claimed; prancing in a top and bottom that left little to the imagination. Accusations of your outfit being chosen to taunt him were thrown your way, and your faux innocence only cemented it further. “Fuck- fucking take it—ugh, s-shit—take this fucking cock!” How could this ever be seen as a punishment when your boyfriend was lighting your body on fire with the ecstasy of abusing your g-spot?
Perhaps having sex in the bathroom of your mutual friend was far from the ethical rules of friendship, but the act of secrecy had bred a burning excitement that neither of you could contain. And, given the fact that four weeks ago, Steve had poked fun at Eddie’s singleness—not that Steve had any room to joke, though, at least, “The King” was relishing in the funness of meaningless hookups, something Eddie surely didn’t partake in, he lovingly had you—so seeking revenge in fucking his hot girlfriend in his friend’s bathroom had stirred something menacing in Eddie’s head to truly not give a single care in what he was doing was wrong.
“Yes! Yes! I’m gonna cum, fuck!” Fingers tightening on the edge of the sink, your heart soared watching the reflection of Eddie’s mouth panting with want, as he fucked your pussy, ready to release his load deep inside. His hands had snaked to grab handfuls of your bouncing tits, groaning as he felt your nipples poke through the coldness of your wet bikini top.
His hips harshly snapped against your rippling ass. “Cum all over my cock- shit! C’mon, pretty girl, fucking soak me- take all o’ me!” It barely felt as though he was pulling out, merely drilling in deeper and deeper. “I’m gonna cum- fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-”
“They are totally screwing!” The curls of Dustin Henderson’s head were on the verge of being ripped out in frustration; all that work he so earnestly dedicated night and day to maintain the silky bounce was about to be all for nothing. “They are! I heard them!”
Wrong choice of words. “You were listening to them screw?!” Robin gagged, triggering an onslaught of ew’s and perv’s- well, really, Max Mayfield had been the only one calling her friend a perv, doing it in the relaxation of her lounging chair, teasing behind her newly gifted heart-shaped sunglasses.
“No! No!” Dustin shouted in clarification. “I wasn’t listening! I heard them talking about it!” He agonized. “They’ve been doing it for at least a week! Behind our backs!”
“Oh!” Max ventured. “Let’s bet, I say they’ve been engaged for four months, and are pregnant!” She heckled, now clearly just taking the piss out of him.
“Has the water gone from your ears to your brain?” Robin laughed in his face. Surely the kid was mistaken, right? Aside from her personal himbo—Steve hated the nickname—you and Nancy Wheeler had become her newfound best friends. You know, a united front against the boys, girl talk, the whole shebang about girl code? Secrets weren’t a thing between your three! Granted, Robin, herself, was harboring a pretty large secret that only her himbo knew of, but that was different! Boys were nothing, she would gladly hear about all her friends’ boy problems, indulging in the drama of long distance or whatever the hell there was to complain about, but girls?! Yeah, that was, uh, that was just something- a topic still unbreached… at least, until she was ready.
“Fine!” The boy heaved, bailing out on defending his stance any further. “You guys don’t wanna believe, that’s just fine.” He snided. “But when they come back, and Y/N hasn’t changed out of her bathing suit, you won’t be laughing now!” Dustin Henderson ended his tirade with an embittered bite to his burger, dramatically dropping into his pool chair.
They’d all learn soon, and bow down to him.
So now, everyone waited. Waited for the fateful moment that would either prove Dustin Henderson right or wrong. And unfortunately- for you and Eddie, at least, your steamy escapade on the sink of the Harrington bathroom had left you too dazed and forgetful in the post-orgasmic bliss that was heavy breaths and loving touches of aftercare to keep up with the said excuse of “changing out of wet clothes” that got you alone with Eddie Munson in the first place. So when you marched out, glowing and relaxed—exactly two minutes and thirty-four seconds after Eddie’s “bathroom break” (so thoughtfully executed)—in the same damp bikini that had your secret boyfriend riled up to begin with, everyone gasped.
“What?” You looked around confused.
Unbeknownst to you, Dustin Henderson took a cheesy bite of his burger, loudly sipping a carbonated gulp of his cold Coke, ready to snap his fingers for another round of meals for his peasant friends to fetch.
He was right.
-
Robin Buckley confirmed it next.
That Monday to come, Robin was staggering over the words of Dustin Henderson, and trying to piece the evidence presented to understand what was transpiring in your double life. The events after your return from “changing” left you confused by the jarring stares of six pairs of eyes testing you. Nancy, with the softest approach, had questioned you on the lack of new clothes on your body, to which your knight in shining armor—or accomplice—stepped up to save you from the army of prodding friends. “A knot in my hair, yeah, I distracted her to help me get a knot out of my hair.” Sure, Eddie, sure.
During the uproarious minutes of lunchtime, you’d been ready to get an afternoon break from school to fork through Hawkins High’s poor excuse as to what constitutes consumable food, when the sudden scrutiny from Robin Buckley began. And, my god, was she persistent.
In the comical marching band she suited, Robin Buckley had rushed her attempt to the first approach. “Hey, Robs. You think I can borrow your notes for Civics, I-”
“So, I hear Jonathan’s coming back from California next week!” Something about rashly eating the served cut peaches seemed to play up to the normal act Robin was going for, but truthfully, it just made you eye her strange behavior weirdly.
“Oh.” You accepted the out-of-nowhere information. Maybe you won’t do so good on Mr. Vortroski’s test on Supreme Court cases as you originally thought. “That’s great for Nance-”
“Isn’t it?!” The enthusiasm she was exerting was truly taking it over the top. But Robin Buckley had a heart for caring, and perhaps the excitement for her friend was really bubbling up today. “Nancy said they’ve been planning, like, a lot of dates, you know, to catch up on lost time?” You casually nodded along. “Single dates, double dates… and then I was thinking, hey!” She perked. “Y/N’s young and good looking! She’s probably seeing someone! So are you, I don’t know, seeing someone? Anyone? Tall, dark hair? Anyone?”
“Uh…” Yeah, maybe the hastiness of Robin’s impetuous nature wasn’t the best route to go with. “No, um, no I’m not seeing anyone.” You gave a tight-lipped smile. “Nance and Jonathan are gonna have to find someone else to double date with- oh, maybe Steve! What’s that girl's name he’s been seeing, Brenda? Beatrice? Actually, you know what, it’ll probably be really awkward to ask your ex-boyfriend on a double date with your current bo-”
“You’re seriously not seeing anyone?!” Robin’s brows furrowed with frustration. You were lying to her face- you were lying straight to your best friend’s face! “Nobody? No one?” You begrudgingly shook your head. “No thing?”
“Robin,” you chuckled, “is there something you want to tell me?” There were lots of things Robin Buckley wanted to tell you. Like, for starters, the newfound revelation that she likes how she looks with mascara, after you left yours on the dresser of her bedroom during your sleepover two weeks ago. She had no plans of returning it back to you, either. Or, possibly the fact that Bridget—the actual name of Steve’s newest lover—stole his Farrah Fawcett hairspray- or the fact that Steve uses Farrah Fawcett hairspray. Maybe the other thing, as in the strange occurrence that happens to her heartbeat whenever Vickie from chemistry happens to be around. Or, the other other thing, like the fact that she spent an obscene amount of minutes staring at cover of “Scissoring with Seduction” starring Roxie Rockett and Viola Diamond, after organizing the adult films section at Family Video- actually, scratch that, she’d never tell a soul about that, not even Steve Harrington.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” She shot back with fervency.
“No…?” Your questioning answer had your friend igniting her dramatic flare, slumping in her seat with a defeated huff. Dustin Henderson would surely be owed a duly apology. At this point, you’d like to say this weirded you out, but you lived in Hawkins, Indiana. You’ve seen weirder.
Evidently not sufficed with your response, your friend sat up onto perched elbows. “Y/N, you know you can tell me anything, right?” A sincere approach. Undoubtedly better. “Like, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me stuff. I won’t judge or anything.” Robin solemnly smiled at you.
Your tender hand squeezed her arm. “I know.” You beamed. “I hope you know that the same goes for you, Robs. If you ever have anything you need to tell me, I’ll always be here to listen to you. Probably give you way better advice than Stevie.” You both chuckled at the expense of Steve Harrington. Robin Buckley understood the feeling of not being ready for the world to know, because knowing would change the dynamics of life, and having the world suddenly perceive you in a way they never have before was scary.
Having the world hate you for the tender love you caressed your partner with was terrifying.
You’d tell her when you were ready, just as she would with you.
With a nod to her head, she patted your hand. “You know, I asked Steve once on tips to upgrade my look, and he legit told me to do my eyebrows like Pamela Anderson.”
“The himbo, himself, is too unknowledgeable to know that Miss Anderson is the only one capable of pulling off the blonde bombshell look. Though, I would love to see him with pencil brows and blue eyeshadow.” You both laughed, before you reached over to pinch her chin. “Plus, your beautiful self doesn’t need any changing, Robs. Anyone would be lucky to wake up next to it.”
Yeah, she’d simply tell you when she was ready, just as you would with her.
By three o’clock, Robin Buckley had been worn down by the insufferable compulsion that was Mr. Heizer’s fifth period calculus class. With the last day of school being around the corner, Robin wondered what warranted Heizer’s balding head to be so miserable that he felt the need to subject his students with the abuse of derivatives. Trudging her feet against the pavement of the Hawkins High parking lot, Steve Harrington had came into view, where he brandished himself atop the hood of his car. Not the most irregular of sights, given the systemic routine of drop off and pick-up that had been structured for Monday through Friday, though today, Dustin Henderson had managed to find Steve’s BMW through the array of parked cars, and was found yapping his ear off.
So sorely critical-looking, Robin couldn’t help but tiredly chuckle. “What’s with the wrinkles, kid?” She approached.
Dustin huffed, letting his arms dramatically drop to his side in desperation. “Steve won’t go along with my plan!”
“What are you even doing here, Dustin, isn’t your mother, like, first in line at the car riders pick-up?” She laughed.
Steve exasperated. “He waved off his poor mother, like the lunatic he is, just to track me down and tell her I was giving him a ride!” He answered, propelling Dustin to gasp with a snide.
“So we can talk about the plan!” Dustin provoked the Italian—that he probably didn’t actually have—within him, as his loose fist shook in Steve’s vicinity.
“What plan?” Robin interjected.
“The plan to expose Y/N and Eddie!” Dustin stressed.
“Eddie and Y/N are not screwing.” Steve deadpanned. “What happened Saturday was just… some fluke coincidence, not proof to anything, okay? So let it go, Dustin. Just face it, you were wrong.” He chuckled a very much unappreciated chuckle in Dustin’s face.
“I am not wrong! I know what I heard! How many times do I have to be right on the money for you all to just trust me?!” Neither Steve or Robin appreciated the numerous stares the freshman was gathering from leaving classmates and faculty.
“Okay, just calm down, alright.” Robin shushed. “You're right-”
“Ha!”
“But I don’t think we should do anything.” Dustin heaved, scowling at Robin as if she just committed sacrilege.
“Are you crazy? Of course, we should totally do something!” Dustin retorted. “This is big news! Two of our best friends are dating! You know what this means?! I could have parents, Robin, and you know I don’t have a dad, do you really want to be the reason I never have a dad?” A pointed finger targeted her.
Her hand worked swiftly to smack his accusing finger away. “Eddie is not your dad, Christ, he’s not dating your mom.” She annoyingly sighed.
“Yeah, and also, I’ve known you for way longer. If anyone’s gonna be your dad, it’s gonna be me, not Munson.” Steve exhorted with ire.
Dustin mockingly laughed. “Please, you and mother have the same hips.”
Robin Buckley and Dustin Henderson were too engrossed in their conversation to bring any of their attention to Steve Harrington’s insulted gasp. “Look, Dustin, I already tried asking Y/N about it, and she’s just not ready to talk about it.” She explained. “Let’s just drop it until they’re ready to tell us.”
“Okay, but we can help them talk about it.” The kid returned with retaliation. “You know how great it was to see Nancy and Jonathan finally get together?”
“Which came at my expense, by the way.” Steve scoffed. “Don’t know why that brings you such joy.”
“Well, this is Y/N and Eddie, it’s even bigger!” Dustin smiled. “Look, all I’m saying is that a little encouragement never hurt anybody.” Call the boy annoying, he already knew that, but his intentions were coming from good faith. The notion of helping his friends find love- or more so express it, had him bubbling with excitement. “And the only way to get this love story rolling is if we get them to crack.”
Steve groaned. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, we have to make them break first.” Dustin was beginning to get his crazy eyes, something about conspiring a plan had him menacingly smirking his enthusiastic grin. “You know, trick them into telling us.”
Robin sighed, drilling the palm of her hands into her eyes. “Okay, you know what? Do whatever you like, Dustin, but I will not be a part of this plan.”
“Of course, you will!” Dustin implored with desperate hands grabbing at her arms to shake with emphasis. “You’re the one who’s gonna have to flirt with Eddie.”
Robin and Steve blurted in disbelief. “What?!”
“Well, Steve can’t flirt with Y/N, she’ll never go for it.” Dustin rationalized.
“Woah, woah, wait a second, what makes you think she wouldn’t go for me?” Steve plowed on, his ego taking an obvious hit by a child six years his age. “I’m a total catch, the ladies love me!” He argued. “And Robin, she can’t flirt with Eddie, she’s… uh, well, she- she just can’t!” He stepped up to try to help his friend, much to Robin’s appreciation.
Dustin sighed, placing a tender hand upon Steve’s shoulder. “Look, Steve, you gotta get over this crush you have on Robin-”
“I do not have a crush on Robin!” Steve flung Dustin’s arm away. “And back to this ‘Y/N not going for me’ thing, I can totally flirt with her to get her to crack!”
Dustin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, as though he was the adult in this situation. “Steve, c’mon, she calls you himbo behind your back, she probably thinks you have no personality.”
“I have personality!”
“No, you have hair!”
In the midst of the commotion, Eddie Munson had sauntered his way out of the double doors, cigarette in hand to relinquish the stress brought upon him throughout the day. Despite the matter that his van had been haphazardly parked on the west end of the parking lot for reasons being that your pretty self always used the end doors for the less crowded purposes—sue him, he loved the view—there was always something about Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson arguing that always brought happy entertainment for the metalhead.
“Trouble in paradise?” His croaking voice startled the group, as they all looked at him stunned. “Jesus Christ, what’s with the faces?” Eddie laughed, as his cigarette scraped along the wetness of lips.
“N-Nothing.” Robin awkwardly had to offer, forcing Eddie to raise a brow at her.
And then he spoke. Dustin fucking Henderson spoke. “Actually! Uh, R-Robin what were you saying about Eddie just now?” She snapped a deadly glare back at him, to which he gladly challenged with a grating smile that had Steve quietly laughing in the back.
“You talkin’ about me behind my back, Buckley? C’mon, I thought we were friends.” Eddie lightly jabbed, as he paid more attention to his lighter, which was taking multiple rounds of clicks until it ignited.
“Nothing.” She assured. “I said nothing.”
“No, no, you were saying something about his outfit.” Dustin encouraged. God, how ethical was it to beat up a child? “About how he… looks nice.”
Robin sighed, as Eddie gave her a lighthearted smile. “Thanks, Rob, I’m really liking those patches.” He pointed to her sweater, finding nothing but the innocence of friendship in her supposed compliment.
“A-And something about his large muscles.” A curl of his hair was absentmindedly twirled as to appear uninvolved in the scheme of his mischief, and right as Eddie’s eyes left Dustin with a confused stare, the kid’s arm shoved Robin’s back to coach her further.
So, Robin Buckley, simply accepted. Though, tapping into her retired career of one year in drama club when she got the gracious role of playing Mrs. Soames in last year's production of Our Town proved to lack any skills training, when attempting to flirt with Eddie Munson had her stuttering like a child learning to speak. Then again, playing Mrs. Soames in Our Town didn’t exactly require her to flirt with her friend’s secret boyfriend who was a man!
“Y-Yeah, Eddie, uh, that m-material.” Robin bunglingly smiled, as a stiff hand touched the leather of his coat. “O-Oh, well, hello, Mr. B-Bicep.” She mentally prepared herself for the moment Steve Harrington would belittle her to death for her lack of flirting skills whenever this mess was over. “You’ve been, uh, working out?”
Attempting to give her the benefit of the doubt, Eddie chose to assuage the painful discomfiture with his casual sarcasm. “Ah, well, I try to, y’know, squeeze things.” Eddie recoiled at her over-the-top laugh that appeared too similar to that of Heidi Wilson’s, when she ran into him and Steve in the food court of Starcourt Mall last week, looking to allure his friend with whatever screech that was. “You okay?”
“Uh-”
“She’s just having guy problems.” Dustin interjected, much to Robin’s dismay. Never. Never in a million years would Robin Buckley ever have guy problems. “Go on, tell him.”
Yeah, Dustin Henderson wouldn’t see the age sixteen. “Well, uh, you know how you’re s-sometimes just looking for something, a-and don’t even realize that it’s, um, right there in front of you... s-smoking a cigarette?”
Eddie looked down at the lit cigarette in his mouth, and quickly stepped back in panic, all while Steve Harrington’s cheeks puffed with laughter, as his sealed lips worked overtime to not guffaw out loud. “U-Um, yeah, okay, I’m gonna go.” Eddie could only spare a quick glance to Robin, before throwing everyone a small wave goodbye.
Robin Buckley watched him walk away for two seconds, before slowly turning to Dustin Henderson, where he was met with her twitching eye. “You have five seconds to run.”
His mouth fell gape. “But wait, Steve’s my ride-”
“Five!”
That Monday afternoon, Dustin Henderson spent forty-five grueling minutes walking the three mile hike to his home, as punishment per Robin Buckley’s request. And yes, she did wave him goodbye, when Steve Harrington’s BMW swiftly passed him on the way over.
-
Steve Harrington confirmed it next.
And maybe was a little asshole about it.
Benny’s Burger had become the choice of dinner for the mundane Monday night he was currently enduring, because Eddie Munson refused to hit up the bar, despite the common courtesy that buying beers had become for the twenty-year-old men. At the very least, greasy burgers with a cigarette to follow would be the accommodation Eddie Munson could offer, since Steve Harrington had lost his weekly hookup, because his personal wingman decided to fall into a secret relationship- presumably. Steve was choosing to balance on the fence of whether or not to believe the words of a fourteen-year-old, mostly because if he did, Steve Harrington would become subjected to the sanctimonious behavior of a cocky teenager.
And who would want that?
“Lemme do a double cheeseburger with extra pickles, uh, no tomatoes, please. Ooh, with a side of cheese fries, a strawberry shake, and I’ll get that with a Coke, too. Thanks, Benny.” Steve eyed his friend. God, that man could eat. The bustling fan that chilled Benny’s sweaty neck had proffered a wonderful alternative to the sweltering humidity that tinted the large windows with fog. Aside from the burly trucker consuming the two cups of coffee to keep him awake for the night, Steve had all respective authority to slyly grill his buddy on whatever friends-with-benefits-slash-potential-boyfriend-girlfriend dynamic he shared with you.
Fuck it. “Uh, might as well do the same, Ben, what he said.” The laminated menu went unskimmed, closed off, and collected for the owner to take.
Assuring the boys their meals would follow out quickly, they met Benny with gracious thank you’s for the service, and Steve Harrington rashly followed the movements of the older gentleman, until his being was out of ear shot, promptly snapping his head back to his friend. “Why didn’t you wanna go to the bar tonight?!” If a sign as to why Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington were soulmates, for whatever reason, needed to be clearer than it already was, the incaution- not so subtle “subtle” approach was reason enough.
“Uh,” Eddie hummed, forcing Steve’s eyes to narrow in return, “I dunno, just didn’t wanna go for drinks tonight.” He shrugged, flicking at a sugar packet he had no intentions of using.
Steve raised a brow. “Really?”
The incredulous tone was quite too bitchy for Eddie’s liking, who merely scoffed. “Can’t a guy care about his liver?”
“Ed, there’s a pack of cigarettes hangin’ in your pocket.” Steve deadpanned. “Think organ functionality is the least of your worries.” Unwelcoming to the implied suspicion of accusation behind Steve’s comment, Eddie simply chose to stay silent, finding more interest playing with the provided condiments as trinkets for his entertainment. Steve rolled his eyes. “Y’know, I saw Myra at the laundromat not too long ago.” He scratched his clean shaven chin, playing into his nonchalant bit, that only left Eddie to raise his eyebrows in confusion as to where this was going. “She looked nice; got her hair done, these pretty, little braids, y’know, with the gold cuffs and whatnot.”
Eddie’s head lolled, enjoying the simple task of his finger tracing the obscured lines of the faux granite table top, when the ketchup label had been read to its entirety. “So?”
“So,” Steve emphasized, “you coulda called her up, y’know, tell her to meet you tonight. How long has it been since you’ve seen her- or any girl for that matter?” He slyly asked.
“Not interested.” Blunt and suffice, surely enough to ward off anymore of Steve’s prodding questions.
But Steve merely scoffed. “What, in girls anymore?”
And in true Eddie Munson fashion, a shit-eating grin consumed his face, devious smile lines and all, as he leaned on perched forearms to invade Steve’s space. “Aw, why? You interested, big boy?”
Yeah, this conversation would be going nowhere.
As the sparing minutes filled to meaningless conversations, their full course dinners made the quick arrival, and Steve pondered at the various ways a confession could be pummeled out of Eddie Munson’s mouth, which was currently being stuffed to the brim with mushing bites of each food group—minus the vegetables, this was Benny’s Diner after all. There was the ex-fling route, but clearly Eddie wasn’t looking to explore that again; good news for you, at least. That is if anything Henderson claimed was actually true. Little shit-
But wait a minute, that was it! What would Dustin Henderson do?!
He could still hear his grating voice. "Well, Steve can’t flirt with Y/N, she’ll never go for it." As if. Steve Harrington could get you- hell, Steve Harrington could get anyone. Graduating out of the social hierarchy of high school totally hasn’t affected his game… totally. But digressing, if Dustin Henderson could scheme up a plan with no substance, Steve Harrington could, too. If anything, this would make so much more sense, given that Robin doesn’t even like boys. Dustin Henderson didn’t know anything, but Steve, yeah Steve Harrington was way more cunning than some snappy child with no regard for people’s business. Yeah, Steve Harrington could totally do this…
Eddie’s chewing slowed, brows cinched, as he wondered why the hell Steve Harrington had been silently smiling to himself for the past minute. And people saw him as a freak? Fucking weirdo.
“Hey, uh,” Steve cleared his throat, presumably back to being normal, allowing Eddie to continue to shove his face with a strawberry milkshake covered cheese fry, unperturbed by Steve’s judgemental grimace, “I’m thinkin’ of askin’ out Y/N.”
Suddenly caught in his throat, Eddie began coughing up the fry he just downed, as Steve smiled with such amusement at the torment he just caused his friend. Maybe Henderson was right. “W-What? You wanna what?”
“Yeah, been thinkin’ about it, and y’know, I’m really feeling her.” Steve cocked a smirk that had Eddie’s face scrunching with agitation. “Very smart, funny, really fucking pretty, so…”
“I d-don’t, um- you really think that’s a g-good idea?” Eddie adjusted in his seat, composing the bubbling feeling that stirred terribly with the monstrosity he had just eaten.
Taking a large bite from his burger, Steve grinned happily. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Hunger and entertainment wonderfully satiated on this peaceful, late Monday night.
Eddie shrugged, sulkingly throwing a stray pickle in his mouth. “I dunno, you’re just friends n’ all.” He mumbled.
“Oh!” Steve’s eyes gleamed with laughter behind them. “You don’t think friends should date-”
“No, no, no, no!” God, the last thing Eddie was about to do was inadvertently claim your relationship was some end all be all cataclysm, but did it really have to come at the expense of encouraging his friend to date his secret girlfriend?! “I-I mean, like, some friends c-can date, like, um, good friends-”
“So, me and Y/N?” Steve quietly chuckled to himself, as he watched Eddie fret with frustration.
“No- I mean, I dunno!” He exasperated, as Steve relished in his greasy food with a smile on his face. Eddie’s heart began sinking into his stomach. He understood how demeaning it would be to conclude you as the type to jump into Steve’s arms once he’d make the “inevitable” move. God, for once in his life someone with care to proffer promised him fundamental security, and there was no denying it, he felt. Felt it in your caressing hands, your saccharine words, your devoted kisses, your gentle touches- you touched with such love… at least, that's what it felt like. Does Eddie Munson even know love? He swallowed thickly. “D-Do you even think she would go for you-”
“I have personality!” Steve proclaimed, finger pointed and all, forcing Eddie to shove back in surrenderance, hands in the air, and a confused look to pair.
“Okay, I’m not sayin’ you don’t, geez.” Eddie clarified, as Steve huffed, raking a harsh hand through his Farrah Fawcett hairsprayed perfection. “J-Just maybe don’t. Like, um, i-if it doesn’t work out, it could get really bad between you two, a-and it would be fucking horrible not to have her in your life at all, you can’t lose her, man.”
Voice so small and eyes so distant, there was a deep inkling that perhaps Eddie was speaking his fears aloud. Because even in the greatness that was having the privilege of calling you his girlfriend, there was a world full of Steve Harringtons that could provide you with more than what any Eddie Munson ever could. Late at night, when the world could finally offer you both the peace to just be, entangled in arms and legs, Eddie would just stare at you and… know. Know that there is a feeling that scares the living shit out of him that he can’t feel for anyone else. A different type of feeling from the camaraderie of his club, who triumph against the evil of the universe. A different type of feeling from the shoulders he’s cried on of his uncle, because Eddie truly cannot thank him enough. You, you were a different type of feeling. One that left him just wanting to look at you, smell you, touch you, think of you all day.
This wasn’t just infatuation, god, it felt like pure fucking lo- shit, what would he know. Eddie Munson didn’t know love.
A sudden wave of regret washed over Steve, as he realized the saddened roundness of his buddy’s eyes. “Nah, man, that’s not gonna happen.” His calm voiced reassured. “I mean, it’s Y/N, why would she ever allow that to happen? Y’know, so what, things don’t work out between… me and her,” he explicated, “doesn’t mean your- I mean, our friendship has to change.” Steve watched, as Eddie nodded along, shoulders slumping in relaxation. “We talk it out, we understand each other, and we move on as friends. Together. We’ll still love each other like that. And, hey, at least we’ll both get a hot hookup out of it.” Okay, maybe he was still being a little shit, but he was only channeling his inner Henderson. Plus, the snapping glare from Eddie was quite priceless.
“Are you really gonna make a move on Y/N?” His jaw ticked with clenched teeth.
“I dunno.” Steve smiled, before snapping his fingers with a brilliant revelation, “Y’know what, I saw Robin flirting with you earlier today, how ‘bout we go on a double date?” Yeah, now he was definitely just teasing. “Hell, make it a triple one once Byers and Wheeler head back into town.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Robin was not flirting with me, she was just being… weird.” He pondered it for a second. What the hell was that that happened this afternoon? There’s no way she actually- no, impossible. Could she? No, that didn’t feel right. Well, maybe-
“Hey, do you actually think I have personality?” Oh, Stevie.
-
On Tuesday evening, the Family Video store saw the little customers it was regularly accustomed to; Mr. Fredrickson, only to be accounted for, slowly roamed the documentary section, particularly interested in the historical segment for his afternoon leisure.
The nub of his cane poked an indent into the carpeted floors, as his supported weight allowed for close inspection of the bolded titles that plastered in an array of colors. Luckily, the lens of his glasses were thick enough to provide him the ability of sight to read what was on display for night, leaving you to mindlessly thumb through this month's issue of Cosmopolitan. “Hm.” Mr. Fredrickson gruffed. “What d’ya make of the Franco-Prussian War, darlin’?”
The Proven Personal Approach to Permanent Weight Loss. An Incredible Shrinking Woman Tells How She did it! Christ. You found more interest flipping back to the written Cosmo’s quiz determining what kind of husband your current rendezvous would make.
“Uh…” Your back was beginning to ache from finding all support on your perched elbow digging into the counter, letting your cheek fall to your palm. “You did the Napoleonic Wars last time, no? Why don’t you give the French a break?” You skimmed the printed words of the glossy pages.
His wrinkled pointer finger shakingly racked through the tapes, as he took your word of advice. Your eyes were hanging onto the last bit of energy they were enduring to stay awake, but the weight of eyelids inevitably began to win, and it surely didn’t help that the liveliness of your thriving life was partaking in conversations with an elderly man who found amusement in learning about wars.
But before a potential write up—Keith never found the actual courage to do so, loved to threaten it, though—for sleeping on the job could be scolded, the welcoming bell of the front door rang loudly enough to alert some life back into your body.
“Welcome to Family Vide-euuawghh.” A guttural yawn ripped out of you, slurring your standardized greeting into an embarrassing mush of sounds.
With watery eyes scrunched from tiredness, a rushed apology to your incoming customer had proved to fall unnecessary, as a familiar chuckle addressed you back. “Aw, such rigorous labor, working my baby to death, huh?” Eddie Munson, himself, teased, as he leaned to hover over the counter and close to your sluggish face.
“Don’t tease me.” Your mouth jutted in offense, as you rubbed your eyes to the clear sight of being welcomed by Eddie’s bourbon eyes and a smug curl to his lips.
His rough-tipped thumb caressed the hairs of your brow to ease. “How can I not when it gets you to make that cute pout at me, hm?”
You piqued with giddiness. “Because I’m your girlfriend.” A label you quickly learned to adore. “And you shouldn’t be mean to your girlfriend.”
Eddie smiled a breathy chuckle, as he peered at your lips. “Yeah, you are my girlfriend, huh?” He proudly verbalized with a husk to his tone. His mouth was itching to say more, pour out all he felt for the girl standing before him, but a counter the size of the world divided the union between two beating hearts of devotion. And manifesting his words of love paved the way for the potential loss of you. But not doing so also did the same. Because he’s learned good things don’t last for Eddie Munson. And what a unless world it would be to lose the profoundness of you.
God, he wanted to punch Steve Harrington for last night.
Eddie took a deep breath. His bangs landed against your forehead, and scrunched under your nod of confirmation. You are his girlfriend. “Where’re the other two stooges?” He whispered, his breath fanning across your face.
“In the back doing inventory.” You gladly answered the words Eddie wanted to hear. He bashfully leaned in, though before his mouth could meet yours, you pulled back with furrowed brows. “Wait, ‘other two stooges,’ am I the third?”
Eddie barked out a boyish laugh, as he watched your faux face of aversion and shock. His large hands made your face feel small as he cupped your cheeks and brought you forth. “God, you’re so pretty.”
His lips crashing upon yours had wiped your expression of any annoyance you tried to playfully brat out. His mouth moved against yours so languidly, it had you falling limp to his kiss, as he expressed all that he felt with the touch of his lips. Eddie pulled away slowly, leaving you to quietly hum in retaliation and chasing his lips.
“Sorry.” He chuckled, providing you with one more loving peck. “But, hey, y’know, speaking of the other stooges, uh, Robin and Steve,” he cleared his throat, “you notice anything weird about ‘em, like lately?”
The cafeteria. “Um, yeah, actually.” You contemplated on the thought. “Why, did they say something?”
Nausea hit him like a truck, wondering if "The Hair’s" attempts to get at you were already happening quicker than expected. “S-Steve, he, uh, he said something to you?” Eddie felt his throat dry up.
“Steve? No, Steve’s been Steve, but I was mostly talking about Robin.” Jesus Christ, did you bring peace to his world.
“Oh, yeah,” He puffed a breath of relief, “um, weirdest thing happened after school yesterday, but I think Robin was hitting on me.” Confusion had been written all over your face, as you pulled back from the counter. “She was, like, totally into me.”
“What?” You chuckled. “No, not possible.”
“Okay, ow.” Eddie playfully rolled his eyes, as you laughed, rubbing a soothing hand down his arm in apology.
“I’m sorry, didn’t mean it like that” you giggled, “but I’m sure you probably just misread things, you know? Robin finds you charming in a platonic way, like with Steve.”
Eddie straightened up. “No, I’m telling you, sweetheart, she was all over me.” He persisted. “I mean, for crying out loud, she was touching my bicep.”
A smug smile took over your face, as you arched your brow at him. “This bicep?” You teasingly squeezed his soft arm.
Eddie scoffed. “Well, it’s not flexed right now.”
The back storage unit of Family Video had been littered with an influx of tapes, both coated in dust to be long forgotten and pristine with the newest release of what Hollywood had to offer. This year’s box office hit Top Gun starring Nancy Wheeler’s poster boy, Tom Cruise, or the fourteen-year-old The Ruling Class with the musical humor following a priest’s death due to his autoerotic asphyxiation kink? Robin Buckley laughed. Always the latter.
“God, can’t believe Keith expects us to organize this junk.” Steve huffed, swiping his palms against each other, only to scowl at the specks of dust that floated into the air under the beaming sunlight. “I should be seeing Bridget right now, or Heidi, or taking out Linda, maybe Jeanie, haven’t talked to her in a minute.” Robin rolled her eyes at the endless sex-capades that was Steve Harrington’s love life. Christ, she couldn’t even get a clear sign that Vickie from chemistry wasn’t standing so straight. “Or-or maybe Y/N.” He chuckled to himself.
“What?” Robin prodded.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you, last night I was completely bugging out Munson, and told him I was planning on askin’ out Y/N.” Steve laughed, briefly coughing as dust particles blew off the VHS tapes.
Robin was only left deadpanning in disappointment. “You did what now?” She scoffed. “You’re supposed to be on my side, I thought we were supposed to let it go?”
“You’re the one flirting with your friend’s boyfriend.” He argued.
“Because that little twerp forced me to!” The Ruling Class came hurdling to his chest, as she chucked it.
Shoving old movies aside, Steve grappled onto the box of new releases to shove into Robin’s arms, as he handled the second load. “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore, there are no sides, as much as I hate to admit it, Henderson was right about those two screwing.” Steve enthused. “You should’ve seen the look on Eddie’s face when I told him I was gonna make a move on Y/N.”
Robin huffed. “Okay, so let’s just leave it at that and let them screw in peace- or, even better yet, let’s just tell them we know, so they can have the freedom to do what they want.”
“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” Steve whined.
Robin laughed at his childish mewl. “And, unless Munson gets rid of the thing in his pants and learns to grow a cup or two, I am not flirting with him again.” She playfully gagged, while reminiscing on yesterday’s events.
“Please,” Steve derided, “you can’t even look Vickie in the eye, I highly doubt if Munson suddenly grew some tits you’d become some sort of Casanova.” He snorted, opening the door. “Mr. Bicep?”
Before Robin’s sneaker could step foot back into the main lobby of Family Video, Steve’s grasp onto the collar of her shirt flung her back into the storage room, with a slam to the door. “Are you inane?!” She chastised, while attempting to find her balance with a ten pound box of VHS tapes.
“Munson’s out there!” He whisper-yelled into her face.
“Okay, so?”
“So, we gotta get in there, and stir the pot a little.” His brows danced impishly against his forehead.
Robin’s face dropped vacantly. “What about anything that I literally just said didn’t click for you?” A smack against his head from her hand had him reeling back in defense.
“Ow, okay, I get it, Munson doesn’t have boobs.” Steve huffed, rubbing out the dulling pain. “But, look, Dustin wasn’t that far off, a little encouragement doesn’t harm anyone. He thinks that you like him and that I like her, you’re telling me this isn’t even a little funny to you?” My god, did Steve Harrington have a charming way of flaunting that stupid smirk that had Robin hold back a chuckle. Because in retrospect, Eddie Munson believing his lesbian friend had a crush on him, while her partner in crime, her himbo, had a supposed liking to his secret girlfriend was quite funny. Funny like a priest dying from his autoerotic asphyxiation kink.
She sighed, giving him a pointed glare. “One time, Harrington. This is the one and only time I will ever flirt with a man again.”
Steve threw his hands up in defense, as a smile lingered on his face. “Highly doubt there will ever be a time in which I ask you to do that again.” He laughed, while slinging the door open. “Plus, it’s Munson. I’m sure his cynicism won’t even count it as flirting.”
“Well, Y/N's flirting surely worked.” She joked, as they stepped out.
“You think it’s because he has personality or nice hair?” Steve interrogated. “Because I sure as hell have way better hair than him.”
Despite your alluring face, Eddie caught a glimpse of Steve and Robin making their way over while looking past your shoulder, forcing him to make the regretful decision to back away from you. “Ed.” Your tiny pout of confusion made it all that harder, until Steve’s voice boomed out.
“Hey, y’know, as a customer, you’re supposed to actually rent something!” Him and Robin joined you both at the counters, where they sat the boxes of movies. “Or, you could, y’know, stock shelves with us.”
Eddie flipped him the bird, as he smiled. “Actually, I was just stoppin’ by to ask if Halloween is still rented out.” He turned to look down at you with a smirk. “Is it?”
“I can go check that for you.” Your sweet customer service voice had him biting back a grin, as you stepped away to the computer.
As Steve and Robin began displacing films from the boxes, his elbow nudged her side to grab her attention away from organizing. “Just keep it casual.” He whispered, as she rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m sure if you unfocus your eyes, the five o’clock shadow will go away, and he’ll totally look just like Vickie.” And he huffed right back when Robin rightfully scoffed at him. “What? They have the same eyes… just, y’know, different color… and shape.”
Robin waved him off before anything further could come out of his mouth. With The Fly nestled in her grasp, Steve threw her a nod of encouragement, before scurrying to the shelves with a small laugh escaping his lips.
“Sorry, Eds.” You clicked off the computer. “Landon K. beat you to it; no Halloween.”
“Should totally check out The Fly.” Robin slyly imposed, as she handed him the film. “Can never go wrong with some Cronenberg, right?” Eddie inspected the film with a shrug. “Sure, better than taking movie suggestions from Harrington.”
There came the inordinate laugh from Robin that had Eddie throwing you a knowing glance, and Robin, herself, internally dying inside. “Ha! Always so funny!” She clumsily fist-bumped his arm. “Uh- anyway! Better get back to work.” A large smile flashed both your ways.. “I, uh, I’ll see you later… handsome.” And following in the footsteps of her grandmother when she wasn’t screaming something batshit crazy, Robin Buckley pinched Eddie Munson’s cheek before running away to Steve Harrington.
“You pinched his cheek?!” Steve contemptuously chortled in her frazzled face that burned with embarrassment.
Robin’s hands smack her face, dragging the skin down, as she groaned. “Well, I don’t know how to do the whole flirting thing!” Her fist came smacking down at his chest.
Steve bent at the waist with a cramping stomach of laughter “Okay, yeah, but he’s not a baby!”
Your eyes followed Robin’s running figure until she disappeared into the maze of shelves, and you incredulously turned to your stunned boyfriend. With his mouth wide, and eyes bulging, Eddie fretfully spoke. “Okay, did you see that?! With the compliment, and the pinching?!”
You bewilderedly settled at the realization. “Actually, I did.” You couldn’t believe it. Your best friend was flirting with you boyfriend- well, technically, she had no clue he was your boyfriend, but still- Eddie? Not to sell your boyfriend short, god, he was perfect in every way, but Robin? Robin and Eddie?!
“Okay, so now do you believe that she’s attracted to me?” He persisted.
You thought for a second, and Eddie Munson watched your face drop with concern, as your hand clutched your chest. “Oh, my god! Oh, my god! She knows about us!” You cautiously warbled, as you began pacing about behind the counter.
Eddie’s face scrunched with distress. “Are you serious?”
“Robin knows, and she’s just trying to freak us out!” You belabored, anxiously looking back to where Steve and Robin could no longer be seen. Your hands dramatically dropped at the revelation. “That’s the only explanation for it!”
Eddie vacillated at the unwarranted insult. “Okay, but what about my pinchable face and bulging biceps?” He confidently pointed to his arm, before the lacking muscle of scrawiness suddenly hit him like a truck. “She knows!”
Your hand comically slapped the counter, as you chuckled in disbelief at her attempt to fool you. “Oh, man, she probably thinks she’s so slick for messing with us.” Eddie joined in, frenziedly laughing, completely feeling stupefied, though giving props to the mastermind, nonetheless. Impressed he was. “But, hey, you know what? She doesn’t know we know she knows, so…”
“Ah, yes!” Eddie piqued with interest. “The messers become the messees!”
-
“You sure you kids are alright?” Shrugging on his utility jacket for the night, the aging lines of Wayne Munson’s forehead scrunched with suspicion for the nightly activity his nephew and his supposed “friend” were going to be up to.
Sure, the sight of you over at his trailer wasn’t something peculiar, in fact, for the past months, you, in particular, were the only one of Eddie’s buddies who made a regular appearance to their humble abode. Why? Well that was a question that still went unanswered whenever Wayne tried to prod into the life of his nephew. But the way Eddie would blush, while simultaneously attempting to quickly change the subject, made Wayne’s throat tickle with a chuckle.
Who the hell were you two fooling?
But now, with much concern from Wayne, it seemed as though Eddie’s oddities had begun rubbing off on you, as you both strangely huddled around the yellow home phone, clearly waiting for the second Wayne would close the door behind, as he left for the graveyard shift.
Attempting to “casually” lean against the paneling of the wall, Eddie’s head was quick to snap up and down in return. “Yeah, yeah.” He rushed. “Better get goin’, don’t wanna be late for the bosses.” He threw an overcompensating smile, as you sat at the kitchen table, merely following suit to that of your “friend.” Wayne Munson couldn’t care less about the bosses.
“Alright then.” The old man huffed, picking up the keys of his pick-up truck, letting the humid spring breeze waft through the front door. “Get ‘er some dinner if you’re makin’ ‘er stay late.”
“As always.” Eddie threw you a sly wink, as Wayne left with a quick exchange of goodbye thrown from both parties, until the front door finally closed.
At the click, you sprung from your chair, snatching the phone out of the receiver to hand to Eddie, to which he happily grabbed with a maniacal snicker. “You sure she’s over at Steve’s?”
Your fingers were fervent with the harsh press to the buttons, dialing the numbers to phone the Harrington residence. “Uh huh, something about watching Fast Times with Robin.” The second your finger pressed down on the last digit, you were quick to maneuver the phone against Eddie’s ear. “Okay, just stick to the script.”
Eddie scoffed, flipping his hair back. “Sweetheart, please, I was able to get you, I sure as hell can get Robin.” Your hand met his chest with a chastising slap. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He laughed.
Up the road, on the secluded sector of Cornwallis Street, Robin Buckley was anxiously plowing through a bowl of popcorn, as the fifty-second minute was fastly approaching, and suddenly Phoebe Cates was climbing out of the pool with the detrimental ambience of teenage horniness.
“Here it comes, here it comes!” Steve snickered, as he absentmindedly chewed on a licorice piece.
Robin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “God, Steve, you don’t have to point out the obvious!” But after forcing her friend to endure two hours and thirty-four minutes of the satirical musical critique of institutional religion that was The Ruling Class, Steve decided to return the torture by subjection of… boobies.
“What I’m point out is the fact that Vickie lived through this exact moment, meaning she was staring at boobies, meaning-”
“Don’t say it!”
“Vickie likes boobies!” Steve implored, the largest grin on his face, as he watched Robin slap her hands onto her face at a brutal attempt to shield herself from the mortifying experience that was having Steve Harrington as a friend.
But, in slow motion, as Phoebe Cates’ fingers clutched onto the center hook of her bikini bra, the phone shrilled, allowing Robin to exhale a “thank god,” as Steve’s attention begrudgingly turned to the incoming call.
Swiftly jumping to the end table, Steve picked up the brick phone. “Yeah, hello?” He spoke, munching on another rope of his candy, surely missing the quick glances Robin was making back at the TV. Steve’s brows piqued at the static voice. “Oh! Yeah, she’s right here!” Turning to Robin, his hand cupped over the speaker, as he giddily shoved the phone to her. “It’s Eddie, he’s probably gonna cave in.” He whispered.
Rolling her eyes, Robin cleared her throat from any stray popcorn kernel, ready to end this once and for all. “Hello?”
Back at Forest Hills, your toes pressed against the linoleum tiling of the kitchen floor to push yourself up to his height, smushing your ear against the other side of the phone, as mischievous smiles consumed both your faces. “Hello, Robin… I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day.” Eddie channeled his most suave voice, forcing you to bite back a laugh, suppressing your mouth into his shoulder.
“Huh?!” Devious as ever, both you and Eddie almost broke at her considerable shock.
Steve raised a questioning brow, attempting to scoot closer, only for Robin to preserve her personal bubble and shove him back. Much to his nosey dismay. “Well, y’know that thing you said before, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.” Eddie teased, as you nodded your head along to show your proudness for your boyfriend flirting with your friend.
Yeah, things in Hawkins, Indiana surely were weird.
“R-Really?” Robin choked, as the popcorn in her stomach suddenly turned at the uneasiness of male attention. Gross.
Ever the villain, Eddie smiled triumphantly. “Yeah, listen my uncle isn’t gonna be here tonight, so why don’t you come over, and I’ll let you, uh, feel my bicep… or maybe more.” You quietly chuckled. God, what a cute loser.
Robin grimaced, stuttering with concern. “Uh, you know, I-I’ll have to get b-back to you on that, uh, okay, bye!” She was quick to hang up the phone, while you and Eddie intimately celebrated in the lonesome of his kitchen with silly squeals and tiny jumps. “Oh, my god! He wants me to come over to feel his bicep and more!”
Steve Harrington was left speechless at Robin’s panicked announcement, as his mouth hung wide. “Are you kidding?!”
“No!” She gagged. “I know what I heard!”
Steve felt incredulously at the scumminess of his friend. “I cannot believe he would do that to… wait a second.” His brows furrowed. Eddie Munson nearly launched at the chance to shut down any ideas of Steve dating you, why on Earth would he suddenly- oh, shit. “They know!”
“What?!”
“They know that we know!” Steve clarified, as the gears in Robin’s head turned, until her face was enlightened with the fact of the matter which was that her best friend was trying to deceive her right back!
She gasped. “I can’t believe those two!” Instantaneously, any reservations Robin initially had for Steve and Dustin’s plan had left, as all she felt was dramatic offense at the idea of trying to be demeaned.
“They thought that they could mess with us?!” Steve proclaimed.
“They’re trying to mess with us?!” In disbelief, both friends chuckled with bewilderment at the unexpected slyness coming from you two. That was, until Robin Buckley schemed with realization. “They don’t know we know they know we know!”
Steve’s face scrunched with confusion, though nonetheless a team player, he nodded along, giggling at Robin’s wicked implication. Suddenly, a call to the Henderson household was in need.
Dustin Henderson’s calves burned under the rigorous strain of bike riding from the northern end of Cornwallis street to reach Steve’s house. Haphazardly disposing his bicycle in the driveway, Dustin had barged in with no warning, coming face-to-face with Robin Buckley, resident polyglot band geek, wearing Mrs. Harrington’s blue cocktail dress, as Steve Harrington, retired king of Hawkins High, played makeup artist with his mother’s newly bought red lipstick in hand.
It was undeniable at this point, Hawkins, Indiana was most definitely weird.
“Would you just quit moving, so I can put this on you?!” The vein on Steve’s forehead became pronounced under the immense pressure he felt. Being a makeup artist surely wasn’t easy, especially when your client was nagging about the intense blush placement of his work.
“Enough with the makeup, it’s Eddie for Christ sake!” Robin complained, enduring the endeavor of trying to shove Mrs. Harrington’s shoes onto her feet. God, why was the woman’s shoe size so small?!
“Really Steve?!” Robin and Steve jumped at the intruding voice of Dustin, as the kid stood with his hands on his hips, imitating the signature pose of the man before him. “That’s totally not her color, you’re making her look like a clown!”
Both parties scoffed, rightfully offended.
Robin pushed Steve away, rubbing her cheeks harshly to blend out the monstrosity that was Steve’s makeup skills. “Okay, this is plenty!” She stressed. “We’re gonna call him, we’re gonna get that date, and we’re gonna win!”
The boys cheered, Dustin more so heavily appreciative of this new Buckley mentality, as they circled around her when she reached for the phone. “Mm! You better grab a spring roll before I eat ‘em all.” Eddie’s crowded mouth of mashed vegetables spoke. Chinese had been delivered in the wake of your celebration, congratulating both of you for your—mostly Eddie—duplicitously clever work.
In the midst of diving into your tangled lo mein, the phone shrilled, which had Eddie springing from the couch. “Probably calling back to surrender!” You cheered, as Eddie snickered, sliding his socked feet into the kitchen. “Good job on creeping her out, babe!”
Eddie bowed, accepting whatever weird kind of praise that was, before answering the phone with a muffled mouth of spring rolls. “Hello?”
“Be sexy.” Steve encouraged, eliciting a scoff from Robin, as she turned her focus onto the phone call.
“Hi!” Both terribly displeased with her lack of commitment, Robin was met with strict glares from Dustin and Steve to amp it up… so, she did. Clearing her throat, she dropped an octave to obtain the sultriness of what she could only assume Roxie Rockett and Viola Diamond to sound like. “Uh, I mean, hey, you.” Robin Buckley wanted to puke. “So, Eddie, I’d love to come over tonight.”
A piece of pork was hacked from Eddie’s throat, as he choked on his food. “R-Really?!”
Watching his face drop, you stood with concern wondering what was going on on the other line. “Oh, absolutely. Should we say around nine?” Eddie checked his clock. In fifteen fucking minutes?!
But Eddie Munson wasn’t going to back down. Eddie Munson, Dungeon Master of the great Hellfire, who’s pushed his men to prevail against the nefarious dark lords of villages and towns alike, was not going to be defeated by Trumpet Girl. The man glared his eyes. “Yes.” He tested.
Robin Buckley accepted his challenge. “Good.” She smiled, as she watched Steve motion for her to crank it up a notch. “Uh, I’m really looking forward to you and I h-having sexual intercourse.” The phone hung up and flung from her hands the second the words left her mouth.
Eddie Munson’s face dropped. Dustin Henderson gagged. Steve Harrington laughed. And Robin Buckley wanted to crawl into a hole to forever perish in the depths of torturous hell.
Because that’s what it felt like to flirt with a man.
-
“Okay, showtime!” Dustin applauded from the backseat of Steve’s car, where Robin scrambled to effortlessly scrunch her hair around.
“Here’s the perfume.” Steve pushed down the nozzle of the stolen fragrance of his mother’s collection—thanking god for the moment that she wasn’t here—where his finger spritzed numerous doses against Robin, causing the car to invade with the nauseating scent of strong, overpowering flowers.
Robin coughed. “Alright, quit it! The kid has allergies.”
“I have allergies!” Dustin sneezed.
Steve huffed in annoyance, watching as Robin unbuckled from her seat. The beaming headlights that had once reflected off the vinyl-covered walls of the trailer had been switched off for stake-out purposes, as Steve’s car parked in the open area of the Munson home in the quiet night.
“Hand over the wine, Henderson.” Buckled next to the seat of Dustin’s—for protective measures—a bottle of his parent's stolen chardonnay rested like a passenger on board; Steve’s, ever the romantic, suggestion for the authenticity of a real date.
“Is this really necessary?” Robin truly had no room to talk, she most definitely hadn’t experienced the polarizing events of the dating scene, let alone ones of heterosexual realms (thankfully).
Scoffing, Steve was galled by the dig at his—for once—knowledgeable expertise of life phenomena. “Are you kidding, chicks go for this shit.” Surely, Bridget, Heidi, Linda, and Jeanie can attest to his opinion.
“Yeah, well, Munson’s definitely not a chick… unfortunately.” She mumbled.
“Huh?” Dustin asked.
Robin was quick to shut up in a panic. “Nothing!”
“Look, just get in there, and do your thing, alright?” Whatever attempt at a pep talk this was from Steve Harrington devastatingly fell short, as the last thing Robin Buckley expected to do on her Tuesday night was go out on a date with a man, who so happened to be her best friend’s boyfriend. Thing?! What thing?! She couldn’t even stare her crush in the eye for Christ sake, Steven! Robin Buckley has no thing! And Eddie Munson unfortunately does- the repulsing (to her) kinda thing that Robin Buckley doesn’t even like! She huffed. “Just take it easy. The second Munson lets you in, we’ll sneak up to the door, and hear through there.”
On the edge of his bed, Eddie Munson let your hands wander about, until his appearance was up to your liking; voluminous hair, controlled friz, straightened shirt, and a bottle of minty mouth spray that he coughed at, but necessary for the prevention of spring roll breath. “Okay, you’re gonna be great!” You motivated him with the words of encouragement, as you brushed away his stray hairs. “You just make her think you want to have sex with her, and it’ll totally freak her out.”
Eddie straightened up, shaking his body from any jitters, and stretching as if a marathon was in place. “Okay, so how far am I exactly supposed to go with her?” His face etched with concern.
You waved him off. “Relax, alright, she’s gonna give in way before you do!” If there was anything you learned about Robin Buckley in your months of friendship, it was the blatantly obvious fact that she would shrivel up in awkwardness before anything further took place.
Eddie Munson freaked at your sudden certainty. “How do you even know?!”
“Because you’re on my team!” You stressed. “And my team always wins!”
His face scrunched with fret. “At this?!”
Tentative knocking against the front door pulled you both away from the conversation. It was game time. “Eddie,” his head whipped back to you, “you’re the Dungeon Master, okay? This, this is nothing in comparison to dark lord wizard thingies.” God, he knew for certain you didn’t fully understand his interest in Dungeons and Dragon, but the time you took to support him was making his heart beat faster than any fake date with your best friend could ever make him feel.
You make him feel such incredible things.
“You’re the master here, you’re in control, you got this!” Jesus Christ, the corny shit your competitiveness was making you say was too fucking cute. “Just go get some!” You finished him with a quick kiss that had him yearning for more, but your body quickly scurried away to the bathroom.
Eddie Munson sighed. Cracking his neck, he rolling his shoulder. “I’m the Dungeon Master. I’m in control.”
Steve clutched a heavy hand on his steering wheel, as both him and Dustin peered through the windows. “Okay, just wait for it… wait for it… wait- get down!” The boys dropped their heads the second Eddie’s front door opened with a dramatic swing.
And there she was. Eddie cocked an eyebrow for whatever reason it was Robin Buckley chose to show up overly dressed like a middle-aged woman, and with an awkward smile to taint her image. But Eddie Munson was right there to follow suit with a strange grin to greet her.
“Robin.”
“Eddie.”
“Come on in.”
“I was going to.”
As the trailer door closed shut, Steve and Dustin silently crawled their way out of the car with their utmost quietest attempts of closing the doors shut behind them. With crouched stances like detectives on duty, the pair scampered their way to the top of Eddie’s cemented stairs, where their heads pressed against the front door to hear the muffled conversation from the other side.
“I, uh, brought some wine.” Robin held up the bottle, as Eddie was slightly taken aback. What the hell kinda teenager brings wine to a date? Probably the kind who’s a lesbian, and going out with her best friend’s boyfriend out of competition. “Would you like some?”
“Oh, uh, sure.” Making their way to the kitchen, Eddie secured two cups, as Robin popped off the protruding cork top, and suddenly she felt entirely even more stupid than the fact that she was on a “date” with a man, when Eddie proffered matching Garfield and Odie mugs for glasses of chardonnay.
The dreadful silence began to take over, and Eddie could only manage to fill it with thorny chuckles, as Robin filled the mugs. “So, uh,” she sighed, “here we are. Nervous?”
“Me? No. You?” He skeptically questioned.
But Robin Buckley was there to provoke him. “No, I want this to happen.”
“So do I.” Eddie cleared his throat, before their glasses clicked with a toast, and Robin and Eddie found themselves chugging down the mug-fulls of alcohol to hopefully forget the disturbing night they were about to endure. When cups fell empty, Eddie sighed and turned to the radio that rested atop of the washing machine. “Why don’t I, uh, play some music; set the mood a little.”
Call her inexperience, whatever, but Robin knew there was no way in hell the screeching voices of Slayer attested to “setting the mood” during date night. God, she felt bad for you- for straight women. “Maybe-maybe I’ll, uh, dance for you.” She dared right back.
Where Robin could judge Eddie on his music taste, Eddie could return the favor in her lack of mobility, as her body began clumsily swaying about in his kitchen, off rhythm to the already undanceable sounds to thrashing metal. Her contorting ankles in kitten heels paired with her jutting hips allowed her to mortifyingly saunter her way over to an uncomfortable Eddie, who was wielding the willpower to not bark a laugh in her face.
But Robin Buckley was not going to win this. Not when Eddie Munson’s pride stood in the way. “Mm, you look good.” He spoke so stiffly, as he defied back with a taunting grin.
“Why, thank you.” She forced out a laugh. “Y-You know, when you say things l-like that, it makes me wanna, um, rip that… Weird Al t-shirt right off.” Jesus Christ, Dustin made him get matching ones.
“Okay,” he cleared his throat, “well, uh, why don’t we move this to the bedroom then?” His brows pointed, eyes glared.
Robin immediately stopped her bizarre dancing. “Really?” Her panic settled in.
“Oh!” Eddie quickly stepped back with an impeding smile. “Do you not want to?” He urged.
“No, no.” Robin composed herself, waving him off with faux confidence. “I just, um, you know, first, I wanna t-take off all my clothes, and have you r-rub lotion all over me.” Is that what straight people do before sex?!
Eddie’s throat constricted with little air, and a tightening hand of embarrassment. “Well, that would be nice.” His voice raised a cracking octave. “I’ll, uh, go get the lotion.” Before Robin could respond, Eddie was already running away to the bathroom. Your gnawing teeth had bitten through your nail when Eddie came bustling through the door. “Okay, this is totally getting out of hand.” He fretfully groused, as he crowded your area in the small room. “She wants me to put lotion on her!” Eddie dramatically snarled.
You rebuffed his dread. “She’s bluffing!”
Eddie huffed. “Look, she’s not backing down. Jesus, shit, she went like this!” He suddenly gyrated his stiff hips harshly against you to mimic her dancing.
A couple feet away at the front door of Eddie’s trailer, Robin was in consternation, frantically rambling to Steve and Dustin. “He is not backing down! He went to get lotion!”
“You aren’t done yet?” Dustin heaved. “You’re supposed to be on my team, he should be cracking right now!”
Her angry finger flicked against his forehead, despite his insistent cries of pain. “This is all your fault to begin with!”
“Okay, will everybody just calm down for a second?” Steve hushed, where his hands found the relaxing perch against his hips, as if his motherly duties were calling. “Think of it this way, the sooner you get Eddie to break, the sooner this can all be over with.”
“Ooh, I like that.” Robin nodded along.
“Just amp the flirting, alright?” Steve coached. “Look, it took him weeks to actually approach a girl at the bar, he used to get totally flustered whenever he’d play wingman for me. How the hell managed to get Y/N? I don’t know, but all I do know is that just like you, Eddie Munson is a total dud when it comes to flirting.”
Her mouth fell agape at the insult that stung too much from the utter reality of the statement. It didn’t make her feel any better when Dustin shoved that patronizing look in her face. “Yeah, Robin, sweetie, you are not doing a good job right now.”
“How would you know? You’re fourteen!” She bellowed.
“And yet, which one of us is in a loving, committed relationship?” The kid snided.
Steve shushed Dustin away before a catfight could break out on the doorstep of Eddie’s home. “Look, you got this. Just make Munson uncomfortable! You’re a girl, you got this!”
“He’s a boy, he makes me uncomfortable!” She spat.
Ransacking his bathroom cabinets for a bottle of lotion, you hastily shoved the bottle into his grasp, and clutched onto his shoulders. “You go back in there, and you seduce her till she cracks!” Never in a million years did you think you’d encourage your boyfriend to do that. Though with this much commitment, he should really get you into Dungeons and Dragons.
“Okay, just give me a second.” He took a deep breath for composure, just as he got a good glimpse of his bathroom. “Did you clean up in here?!” Your eyes rolled, before grappling onto the doorknob, and pushing Eddie out of the bathroom. He slowly approached the kitchen, where his nervousness eased at the sight of Robin at the door. “Oh, you’re, uh… you’re going!” He smiled.
Steve Harrington's voice replayed in her head, and Robin cleared her throat to pull out the sultry crisp she was needing to flirt. “Um, not without you, lover.”
Eddie flashed her a tight-lipped smile, as he released a big sigh. “Well, uh, come here.” He beckoned. “I’m very happy we’re gonna have all the sex.”
Robin ignored the disgust in her belly to test him. “Y-You should be.” She smirked. “I’m very bendy.” Eddie’s eyebrows pulled with fright, as she stepped closer. “I’m going to k-kiss you now.”
And Eddie bothered her right back. “Not if I, um, kiss you first!” With a foot apart, Robin Buckley made her first move on a man, as her stiff hand latched uncomfortably to Eddie’s waist. Devastatingly following in line, Eddie’s fingertips barely grazed her skin, as they lightly rested onto her shoulder, neither party urging anyone to come closer. “Well, I-I guess there’s nothing left for us to do than to kiss.”
“Here it comes.” With rigid lips tucked inward, and tense bodies hesitantly pulling together, Eddie Munson genuinely began to realize how much of a idiotic idea all this was. A nauseating feeling struck him, as he understood what a lousy world it’d be to live in if he had to continue to disguise his feelings for you. I mean, going on a date with your best friend? This is the lengths he’s going to to hide something so perfect? And Robin. For the love of god, if picturing Joan Jett over Eddie’s face was needed to make this experience slightly less miserable, then, yeah, maybe this plan was stupid all along.
“Okay, okay, okay! Fine, you win!” Eddie pulled away, as Robin’s face astounded. “I will not have sex with you!” He huffed with exhaustion.
“And why not?” Robin smiled, as the victory was coming her way.
“Because I’m in love with Y/N!”
“You’re-you’re what?” The front door jolted open, as Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson hurdled their way in, but Eddie took no notice of the peculiarity in that. Not when he heard the bathroom door open behind him.
“Love her!” He proclaimed at the top of lungs. “That’s right! I love her!” Eddie pointed to you, as you made your way closer. “I love her! I’m in love with her!” And suddenly, the reality of you actually standing in front of him hit him, and Eddie realized the weight of what he just admitted to you… and his friends. Eddie took a deep breath, as he solemnly stared down at you, and in an instant, he felt his body calm at the sight of your smile. “I love you, Y/N.”
His hands took solace against your warm cheeks, where you stared up at with adoration in your eyes. “I love you, Eddie.” Your arms circled around his neck, as his desperate hands clung to your shirt to pull you into an intoxicating kiss that had you both mewling with tenderness. This was it. Eddie Munson knew love.
That was until Robin spoke. “Oh, my god, you guys! We thought you were just doing it, we didn’t know you were in love!” She gushed.
Steve shyly smiled from the back. “Dude!” He effused.
“Aha!” And then there was Dustin Henderson. “I told you! I told all of you! And none of you wanted to believe me! I was right and you were wrong!” He pompously smiled, before turning to you and Eddie. “By the way, I was the first to know! I’ve been knowing for a week after you freaks forced me to lose my dice!”
Eddie chuckled, as his hands stayed secured around you. “Actually, Dustin, Max was kinda the first to know. She found out four months ago, when she caught Y/N leaving my place at night.” He admitted. “Been blackmailed ever since; spent $20 on some damn heart-shaped sunglasses.”
“Are you kidding me!” Dustin felt gobsmacked, betrayed and abandoned, like those damn Fritos.
“Hey, but, uh, hats off to you, Robin.” Eddie smiled, offering a hand of congratulation. “Quite the competitor.” And she shook it proudly, another notch in whatever weird belt this was.
“I still can’t believe you never told me.” Dustin gasped. “I mean, seriously, Max out of all people.” Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington, and Eddie Munson’s voices eventually faded into the background, as you managed to slip away from your boyfriend’s grasp to hold onto the hand of your best friend, while you whisked her away to the quiet corner of the living room.
“Hey, so I just wanted to apologize to you real quick.” You softly smiled at Robin. “I mean, going through all this just because I kept this from you,” you sighed, “I’m just really sorry you were forced to date my boyfriend.”
Robin laughed, as she squeezed your hand. “I’m sorry you’re forced to date him everyday.” She joked. “No, but seriously, you don’t have to apologize at all.” Her throat began to sting with the heftiness of her feelings, but she felt the warmth of fingers against hers, and Robin Buckley took her deep breath. “I understand why you did it- why you felt the need to hide.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” She tearfully smiled. “I feel the same way, just a little different. I just, um, I know what it’s like to want to keep something to yourself, because having to come out as something you know the world isn’t going to love is scary. It’s really scary, Y/N.” Her hand tightened, as her voice cracked.
But in true Buckley style, that beautiful smile never left her face, as she told you her biggest fear. But what a shame it was that the world made her biggest fear her truest self. Your arms wrapped around her in a suffocating hug, where she let out a shaky sigh against your shoulder. “Robin,” you whispered into her hair, “I love you.” You implored. “Eddie does. Steve does. I hope you know that this town isn't worth being scared of.” You felt her shudder against you, as your hand soothed down her back. “Not when you’re so goddamn perfect.” Robin laughed, as she pulled away, clearing her eyes from any unspilled tears that threatened to stain her cheeks. “I know it’s easier said than done, but genuinely, don't waste your perfect self on what the world wants.” She digested your words, flashing you a thankful grin, as she steady to jumping nerves. “I mean, take it from the man himself, your date tonight, who’s univocally himself.”
You both turned to the kitchen, where Steve and Eddie had Dustin pinned, with a spring roll in hand, trying to shove it down the defiant kid’s mouth. “Jesus, I really am sorry you have to date him.”
You both laughed, as you watched the commotion take place. And you looked at Eddie Munson, how effortlessly beautiful he was, and how comfortable those around him came to be in his accepting presence. “He’s not too bad.” You smiled. “Now, c’mon, we have Chinese and chardonnay to celebrate!”
Finally letting the child go, Steve snagged the spring roll with a monumental bite of pleasure, before closely crowding into Eddie’s bubble. “No, but seriously, dude, how the hell did you do it?” Steve Harrington pointed to you, as Eddie Munson smiled.
More Posts from Spookyreads and Others
The Bet
summary: The agents at SHIELD have not taken well to Bucky’s pardon. When he’s injured on a mission under suspicious circumstances, you take matters into your own hands.
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
word count: 7.7k
warnings: canon level violence, bucky’s internalized self-punishing issues, shield agents being real pieces of shit, badass reader who would defend bucky to the death
a/n: I know I’ve been really inactive lately (life’s actually been going well so I’ve been busier but that leaves me less time to write unfortunately), but I’m still lurking here! This is a fic I wrote several months ago but finally got around to editing it. Hope you enjoy!
Bucky wasn’t sure how you managed it – the punch to his gut every time you walked in the room. You were dressed in your tactical suit; black fabric draped over every inch of your body, protective layers of Kevlar and technology beyond Bucky’s years, a weapon strapped to your thigh and knives hidden in your belt and at your ankle. Your hair was tugged out of place, sweat beaded on your temple from the sparring match in the gym moments before the two of you were called to service. In your right hand, you carried your combat boots, the laces hanging low enough to touch the ground.
And still, Bucky held his breath as you approached. Stomach in knots, chest tightening until his heart threatened to stop entirely.
“My offer is fifty this time,” you announced, winking in his direction before you turned to head for the landing bay. “Take it or leave it, Barnes.”
Keep reading
The Menu Masterlist
Breakfast 🥐
Lunch 🥧
Take Out 🥡
Coffee 🍵
Dinner 🍽️
Midnight Snack 🍯
Brunch 🥞
Please note, may contain sugar. Don't forget to tip your hostess with reblogs and ALWAYS ask for second helpings!
Main Masterlist
Bucky Barnes Masterlist
Eddie Munson in Chapter One: The Hellfire Club "This year's different. This year is my year. I can feel it. '86, baby."
alight with the lights out | diego hargreeves x reader [tua]
A/N: Thank you for all of your interest after I posted the teaser! It was VERY surprising and humbling; I’ve NEVER had so many people ask for a tag before. I only ask that if you asked for a tag, you interact with this fic SOMEHOW. And go find another story you love and REBLOG IT! LET THAT WRITER KNOW YOU LOVE THEM!
I’ll be honest, I’m very nervous about this one. I’m not sure if it turned out as good on paper as it did in my head. Please let me know what you liked and what you didn’t!
Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x vigilante, powered!Reader; this one may read a bit more like an OC because I’ve given the reader backstory, powers. She’s (you’re) a vigilante who regularly runs into Diego. I keep the physical description vague, so I hope you can still imagine yourself!
Warnings: Language; who doesn’t love getting a little sweary? Violence, fighting, references to a shitty childhood, and separately, implied sexual assault (nothing graphic, I promise); angst and angsty dialogue; SMUT– 18+ ONLY PLEASE; lots of cocktease dialogue, fingering, pierced nipples (the reader’s not Diego’s– sorry), biting, rough sex, choking. Romance is its own warning. Fluff.
Word Count: 12.1k of sexy, self-righteous vigilantism, half-baked metaphor and of course, at least one literary reference.
Summary: Diego Hargreeves, aka The Kraken, is secure about few things in life; one of those things being his vigilantism. He’s a hero. Until he meets a fighter who shares the same hobby, albeit with different methodologies. Diego isn’t quite as certain about her, but her mysterious abilities make him think he and his siblings aren’t the only ones in this world with power. If only she and Diego could just stay out of each others’ hair. It’s a good, old-fashioned ENEMIES TO LOVERS, lads!
Link to my playlist of songs that inspired this fic: here
NOT MY GIF
—-
You wouldn’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. That was rule number one. Hell, if you could get away with it at all, you wouldn’t hurt anyone.
But Mr. Adler hated children. And he had made it his mission to not understand you. To regard you with the utmost disdain. And unfortunately for you, Mr. Adler had married your mother when you were six years old.
You had never known another father. Your mother refused to talk about the circumstances of your birth, or of the man who had supposedly been responsible. The lack of identity loomed like a large question mark over certain portions of your life.
And Mr. Adler, that loud, controlling lout, was not about to fill that void.
When you were in elementary school, you began to feel like you were different from the other children. Watching them carry about their days with their steel-pressed pop culture lunch boxes and not a care in the world. While you sensed your music teacher’s sadness when her cat had died. You could feel every anxiety that passed through your classmates on the day of a spelling test. You didn’t know why you could feel these things. You just could.
Keep reading
Defenseless in Love
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader
Word Count: 3.6K
Summary: You've been friends with Sam for a while and you've trained with him here and there but never really got to the point where you feel you could properly defend yourself and when you ask him to teach you self-defense his new job as Captain America makes him a little less available so he directs you to his friend Bucky.
Author's Note: I always loved the thought of Bucky teaching us to be badass and even though he's lethal he's gentle and patient and wonderful! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: lots of fluff and flirty things and tension and a minor (totally fine) injury, soft Bucky
“Why me?”
“Why not you?” Sam raises a brow, setting his hands on his hips.
Bucky remains quiet with a shake of his head.
“She doesn’t want to take a class. Says it makes her uncomfortable and she would rather train one on one with someone she trusts.”
“Then you do it,” Bucky sighs.
“I can’t.”
Bucky pins Sam with an incredulous glare.
“I’m kinda busy at the moment,” Sam explains with a lopsided smirk. “You know…Captain America and all.”
Bucky’s jaw tightens and he mindlessly stirs the spoon in his coffee.
“How do you know I won’t make her uncomfortable?”
The words are quietly spoken, and Bucky’s eyes stay fixed on the dark liquid in front of him.
“Buck,” Sam says softly. “I told her I was going to ask you to do it and that I trust you completely.”
Bucky looks up to meet Sam’s eyes.
“She was fine with it. She said, ‘if you trust him then I do too.’”
He’s tall, with tousled dark hair and a strong jaw covered with dark stubble. He stands and waits, his arms crossed over his torso in a way that makes the muscles in his chest and forearms shift deliciously. And his eyes…his eyes are a shade of blue that rivals the ocean. They’re gorgeous-like the rest of him.
Taking a deep breath, you remove yourself from the hidden shadows just outside the gym door and grab the handle.
His head snaps in your direction, his gaze turning fully on you and making your heart skip a beat.
He says your name; his voice is low and gravelly, and it skates down your spine with a tingle. You nod and say hello.
“I was wondering how long you were going to stand out there.”
You suck in a breath and your lips remain parted.
“First lesson,” he continues, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, “always be aware of your surroundings.”
“Right,” you manage to say as you step inside and let the door shut.
An hour later, after stretching and taking the time to talk through any jitters you’re standing in front of Bucky in your best defensive stance.
“That’s really the best you’ve got?” he says, his tone neither mocking or malicious.
“I’m more dangerous than you think,” you bluster.
The corners of his mouth rise into a challenging smirk.
You hate how beautiful he is. It’s a distraction and if you really want to learn you’re going to have to steel yourself against it.
He wiggles his fingers in your direction, and you pause.
“Shouldn’t you be attacking me first?” you ask. “Isn’t that why I need to learn to defend myself…you know self-defense.”
“I just want to see what I’m working with here,” he replies, keeping those perfect lips titled upward.
You let out a long exhale and rush toward him, barely able to register what happens before you’re wrapped in his arms, your back pressed tightly to his chest. You struggle in his grip, moving against him to try and loosen his hold.
He goes still and you swear he stops breathing for a heartbeat before he let’s you go.
You spin and face him again, breathing heavily and not from exertion. This time he moves toward you, and holy shit he’s fast. You try to swipe his feet out from under him in a move that he artfully dodges and captures your arm. The earth spins and you brace for the impact of your back smacking the mat but instead all you feel is the strength of his arms behind you as he holds you up and slowly lets you sink down. He leans down so his face is only inches from yours, “you’re strong,” he whispers, “but you’re gonna need more finesse.”
You huff in response, but he releases you and stands, offering you a hand. “We’re not done yet. We’ve barely gotten started.”
He tugs you to your feet, then twists your arm behind your back and yanks you against his hard chest, pinning your joined hands before you even catch your balance.
“Shit,” you snap, trying to steady your breathing.
He releases your hand and steps back and you whirl, going for a punch to his throat. He knocks your hand aside easily.
“Good,” he says with a smile, deflecting your next blow without even breaking a sweat. “Going for the throat is always a good option as long as it’s exposed.”
You kick out again, mostly from frustration, and he captures your leg, this time, holding it for a second before dropping it to the mat with a frown. “I expect you to learn from your mistakes.”
Your frustration turns to fury, and you glare at him, noting the way he stands there with loose arms, rocking back on his heels.
“You’re not even trying,” you grit out.
His lips curve into a smile and this time you don’t think, you just act, going low and kicking out the backs of his knees. He goes down hard, and you pounce, trying for a headlock. Doesn’t matter how big someone is- they still need to breathe.
Instead of going for your arms, he twists, grabbing a hold of the backs of your thighs so you lose your leverage and your bodies careen into a roll. Of course, he lands on top.
His forearm rests against your throat and his hips have you pinned; your legs useless on either side of his as he lies heavily between your thighs. Your body becomes so acutely aware of him that he’s all you can feel. Your breath catches and your body warms.
“Where did you learn that move?” he asks with an approving smile.
Your chin lifts. “Sam taught me a few things here and there.”
“If your opponent is bigger you need to stop going for moves that will expose you,” he explains, keeping you pressed to the mat with his weight. “A rib shot would work just fine.” He gently pulls your hand free and drags your fingertips down his side. Then he guides your hands around his back. “Kidneys are a good fit from this angle too.”
You swallow hard, refusing to let your mind wander to other things that are a good fit in this position.
He leads your hands to his waist and you’re sure you feel the muscles of his abdominals tense under your touch. “There’s weakness here too. Three easy places to strike.”
You stare at him, your fingers still pressed against his shirt and feeling the hardness beneath.
“You hear me doll?”
You nod.
“This looks promising,” Sam says with a mischievous tone.
You’re suddenly reminded of your surroundings and the realization of your current entanglement with Bucky makes your skin heat.
“Sam!” you say as you try and get out from under Bucky.
Bucky presses up from the mat a few inches and then slides your hand away from his side, slowly, inch by inch.
“That’s it?” you ask, surprised at the disappointment you feel.
“I hate to break it up, but I need Bucky,” Sam says.
Bucky pushes up all the way, removing his weight from your body and offering you another hand. You don’t take it this time and rise from the mat with ease. His approving smile makes you feel warm all the way down to your toes.
Sam’s smile is wide and knowing but you ignore it, focusing on Bucky.
“I’ll be right there Wilson,” Bucky says, the short dismissal enough to get Sam to give you two privacy.
“You did well,” Bucky says, filling the space in front of you.
Your head drops and you scoff, kicking at some invisible object on the mat. Warm, strong fingers press gently under your chin and raise your face until your eyes lock with ocean blue.
“You did,” he says again.
“Thanks,” you whisper, mourning the loss of his fingers when he drops his hand.
“I’ll be more organized next time…if you want to do this again.”
“I do,” you answer quickly. “I want to feel safe. And strong.”
Bucky nods. “You will doll.”
The next week you’re back at the gym, feeling more confident and even more comfortable. After your first session you and Bucky exchanged phone numbers, the text messages flowing easily between you the past few days. This time you open the door without hesitation and find Bucky leaning against the far wall, cutting the pieces off a plum with a knife. His eyes lift and lock with yours just as he opens his mouth to pop a bite in.
Your entire body tingles.
He didn’t lie when he said he’d be more prepared and organized for this session. He works you through some stretches and a warmup and then takes you through several take downs step by step, each one building on the next. You’re moving faster and even getting a few hits in here and there. The confidence fuels you and coupled with some adrenaline you really push yourself, pressing Bucky to work you harder.
He does but when you try something new, something he wasn’t anticipating, you end up ramming your ribs into his metal forearm. It’s completely by accident but knocks the wind out of you nonetheless and you fall to your knees to catch your breath.
“Shit doll,” Bucky says, falling down next to you and grabbing your shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”
You wheeze out an “I’m ok,” and when you look up to reassure him, the lines of worry etched into his features make it even harder to breathe.
“Let me see,” he says, the panic in his eyes softening your own before he looks down at your side.
“I’m fine,” you say.
His focus snaps back to your eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”
“It hurts,” you admit after a stuttered inhale.
“Let me see,” he says again.
“Is that a request or a demand?” you ask, trying to sound teasing.
“You pick as long as I can check to see how bad it is.”
You swallow, then nod, reaching for the hem of your shirt. He stops you with a soft hand and then with surprising gentleness his fingers skim your bare skin as he slowly lifts your shirt. You suppress a shiver, locking your muscles so you don’t melt against him.
“Sorry if my hands are cold,” he says, clearing his throat as more of your skin is exposed.
Your eyes meet and warmth flutters in your stomach. He drops his eyes and inspects your side, gentle fingers stroking your ribs before they prod carefully.
“You’re gonna have one hell of a bruise doll. I really am sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong and thanks for checking.”
He drags your shirt back down, letting his knuckles graze you skin in the process. He waits for you to stand, watching you closely and letting out a relieved exhale when he notices your breathing is more even.
Your eyes widen when he drops to his knees in front of you. “Your shoe is untied.”
“Oh.”
Your hands twitch at your sides, his long, soft strands of hair at the perfect level for you to run your fingers through.
“Thank you.”
He gives you a real smile, not a cocky smirk or a teasing tilt to his lips. A real, honest, heart-stopping smile that you’re anything but immune to.
“It’s the least I could do after…that.”
“Not your fault Bucky,” you assure him again. “It happened by complete accident.”
Bucky texts you at least forty-seven times over the next week, constantly checking in and asking about your ribs. But you’re still surprised when the day before you’re next session he calls, asking if you want to meet for breakfast beforehand.
“This place has the best coffee. And muffins. And scones,” he says as he holds the door open for you.
You laugh and walk through, instantly soothed by the smell of coffee beans and baked goods. “And you know this because you’ve tried them all of course.”
“Of course,” he says while rubbing his stomach.
Your eyes track the movement and you’re positive you can see ridges of muscles beneath his shirt. It takes all your concentration to tear your gaze away and focus on the menu. After ordering your drinks and two of everything baked you head for your seats.
You try it all and let Bucky eat the rest, marveling at how he packs it away and doesn’t even seem fazed.
“I wish I could eat like that and look like you.”
The comment comes out before you can stop it, and your eyes widen slightly when they meet his narrowed ones.
“You look perfect,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Eat whatever you want. You’re gonna need the energy today.”
He gives you one of his signature teasing smirks and you stand. “Bring it on Barnes!”
The walk to the gym is short but the weather is warm, and you can feel a light sheen of sweat coating the back of your neck. The hot coffee you’re drinking doesn’t help either but it’s too good to not finish.
He holds the door open for you and then walks in, sipping his coffee as he goes. You bend over to retrieve something from your bag, and he takes a misstep, his focus on your ass instead of where he’s going.
With a tumble forward his coffee follows suit, his momentum forcing the liquid out of the cup and onto his shirt. He catches himself before he looks like a complete fool, but the damage is done. His shirt is soaked through on the front with the last of his coffee.
“AH shit,” he sighs, pulling the wet material from his stomach.
“What happened?” you ask, your brows furrowed as you turn toward him. “Did you trip?”
“Um…yeah, something like that,” he says. “I have to change.”
He reaches behind his back and starts to lift his shirt, slowly revealing tanned skin that’s all sharp lines and barely restrained power. You’ve seen shirtless men before. Many times. But never Bucky Barnes. You’d start counting his ab muscles if the rest of him wasn’t just as good to look at. Your mouth waters when he turns around and you see the muscled expanse of his back. Even the gold and gray metal plates of his arm move beautifully as he searches for a new shirt.
“Sam usually keeps some stuff stashed in here,” Bucky says.
You think you heard what he said but you’re shamelessly wondering how his skin would feel under your fingertips, how your body would react to having every ounce of him on top of you, over you…in…”
The slam of the small storage door draws your attention downward, and you shake your head to snap out of it.
“Ready?” he asks, a new shirt securely in place.
You walk to the mat and wait.
“Are you sure you’re not still in any pain…?”
“Bucky,” you sigh. “I’m really ok. I have been for days. I appreciate your concern but I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to be able to work through pain sometimes. I don’t think anyone who attacks me will care if I’m injured…”
“You’re right,” he says, pride shining in his eyes. “Let’s go…but first…”
You watch with rapt admiration as he pulls several hidden knives free, his smile growing when he takes the last one out from his boot.
“I want you to learn how to use a weapon. You can carry it with you…just in case.”
He hands you the blade and you hold it in your open palm, noticing the weight of it and how the handle seems just right.
“Wow,” is all you can think to say.
“I had it made for you,” he explains. “Most blades are made for men…you know, big hands, long fingers.”
As if to drive his point home he splays his hand in front of you, showing off just how big and long they can be.
“Right,” you whisper. “I don’t know what to say…thank you Bucky.”
He smiles again. “Now let me teach you how to use it.”
Before you can prepare or react he has you on your back, his weight settled between your thighs. It takes all your willpower not to reach up and brush the stray lock of hair from his forehead.
“You didn’t even give me a heads up,” you whisper, leaning up slightly and letting your lips brush the shell of his ear.
He jerks up, and the heat in his gaze makes you all too aware of everywhere your bodies are touching.
“You know…” he says, his eyes glittering, “distraction is a great way to do some damage.”
His eyes drop to your mouth.
“Are you distracted?” you murmur.
Before he can answer you use a move he taught you and roll him on to his back.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” you sing song.
His eyes meet yours under the fluorescent lights of the gym before dropping to your lips. His metal arm slides up your back, but not in a way to remove you, it’s slow and purposeful for a completely different reason. You can feel the warmth of his touch through your clothing, your skin unbearably hot.
When you shudder in his arms his smile is like a caress and his free hand moves to your cheek, brushing across your skin.
“You have incredibly soft skin,” he murmurs. “I’ve been aching to feel it again since I checked your ribs.”
The admission makes you suck in a breath, and he studies you with an intensity that makes you sway closer. His thumbs stroke along your cheekbones and his heated gaze moves to your mouth. Hands flexing, he draws you forward a few inches before he stops.
“I…” he starts, groaning when your tongue traces your lower lip.
“Bucky.” His name comes out like a whispered plea and it’s all he needs to close the distance. He was just out of reach and now his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent. He cradles the back of your head, trapping you against him as he lays on the mat and you feel every hard line of his body. You clutch the material of his shirt at his chest, parting your lips when he angles your head for a deeper kiss.
“Fuck baby,” he moans, and the sound makes you ravenous. Your hands lift to his hair and it’s just as soft as imagined, your nails scraping lightly over his scalp.
His hips tilt upward, and you gasp at the friction but it’s not enough and in a move that rivals all the others you’ve seen him do he flips you onto your back, the impact so soft you gasp into his mouth. You surrender completely, going pliant beneath him as he claims every line and curve of your mouth with a reckless edge that makes your body sing. He breaks the kiss, sliding his mouth across your jaw, your neck, whispering words of praise as he explores every inch of your skin his lips can find.
The sound of the gym door startles you enough to pull away, but your eyes never leave Bucky’s and when you hear Sam’s voice you let out a giggle.
“You look like you’re…defending yourself well,” Sam says from above you.
“Your timing sucks,” Bucky sighs. “And she could have totally handed me my ass right now if she wanted to.” He smiles down at you with a wink.
Sam pulls Bucky away once again but before he leaves he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth then one to your lips, lingering until Sam starts shouting from the doorway. Later that night you get a text from Bucky-‘I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again.’
You read the words over and over again as your body continuously reminds you exactly what it feels like to have his mouth on yours. Your stomach flutters and you actually press a flattened palm against it, hoping to calm the eruption of butterflies.
After washing up and throwing on some pjs you’re just about to spend the rest of your night watching something streaming on Netflix when you hear a knock at your apartment door. You check the time. It’s late and you’re not expecting anyone…maybe it’s your neighbor?
Standing on your tippy toes you check the peep hole and barely stifle your gasp of surprise.
“I’m glad you checked to see who it was first,” Bucky says when you swing the door open. “That’s part of smart self-defense.”
You stare at his face, then the flowers in his hand, then back at his face.
“Is it too late? Were you asleep?”
His eyes fill with worry but before you let him fret too long you grab his free hand and drag him into your apartment, slamming the door shut and pushing him against it. Without a word you kiss him, softly at first, just a brush of your lips, but he instantly takes over, resting the flowers on the small table by the door and taking you in his arms, spinning you and caging you with your back to the door.
“You always get the upper hand,” you smile against his lips.
“Better get used to it,” he teases, resting his metal hand next to your head as he leans back in, letting his eyes do a warm sweep of your body from head to toe.
“You look magnificent,” he murmurs.
“I’m in my pajamas.” Your reply comes out breathless.
His fingers drops to your shoulder, tracing the soft curve before ghosting down your arm and sliding to where the hem of your tank sits just above your shorts.
“Magnificent,” he repeats, slipping one finger under the material to touch your skin. “And So. Fucking. Soft.”
“Bucky,” you whisper.
“I know doll,” he says, “but I need to take my time…I want to get my hands and mouth on every inch of you.”
what was older!eddies reaction to the first time reader came home from going out with friends? just drunk and clingy
this is my favorite genre and activity is getting drunk and then being clingy and silly. need to do it with my fave of all faves!!! contains silly drunk reader and sweet older!eddie. no smut. just fluff. and tw- gina.
The doorbell sounded once, twice, three times before it was going off in short, annoying successions. Eddie groaned in annoyance, standing from his recliner.
"Easy! Alright? The fuck-" He looked out the peephole, half expecting to see Gina, furious about something. He was pleased to find you there instead.
"Open the dooooorrrrrr!" You whined, half swaying, leaning against the brick. "I need to pee, Ed, hurry."
Eddie fought back a smirk, twisting the lock and opening the front door. "Hey, bunny,"
"Hi," Your face melted, oozing with a drunk smile, eyes glassy from the countess beers you'd had. "Can I come pee?"
"Of course you can." Eddie said around a laugh, holding the door open with his foot, offering his hand to you. "Watch your step, baby." He muttered, nodding towards the step under the doorframe. You crossed it dramatically, taking a big, wide legged step in.
"I didn't know you were coming over." Eddie shut the door, watching you stumble down the hall towards the guest bathroom. "I thought you were out with your friends."
"I was," You muttered, behind the cracked door of the bathroom, the room already beginning to spin as you sat. "But I wanted to come see you. I knew Brielle was gone."
"Yeah? What'd you want to come see me for?" Eddie grinned teasingly, walking down the hall towards you.
"I wanted to sleep over." You admitted, staggering against the doorway, holding the frame for balance. "I wanted you to rub my back."
Eddie barked out a laugh, your bottom lip jutting in a pout. "Rub your back?"
"Yes, Ed." You whined. "You always do it good an-and it- hic!- it always puts me right to sleep." Your words were beginning to jumble, the effects of too much alcohol starting to take over.
"Alright. I can do that for ya, I suppose." Eddie sighed dramatically, holding his arm out for you, placing an anchoring hand on your back as he guided you to his bedroom.
"Lemme get you a shirt to sleep in. I've got-" He turned around, finding you already naked. That had to be a record, he was convinced. Drunk and that coordinated?
You were already crawling into the bed, shoes and clothes kicked off, climbing under the cool sheets that smelled just like Eddie.
"Hold on, bunny, you want a shirt?" Eddie grabbed the sheet before you pulled it up, earning a huffy whine from you.
"No," You whined. "Want you to rub my back, Ed, already told you."
Eddie fought back a grin. "Demanding little thing, aren't ya?" He shook his head playfully. You didn't reply, your cheek smushed to the pillow, already beginning to drift off.
Eddie slipped beside you anyways, snorting lightly when you rolled over on him, leg hiked up over his waist, arm slapped over his chest, face in his shoulder. Still, he rubbed your back, calloused hands gliding over the bare skin, up and down your spine in small circles, the way you liked until you were snoring lightly.
He knew you'd be sick tomorrow, hungover and hurting with a headache, with the spins you always got. And he'd do the same thing then, coddling you, rubbing your head to soothe the ache away. Content in his care.
Loverboy
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Word Count: 4.3k
Summary: Bucky, a lovesick, pining super soldier, vows to keep his feelings for you a secret — no matter how obvious his crush may seem. Those plans are ruined between a meddling Sam, an embarrassing fall, and a visit to the medbay with you.
Warnings: Avengers AU, Bucky’s POV, fluff, crack (my lame attempt at comedy), suggestive thoughts (no smut), just our boy being a lovesick little bean with a big ol’ crush.
Author’s Note: Dividers by @saradika. Proofread by @buckys-wintersoldier, thank you so much sweetie, I love you!! This was inspired by a wonderful request from @prettyboy56, thank you so much! Hope you enjoy x
“Hi, Bucky.”
Instantly, he sputtered over his mouthful of cereal, eyes watering from his food going down the wrong way.
Bucky knew that melodic voice before his gaze even reached its owner. You entered the kitchen, wiggling your fingers at him in greeting.
Clearing his throat, he swiped his bowl to the side, his breakfast now forgotten about, and directed his attention solely onto you. “Hi—um h—hello, doll.”
The muscles of your cheeks lifted up to your eyes in a smile that made Bucky swoon. Hard.
Your eyes fell to Sam then, who stood in the corner, fresh from a workout with a shit eating on his face. “Good morning, Samuel.”
“Mornin’, beautiful. How did you sleep?”
Bucky fought the growl rising in his throat, the unprecedented possessiveness caving its way through its internal barriers in your presence.
You grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and closed the door, leaning your back against it to take a big gulp.
“Not bad at all.” You licked your lips, ridding the dryness that came from a long slumber before your eyes lit up. “Oh, by the way! I drank some of that tea you recommended. It’s helped a bunch—”
Bucky zoned out while you continued to express your gratitude to Sam. He couldn’t help the way his eyes dilated as he rested his head in the palm of his vibranium hand, a lovesick sigh escaping his lips. You were just so gorgeous – a deity in human form right in front of his own very eyes. Bucky had never considered himself so lucky in all his time on earth to be within your vicinity.
In his own world of oggling, Bucky didn’t notice how the conversation fell short between you and Sam. Neither did he realise how the two of you were staring at him; you with concern and Wilson smothering his laughter with his hand.
“Bucky? Sweetheart?” He finally registered that you were speaking to him and almost choked, again, on his own spit.
“Mhm?” Bucky murmured, drunk off your attention.
You smiled once again, so devastatingly beautiful that his left arm whirred in stupor. “Are you okay? You feeling alright?” Not waiting for a response, you walked over to him and Bucky almost let his eyes roll to the back of his head when you lifted your wrist to his forehead. “Jeez, you’re a little hot, Buck.”
Sam keeled over in hysterics, unable to keep his composure any longer. Meanwhile, a bright red blossom of colour rose up from the skin of Bucky’s neck all the way up to his cheeks.
Had Bucky not been embarrassingly infatuated by you, the throwaway comment wouldn’t have had any effect on him. But this was you. The woman who had the ability to make him melt on the spot.
While logic and a basic level of common sense screamed at him that you were talking about his temperature, his mind could only conjure up the fact you had called him hot.
Bucky saw your mouth moving, however he couldn’t concentrate on the sound of the words coming out of it. You were still touching him, patting his cheeks and sweeping the tendrils of hair that had fell out from behind his ears out of his face. The close proximity of your bodies threw him through a loop and without even realising, his thighs spread further, subconsciously begging you to forego all boundaries and smother yourself against him.
Gently tapping his nose three times, you managed to gain his full attention again. “You seem out of it, sweetie. Maybe you should go down to the medbay. See if you’re coming down with a fever or something.”
Sam blew out a breath of air. “Yeah, because that’s what’s wrong with him.”
You threw a lighthearted glare his way before bringing your eyes back to Bucky. “Promise me you’ll get seen to?”
How could he refuse when you asked so sweetly? “Anything you want.” He vowed sincerely.
Scrunching your nose, you chucked his chin and whispered under your breath, “Good boy.”
Bucky almost whimpered when you withdrew your hands and stepped back. He so desperately wanted to follow you and nudge your arm until you paid attention to him once more. Your touch was fire and a cool breeze all at once. Electricity that created static across his stubbled cheek, yet also stoked a warmth through his entire body.
Peace. He’d never felt anything like it. Never before felt drunk from just the delicate essence of a perfume or experienced the loosening of his limbs, relaxing until his legs felt like jelly whenever you so much as cast him a glance.
You grabbed a piece of fruit from the table, ready to go down to the gym and train. “Catch you later, Sam,” you called over your shoulder. Meeting Bucky’s eyes a final time, you winked while you headed for the elevator. “Bye, sweetheart.”
Bucky’s gaze was glued to you, following you out hopelessly until you were completely out of sight.
He was fucked — well and truly out of his depth.
Sam crossed his arms and smirked. “You are down bad, man.”
Bucky swiped a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Fuckin’ tell me about it.”
“This is serious.” Sam sobered up, his lips softening into an honest smile.
With an embarrassingly loud thud against the island countertop, Bucky let his head drop. “I have no idea what to do, Sam. I thought this crush would have passed by now but it’s been months.”
“Well,” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Have you even tried asking her out?”
“And why would I do that?” Bucky asked, genuinely confused.
Sam sputtered over his words. “What do you mean—Because that’s what people do when they like someone, you dumbass!”
Bucky had lost enough braincells daydreaming about you constantly. He didn’t need to be told what he already knew. But the pressure of asking you out to then have a chance of being rejected? He would never come back from that. “Yeah, no thanks,” he mumbled.
“Come on, man. What’s the worst that could happen?” Sam asked.
Bucky lifted his head up and huffed sarcastically. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she could turn me down and rip my heart out into little pieces, so much that I would hide out in my room for the rest of eternity never to be seen again?”
“Now you’re just being dramatic.”
Bucky sighed longingly. “Let me wallow in my misery alone, Sam.”
“Why? So you can spend your days staring at her with your googly eyes and drooling over her.”
“I have never drooled over her,” Bucky snarled.
A twinkle shone in Sam’s eye, a mischievous grin donning his face. “Then what’s that on your chin?”
Bucky’s eyes widened and he quickly brought his hand up to his face to check if he did in fact have any wetness coating his mouth. Finding none, he looked back to Sam with a scowl. “I hate you.”
Sam shook his head with laughter. “You shouldn’t make it so easy to tease you, loverboy.”
With a growl, Bucky lifted from his seat and stormed out of the kitchen.
The irritating voice followed him. “Don’t forget training tomorrow morning, loverboy!”
The sun was shining over the compound the next morning and so came the bright idea from Steve that all exercise activities should be held outside. While the recruits in training buffed up on their sparring with the Captain, the rest of the avengers worked out as they saw fit.
As usual, Sam took any opportunity possible to annoy Bucky, which brought them together, running laps around the outdoor track.
“When are you gonna man up and ask her out then, Cyborg? Pretty girl ain’t gonna be available forever.”
Bucky wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t run ahead of Sam. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t. Maybe the pace he kept alongside Wilson allowed him to stare at you so clearly in your tight workout leggings and sports bra as sweat sensually rolled over your skin. Maybe.
“I’m not asking her out, Sam. Drop it.”
Sam huffed out an annoyed breath. “Listen, man. It’s not as if you’ve got nothing going for you. As much as you’re a grumpy shit, you’ve got them blue eyes the chicks love. Gets them all gooey when you give them intense eye contact, y’know?” He reluctantly added, “And they dig the brooding, bad boy, leather jacket vibe.”
Bucky let out a rare smile within the presence of Sam. “You tryna hit on me, Wilson?”
“Look, all I’m saying is you have a chance.” Sam slyly glanced over the field. “And if you don’t quit fuckin’ around, that chance is gonna disappear.”
The smile instantly dropped from Bucky’s face. “What do you mean by that?”
Sam’s signature smirk came back with vengeance. “Your girls lookin’ kinda cute today. So I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you ain’t the only one who’s got their eye on her.”
Naturally, Bucky followed his instinct and let his eyes look over at you. You were a fucking wonder, of course he knew that. But heeding Sam’s ominous warning, Bucky allowed his gaze to venture out, only allowing you to blur into the background for a couple of seconds while he took stock of the other male, and female, recruits.
Low and behold, plenty of other people wantonly stared at you while you completed your circuit, almost salivating over their barely concealed pining. As much as Bucky hated to admit it, the fucker was right. You were the pinnacle of everyone’s attention.
With the way you were bending over, squatting and looking like an angel amidst the perspiration the sun brought on, Bucky wasn’t sure if he could actually blame anyone for it.
That didn’t stop the ugly, green eyed beast within him that wanted to tear everyone’s eyes out for daring to glimpse at you.
It was silly, he knew he had no right to feel any sort of possessive nature for you. Unfortunately, you didn’t belong to him. Still, he couldn’t control the deep rooted urges that whispered the kinds of fun he’d have gouging out eyeballs that looked where they weren't supposed to.
Knowing he had stirred the pot enough, Sam figured it was time to try and hit the final nail in the coffin in order to make his friend move his ass. “Y’know what gives you an advantage though, man?”
Bucky continued to death stare the surrounding agents, while keeping up with his steady jog. “What’s that?”
“Guess who’s making eyes at you right now.”
At breakneck speed, Bucky snapped his head back around to you, only to indeed find you staring at him with a fire in your eyes and your bottom lip trapped between your teeth.
A violent shudder ran down his spine and for a moment, the whole world stopped on its axis, allowing Bucky to revel in a daydream brought to life.
That was until his mind snapped him back into the present. The super soldier was majestic on his feet in a fight, graceful yet utterly dangerous out on the field even with the pressure a mission came with.
However to his utter bewilderment, you happened to be the most dangerous being he had ever come across, because in all of his years as a trained, professional assassin, Bucky had never, never, tripped over his own feet.
And so, inevitably, Bucky’s face ungracefully met the asphalt of the outside track with an audible thunk.
A collective of gasps, oo’s, and ah’s, rang around the large group. Bucky could physically feel the coating of red, hot embarrassment climbing up to his now scratched cheeks.
Bucky couldn’t see the look of shame and pity on Sam’s face as he dropped his head into his hands. All he was capable of was fantasizing faking his own death and moving far, far away where no one who witnessed his fall could ever find him.
With a painful, deep groan, Bucky managed to roll himself over. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes and allow himself to accept reality yet and so he kept them closed, waiting for the ground to swallow him up or for the beaming sun to slowly incinerate him, melt him into the ground with his shame and dignity.
But instead of either of those, a shadow casted over him, the harsh brightness behind his eyelids dulling down. Slowly, he peeked an eye open, only for mortification to kick him in the gut when he found you standing over him.
“You alright there, Soldier?” Your hands were set on your hips, those deliciously curved grooves of your body that he had shamelessly stared at one too many times during gym sessions.
“Mhm,” he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing roughly. “Just peachy.”
Even though you’d just seen him eat dirt, in front of hundreds of learning recruits and the rest of the avengers, your smile was kind as you held out your hand. “Need some help?”
Bucky took your offering, sliding his clammy palm into your dry one and hoisted himself up with your grip. He hadn’t needed your help, he was a super soldier with a metal arm; an agility and strength beyond normal human ability. But he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to feel your soft skin against his.
He couldn’t look you in the eye as he stood up, aware of your gaze glued to him. “Th-Thanks.”
“It’s not a problem,” you said. “Although, you’ve got a few nasty looking cuts on your cheeks.”
Bucky brought his left hand up to his face, hissing when the cool vibranium stung the open wounds. “Ah, it’s nothin’—don't worry about it. Nothing a few hours won’t fix.”
You shook your head fondly. “Well, how about I walk you to the infirmary and we get some ointment on them? It wouldn’t hurt to be cautious.”
Bucky choked on his own spit and snapped his eyes to yours. “W-We?”
Your smile was blinding — so beautiful with an ability to stop time. At least for him anyway. “Yeah, why not? It looks like you could use a hand—y’know, since you’re a little clumsy on your feet today.” The cheeky smirk that followed your words almost sent him to an early grave.
His cheeks blazed. Bucky was sure he looked utterly stupid, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. But he couldn’t help the effect you had on him. “I um—I— ha, I guess.”
Your eyes glinted mischievously. “I’ll take that as a yes?”
Not trusting his voice to hold steady, Bucky simply nodded.
“Great,” you approved. “Just one question though, are we going to keep holding hands on the way?”
Looking down to the space between you, Bucky felt his mouth dry when he saw that he hadn’t yet released his hand from yours. “I’m—oh fuck—I’m so sorry.”
Still, he made no move to slacken his grip.
You tightened your lips, and he knew you were willing yourself not to laugh for his sake. Sam would have a fucking field day with this.
Though to his surprise, instead of pulling away like he expected you to, you began pulling him along, hands still interweaved. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, Bucky.”
His name on your lips was akin to a siren singing her song; dragging helpless seamen to their deaths. A thought crossed his mind then, that he didn’t think he would mind so much if he sank to his reckoning, not if your voice was the last thing he ever heard.
“Okay.” Bucky followed you blindly, eyes glued to your conjoined hands and disbelieving of his luck.
You had led the way towards the medbay and found a cozy, private room that the doctors used for small injuries. Bucky sat impatiently on the side of the medical bed, twiddling his thumbs and fidgeting restlessly. Never had he been so close to you, alone.
Bucky internally prayed with all his faith that you couldn’t hear the rapid staccato of his heartbeat. He was sure if he was hooked up to a monitor, the doctors would be thoroughly concerned about his health.
Finally having gathered all the supplies you deemed necessary along with a first aid box, you walked back over to the bed and dumped everything next to him.
“So,” you began, an uneasy conspiratorial tone to your voice that weirdly reminded him of Sam. “Wanna tell me what happened out there?”
“I—,” Bucky sheepishly scratched the back of his neck while his cheeks bloomed crimson red. “I must’ve just tripped over my own feet.”
He tried to shrug off his nonchalance, but he knew by your raised eyebrow you didn’t believe him. “Somehow, I have a hard time believing a big, strong super soldier such as yourself has any trouble finding his footing.”
Before Bucky could muster up any other excuse but the truth, you ripped open the packet of a medical wipe and warned him, “I’m sorry. This is gonna sting.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said with bravado.
Bucky wasn’t prepared for the twinkle in your eye as you mumbled under your breath, “I’m sure it isn’t, Sargeant.”
The breath got knocked out of his lungs. Oh did that do things to him.
Suddenly, vivid images of you spread out on his bed wearing nothing but his old army hat while you screamed out his rank ran wild in his mind.
Luckily, you were too preoccupied with cleaning the dried blood of his wound to notice him discreetly palming the bulge in his athletic shorts, trying to hide the effect you had on him.
“Are you certain there is absolutely no other reason as to why I’m playing nurse right now, then?” Your feline grin was sexy and scary. “No possible distractions that led you off path?”
There was no way you could read minds, right? Bucky doubled down on his denial, shaking his head from side to side and letting the length of his hair hide the truth in his eyes.
“I’ll take your word for it then.” You finished up and reached for the healing gel. “I know the serum enhances your ability to repair the cuts, but I’d still like to use this.” Looking into his eyes, you asked, “Only as long as you’re okay with that, of course.”
Time stopped and the two of you were caught in the other’s gaze. It was such a small gesture, one you probably didn’t even realise meant the world to him. But you asked him for permission on something that would affect his autonomy and if Bucky didn’t already have a hundred ways he was falling for you, that would have been the cherry on top.
“Yeah,” he breathed airily. “Yeah, I’m good with it, doll.”
Unseen to him before, you ducked your head and sweeped your hair behind your ear and if Bucky didn’t know any better, he was sure you were shy.
He couldn’t help the large grin he sported. He was always so enamored with you, quick to falter in your presence and become unsure of himself. Right now though, a small bout of bravery returned. “Ready when you are,” he cheekily murmured.
You hastily rushed to compose yourself. Clearing your throat, you squeezed the tube of gel, allowing a small drop of the cool liquid on the tip of your finger and stepped between his legs to gently dab it onto his cuts.
“Okay, you’re all fixed up now.” With a last swipe of his forehead, you smiled. “Don’t worry, Buck. You still look handsome.”
He tugged his plump bottom lip between his teeth. “You think I’m handsome?”
You giggled. “I would be blind if I didn’t.”
Bucky blinked at you slowly, still processing your words and trying to calm the excited bubble rising in his throat.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, don’t act all coy, Bucky. You must have heard the whispers of the recruits. They stare at you all the time, whispering and giggling to each other.”
With the most confidence he had ever mustered up, he responded, “Truthfully, I’m too busy staring at someone else to notice, doll.”
The shock of his sudden boldness was glaringly obvious on your face — it was you this time who held your mouth open, lost for words.
Bucky’s body screamed at him to tell you that he was in fact head over heels for you. That had he known falling over in front of the full compound would lead him within a hair’s breadth away from you, he’d do it all over again.
But you seemed to recover after a couple of seconds, clearing your throat and making yourself busy to avoid his eyes. “So, I’ve got another question.”
“Oh?” Bucky cocked his head.
“Yeah.” You smiled while placing everything back into the first aid box as you found it. “I’ve been hearing a few rumours around the compound recently.”
Bucky’s stomach dropped with dread.
“You wouldn’t know anything about those, would you?”
“I—” Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Oh,” you hummed. “So it’s not true then? You don’t have a crush on me?”
Fuck.
Panicking, Bucky scoffed, though it came off sounding too pathetic, too breezy. “Me? Have a crush on you? That’s—Ha! Nope. No way. Not at all.”
He watched as you nodded to yourself. Internally, he was begging for the floor to swallow him while he cringed at his own stupidity.
“Well,” you shrugged. “That’s a shame, I guess.”
Bucky’s head shot up, eyes wide and shock written over his features. “E-Excuse me?”
“Oh, it's nothing really.” There was a sparkle in your eye that screamed trouble. “You said you didn’t have a crush on me, so it doesn’t matter.”
Within seconds, Bucky jumped off the bed and leapt towards you, not even noticing how he had grabbed your hands. “Doll, please. You can’t leave a guy hanging like that.”
Playfully rolling your eyes, you dramatically exhaled and decided to put him out of his misery. “Leave you hanging? Damn, Buck. It’s not as if I’ve been waiting patiently for you to ask me out for months or anything like that.”
The air became humid and stuffy and suddenly the clothes attached to Bucky’s body felt too tight and restricting. “You—What now?”
You rolled your lips inwards, trying to smother your laughter. “Bucky, honey,” you gently murmured. “I’ve heard what the others have been gossiping about. I’ve definitely heard Sam telling the team about your crush on me.”
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “That fuckin’ punk.”
You squeezed his hands reassuringly and offered him a warm smile when he looked at you. “I’ve just been waiting to hear it from the horse's mouth himself.”
Bucky’s eyes darted between yours, trying to find any hint of decievement. “You’re serious.”
“Mhm,” you whispered. “Deadly.”
It took him a couple of seconds to let the new information sink in. Clearing his throat, Bucky untightened his fierce grip on your hands and hesitantly slid them down to latch onto your waist. “So,” he mumbled. “Say if I asked you out to dinner tonight… You wouldn’t tell me I’m a fool and break my heart into a million pieces?”
Butterflies erupted in Bucky’s stomach at the sensation of your hands sliding over his chest to rest against his neck. “No, Bucky,” you chuckled. “I would tell you that I’m looking forward to our first date, tonight. Nowhere fancy, just casual. Six o’clock sharp.”
Bucky smiled, all beaming and ecstatic. “I wouldn’t dream of being late.”
“Good.” You leaned up onto your tip toes and ghosted your lips over his ear. “See you very soon then, Sargeant.”
Tingles shot down Bucky’s spine and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He fought tooth and nail to crush the moan that rose up his throat and in his internal struggle, he missed how you’d sneakily slipped out of his hold and started to saunter towards the door.
He almost begged you to come back; the thought of having to wait for you until the evening was unbearable. But those pesky butterflies that invaded his stomach came back strong and fierce as his gaze became glued to the sway of your hips and the sweet perfume that lingered in your exit.
“Oh,” you stopped suddenly at the doorway and looked over your shoulder. “One more thing. Don’t go tripping over again, you hear me?” You raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Can’t have you falling for me.”
Your damn smirk was intoxicating and Bucky thought himself the luckiest fella alive to be the one taking you out. He licked his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have a little trouble with that request, Ma’am.”
The clench of your thighs was unmissable. The way your eyes dilated called to him. Bucky had more game than he realised and he kept that new information tucked safely into the corner of his mind for a later date.
You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Your actions told Bucky everything he needed to know and so he wiggled his fingers with a huge grin locked onto his face and watched you longingly as you left his sight.
The minute he couldn’t hear your footsteps any longer, Bucky pumped his fist up into the air and began dancing on the spot.
In his own bubble of happiness, he didn’t hear the footsteps of a new person entering the hallway. Only when an amused clearing of the throat echoed from the doorway did Bucky abruptly stop his dancing and slowly swivel to the intruder.
Sam stood there, all cocky and mirthful with a shit eating grin on his face. “About time you bagged the girl, man. Dont’cha think?”
Instantly, Bucky growled and grabbed the closest apparatus. With a pair of medical scissors, he charged towards Sam, who was quick to wipe the smirk off his face and skid out of the room with a scream.
The Two of Us - Masterlist
Summary: You and Bucky go to investigate the phenomenon happening in Westview, New Jersey. While attempting to understand the issue, you yourselves are sucked into Wanda’s world of pretend. Now, you believe yourselves to be the happily married Mr. and Mrs. Barnes; in real life, you are most definitely not a happy pair. It is up to you and Bucky to piece together what’s happening while dealing with one another inside the hex.
Pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader
Warnings: descriptions of violence, mind control, angst, arguing, fluff, smut, and WandaVision spoilers.
Word Count: 39.7k
This series is planned to be updated 1-2 times a week. If you’d like to join the taglist for The Two of Us, please click here.
Part 1 (50s)
Part 2 (60s)
Part 3 (70s)
Part 4 (80s/90s)
Part 5 (90s/2000s)
Part 6 (late 2000s)
Part 7 (2020s)
Epilogue
Completed: November 13, 2021
Meet Me Halfway
Summary : Bucky has to recruit the love of his life to save New York from the void. He doesn't know if she wants to ever see him again, though.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Thunderbolts* spoilers below the cut!!!!!!! Exes to friends to lovers. Fluff, angst, reader is a tracker with enhanced senses. Cursing, Trauma. Implied sex. Alcohol consumption. Death(Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)
Requested by : anon
Word count : 15k whoops
Note : This story touches on the events of Civil War, IW, Endgame, FATWS, BP Wakanda Forever, and Thunderbolts*! I used google translate for the Xhosa, so please let me know if it needs to be corrected. If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!
You were a tracker.
Your body was a weapon, biologically improved by enhanced senses. You could smell a carcass from ten miles away. You could hear a pin drop on the other side out town. Your eyes could track body heat through a crowd of thousands— and it meant you were a hunter in a world full of invisible prey. Some people hunted with tools. You were the tool.
So, of course Steve Rogers found you when he needed to find a ghost. Steve found you when the world turned on James Buchanan Barnes.
After the UN bombing in Vienna, when Bucky was framed and every intelligence agency on Earth wanted him in chains or dead, Steve came to you— he heard of you through old SHIELD files— with desperation and a duffel bag full of cash.
“I need you to find him,” he said. “Before they do.”
You didn’t even hesitate before taking the job. Because even then, before you met Bucky you believed Steve. And more than that, you believed in redemption.
You tracked Bucky down with your senses—following the scent of gunpowder and cold metal, the subtle trail of heat left in his wake, the ragged sound of breath through the cities of Bucharest.
You found him before the world did and pointed Steve and Sam in the right direction.
—
By the time the Avengers disbanded, you were a fugitive—hunted by that least half of the world’s government. Helping Steve Rogers had branded you a traitor in their eyes, but you didn’t regret it. Not then. Not now.
When T’Challa offered sanctuary to Bucky, he extended the same offer to you. Wakanda didn’t just take you in; it gave you purpose. In exchange for refuge, you worked for the royal family— tracking those who dared to steal vibranium from the borders and ensuring justice found them before they slipped through the cracks.
Your home was a modest apartment tucked into the east wing of the palace. It was secluded, perfect for someone like you.
—
When Bucky finally woke from the ice and the trigger words were gone, he didn’t know who to trust. The world had changed too much. He had changed too much.
He trusted Queen Ramonda, who always made sure there was room for both of you at the palace table. He trusted Shuri and the Dora Milaje, because they helped him heal his mind. He trusted both you and T’challa, simply because… Steve trusted you.
He didn’t expect to fall for you, though.
—
At first, Bucky barely spoke. He moved like a shadow through the palace when he even left his little hut at all.
He was healing, but not whole. Not yet. The arm was gone—torn from him in Siberia, left behind with the rest of Hydra’s wreckage.
Bucky hadn’t gotten his new arm yet. Shuri insisted they take their time, that his body and mind needed rest before they complicated him with upgrades. It was the right call. But it left him vulnerable in ways he hated.
For a man who’d lost so much already, it felt like one more cruel subtraction. You noticed how he avoided using his left side. How he winced at imbalance. How he hated needing help.
You didn’t pity him. You just made space for him to breathe. You shared meals together in the palace garden, never pushing for a conversation he wasn’t ready for.
Sometimes, you’d sit and sharpen your blades while he watched the sky. Other days, you’d bring him small things—a worn paperback with dog-eared pages, a piece of fruit from an outreach mission, or a knife he could train with using only one hand.
“You're not trying to fix me,” he said once, more surprised than grateful.
You shrugged. “You’re not broken.”
You started getting really close because of jars. Peanut butter, mostly. Occasionally pickles. Once, a stubborn jar of papaya jam.
You noticed how he hesitated at cabinets, how he didn’t ask for help even when he clearly needed it— especially because he didn’t know how to use just one hand.
If he needed a jar opened, you’d walk by, say nothing, and twist the lid off. Then you’d leave it on the counter and move on. No questions. No pity.
Over time, it turned into more than jars.
He started joining you on your patrols—not in an official capacity, just to walk, perhaps to feel the beauty of the world again without being chased. You’d track down potential threats to Wakandan borders—smugglers, black market mercs—and Bucky would wait for you to get back before having his meal.
He eventually told you about Bucharest in fragments. About Hydra in pieces. In return, you told him about the experiment. Not all of it—just enough for him to understand that you, too, had been shaped into something you didn’t ask to be.
Days passed like water through your fingers.
You trained with him in the early mornings — barefoot in the dirt, palms open, bodies moving like you were learning each other through motion. You’d fight, laugh, fall, rise again.
At night, you sat together under the stars, sharing stories in fragments — half-finished memories neither of you were strong enough to say out loud in full. You learned he liked fruit, that he slept on his side, that he sometimes talked in Russian in his dreams and didn’t realise it.
One night, you asked, “Do you remember who you were, before all of it?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I think… I remember who I loved. My sister. Steve. The Howling Commandos. But who I was a long time ago? He’s long gone.”
“He’s not,” you whispered. “You’re him. Just… in pieces.”
He looked at you like you were a miracle.
And one of those days, you fell in love with him.
You didn’t fall in love all at once. It happened slowly, quietly—like stepping into warm water without realising how deep it’s gotten until you’re already submerged.
You tried not to make too much of it. Tried to keep it buried. But your heart had a mind of its own.
So one afternoon, you found yourself pacing in the royal garden while Nakia and Okoye pruned herbs, and blurted it out before you could stop yourself.
“I think I’m in trouble.”
Okoye raised an eyebrow, “Did you get injured?”
“No,” you said, “but I—“
Nakia interrupted you, a knowing smile curling at the edges of her mouth. “Is this the kind of trouble with blue eyes and long hair?”
“Well, yes, I—“ You groaned, pressing a hand to your face. “—I think I like him.”
Okoye tutted, not unkindly. “You think? I’ve seen the way you look at him like he’s a sunrise after a long night.”
Nakia laughed.
“I’m serious!” you said, trying to sound firm and absolutely failing. “He looks at me like I’m not broken.”
“What is wrong with that?” Okoye asked.
“Because I might believe him.”
Nakia finally stopped laughing. Her voice softened. “Sounds like someone sees you the way you’ve always deserved to be seen.”
You didn’t answer her.
—
Meanwhile, Bucky sat on a sun-warmed bench beside T’Challa, overlooking the city below. After a long silence, Bucky confessed, “I think I’m in trouble.”
T’Challa turned to look at him and raised a brow. “The kind with bullets or feelings?”
“Feelings,” Bucky muttered under his breath.
“Ah. More dangerous,” T’Challa smiled slightly. “The tracker?”
Bucky blinked. “How the hell does everyone know?”
“You are not subtle, my friend,” T’Challa said, patting him on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” Bucky chuckled cynically, “Well…”
There was another pause, and then T’Challa spoke softly, “When I was hung up on Nakia, my baba used to tell me Uthando aluyomdlalo; ngumlambo ongenamkhawulo.”
Bucky stared at him for a while, translating in his head. Love is not a game. It is a river with no end.
“You cannot control where it takes you,” T’challa explained, “Only whether you choose to step in.”
Bucky sighed. “I think I already have.”
—
Later, by the lake, the air was still. The moonlight danced on the surface of the water, casting silver over the little hut Bucky called home.
You stood at his door, hands in clenched fists at your sides, heart racing in a way you hadn’t felt since you first got your powers. You knocked, and it was softer than intended— like a question more than a demand.
He opened the door like he’d been expecting you. You didn’t wait. You didn’t explain. You just looked at him and said, “I think I’m in trouble.”
He stepped aside without a word and let you in without a word. “Me too,” he whispered.
Inside the hut, the world seemed a bit quieter.
Bucky stood a few steps away, uncertain. You didn’t move at first. Neither did he.
Then he reached out, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. His fingers brushed yours. You curled into his touch without thinking. “I— I think,” you choked out the words. “Fuck— I don’t know how to say it or where to begin…”
“Shhh, I know,” he whispered reassuringly, “because I do, too.”
You nodded, throat tight. “I know.”
You had known for a while now. Your senses allowed you to smell the oxytocin in the air when he was around you, to hear his heartbeat quicken when you spent time together,
He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. He just stepped closer, forehead resting against yours like it was the only place he belonged. Your fingers traced the curve of his jaw, then slid to the scar marring his shoulder—a mark where his Hydra arm used to bed.
“I’m scared,” he confessed, voice low.
“Me too,” you whispered, your lips trembling.
But then you leaned in, and kissed him.
At first, it was tentative—testing. Then, almost immediately, it turned urgent, like you needed to carve this moment into memory, like you were oxygen to him.
He kissed you back with desperation, like he was terrified you might vanish if he let go. His hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left, no more hiding. When you finally broke apart, gasping, foreheads pressed, fingers still clinging to each other like anchors, you said it again, softer this time. “I know.”
“Yeah,” he smiled, “I know.”
The next few months unfolded in pieces.
You were his lover, though neither of you used the word much. Labels felt too fragile, too small for what you were building. You sparred in the mornings, slept tangled together some nights. Sometimes you held him through dreams he didn’t remember. Sometimes he held you through memories you couldn’t say out loud.
Neither of you said “I love you.”
You didn’t need to. You showed it in the broken ways people like you do. He cleaned your knives after missions. You kissed the scars on his body without asking where they came from. But in each other, you found peace.
But you did, though you didn’t say it until a year later, When Thanos’ army broke through Wakanda’s barriers.
You stood on the battlefield, shoulder to shoulder with the Dora Milaje. He was beside you, new arm gleaming.
You both knew you might die here.
So just before the charge Bucky turned to you and reached for your hand, calloused fingers threading with yours.
“I love you,” he said.
You looked at him, heart pounding. And in that final moment—when the world outside this little bubble burned and the force field opened—you said it back. “I love you too.”
And then you let go and ran into the fire together.
—
The battle was chaos.
Together, you carved a path through the madness, never far from each other’s side. Each glance was a tether. But when Thanos snapped—
You felt it first. A strange pull in your chest. Like gravity forgot you.
Bucky turned just in time to see you stumble.
“Doll?” He breathed out, voice catching in his throat.
You looked down at your hand— and your fingers were dissolving.
“Hey…” you said softly, like you didn’t want to scare him.
And then— you were gone, carried by the wind.
Bucky’s knees gave out next.
His vision blurred as your hands started to vanish. The world felt far away as he turned to Steve next and said his best friend’s name.
There was no time to be afraid. He just had one last thought— I’m coming with you.
And then— nothing.
—
Five Years Later.
You came back gasping.
One moment there was nothing—and the next, the battlefield roared around you again. Portals opened. War cried out for soldiers. You ran through it, only searching for one person. You searched the air for his scent, tracked body heat through the crowds looking for Bucky.
When you found him, he grabbed you and pulled you into his arms, and held you so tightly it hurt. But you didn’t care. You buried your face in his shoulder and let yourself feel everything all at once.
You fought side by side again that day, but even after Thanos was defeated, even after the dust finally settled, the weight on Bucky's shoulders hadn’t lifted.
That night, you and him laid down on a half-collapsed med tent. You were bruised, your leg cut, his knuckles torn open—but you both refused to be separated.
“Bucky,” you said gently as you took his shaking hands. “I’m here.”
He didn’t answer, he just stared blankly at you like you might disappear again.
“Talk to me,” you whispered.
And then— he broke.
His hands grabbed your face and kissed you like he had to prove you were real. Like if he didn’t, the universe might take you away again. His breath was uneven, voice hoarse as he finally spoke, “You turned to dust in front of me.”
You pulled him in, forehead to forehead, hearts thundering between bruised ribs. “We came back.”
“I watched it happen,” he choked. “You looked right at me—and then you were just gone. I—“
“I came back,” you repeated, firmer now. “I am here.”
He didn’t ask. He didn’t explain. He just pushed his forehead into your collarbone and let his walls fall.
And in that surrender, you undressed in a desperate attempt to feel something, anything at all.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. His hands shook against your bare skin, yours ached. You kissed the scar at his shoulder where metal met flesh, and he kissed the bruise on your cheekbones as if he could heal it.
And when you moved together, it was achingly intimate— two ghosts trying to remember how to be alive.
After, he stayed wrapped around you, hand on your stomach, breath finally steady. You ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his temple.
—
You soon learned that you were different people to who you were five years ago.
You were still yourself—but edged. The senses they’d carved into you had only grown keener in the dust. You could smell grief in the air. Taste the metallic echo of time. You threw yourself into your work because it was the only way you could process anything. You have given more time to your job and less to everyone else in your life because it was the only way to block your demons out.
And Bucky—God, Bucky.
Maybe it was watching you vanish into nothing. Maybe it was watching Steve choose a life he didn’t get to have. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, it left him wound tight, walking through the world like it might crumble beneath his feet at any second. He became suffocatingly protective.
Now, he was always checking exits. Watching windows. Reading strangers’ faces. Looking for ghosts with Hydra insignias or familiar flags. Always ready to run.
You soon realised that while you both have survived death, surviving life was harder.
Some nights, he woke drenched in sweat, eyes wide and terrified. Sometimes he dragged you with him—out of bed, into the hall, whispering about danger that wasn’t there. About people who might take you from him again. You held him anyway.
You wrapped your arms around his trembling body.. You whispered to him that he was safe, that you were real. And some nights, he even believed you.
And on the quietest nights, when your pulse thudded steady beneath his hand, you’d say the only promise that mattered, “If we vanish again—we vanish together.”
He would nod against your chest and weep.
And while your words helped him in the moment, things only got worse.
He was still obsessed with not losing you again.
He watched you like a man teetering on the edge of a cliff. Always scanning, always planning, always afraid. He checked your comms before you left on a mission. He memorised your schedule like a battle plan. He begged for access to your Kimoyo beads so he could track your movements like a tactician studying the terrain.
It wasn’t protective anymore. It was paranoia.
He wouldn’t sleep if you were out past dark. Would sit by the window, waiting for footsteps or the sound of your key in the lock.
You tried to reason with him—gently, at first. You reminded him who you were, what you could do.
None of it mattered.
To Bucky, you were breakable simply because you were his.
When he got pardoned, the first thing he said was, “Come with me. Brooklyn. I have to… make amends.”
“Bucky, the Wakandan royal family is extending my contract,” You sighed, kissing the crease between his eyebrows. “They trust me. I’m not leaving that behind.”
He didn’t argue. Not really. He just clenched his teeth and nodded. But you could feel the storm brewing, so you compromised. You would spend three months in Brooklyn with him, then three in Wakanda for work. A split life.
But even in that compromise, the obsession bled through. Every time you left, he’d call. Text. Ping your locator chip on your kimoyo beads. Just checking, he’d say. Just making sure you’re okay.
It stopped feeling sweet. It started to feel like surveillance.
Sometimes you’d be halfway through a mission—deep in a jungle or in the middle of a compromised crowds—and his name would light up your screen five, six, ten times. His worry grew into desperation.
You knew he didn’t mean to be cruel. But it didn’t make it easier.
And then one day— it was too much.
You’d just gotten back from a run along the Wakandan border. You were bruised but fine as you walked into your apartment and found your phone flashing with fourteen missed calls and a message that said, “If you don’t answer in five minutes, I’m calling Shuri. I’ll track your signal myself if I have to.”
When you called him, he picked up instantly. “Are you okay? I thought—God, I thought something happened—”
“Bucky,” you snapped. “Stop.”
You were pacing now, your heart hammering harder than it had in the field. “You have got to stop doing this. I am not going to disappear every time I step outside!”
“I just—” he started, but his voice cracked. “I can’t lose you again. I can’t—”
“I’m not yours to lose,” you said, quieter this time.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” you said, softer now. “But this—this isn’t love. This is fear in disguise. You’re watching me like I’m one wrong step away from disappearing, and it’s like you’re still stuck in that moment five years ago.”
“I am,” he said, unbearably honest. “You turned to dust. We can't just pretend that's not real.”
“We turned to dust, Bucky,” you corrected, your voice shaking now. “And we came back. We both did.”
There was a long pause. He just exhaled like the air had been punched from his lungs.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said again, but this time, it sounded like a prayer.
You wiped a tear from your cheek and whispered, “Then let me live.”
That night, he promised he’d do better.
He swore he would be on time to his therapy sessions. That he’d let you breathe. That he’d learn how to love you without gripping so tight it left bruises.
And for a while, he did.
But healing isn't linear, and Bucky Barnes fell back into the spiral like it was a black hole.
Two months later, the calls started again. The check-ins. You’d wake to a dozen voicemails. You’d tell him your mission schedule, but he’d still show up unannounced in Wakanda under some flimsy excuse, saying he just needed to see you, to make sure.
Then the court notices started coming. Missed sessions. Warnings from the state department. Red letters in bold ink.
He wasn’t going to therapy anymore. He was tracking you instead.
When you returned from your latest mission along the southern border, there he was— waiting in your apartment in Wakanda, hands shaking.
“Bucky?” you asked, dropping your gear. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer at first. Just stepped toward you, breathing hard like he’d run the whole way from Brooklyn.
“I tried calling,” he said. “You didn’t answer. You were late reporting in. You weren’t supposed to be gone that long—”
“I was on a stealth mission, James!” you shouted, incredulous. “Do you hear yourself?”
He winced when you used his first name. “I thought you were in trouble.”
“You thought I was in trouble so you hopped a plane, skipped two international borders, and missed court-mandated therapy to come stalk me?!”
“I wasn’t stalking—” he started, but you cut him off, voice shaking.
“Bucky, go to fucking therapy! You are missing mandated sessions to follow me around like I’m going to vanish into smoke again. You’re not okay.”
His eyes flashed with tears building up in the corners. “I’m not okay because the one person who makes me feel safe disappears for weeks at a time without warning!”
“What kind of pressure is that? I am not your fucking safety net!” you finally screamed, though you did not mean to. “I am your girlfriend, not your property.”
He flinched.
“You don’t trust me,” you said, your voice cracking at the seams. “You trust your fear more than me. You trust your obsession more than you trust my skills, my choices, my life.”
“I do trust you—”
“No, you don’t!” you snapped. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be in therapy. Not sitting on my damn bed, panicking because I missed a check-in by three hours.”
He looked down. “I just wanted to make sure—”
“I know,” you said softly, bitterly. “I know. And I love you. God, I love you.”
Your voice cracked again, but your words were firm. “But this isn’t love anymore, Bucky. This is control. This is not good for you. Being here? With me? It's hurting both of us.”
Finally, Bucky nodded. Just once.
“Do you think we’ll ever be okay again?” he asked, voice barely audible.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and sat next to him, squeezing his human hand. You didn’t want to do this like this. But the moment you looked at him you knew you couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine and dandy.
You took a breath.
“This…” you started gently, like saying it softer might hurt less. “This isn’t working.”
He blinked. “What?”
“This,” you said, motioning between you with a shaking hand. “Us. The way it is right now. It’s not working.”
He jerked his hand back, standing up in shock like you’d slapped him. “Wait—what the hell are you saying?”
“I’m saying you left Brooklyn without clearance. Again. You broke parole—again. You’ve got people looking for you.”
“I don’t care about any of that,” he snapped, eyes dark. “You weren’t answering. You were off the grid. What was I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait?”
“Yes,” was all you said. You didn’t need to remind him that he needed to trust you. That he needed to trust your skills.
His voice was shaking now. “What happened to ‘if we vanish again, we vanish together’?”
You closed your eyes at the words. You’d meant it.
But promises can rot when fed with obsession.
Your voice cracked. “I said that when you could breathe without having to know where I was every second of every day, Bucky.”
He looked down, jaw, hands balled into fists. “I can’t lose you again.”
“And I can’t live like this,” you said, voice strained as you wiped your tears away. “I’m not your leash, and I’m not your cure. You can’t chain yourself to me because you don’t know how to be with yourself.”
His eyes filled with watery tears, and he didn’t speak.
So you did.
“Please,” you said, “leave by morning. Go home. Check in with Dr. Raynor when you land. If you don’t, they’ll arrest you.”
He opened his mouth, but you shook your head. You couldn’t do another round of argument.
“Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t make this harder.”
He took a breath, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon just to make it this far. “So that’s it?”
You didn’t answer.
Just stepped up and pressed your hand gently against his chest—where his heart still beat too fast and your enhanced hearing was picking it up too well—and whispered, “Goodbye, Bucky.”
He turned without another word, because anything he said might break you both.
And when the door shut behind him, the silence that followed felt like a funeral.
—
Bucky didn't know where to go, so he wandered and wandered until he sat down on the palace steps, hands shaking, heart swirling like a thunderstorm in his chest.
He didn’t notice T’Challa approach until the king sat beside him, arms resting on his knees.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. “She told you to leave,” T’Challa said simply. Not unkind, but not sparing.
Bucky’s teeth clenched. “Yeah.”
“She’s right, you know.”
“I don’t want to hear that right now.”
“I know,” T’Challa said. “But I am saying it anyway, my friend.”
Bucky said nothing, fists digging into the vibranium infused staircase step beneath him. T’Challa went on, “You love her. I know. She loves you too. But love twisted by fear is dangerous. You were not protecting her. You were holding her hostage in your panic.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” T’Challa interrupted gently. “And she forgave you for longer than most would. But she cannot carry both her past and yours. You nearly became what you once fought against: control.”
Bucky turned his head away, chest tight. “I didn’t mean to. I just— I couldn’t lose her again.”
“It’s not just you,” T’Challa said softly, “she… she needs space. She’s throwing herself into work, and perhaps that’s how she copes, but she’s becoming… distant. From you. From all of us.”
Bucky’s breath hitched.
“You know I know what it feels like firsthand to come back from being turned to dust.” T’Challa said, “and when we came back, we all changed. I believe you might need time away from each other to first understand how you both have changed.”
Bucky finally looked at him, eyes rimmed with red. “So what, I just pretend none of this happened?”
“No,” T’Challa said. “You leave. You go to therapy. And you become someone who deserves a second chance—not from her. From yourself.”
Then T’Challa stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his robes. He looked down at the man once known as the Winter Soldier— now just a man.
“I will have a jet ready within the hour,” he said. “You will not say goodbye. That would only cause more pain.”
Bucky could only nod. Deep down, T’challa was his friend as much as he was yours. He was looking out for him as much as he was looking out for you.
—
Bucky didn’t go straight to the jet in the landing pad.
He walked around first—through the gardens he used to kiss you in, down the quiet stone paths lined with flowering trees. And then, when he couldn’t stall any longer, he found Shuri.
She was in her lab, sleeves rolled up, a smudge of grease on her cheek, working on a new upgrade for the Kimoyo bead system. She didn’t look surprised when she saw him.
He stood just inside the door for a while, fidgeting with the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
“I’m leaving,” he said finally, voice hoarse.
Shuri nodded with a sad smile. “I heard.”
He hesitated. “Can you keep tabs on her for me?” He asked. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he realised how bad it must’ve sounded. “I’m not asking you to spy on her. I swear.”
That made her pause. She turned to him, brows raised in wary curiosity. “Sounds like you are.”
“I’m not,” he said again, hands up in surrender. “But I need—I just need to know if she’s hurt. That’s all. If she’s injured. If something happens in the field. Not every move, not every detail, just... if she’s okay.”
Shuri’s eyes softened. “She wants you to move on. You know that, right?”
“I know,” Bucky said quickly. “And I won’t reach out. I won’t interfere. But if something serious happens—if she’s in the med bay or worse—I need to know. I can’t breathe not knowing that.”
Shuri crossed her arms. Studied him.
“You still think it’s love, don’t you?” she asked quietly.
He flinched. “I don’t know what it is anymore. But I know that it’s not trust. Not peace. That’s why I’m leaving.”
She held his eyes for a long time. Then she nodded once. “If she’s ever in danger, you’ll hear from me. That’s all I’ll promise.”
He nodded, relieved. “Thank you.”
Shuri stepped closer, pressing a new set of Kimoyo beads into his palm. “These won’t track her. But they will let you receive encrypted pings if I send one. No contact. Just information.”
Bucky curled his fingers around the beads like they were a lifeline.
“I’ll earn my second chance,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Even if it’s just for me.”
Shuri nodded. And with that, she turned back to her work.
Bucky walked out of the lab with the bracelet tucked into his pocket and boarded the jet alone.
Not with closure. But with a choice to begin again.
—
Six Months Later
You hadn’t meant to watch the news. It was just playing in the corner of the lab, the volume low was meant to be background noise.
But there he was.
Bucky, onn screen, his hair shorter now, beard shaved. He was standing next to Sam, both of them looking like they’d just walked through hell and come out victorious.
“Barnes and Wilson led the operation to contain a Flag Smasher attack—”
The footage cut to shaky video: Bucky saving hostages from a burning truck. Sam dropped from above, wings that Shuri gave him expanding in the night sky
You stopped breathing for a second.
Not because he looked good— though he did— but because he looked... different. Lighter. Still sharp around the edges, still Bucky, but not strung so tight he might snap. His shoulders weren’t so hunched. His eyes didn’t carry that haunted glaze you'd come to know too well.
You looked down at your phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Muscle memory had already opened your messages. The text thread was still there.
You started to type.
Saw you on TV today. You looked—
You paused and backspaced.
Took down some Flag Smashers, huh? Didn’t even trip once. I’m impressed.
Delete.
You looked okay.
No.
You stared at the screen. You wanted to say something small, something kind. Something to let him know you’d seen him, that you still cared.
And then—
“Nope,” Okoye said from behind you.
You jumped, flipping your phone face-down like a teenager caught texting a crush.
Okoye raised an eyebrow, arms crossed in full general-mode. “I know that look. You are thinking about him.”
You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “He looked... better.”
“Good. That is what healing is supposed to look like,” she said, tilting her head. “But do not dishonour that progress by dragging each other back into the fire so soon.”
“I wasn’t going to send it,” you muttered under your breath.
Okoye gave you a really? look.
You smiled sheepishly. “Okay, maybe. But just a little.”
She stepped forward, took your phone, and pocketed. “Let him move on. I will take you on patrol,” she said briskly, already walking toward the hangar. “And after, we have tea. And girl talk.”
“Girl talk?” you chuckled, following.
“Yes. I have opinions on your taste in emotionally volatile men. It is time you heard them.”
You laughed despite yourself.
—
One Year Later.
The palace was quieter now that T’Challa was gone.
And grief didn’t move cleanly through your body like it used to. It crept and lingered and collected behind your eyes, in the back of your throat, in the hollow ache of your chest that wouldn’t quite go away.
You’d expected to feel lost. But not like this.
You stood at the balcony outside your quarters, fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea Ayo had forced into your hands.
You hadn’t slept. Couldn’t eat. Before returning back to your quarters, you stayed with Shuri the entire day today, being present for her and Queen Ramonda.
And then the doorbell chimed.
You opened it to find a small wrapped bundle of flowers on the floor. A delivery slip attached in elegant Wakandan script: With honor and remembrance.
In the bouquet was Snowdrops, winter jasmine, and White hyacinth.
It was a winter bouquet.
Not many people in Wakanda would choose those blooms. Not unless they’d meant something.
It was him. Bucky.
He must’ve contacted his old florist in the city to have it delivered to your wing of the palace.
You sat on the edge of the bed, the flowers still in your hands, too stunned to cry.
And then, before you even realised what you were doing, your phone was in your lap. You opened the message thread with Bucky.
You typed, Shuri said she texted you. Said you could come to the funeral. Why didn’t you?
You stared at it. Then, slowly, you deleted it.
Because what would he even say? That he wanted to give you space? That he didn’t know if you wanted to see him? That he sent flowers because showing up would hurt you more?
Maybe he thought the blooms were enough. But they weren’t.
You needed him— a friend who had known T’Challa like you had. Someone who remembered the man like you did— not just the king.
You wanted Bucky to hold you and reminisce about that time you dared T’challa to arm wrestle him. You wanted to laugh about his horrible jokes during harvest. But all you got were flowers.
And wasn’t this what you asked for?
You had told him to let go. To move on. To live his life. And he had.
You wiped at your eyes with the back of your wrist, too tired to be angry. Too empty to cry. Later, you placed the bouquet beside the small altar in the throne room, next to T’Challa’s photo.
A winter gift for a king.
You whispered, "I miss both of you."
—
You didn’t sleep much the year after that.
You didn’t eat much either. Grief gnawed at your gut like hunger, but nothing ever settled. Not even water. Not even rest.
All you had left was work. You helped Wakanda defend itself from foreign attacks, and when the time came, you helped track Riri Williams for Shuri.
But when Shuri was taken by the Talokan, your sanity was cracked clean in half.
You didn’t feel fear. Or rage. Just focus. Razor-sharp, ice-cold, deadly focus.
You helped Nakia track her— followed her scent through the water, infrared vision scanning jungle heat signatures, nose full of salt and humidity until found her underwater. You got her back.
But then Namor attacked, and Queen Ramonda didn’t make it.
You had to look at one more coffin. One more goodbye to one more person gone who had offered you safety, love, and dignity.
Ramonda had seen both you and Bucky when you came to Wakanda scarred and haunted. She had welcomed you with open arms. And now she was gone too.
At the funeral, you held Shuri up because she was shaking. You held her hand. And when it was over, you took her into your quarters and let her sob into your shoulder for hours
You didn’t cry.
You couldn’t. You had to be strong for her.
That night, your phone buzzed with a message.
Bucky : “You okay?”
That was it.
You stared at it. You read it again. Then again.
Are you okay?
You almost laughed. As if that was a question that could be answered in a text. As if that was something you could possibly explain.
Your queen was dead. Your sister in everything but blood had just buried both her brother and mother within 14 months. The kingdom you had called home for the past decade was under attack. You hadn't slept in four days. Your body was covered in bruises. And Bucky—the man who had once buried his face in your collarbone and sobbed because he couldn’t bear to lose you—sent a text.
A fucking text. Not even a call.
You set your phone down and didn’t respond.
You didn’t throw it. You didn’t curse. You didn’t scream. You just... sat there. Numb.
And that was the first night you drank.
You drank because your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and your mind wouldn’t stop screaming and no mission could numb you enough to silence the memory of T’challa’s last words or Ramonda’s last breath or Shuri’s tears soaking through your shirt.
You didn’t stop after one. You wanted to not feel at all. And when the bottle emptied, you drank again. And the next night. And the one after that.
It didn’t fix anything.
—
A Year Later.
You had buried yourself in fieldwork— back to back missions for Wakanda with little to no rest in between. It dulled the ache of grief, but it never fully faded. You were getting better. Still dying inside, but a little slower now.
You took risks that made even Okoye grit their teeth, but you didn’t care. With Shuri as the new Black Panther and the Midnight Angels at your side, it felt like movement was the only thing keeping you from collapsing.
You didn’t care if the assignments were dangerous. Maybe you even preferred it that way.
Shuri was adjusting your new visor in her lab when she glanced up casually. “You know your ex is running for Congress?”
You tilted your head, “What?”
She flicked her fingers and brought up a holographic newsfeed. There he was—James Buchanan Barnes. Neatly combed hair in a dark blue suit, sporting a nervous half-smile. He was shaking hands somewhere in New York, surrounded by cameras.
You stared. “Bucky… in politics? Are we sure that’s not a skrull?”
Shuri laughed, brightening the room. “Positive. He filed last week. His campaign’s all over the place—veteran advocacy, post-Blip recovery programs.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Making amends.”
“He always said he wanted to,” she said gently.
You nodded, silent for a second too long. “He’ll do well.”
Shuri studied your expression. “You think?”
You didn’t answer right away. Your eyes stayed on the image—on Bucky’s restrained expression, the way he looked down like he was afraid to take up space.
“Yeah,” you said. “Have you seen that smile? He could charm a whole room without opening his mouth.”
Shuri laughed again. You found yourself smiling too, even if it hurt to do so.
For a while, she was as self-destructive as you. But now, you didn’t know how Shuri carried her own losses so gracefully, how she held herself together. Maybe it was the suit or the legacy. Or maybe she was just stronger. Your method was simpler: run into danger and don’t care if you make it out. It wasn’t healthy. But it was efficient.
Still, your senses were stronger than ever. You have noticed how Shuri’s heartbeat always picked up when you mention Bucky. You always assumed it was because she was worried about you— about the old wounds reopening.
What you still didn’t know, what she never told you, was that she and Bucky were in constant contact. And after her mother’s death, her updates to him became more detailed, more frequent. Perhaps, it was because you were the closest thing she had to a sister. Perhaps she wanted to keep you safe— and letting Bucky know of your missions meant that if anything were to go wrong, he would be there to help.
She had already lost T’challa and Ramonda. She was not going to lose you, too.
—
Utah. Thunderbolts* timeline.
The gas station was run-down, lit by flickering fluorescent lights and signs buzzing with static. Inside, the team Yelena had apparently nicknamed the Thunderbolts stood in varying degrees of impatience as Bucky took off the last of their restraints.
Yelena rubbed her wrists and shot Bucky a sidelong glance. “So. How are we going to track Bob?”
Bucky didn’t answer immediately. He was already pulling out his phone, lips pressed in a hard line. “Can’t track Mel’s phone,” he muttered under his breath. “Wherever they are, they must have signal jammers.”
“Great,” John said. “And we’re just supposed to... drive and hope we’re going in the right direction?”
Ava narrowed her eyes. “We don't have time. If Val has Bob, there’s no telling—”
Bucky raised a hand. “I… I might know someone nearby who can track a scent halfway across the world.”
Alexei straightened with a hopeful gleam in his eye. “Ah! We are getting reinforcements?” He cracked his knuckles.
Bucky was already reaching for his phone, hesitation coiling in his chest. His thumb hovered over the screen.
He shouldn't be doing this, right?
Were you ready to see him? After everything? After how you ended things? Did you even want to see him?
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shove down the uncertainty clawing at his ribs.
Focus, Barnes.
This wasn’t about closure or guilt or anything personal. Civilians could be in danger. And if Sentry project was as dangerous as they said, then they were way past playing it safe.
Even if it was messy. Even if it hurt.
“Something like that,” Bucky muttered, then hit Call—and walked out into the gas station parking lot.
—
Call to Shuri, Wakandan Secure Channel.
“Bucky,” Shuri answered briskly, “If this is about a replacement arm because the raccoon stole it again—”
“It’s not,” Bucky cut in. “I need hotel information.”
A pause. “For whom?”
“For her.” He didn’t have to say your name. Shuri knew exactly who he meant.
“Why?”
“You told me she was in a joint op with Everett Ross in Salt Lake City. I just need the hotel name, Shuri.”
“That’s classified,” she said, more defensively than she meant. She was willing to give him many things about you, but this might be teetering on a line she wouldn’t cross.
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. We need to track someone before he levels a city,” Bucky explained, “Please.”
Shuri went quiet, because she knew a call from the White Wolf meant things were getting out of hand.
—
You smelled him before he knocked.
He smelled like leather and metal. He had that faint, signature scent — like snowmelt clinging to old wood.
You just finished an intel swap with Everett Ross, and now all you wanted to do was lie down and sleep. That was until you caught a whiff of his scent and you stopped dead in your tracks.
The knock came a second later.
You took a breath, schooled your expression, and opened the door.
And there he was. James Buchanan Barnes. Standing in a Salt Lake City hotel hallway.
His hair was longer than you last saw on TV, a little more silver threading through the temples. A black t-shirt that clung to him in all the ways that weren’t fair, leather jacket over it.
You froze for a moment.
“Wow… I— you…,” he said, as if he couldn’t help himself. “You’re still as beautiful as the last time I saw you.”
You let out a dry laugh before you could stop yourself, folding your arms. “You showing up uninvited in a hallway in Utah wasn’t exactly how I imagined hearing that.”
Bucky gave you a lopsided little smile — the kind that once made your knees weak. “Yeah, well… surprise?”
You rolled your eyes. But it was hard to ignore how your heartbeat had kicked up. “How did you even know I was here?”
He winced. “Okay, so… don’t be mad.”
“Oh no,” you said, flatly. “Great way to start.”
“I, uh… may have asked Shuri.”
Your brows rose. “You what?”
“Just for updates.”
“Bucky.”
“She didn’t tell me much! Just—like—general stuff. Missions. If you were injured. If you’d… eaten.”
“You’ve been asking my best friend to report on my food intake?”
“Okay, that was one time!”
“You don’t get to be worried anymore,” you cut in ever so gently, and the smile dropped from his face.
“I know,” he said.
You stared at him, longing pressing under your ribs.
“You could’ve just called,” you said.
He swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I needed your help. For something. But part of me… I- I don’t know. I would be lying if I said I didn't want to see you.”
“Well, congratulations.” You rolled your eyes, “You found me.”
He didn’t respond. Just stood there with that goddamn puppy-dog look on his face — the one you used to wake up to. The one that said he still loved you in ways he probably didn’t know how to stop.
The silence stretched thin.
Finally, you sat down on your bed and said, “You weren’t there.”
Sitting down on the armchair across from you, Bucky’s brows pulled together, and he knew instantly what you meant.
“T’Challa,” you said. “Ramonda. You didn’t come. You sent flowers. A text. That’s all.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Your voice cracked at the edges. “You don’t get it, Bucky. You were family. They loved you.”
“I loved them, too,” he said. “God, I loved them. T’Challa gave me a second chance. Ramonda treated me like a second son. You think it didn’t kill me not to be there?”
“Then why weren’t you?” you asked, quieter now. “Why didn’t you show up?”
He looked away. “Because I knew I’d see you, too.”
Oh.
He continued, voice rough, eyes fixed on a random point over your shoulder. “I knew I’d see you in white, standing in front of that city that saved both of us. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold it together. I couldn’t go to Wakanda to grieve them and be reminded of you. I was already falling apart. I couldn’t break in front of everyone.”
Your breath hitched, just a little.
“You think I didn’t fall apart?” you whispered. “You think I didn’t wake up everyday being reminded of you? That I didn’t carry Shuri when she couldn’t stand even when I missed you?”
He looked back at you, “You are stronger than me.”
“No, Bucky,” You shook your head. “I just showed up.”
He swallowed hard, his chest heaving just slightly.
You stared at each other again — that thick, choking silence drowning you like a wave.
And still… underneath it all, there was love. Frustrated, frayed, unresolved — but alive.
Bucky leaned forward. “I know I messed up. I know I don’t deserve to ask you for anything.”
You didn’t answer. You just watched him, waiting.
“I’ll stop,” he promised. “The updates. Everything. I’ll leave you alone. I just… need you to do one thing.”
Before you could respond, your nose twitched.
You frowned and sniffed the air, eyes narrowing when your ears picked up four new heartbeats in the vicinity.
“Bucky,” you said slowly. “Does this have anything to do with the four jackasses currently pressed up against the hallway wall?”
He blinked. “...No?”
You sighed, walked to the front of the room and opened the door. Yelena, Ava, John, and Alexei all flinched like a bunch of kids caught behind a curtain.
“I told you to wait in the car,” Bucky groaned.
You crossed your arms at the four extremely guilty faces frozen mid-lean.
Ava, arms crossed like she wasn’t just eavesdropping with laser focus. Yelena, who gave a tiny wave. “Hi.” John, trying very hard to act casual. Alexei was grinning wide. “Ah! She is even more terrifying than Mr. Soldier described! I like her.”
You stared at them. Then at Bucky.
He winced. “...So yeah. About that one thing.”
—
They gave you the rundown on Bob and the Sentry Project—chaotic, riddled with questions and coded language that made you realise that Bucky was right— this was a larger-than-life situation.
It was enough to raise every red flag in your head, and by the end of it, you were just dragging a hand down your face like you were wiping off the last shred of peace you had left.
“Fine,” you muttered, already rerouting your mental map like instinct. You stepped in closer, tilting your head just slightly at the three people who had been in close vicinity to Bob.
Yelena, John, and Ava.
You went in close and did a focus inhale through your nose. Your senses lit up. You could smell a thread between them— that must be Bob’s smell.
You could pick apart the sweat and smoke residue. You could smell the iron-spike scent of stress hormones surging through their blood. You could practically taste the adrenaline.
“Got it,” you said, nodding once.
Then you turned, already moving.
Your pupils contracted as you flipped into the edge of your infrared vision, sweeping the environment in layered pulses of heat and light. People lit up like sketches in flames. Your hearing tuned up next, catching radio chatter three blocks out, the thrum of a drone overhead.
You walked out, and they followed you as you followed the scent straight toward Avengers Tower.
—
Void, New York.
The city was being devoured—block by block, building by building—into a yawning chasm of darkness,a negative space eating reality alive. It was as if Bob had carved a hole in the fabric of reality and let nothingness bleed through. The skyline blurred at the edges, buildings sucked into the black like paper into flame.
People were turned into shadows, and what scared you the most was you can’t smell them anymore. You can’t hear them anymore. They… vanished.
You stood on the edge of where Grand Central Station used to be. Bob was in the center of it all—or what was left of him.
You had found him, and it had gone bad. Catastrophically bad.
Yelena didn’t hesitate. She was the first one to go in.
The others had followed—Alexei, John, Ava—one by one, swallowed whole by the nothingness.
Now it was just you and Bucky.
The edge of the Void shimmered like a heat mirage, the floor fracturing under it.
You stared into the nothingness and it looked exactly how you’d felt the day Wakanda lost its king. The day Ramonda breathed her last breath in that throne room. The day you held Shuri’s hand as she lost everything.
And all you could think, selfishly, was how Bucky hadn’t been there.
You swallowed hard, voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m scared.”
Bucky looked at you, eyes softening.
You didn’t know what was on the other side. You didn’t know what you’d see— what the Void would show you, or take from you.
But for the first time in years, the love of your life reached out and took your hand.
“If we vanish,” he said quietly, “we vanish together.”
Right.
Your fingers curled around his, Your voice barely trembled as you said it again, “Together.”
Then you stepped forward and let the Void take you both.
—
Bucky woke up in the snow.
He recognised this place even before he heard the screaming wind, before he looked down and saw his blood soaking into the white ground.
Bucky was twenty-something again—still Sergeant James Barnes. Still just a soldier, a friend, a smartass.
He was watching himself fall. Watching his arm catch on the railing, and breaking on impact. He watched his body spiral and bounce once before settling.
He tried to look away, but he couldn’t.
He remembered waiting for hours for help. No one came.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered, but the younger version didn’t respond. He blinked once more and then stopped moving altogether.
Then, in an attempt to escape this vision, he buried himself in an avalanche of snow.
He woke up in another room. It was his apartment, familiar and claustrophobic at the same time. The curtains were drawn tight, the air thick with the scent of cheap whiskey
And there he was — himself again. This Bucky was slouched on the floor, back against the wall, surrounded by a graveyard of bottles. Some still full. Most empty. The floor was soaked where he’d dropped one earlier.
He had a bottle pressed to his lips now. He took another long, angry swig. Then another. Then—
Nothing.
No burn. No warmth in his chest. No haze. He roared suddenly, launching the bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall. Glass rained down like glittering snow.
“Why won’t it work?” he shouted, voice hoarse. “Why won’t it fucking work?”
He lurched to his feet, fumbling for another bottle in the kitchen. His hands shook. His breathing was ragged.
“Just let me forget,” he begged, staring at his reflection in the microwave’s glass. “Let me forget. Let me be numb.”
But his body refused. His curse of super soldier metabolism was that he would never let him escape. He would never get drunk ever again.
He threw the next bottle harder. The glass cut his knuckles. He didn’t feel it.
He had only landed from Wakanda twelve hours ago. But this time, he landed with the knowledge that you were not his anymore. And now there was no one to fight with. No one to talk to. No one to hold his hand when the nightmares got bad. No one to anchor him when he spiraled.
He slid down the wall and pressed his forehead to his knees like he could disappear into his own body.
He whispered your name over and over again.
The most devastating part was knowing that he had finally found someone who saw him, and still, somehow, he had driven you away.
He stayed like that for what felt like hours. Days. Maybe he never left that floor at all.
Then — Bucky saw a ripple from a puddle across the room where he had spilled his drink earlier.
He looked into it, and instead of a reflection, he saw you.
You were curled up on a couch in another life, in another room. Fingers wrapped around a half-empty bottle. Your head lolling against the armrest, eyes glazed. Laughter bubbled out of your mouth that didn’t belong there — not the happy kind. This laughter was crooked, the kind you used to hide the sobs building beneath your ribs.
The bottle slipped from your fingers and onto the floor.
You were drunk. Not a buzz. Not a haze. You were gone, and it showed.
You started slurring words to no one and between fits of laughter. The makeup smeared across your cheek wasn’t from a night out — it was from wiping away tears with the back of your hand over and over again.
You were wrecked in a way Bucky couldn’t be.
You had the freedom he envied, the escape he was never allowed. You could bury the grief. He had to live with it. And then— he saw what you were clutching in your lap.
It was a photo of You, Bucky, Shuri, and T’challa, taken by Queen Ramonda by the lake, only a couple of days before Thanos attacked.
You stared at the photo like it might move. Like if you looked hard enough, you could reach through the glossy paper and pull them out.
But they were gone.
T’Challa. Ramonda.
And Bucky.
He hadn’t died, but he wasn’t there either. Not when it mattered.
Your grip on the bottle tightened. And then—suddenly—you screamed. “WHY AREN’T YOU HERE?!”
The words tore out of you like glass, shredding you from the inside out.
You hurled the bottle across the room. It hit a wall, shattered, and splashed liquor across the floor. Your body jolted with it, like you’d thrown a piece of yourself.
And then you just collapsed yourself, rocking back and forth. “My fault,” you whispered over and over again. “My fault. All my fault. My fault.”
Bucky watched from the other side of the reflection, both of you broken in different ways—he, invulnerable and furious that he couldn’t feel the poison work; you, drowning in it.
The grief between you wasn’t just shared.
It was mirrored.
Both of you in your separate corners of the world, drinking like it might erase memory, like it might bring someone back, like it might turn regret into penance.
With a deep breath, he took a leap of faith and stepped into the puddle.
It felt like falling like leaping off a rooftop with no guarantee of landing, but choosing the fall anyway because it might bring him back to you.
And he was right.
He was there, with the real you.
You were in that room, in the corner, watching it all play out like a film you couldn’t pause.
That puddle had been more than a doorway. It had been a choice. And he had chosen you.
Bucky knelt down beside you slowly. He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled you into him.
And for a moment, you didn’t move.
But then his arms wrapped around you, the walls gave in. Your fingers clutched at the back of his jacket and you buried your face into his shoulder.
You stayed like that for a while.
Then, muffled against him, you said, “I should’ve called.”
He just held you tighter.
You continued. “You gave me flowers. A text. It wasn’t much, but… at least it was something. I didn’t even text back. I didn’t give you anything.”
Bucky pulled back slightly to look at you, his hands still resting gently on your shoulders. “No,” he said. “Don’t apologize. I—” He exhaled slowly, eyes dark and honest. “I was suffocating you. I… I ruined you.”
“You never ruined me, Bucky,” you said. “You broke my heart. But you never ruined me.”
Silence stretched again — for a while.
“I was scared I’d never see you again,” you admitted, quieter now. “That you’d disappear into some mission and I’d never get to tell you I was still… that I still— fuck… I—” Unable to finish your sentences, looked away instead, chewing the inside of your cheek. Then you asked what had been burning in the back of your throat this whole time: “Are we ever going to be okay again?”
His answer was quiet, immediate. “We already are.” He kissed your temple — not possessive or desperate, just… loving.
You blinked up at him. “What?”
He smiled. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re talking. Yelling. Holding each other. That’s more than most people get.”
You chuckled, exhaling a shaky breath, forehead resting against his. “So what now?”
“Now?” he murmured. “We get up.”
Your hand slid down his arm and laced your fingers with his. “And what about the end of the world?”
He gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Right. That.”
You both stood, like people learning how to walk for the first time again.
He looked at you, wiping a tear from his cheeks. “C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Let’s go find Bob.”
And this time, you walked out together.
—
Post-Void. New York, again.
You’d done it. You’d pulled Bob out, helped him control the void inside of him.
And just as the dust started to settle, Val ambushed you all with a press conference. She threw around the word New Avengers like it was already printed across a glossy magazine cover.
Your phone immediately lit up like a Christmas tree.
Everett Ross: Did my EX-WIFE just put you in the New Avengers lineup? Why did you not tell me this?
You winced. Ex-wife. Of course.
Then, Shuri: ??? What is HAPPENING? Should I have not given Bucky your hotel?
And the kicker came from the current king of Wakanda himself.
M’Baku: Weren’t you on a foreign mission on behalf of Wakanda? You are now on AMERICAN NEWS? Call back immediately.
You groaned and thumbed your phone to Do Not Disturb.
The others were watching you now. Bob was still sitting in the sun. Yelena tried ignoring the cameras with practiced disinterest.
Beside you, Bucky was catching his breath, hair tousled, jacket streaked with dust.
“You wanna come back to my place?” he asked, pointing to your phone. “Make the calls from there, if this is too much.”
You blinked. “Don’t you live in D.C. now? Whole Capitol Hill, suit-and-tie Bucky?”
He shrugged, glanced at a hovering drone cam, and flipped it off without changing expression. “Kept my old apartment in Brooklyn. Rent controlled.”
You smirked, though the change in his heartbeat did not go unnoticed. “You’re sentimental.”
“No,” he chuckled. “I’m cheap. But if it helps, the water pressure is still garbage and the radiator still sounds like a haunted typewriter. Just like last time you were there.”
Before you could answer, Alexei called out from behind you. “Can we all come? Team debrief?”
You turned, and shook your head. “Top secret. I’ll find you later.”
Ava lifted a hand lazily. “She’s a tracker. She will.”
She was right. If anyone tried to disappear, you’d have them in an hour.
As you turned away with Bucky at your side, your super-hearing picked up everything. Far behind you, John Walker, never one for subtlety, muttered to someone — probably Yelena, “Twenty bucks says they’re back together by tonight. I mean, do you see how they look at each other?”
You kept walking. Bucky hadn’t heard it — his senses weren’t as sharp as yours, even with the serum.
You debated pretending you hadn’t either.
—
You knew before he even unlocked the door that keeping this place wasn’t about rent control.
When it creaked as you walked, the first thing you could smell was remnants of yourself.
The radiator still coughed in the corner like it was dying. Everything smelled faintly of old wood and clean laundry, and something faintly him — steel and cedar and memory.
Your breath hitched when you saw the shelf to your left still had your copy of Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time, the one Bucky swore he never borrowed.
Your old hoodie — the grey one with the thumb holes — was folded on the arm of the couch like you had just worn it yesterday.
The photos in the frames hadn’t changed. There was one of you and him, laughing in the sunset. One of Bucky, Sam, Steve, and T’challa with you and Shuri making faces while photobombing them. Then, a photo of you, him, Shuri, and T’challa— his copy of the one Ramonda had taken.
Oh.
The space was like a museum and a time capsule rolled into one.
You didn’t say anything at first.
You sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out your phone. A stack of voicemails and messages had piled up, still buzzing in the background. The world was catching up to what had just happened — the Void, Val’s PR machine spinning headlines while you were still scrubbing concrete dust out of your hair.
You answered M’Baku first, then Shuri, then Ross. But your eyes kept drifting to the photos, the jacket, the battered mug with the chipped rim that you used to have your coffee in, no matter how much it leaked.
Bucky stayed quiet.
He didn’t hover. Just leaned against the counter with a mug in his hand that had long since gone cold.
When you finally finished the last call, you let out a deep breath. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the table. Then, you looked at him. “Rent control, huh?” you raised an eyebrow.
He blinked, looking down to his feet.
“You’re full of shit,” you added, gentler this time.
And Bucky chuckled his first real laugh since your reunion. He dropped his head for a second, shaking it slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am.”
He stepped a little closer, leaning one hand on the table across from you. His other hand hovered, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t want to break whatever fragile platform you were both standing on.
“I kept thinking I’d throw it all out,” he said. “That I’d come back one day and finally… take it all down. Pack the clothes. Box up the books and mail them to you. But I never did.”
You looked down at your hands. You could feel his eyes on you.
“I think,” he said, quieter now, “that part of me thought… if I kept it all exactly the same, maybe you’d come back.”
Your throat tightened.
He ran a hand through his hair, his voice rough around the edges. “I don’t know how to do this. I’m not… good at this. At any of it. But I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t want you in my life .”
Silence stretched for a long moment.
Finally, you said, “Shuri told me something the other day.”
Bucky straightened a little.
“She was trying to explain quantum entanglement to me. That even when particles are separated by galaxies, they still feel each other. React to each other. Like distance doesn’t matter. Not really.” You met his eyes. “That’s us, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Bucky gave you a sad smile, “It’s us.”
You looked around the room again.
“I’m not ready,” you said. “I don’t know how to go back to what we were. I don’t even know if we should.”
“I don’t want what we were,” he said, without hesitation. “I want better.”
You studied him. He looked different than the last time you saw him — older, maybe. Not physically. But his eyes were angry. Less anxious.
You nodded. “Slow,” you said. “We take it slow.”
He looked… relieved.
He didn’t step closer. He didn’t grab you or kiss you or make some grand statement. Instead, he reached out and gently rested two fingers against the back of your hand, just enough to feel you there.
“Okay,” he said.
And somehow, it was enough.
Not everything was fixed, but for the first time in a long time, you had him back in your life. —
You didn’t know what you expected when you landed in Wakanda. Maybe M’Baku would challenge you to one final sparring match and attempt to win the truth out of you with his bare hands. Maybe Shuri would yell. Maybe Okoye would look at you like a traitor.
But no one raised their voice, and that almost made it worse.
The throne room was still. M’Baku stood tall with his arms crossed. As you stepped forward, you tried to square your shoulders, trying to find the version of yourself that had once stood tall here— not as a visitor, not as a liability, but as someone who helped this nation rebuild from the blip, from the loss of their king, from the loss of their queen.
But your throat was dry. Your heartbeat thrummed in your chest. “I came to explain,” you said, voice thinner than you’d hoped.
“You do not need to,” M’Baku replied, his voice grave but not unkind.
You stopped, stunned by how final he sounded.
He descended the steps from the throne, each footfall echoing through the vibranium coated walls. “I regret to inform you that your contract with Wakanda is terminated,” he said. “Effective immediately.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he lifted a hand before you could speak.
“You are now aligned with the New Avengers,” he said, reciting an uncomfortable truth. “You report to the CIA’s director. Your loyalties have shifted—by necessity, perhaps, but shifted nonetheless. Wakanda cannot afford blurred lines.”
Fuck.
“I didn’t ask for the public announcement,” you said as a last line of defence. “Valentina made that move without consulting anyone.”
“And yet the world knows,” M’Baku answered. “Perception, as you know, is reality. The eyes of the world are on you now. And those eyes inevitably turn toward Wakanda.”
You lowered your gaze, heart dropping in your chest. “I understand.”
“But…” he continued, “I want you to know that you were never just a contract to us.”
When he stepped closer, his stance shifted. He wasn’t Wakanda’s king now. He was M’Baku— your sparring partner, your most stubborn friend, the man who once cracked your rib in training and called it ‘bonding.’
“You were family,” he said quietly. “You annoyed me more than any outsider I’ve ever met, and I will miss that more than you can imagine.”
Before you could speak, he pulled you into his arms and… hugged you.
You held onto him—tighter than you meant to. You didn’t want to let go. Wakanda had been more than a mission or a job. It had been your home. It was the place that gave you purpose when the rest of the world had hunted you. And now, with a few words and a king’s goodbye, it was slipping through your fingers.
“You’ll be alright, sister,” he reassured, voice. “You always land on your feet.” He pulled back just enough to smirk. “Like a very ugly cat with no grace.”
You laughed. Or maybe you cried. You weren’t sure.
—
Outside the throne room, Shuri was waiting.
She stood like she’d been pacing with her eyes trained on the floor— but when you appeared, her head snapped up. Okoye was beside her, and even her usual perfect posture had softened.
“I’m sorry,” Shuri said the moment your eyes met, brittle at the edges. “For giving Bucky your location.”
You let out a deep breath and a sad smile ghosted across your face. “Don’t be.”
“He said there was a threat,” she shook her head, stepping closer. “And he wasn’t wrong. But I didn’t know it would end…. like this. I thought I was helping.” Her voice broke slightly. “I thought I was giving you back something you’d lost.”
You shook your head. “You weren’t wrong.”
She didn’t look at all startled by that— as if she knew whatever hole had been carved into you by the loss of Wakanda had immediately been filled by Bucky coming back into your life, by the rest of the team that you found.
“Every time I hit a wall,” you said, just above a whisper. “I throw myself into work and pretend I don’t need anyone.” Your voice cracked open without permission like a dam that had held too long.
“But maybe…” You glanced down, then up at her. “Maybe it’s time I stop pushing away the people who love me. Maybe it’s time I meet them halfway and let them care for me.” You took her hand, “like you do.”
Shuri stared at you like sunlight through storm clouds— equal parts pride and heartbreak.
“Bucky cares,” she said. “Do not let each other slip away this time.”
You swallowed hard.
Okoye, always watching, always knowing, stepped forward.
“He is better,” she said, almost approvingly. “He has learned how to breathe without you. Perhaps it is precisely the reason you need him again. And he might just remind you that life is not all about survival and contracts— it is meant to be lived.”
You tried to blink away the sudden sting in your eyes. “Okoye…” you managed.
She raised a finger in warning. “Do not make me cry, girl.”
That startled a snorting laugh from Shuri.
You smiled. Just a little.
—
Two days later, Bucky helped you move into Avengers Tower.
He smiled sadly when he spotted your duffel bag on the curb beside a single, battered box.
“That’s it?” he asked, easily lifting the box labeled in your unmistakable handwriting: SENTIMENTAL SHIT.
You raised an eyebrow. “You expected me to have more emotional baggage?”
He let out a small laugh, missing your sense of humour. “I meant literal baggage. But…” he glanced down at the label, the corner of his mouth twitching, “…noted.”
You fell into step beside him, entering the still-mostly-empty tower. The echo of your footsteps followed you down halls that smelled like fresh paint and industrial cleaner. A few rooms were already occupied—Bob’s, Ava’s, and an unnamed office space—but yours was at the far end of the residential floor: a bit secluded, sunlit, and overlooking New York in a way that felt almost too generous.
You dropped your duffel onto the bed with a sigh. He set the box on the desk and stood back, studying in the space like he was mentally filing it away for future reference.
“You alright?” he asked softly.
You shrugged, arms crossing out of reflex. “I guess. Feels… weird.”
“What does?”
“Living out of Wakanda.” You glanced at him. “It’s even weirder being around you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Friends,” you said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “That’s what we are now, right?”
“I guess so.” He gave a gentle laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Friends who know exactly how the other one likes their coffee.”
You smiled for real then. “Friends who have seen each other naked. And cry. And leave.”
His voice was quieter now. “And come back.”
—
Two days later, the tower was silent after midnight.
It didn’t feel like a base yet—more like a draft of a memory— place still deciding what it wanted to be. The lights in the common room were dimmed to an amber gold. Somewhere down the hall, a ventilation unit clicked and sighed like an old house learning how to breathe again.
You couldn’t sleep.
You’d unpacked your bag. Stacked your few books with spines you knew by heart. Hung your jacket on the back of the door and lined up your toiletries with mathematical precision, like symmetry might trick your brain into believing this was home.
But your body didn't buy it yet, So you wandered barefoot down the hallway in an oversized sweatshirt—the same one Bucky had given you all those years ago.
You found him in the common room, curled into one corner of the couch, damp hair curling at the ends from a recent shower and mug of tea cradled between his metal fingers,
He looked up when he saw you. “You too, huh?”
“Sleep is a myth,” you said, plopped onto the cushion beside him.
He handed you the mug. You didn’t hesitate before sipping— he used to share drinks with you all the time. The tea was warm, chamomile and honey, just the way you used to make it for him when he couldn’t sleep.
You let the heat sink into your palms for a few seconds longer than necessary before handing it back.
“This place is too clean,” you said at last.
Bucky nodded. “Won’t be for long. Alexei just moved in. Give it two days before something explodes.”
You snorted. “I give it twelve hours.”
That made him laugh, as he leaned his head back against the couch cushion and looked up, like he could see constellations through the ceiling. You looked at him and, for a second, you imagined you were both back in his hut again, painting stars on the ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stickers and half a bottle of wine.
“Remember that night by the river?” you asked.
His eyes flicked to yours. “The one after T’challa’s birthday dinner?”
You smiled. “Yeah. We dragged the blankets out and tried to sleep under the open sky. You brought out your old army jacket. I stole your pillow.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. Slowly, he reached out, brushing his fingertips across yours.
—
The next few months passed easily.
You and Bucky slipped back into some old habits. Mornings were for training. Afternoons often ended in sparring sessions and conversation. And in the hours in between, you found each other again and again— sometimes late night tea. Sometimes, you'd leave a book by your door. SOmetimes, he’d put in your favourite movie after a stressful day.He never made a big deal out of it, and neither did you. It wasn’t discussed. It simply was.
Of course, the team noticed.
Ava, subtle as a brick, started running a betting pool in the group chat on who would initiate getting back together. She never said who the odds favored, but winked at you every time you entered a room with Bucky in tow.
John grumbled about “weird tension” on mission briefings, mostly because he lost his first bet. Even Bob— still learning how to survive in a household of ex-spies, assassins, and super-soldiers—picked up on it. One morning over coffee, he glanced at you, then at Bucky, then said, completely unprompted, “You breathe easier when he’s around.”
You blinked at him, stunned. He just sipped his coffee and went back to his crossword.
But the real kicker came at breakfast, a few weeks later.
You were barely awake, slouched at the long kitchen island in the tower. Bucky sat beside you, reading news with a tablet in hand.
Yelena walked in, grabbed a banana, and without hesitation said, “So. When are you two getting back together?”
You nearly choked on your tea. Bucky froze mid-scroll. You coughed for a solid ten seconds before managing, hoarsely, “I—what?”
Yelena leaned on the counter. “Please. The movie nights? The sparring together all the time? You are basically together.”
Bucky cleared his throat. “We’re… talking. Taking it slow.”
Yelena squinted at him like he was the world’s worst liar. “Slow like friends slow, or slow like ‘you slept in her room after the Prague mission and thought no one noticed’ slow?”
You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Bucky stared at the ceiling like he was considering defenestration.
“I—I didn’t—we didn’t—” you stammered.
“She had a nightmare,” Bucky said valiantly. “I stayed in her armchair.”
Yelena raised her eyebrows. “How noble. You’ll be married by June.”
And with that, she bit into her banana and walked out as if she hadn’t just casually set your entire life on fire before 8 a.m.
You stared at the doorway for a long time before turning to Bucky. “We are never living that down.”
He smiled, just a little. “She’s not wrong, though.”
You tilted your head. “About what?”
He shrugged. “About the slow part not really being all that slow anymore.”
That shut you up, but not in a bad way.
—
The day it had finally happened, though, you’d been in the tower’s comms room, backlit by flickering screens, teeth clenched as you watched the mission feed buffer and skip. Bucky and John were on the field on recon and containment. It should be routine. No reason to worry.
You told yourself it was fine. You knew Bucky could handle himself. You’d said it a hundred times.
But then the feed glitched again. Then John mentioned gunfire and Bucky’s comms went dark.
The jet returned fifteen minutes later, skidding onto the landing pad. You were already waiting there when they brought him in.
Bucky.
His combat suit was torn, blood soaking through the thigh, gashes deep in his side. His vibranium arm was scorched, still hissing faintly from an energy blast. And yet… he was awake. Breathing. He gave you a small smile, somehow, even when the poor nurse wheeled him into the med bay. You ran to follow
He could’ve died. And you weren’t there.
That’s when you saw John.
“You were supposed to watch his six!” you shouted at him before you could even register how much you meant them. “Do you even know what a field partner does, or do you just wing it and hope the super soldiers heal fast enough?”
John blinked, surprised. “Jesus, I didn’t—”
“Don’t!” you snapped. “You were with him! He had your back—where the hell were you?”
“He told me to take the high ground!” John barked, his voice rising. “I didn’t know they had long-range fire!”
“It’s literally your job to know!” Your skin felt like they were on fire now. “Do you even remember the brief? You think because he’s got the Hydra serum he can take every shot for you?”
“Hey.”You heard Bucky say from the bed behind you. “Relax.”
Your head snapped toward him. “Relax?”
He half-winced as a doctor pulled a bullet fragment from his thigh. His breathing was shallow, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward in dry amusement
“Yeah. Relax. You’re doing that thing.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What thing?”
“You sound like me back in the day,” he managed to say, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “God. The role reversal’s kinda scary.”
And just like that, you shut up.
He did used to do this. When you were still together. When it was you on the field and him pacing the halls of the palace like a caged wolf. Every bruise you got, he catalogued. Every mission report, he read twice. When you brushed off injuries, he’d pull you aside and look at you like you'd died and no one told him.
And now here you were, standing over him, boiling over like your heart had been under for years.
“It’s different,” you whispered under your breath. “You were obsessed.”
Bucky opened his eyes again, squinting slightly. “What?”
You could hear the beeping of monitors overwhelming you. You could taste the metallic tang of blood and antiseptic. “You were obsessed,” you said, a bit louder, “I’m freaking out over bullets. You used to freak out over a scratch.”
He gave a nod, not flinching. “Yeah. I know.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t healthy. But I cared.” But then his tone shifted. “And you don’t get to talk to John like that.”
You took a step back, caught off-guard. “Are you serious?”
“He’s not perfect,” he said, matter-of-fact.
“Wow,” John interjected under his breath, “Thanks.”
Bucky paid him no mind “But he tried. This wasn’t on him.”
You pressed your fingers into your temple, trying to breathe. “I know, I just—I didn’t know what else to do, Buck.”
You looked at him then, and all the fire in your chest dimmed into ash. He looked… tired. Older. Stronger, too. But there was something in his eyes—some flicker of the man you left behind.
Bucky glanced toward John. “Give us the room when they’re done, yeah?”
John, for once, didn’t argue. He just nodded and backed out, probably relieved.
The door shut with a hiss, and you waited until the doctors had finished stitching him up and giving him the okay to rest before you walked back to his side, a little more tired, a little more human.
You sat on the edge of the bed. Your hand found his immediately, as if it was instinct. His skin was warm and he smelled like bullets and iron, the way it always got when he’d been running on too much adrenaline and too little self-preservation.
“Is this okay?” you asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
He nodded before reaching for you with both hands in that familiar, greedy way he always used to, like he couldn't stand another second without you touching. “C’mere,” he said.
So you climbed carefully onto the too-small mattress beside him, your body curving into his like muscle memory. You avoided the bruised side, settling in close with your head tucked beneath his chin, just where it used to belong. His wrapped his arm around you.
Your palm rested over his chest, right above his heart. It beat steady, and you wondered if it ever really stopped beating for you.
He breathed in your hair. "You always smell like home," he whispered, so quiet you almost missed it.
You watched the little cuts and bruises heal on their own, bit by bit. His lashes fluttered like he was teetering on the edge of sleep — then opened again, just to make sure you were still there.
You stayed tucked beneath his chin for a long while. Eventually, you spoke, your voice muffled into his chest. “I didn’t mean to scream at Walker,” you said with a small laugh. “Or be… so overbearing. Like you used to be.” You peeked up at him with a sideways smile. “Funny, right?”
Bucky chuckled. “I deserved that,” he smiled, rubbing slow circles against your back with his human thumb
You swallowed, then pulled away just enough to look at him properly.
“I just…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully, like they mattered. Because they did. “For the first time in a long time, work isn’t the most important thing to me.” You reached up and gently brushed your fingers along the edge of the bruise on his cheeks. “You are.”
“I know,” he said, voice rough. “And I… I just wanted you to know I never stop caring — just didn’t know how to care right.”
You both laughed a little at that — sad and sweet, like the punchline to a very old joke.
“Remember that time you hacked into a satellite feed because I missed one check-in?” you teased, smirking.
Bucky groaned, his cheeks turning pink. “Okay, first of all, it was a tactical recon satellite, I didn’t hack it, I borrowed a login.”
“Oh, that makes it better,” you said, eyes sparkling. “You bribed M’Baku with a reservation at a two Michelin Star vegan restaurant just because I didn’t text ‘safe’ fast enough.”
“I was worried,” he shook his head, then, quieter, “You didn’t answer for four hours.”
“I know,” Your brows relaxed again. “I know you were trying to love me. I just… couldn’t let myself be loved like that back then.”
Bucky reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you now?”
You smiled, eyes filling up with a puddle of tears.“Well,” you said, voice a little wobbly, “Only if we meet halfway.”
He smiled, and god, it was like the sun rose just for you.
“Okay,” he agreed, leaning in until you could taste the air he breathed.
Just before your lips touched, he stopped. “You sure?” he asked, looking down at your lips.
Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it through your chest.
You nodded. “I’m sure.”
He didn’t move yet.
“You sure you’re sure?” he whispered, voice lower now. His fingers had tightened just slightly at your waist, anchoring you there,but he just needed to give you one last chance to run — but you didn’t take it.
“Bucky…” you whispered, and the way you said his name answered everything for him.
“Okay,” he said, more a sigh than a word. “Okay.”
Then he kissed you.
It was heat and hunger that only two people who had been starved of each other, who’d tasted what it was like to be apart and never wanted to go back could feel. His mouth claimed yours like he needed to make sure you were his and you kissed him back just as fiercely, just as desperate to prove that you were.
You curled your fingers into the collar of his tac vest, pulling him closer, and he groaned against your lips. His metal hand slid up your back, and his other hand cupped your cheek and pulled you closer
And he kept saying it between kisses, like a litany, “You’re sure?”
You answered with another kiss. Deeper now, borderline bruising.
“You’re sure?” he asked again
“I’m sure.” Your lips parted on a gasp, and you nodded, forehead pressed to his. “I’m so sure, Buck, I— I never stopped—”
His mouth was on yours again before you could finish, and it didn’t matter. His thumb traced your cheek like he was re-learning you all over again, when he realized he still remembered all the ways you liked to be kissed. When you finally pulled back, breathless, he looked at you like you’ve been to hell and back for him.
“God, I missed this,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I missed you so bad, doll.”
You smiled, blinking back the tears that weren’t sad at all. “I missed you worse.”
He grinned, all wrecked and completely in love.
You kissed again, gentler this time, remembering how good it felt to be known by each other again.
Which was exactly when the door slid open with a cheerful whoosh.
“—Bucky! I was gonna check on—oh,” came Alexei’s voice, suddenly flat as pancake batter left too long on the griddle.
You froze, lips still an inch from Bucky’s. Your heart leapt straight into your throat, and you turned slowly toward the door, horror across both your faces.
Alexei stood there, blinking once, before giving the slowest nod known to man. His hands were crossed on his chest, looking too smug for his own good.
“Well,” he said, dragging his voice out. “Well. I’m going to tell team it finally happened!”
Bucky let out the deepest, most resigned sigh imaginable and let his head thunk back against the pillow. “Can you please wait until I’m discharged?”
“Nonsense!” Alexei said brightly, already halfway down the hallway. “Ava owes me twenty American dollars. And John will make that face. You know the one.”
You groaned and buried your face in Bucky’s chest, playfully mortified.
“Back then,” he chuckled, lips brushing your hair, “I would've fought him for interrupting.”
You peeked up at him, “And now?”
He smiled. “Now I’m just glad you’re here.”
-end.
what love is; track one [e.m. x fem!reader]
![What Love Is; Track One [e.m. X Fem!reader]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/a2ea76634b9b89b089acc17bcdd7c030/89c367cf65c44aa1-54/s500x750/7b6b7ac02c5878edab83db695c3d60b3e8eec910.png)
summary: Everybody in Hawkins High knew Eddie "the freak" Munson, two-times-failed (so far) senior, proud metalhead, and dungeon master of the Hellfire club. Most knew the studious, sweet, good girl who probably had a full ride to any college she wanted to go to. But few people truly knew them, least of all, themselves. Now, in the summer of 1985, their paths cross again, intertwining to a point of no return. AKA, the trial and error of learning to love and be loved with Eddie Munson.
warnings/content notes( for this chapter): shitty parents, homophobic comments/slurs. suggestive content.
author's note: My bad habit is describing the reader in too much detail (clothing-wise, not appearance), so I apologize if the reader's style isn't yours, but I hope you can still enjoy the story. Also, I'm making Eddie a human disaster cause there's no way he's as smooth as I see in so many fics.
rating: 16+
word count: 6,543
taglist: @ratridingaskateboard (lmk if you want to be added!)
![What Love Is; Track One [e.m. X Fem!reader]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/8584e696a61b3dde3af9bb43de9dabae/89c367cf65c44aa1-1e/s500x750/f4297b54e538edc8af51ad4194155034ec0c274c.png)
◁◁͏͏ 1: More Than A Feeling ▷▷ 0:38 ━━❍─────── 4:06
—— July, 1985 ——
It’s an easy day at work- the customers are few and far between, most of them mindlessly browsing the aisles, flipping through each vinyl and tape with one finger, looking at one after the other, after the other, after the other, after the other, pop or rock or metal, classical or movie soundtracks or even Christmas albums even though it's the middle of July. With how slow it is, (Y/N) is stuck leaning her elbow on the counter, chin in her palm as the sound of Boston’s More Than A Feeling plays from the radio next to her.
Getting this job had been such a stroke of luck after she graduated high school. A music shop with records and tapes and players ranging from pop to soundtrack to even metal– which her parents hated– tucked in downtown Hawkins within biking distance of her house, so she could stay living at home while she saved money to move out, and it paid well enough that she wasn't too worried about living there much longer. Plus, most days were like this- slow, easy- and she spent most of her time scribbling in her journal and listening to rock music that wouldn’t be allowed in her parent’s “pure, Christian home” and meeting like-minded people whom she otherwise might not have come across. And though her straight-laced, puritan parents weren’t too keen on her “out-there” job exposing her to things like “satanic rock-and-roll and ungodly fantasy”, at least she was making money.
She’s humming along to the guitar in the pre-chorus, tapping a pen across the list titled ‘Coming To Store, July 1985!!!’ that her boss had left for her to stock later on. The chorus swells with emotion right when the bell above the entrance rings. She freezes as she looks up to greet a new customer, eyes catching someone familiar, and suddenly she’s back in the Hawkins High School cafeteria at the beginning of her junior year, 1983, quietly making heart eyes at a long-haired, loud-mouthed boy across the room, for whom her heart had decided to beat for.
Eddie Munson.
(Y/N) twirled the cord of her walkman’s headphones around her finger, barely poking at the lunch in front of her as her eyes focused on a senior boy at the head of the table a few rows down from hers. He’d been letting his wild hair grow out to his shoulders and looked like those rock stars in magazines that her mom never let her buy. He was the ‘leader’ of the Hellfire Club, who played a game called Dungeons and Dragons after school, about which she knew nothing except what she read about people trying to tie it to devil worship and satanism. With his long, messy hair and leather jackets and the denim jacket he had recently chopped the sleeves off of, he was loud and defiant, non-conforming, and everything her parents warmed her to be against.
He was Eddie Munson, the Freak of Hawkins, and he had been stuck on (Y/N)’s mind since sophomore year.
“Hey,” Her friend nudged her, tugging her headphones off and pulling her back into reality. The small group of awkward, acne-ridden high school kids who had yet to find their group giggled around her.
“Hey! I was listening to-!”
“You were ogling Munson again.” One interjected.
“You know someone said he performs rituals? Like sacrificing people and shit?” Someone said, a sarcastic smile in their voice.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” She scoffed at the idea of devil worship. It was all scary stories to threaten kids into being safer. “C’mon, you sound like my parents.”
“I don’t believe it,” She cut in. “But he’s just… a freak.” Some kids around the table cut in, arguing that they were the weird kids too. The only difference was that he wasn’t ashamed of not fitting in. “Well devil-worship aside, he’s still probably going to end up like his dad, you know. Not really the best choice to be crushing on.”
(Y/N)’s friends continued to argue back and forth, but the girl’s eyes were fixed. Eddie had hopped up on the table, talking loudly to his table of misfit friends, taunting the popular groups of students, who jeered at him. The confidence, the pure lack of shame that radiated from him as he stuck his fingers up into devil horns and grinned wildly, it drove her insane. She’d never known someone as bold and unafraid as him, someone so true to themself and unbowing to the social pressure to change, despite the daily judgment and rumors and whispers behind his back. And a part of her-- a much larger part of her than she’d like to fully admit-- wanted to sneak her way into his group, be taken under his wing. Have some of that fearlessness rub off on her.
God knew she needed some bravery.
For a moment, as Eddie jumped down from the lunch table, she swore his eyes locked with hers. Just for a moment.
“Hey, kid,” Her boss, Bill, jolts her back to the present, Boston’s song still playing on the radio. “-I closed my eyes and she slipped away-” She looked up, slightly saddened that she lost sight of that familiar face before she even saw him. “I’m clocking out for the day, make sure you sort out all those new tapes tonight.”
She nodded, flustered, shaking away the embarrassing thoughts that had been plaguing her. “Oh, um, someone asked me earlier, are we getting the new Tears For Fears album soon?”
After only a moment, during which her eyes scanned the store, hoping to find that curly head, he spoke up. “Ah, that’s coming in next week. And while I’m thinking about it, we’re getting the new Dio album right after it comes out. Make a note of that so we don’t forget.”
She nodded jotting it down on her paper. “Thanks.”
“Stay outta trouble tonight.”
But (Y/N) didn’t hear his words, or see him leave, as her eyes focused on a wild mop of hair coming around the corner of one of the shelves. As he browsed through the tapes in the metal section, she couldn’t help feeling like a creep watching his every move. She was entranced at the way his fingers so gently brushed a curl back out of his face. This was the first time she’d seen him outside school in the three years she’d known of him, and it was strangely intimate to see him in a place he fit into so well. A place where he didn’t need to defend himself and his interests every waking moment. Here he was, flipping through albums with a gentle hand when most of her memories of him were of him standing on cafeteria tables egging on the jocks or sitting outside the principal’s office without care.
Eddie’s face turned towards hers, and it felt like a shock of electricity as she snapped her attention to the list of bands in front of her. Where were we… Bryan Adams… Duran Duran… Tears For Fears… New Dio album– In her peripherals, she could see him passing by the front counter.
She braved a glance up, telling herself that it was only to seem natural, to check if he was ready to check out. Instead, their eyes locked for half a second as he walked past to browse tapes on the other side of the store. Again, her eyes tore down to stare a hole through her paper, and the counter beneath it, and the floor beneath that, getting so hot in the face she thought she might pass out. Had he seen her watching him? Did he remember her from high school? No, why would he? They’d only spoken briefly in class in her senior year, nothing memorable.
She remembered the first day of her senior year when none other than Eddie Munson– who she had thought graduated the year before– sat down a couple of seats over from her in English class. She’d nearly lost her mind at seeing him again, having thought her crush was one of the past and she could live out her senior year in peace, without being distracted by a meaningless little crush. But no, instead, there he was for her to oggle all class, watching him doodle on his papers, or nearly fall asleep whenever the teacher was lecturing. Her face heated up at his gall when she watched him grin while getting scolded for being late.
(Y/N) couldn’t help but wonder if he’d graduated. She didn’t remember seeing him at the ceremony, but plenty of kids didn’t attend, and considering his reputation and rumored familial situation– or lack thereof– it would make sense if he wanted to graduate silently and get the hell out of town.
The song ended, and she held rewind on the tape, not caring what the customers thought and feeling like she would float away without something to ground her to the earth. Eddie Munson, here in the store, after she thought she was over her stupid crush.
“I lost myself in a familiar song, I closed my eyes and I slipped away”
She closed her eyes for a moment. This must be a dream. It had to be. She hadn’t seen him since last semester, and here he was in her store, his hair a little longer than the last time they’d seen each other. All throughout high school, she swore she’d never seen him in short sleeves and now here he was, the cut-off sleeves of his shirt and denim vest exposing the ink on his forearms to the sticky July air. If she looked hard enough, the long holes where he'd gone in with scissors exposed the sides of his slim torso, too. Not that she was staring.
Her mind was buzzing with all the little memories of him, the details about his presence, the way the chain on his jeans clattered against his chair in class, the way he sank in his seat and sat low, uninterested, and confident, and the way he would get scolded by the teachers every time. The way he cast a quick glance at her before tests because she had given him a copy of her notes, a glance that she’d always been too shy to hold when she caught him looking. She remembered going home every night and sinking into her bed under the covers, flipping through her secret journal for the cut-out and glued-down magazine pictures of rock stars on stage with long curls and dark clothes like his. Some might think she was crushing on him because he looked like the men in her magazines, but really, she liked them because they looked like Eddie.
Ding!
A sharp trill on the ‘ring-for-service’ bell in front of her yanked her back into the present. Her eyes shot open, embarrassed to be daydreaming on the job, and there he was, standing in front of her with a dizzying smile, hand hovering over the bell.
“Boston?”
Oh shit. Oh shit. He’s talking to me. Is he actually talking to me? (Y/N) looked up, meeting the eyes of Eddie Munson himself, pointing at the tape player next to them. Doe eyes, she suddenly realized he had. She’d never been this close before, even when they had math class together. Wait, what did he just ask? Oh, the band. "Y-yeah. Hahah. I like them."
"Cool, cool. Slow day?"
“Um- uh, yeah!” Smooth, she thought, really fucking smooth. “Just… keeping busy I guess, ha.” She motioned to the list in front of her. He leaned over the counter, eyes glanced through the list briefly. (Y/N)’s eye got stuck on the rings that adorned three of his fingers on the hand that rested next to the paper. All too soon, he retreated, stepping back, looking lightheartedly apologetic, and holding his hands up with a little smile. He smiled from the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry, is it supposed to be secret?”
That brought a small laugh bubbling to her lips, the way he seemed so genuinely hesitant to offend her or the ‘secrets of the business’. “Um, no, it doesn’t matter.” She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the way she was giggling in front of him. Her face was burning. “It’s just the albums that we just got. I have to stock them tonight.”
His eyebrows raised, a smile spreading across his face. “Oh, yeah? Fill me in?”
She glanced at the pins on his denim vest– bands he likes– then looked at the list, running her finger down. “Um, we have the album… Metal Heart? That was from back in February, we’re just getting it. Or we’re getting a restock.”
“Accept?”
“Yeah.” She nodded in confirmation of the band. “And a new Megadeth album.”
“This is one of the only places I’ve found in this shithole town that has metal.” He smiled and pointed at a Megadeth patch sewn at the bottom of his vest. It looked a bit messy, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him sewing them on himself. This man in front of her was nothing like the loud, scary boy she saw in high school. “I, uh, guess I’ll be coming back, then? For that. When you get it?” He said it like a question, each sentence getting more and more unsure.
She felt dizzy. Was he flirting? No, just being kind. A customer. The thought of seeing him again was making her head spin, and only after a moment did she remember where they were. “Oh, did you have something? To buy? For me to– did you need to pay for something?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah.” He fumbled for a moment before setting down a single tape. Dio, The Last in Line.
“Dio!” She exclaimed, maybe a bit too excited for a band she didn’t even listen to. She pointed at it, flustered at her outburst. “You listen to Dio.”
His face seemed to light up with some sort of emotion she couldn’t pin down. He turned and jutted his thumb out at the back of his vest, a homage to the album he was buying. He had that wild grin on his face like he was so proud to show her. “They’re my favorite. Put this on right after I heard their last album. My last tape got all messed up. Unwound and shit, must have listened too much.”
She rang him up with a smile, trying not to stare at his biceps. She’d never seen him so wholesomely enthusiastic about something so mundane. And this is the ‘Freak’ they say worships the devil. How could they see him as anything but endearing and brave? She shook her thoughts away quickly, remembering why she exclaimed about his purchase in the first place. “They, um, they have a new album coming out. In August, I think? Did you hear?”
He was nodding his head enthusiastically before her question was even finished. “Of course, I heard.” He twisted his rings around each finger, grinning. “Do… uh, do you listen? To them, I mean.” (Y/N) hesitated, torn between telling the truth like she knew she should like she was raised to, and lying to sound cooler, for just the chance he’d think the awkward bookworm in English class was cool like he was. While she was caught in her own struggle, Eddie had seemed to grow nervous himself. “It’s just, you seemed really excited–”
“Yeah.”
Silence hung in the air between them, nothing but the sound of the guitar solo as background music, neither of them quite sure what she was saying ‘yes’ to. After a moment, Eddie tilted his head towards her in question. “...Yeah? You listen to them?”
(Y/N) was nodding before she even understood what she was saying. A grin split across his face, so stunning and unlike anything she’d seen from him, that it wiped away the guilt of her bluff. A soft laugh rumbled out of him, and his pretty, dark eyes were on her in a way that had her stomach doing flips. “Wow, you don’t seem like the type.” Heat flooded her face. She prayed to anything out there that she wasn’t about to hurl in the trash can in front of him. “It’s just… Look at you, usually someone who looks like you isn’t cool like that, you know?” He seemed to notice her expression and motioned vaguely to her. With her colorful polo shirt and the ribbons tied in her hair, she was the picture of a ‘good girl’. Of course, she doesn’t listen to metal like he does. But he didn’t seem to notice. That, or he was challenging her. That would be stupid. “What’s your favorite song?” The simple question broke her down. She felt like he could see through her, transparent yet fully on display in front of him. Surely he’d seen through her lie. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by the whole interaction.
She lifted the tape to draw his attention back to it. “It’s, um, six dollars.”
His face fell, and the smile wiped away completely. “Right.” He pulled crumpled-up bills from his pocket and counted them quickly, his shaking fingers overlooked as she put it in the register. As she handed his receipt over, her eyes caught his, brows knitted together in deep concern, eyes wide and searching. She tore her gaze away.
“Treat this one nicer, please.”
She couldn’t bring herself to meet his dejected gaze, let alone watch him walk out the door. Instead, she stared at the paper in front of her with the note about the new Dio album, written in her pretty red ink until she heard the bell of the door opening and shutting behind him. Angered at herself for letting her meaningless crush get a hold of her, she stuffed the note in a drawer. Fuck Dio, fuck all these albums, fuck her boss, fuck herself for fucking up what could have been a cute moment with her crush.
‘It’s more than a fee-’
Fuck this song.
She slammed the radio off, content to sit and wallow in embarrassment for the rest of the day.
Raw, gnawing guilt ate away at her through the rest of her shift, through her stocking duties after closing, through her whole bike ride home, and all the way up the stairs to her bedroom. As soon as she stepped into her room, with her perfectly made bed and neatly organized desk, she was intruded by thoughts of the metalhead she had spoken to that day. How he was the exact opposite- rough around the edges and loud- and how he would stand out with his leather and denim and wild curls laying against her pretty pastel comforter. How he would probably take up space in here, not only physically but simply with his energy and presence and mannerisms as if everything in her universe was gravitationally pulled towards him.
She ripped those thoughts away and stored them for later. For now, there were other things to be done.
From her work backpack, she pulled the tapes she had grabbed from the store and snuck home with her. Holy Diver. The Last In Line. There were only two albums, which made it easy enough for her to fit them both in one night. In her oversized Hawkins High t-shirt, she sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor next to the cheap sticker-covered telecaster she had practically begged her parents to let her buy, and popped the first tape into her little pink radio, making sure to turn the volume down as low as she could. There’d be hell to pay if her parents caught her.
Come on, Dio, show me what you got.
There was something embarrassing to her about listening to this. It felt strangely intimate, even though she knew it wasn’t, to listen to his favorite band just because it was his favorite band and she wanted to be interesting to him. If her parents found her listening to this…
But she wasn’t thinking about them, too lost in the sound coming from her speakers. So this is what Eddie Munson liked to listen to. She jumped up to grab her senior yearbook from her bookshelf, flipping through to exactly the right page, as if the book remembered and had molded to open immediately to that picture. Eddie Munson, circled with a red sharpie heart, posing among the rest of the Hellfire Club for their obligatory yearbook photo. He had his tongue stuck out, a wild look to him, devilish and taunting. It matched, she decided, even though she knew it was silly. He looked like his favorite music sounded.
‘The Freak?’ Her friend had whispered junior year when she let a little secret slip about the crush she’d been harboring. ‘No way… you know what people say about him, right? You don’t want to get tangled up with that dirtbag. Your parents would kill you.’
I don’t care, (Y/N) thought in the present. Let them kill me. I want to get tangled up with him.
For three days, (Y/N) suffered through her eight-hour shifts. For three days her eyes shot up to check the opening door at every ring of the bell, hoping it was him. And for three days, it wasn’t. For three days, she thought over what she would say if one of these days it was him. Then, on the fourth day, as she was ringing someone up— they were buying Agent Provocateur, the Foreigner album from last December, one that she really enjoyed herself, and couldn’t help but wonder if Eddie would listen with her— when the man in question stepped through the door, another cut-off tank-top, the same denim vest, the same rockstar hair. At first, (Y/N) didn’t believe her own eyes. She’d tricked herself into thinking she’d seen him a few times now, but as she gave a quick “Have a nice day” in her best customer service voice, their eyes met across the store.
Neither tore their gaze away immediately like they had in their last interaction like lovesick fools caught staring across the classroom, but after a few moments, Eddie’s lips turned into an unsure smile, and (Y/N) finally set her gaze on the counter, guilt eating away at her over their parting.
“Hey.”
She jumped, not having noticed him approaching in her peripherals.
“Sorry.” He offered a gentle apology, a half smile on his lips. His tank top was printed with Metallica, the same pins in his vest as always. His appearance was comforting and familiar. Like she always did when he was around, (Y/N) became overly aware of her own appearance, wondering if he thought she was weird, sitting cross-legged on a stool behind the counter, oversized ABBA shirt tucked into flared shorts, frilly socks peeking out from her sneakers and colorful barrettes in her hair. She hoped despite her thoughts that he didn’t think she looked silly.
“It’s okay.” She cringed at how squeaky her voice came out.
“Okay.” He had a similar look of discomfort on his face. He played with his fingers again, twisting the rings around. There was a skull, what looked like a boar, and some other animals. She tried not to stare at the black ink on his forearms– the bats– or the dragon on his bicep. But her eyes gave her away, and as she met Eddie’s gaze, he was already watching. Watching her ogle him.
“I like your dragon.” She pointed at it.
“Thanks.” Eddie smiled, appreciative. “It’s actually a wyvern.” (Y/N)’s brows furrowed, confused. “It just… a dragon with only two legs, really. That’s all.” Wordlessly, the expression on her face changed to one of understanding. Then, Eddie pointed a finger out, poking her own sparkly painted ones resting on the counter. He was warm against the cool of the fan blowing at them, even to the tips of his fingers. Then, he withdrew his hand quickly, as if remembering pointing was rude. Not that (Y/N) would have cared. She craved his attention. "I– I like your nails. They’re cool.”
“Really?” She looked at them, the sparkly polish she’d applied the night before– while listening to that Dio album again, no less. The idea of him thinking they were cool was endearing to her. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.” Then, Eddie held up his own hands, an open invitation for her to stare at them. “I’ve thought of painting mine. People already call me plenty of names, so what’s another, right?” He chuckled.
(Y/N) frowned at the memory of what she’d heard people call him– to his face just as much as behind his back. Freak. Devil worshipper. No good dirtbag. Scum. Even queer. She winced as the word passed through her mind. He would look lovely with some black nail polish. It would suit him. She told him.
“You think?”
“Yeah.”
They smiled at each other before (Y/N) noticed a customer standing behind Eddie. The boy followed her gaze and stepped aside for a little old lady, gesturing kindly for her to go ahead of him. (Y/N) rung her up– some oldie band on vinyl.
“Oh, look at you, young man!” The woman fawned over him. “You look like a rockstar. Are you a rockstar?”
Eddie flushed, smiling at the woman’s kind compliments. He looked cute when he was flustered. “Not quite a star, no.”
“Well, you sure have the look for it, with all that hair!” Then, as (Y/N) handed her her purchase and receipt, she smiled fondly as she turned to leave. “You two are so lovely.”
After a shyly exchanged glance, Eddie responded. “Thank you, ma’am.”
When she was gone and Eddie stepped back to the counter, (Y/N) was suddenly more aware of their surroundings. She’d been getting lost in the pink-tinted haze of her crush standing in front of her for so long that she forgot she was still at work with customers around. “Did, um, did you have something to buy?”
“Oh.” His cheeks tinted pink again as if they’d even stopped. He was cute when he got all rosy, the same way he was cute when he was talking about his favorite bands or his tattoos, and at the thought of him painting his nails.
“Oh?”
“No. No, I– I don’t have anything to buy. I just… came for… to talk?”
(Y/N) froze, shocked. “Talk?” He came just to see me.
“Yeah– I, I guess.”
“You came just to talk to… me?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” She didn't answer, just glancing at his attire and down to her own. He seemed to follow her eyes, understanding. “Do you think I’m scaryyyy?” He teased, dragging out the end of the word.
“N-no, just–” She faltered, and he waited patiently when she expected him to interrupt. “You’re you and I’m… me.”
His mouth opened. He hesitated. There was something he wanted to say. Again, he fidgeted with his rings. “I actually… wanted to apologize. About that.”
“For, for spooking me earlier?”
“No, no. About last time.”
(Y/N) frowned at his words, wondering what reason he had to apologize. He’d been nothing but a perfect gentleman, from her recollection, if a bit awkward and shy. He was watching her with truly regretful eyes, twisting the rings around his fingers. “What?”
“For, I- for assuming, I guess? What I said, that you didn’t look cool, it was totally dick-ish of me.” He stumbled over his words. When she still didn’t say anything, he dipped his head towards her, as if trying to grab her attention back to him. “I do think you look cool, really, just, I guess, not how I’d imagined. I mean, with you listening to Dio and- I just didn’t expect…”
“Eddie.” She stopped him with her hands held up, letting his name pass her lips for the first time- the first of many, as she’d later find out. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I was rude to you.”
He was silent for a bit, rocking back and forth on his feet as if he had something to say and couldn’t stand still. (Y/N) watched as a playful smile began to pull up at the corners of his pretty lips, obvious that he was trying to hide it, trying to push it down, and clear he was weighing the outcome of the words he could say. The Cars were playing on the radio next to them- “I don’t mind you coming here…”- and his ringed fingers were tapping along to the rhythm. Before she could ask, though, a full grin split across his face, all shame thrown to the wind. Softer, now, with mirth in his eyes, he mused. “You remember me?”
Eddie.
They stood in the silence of her little slip-up for a few moments longer, her cheeks growing hot while he grinned down with such an amused look on his face. How could she even respond? Her heart was pounding in her ears. Of course, she remembered him. She had spent two years admiring him from a distance. But surely someone who was the target of so many awful rumors and had gained such notoriety as the town pariah wouldn’t be forgotten so easily.
“Of course, I remember you. Who doesn’t?”
He pointed at her, that grin not leaving his pretty lips as he twirled a curly lock around his finger. “Ah, I guess you got me there, (Y/N).”
Time could have stopped, and (Y/N) never would have noticed, not with the sound of her name falling out of Eddie’s mouth like that. I was a given that she had remembered him, but what made her so special that he remembered her presence, let alone her name? She noticed, at that quiet moment, locked in his gaze, that her heartbeat was in tempo with the song. She gathered up all her courage.
“You… remember me?”
He scoffed, feigning offense. “You think I could forget you?”
Yes, of course, she thought, I was nobody important. “But– how? Our only class together was--”
“--Mrs. O’Donnell’s senior English class. First semester.” He finished, eyes twinkling with glee. “You helped me with notes when I forgot them… which was… just about every test.” He laughed.
She flustered at the memory. In O’Donnell’s class, students would group together and exchange notes on each night's reading before class began, and (Y/N) had always noticed no one went up to Eddie. Fitting, she’d thought, everyone thinks he’s awful. One day, before a particularly big test, as everyone partnered up, gathering their desks together into little groups, she decided to bite the bullet and approach him. He was doodling on the corner of his paper when she greeted him, and he’d looked up as if he’d never been spoken to before.
“Hi.”
“Um, hi?”
Her confidence was dripping away with every second of his eyes on her. Other students must have been watching too. Maybe he was mean and scary like everyone assumed. “I’m, um.” She lifted up her notes, gesturing to them. “Do you want to go over our notes together?”
His eyes widened, a deer caught in headlights, brows raising into his shaggy bangs. “I- I don’t- I didn’t take any notes.” His voice was quiet, so unlike the other times she’d seen him and his theatrics.
Her sneaking suspicion had been true, though she didn’t want to unfairly believe it. “We have a test today, you know? Open notes. Did you even read the assigned section?” He shook his head. Looking back, she cringed at how she sounded and hoped Eddie hadn’t thought she was stuck up. She was, ultimately, just concerned for him. He was already in his second attempt at senior year, and (Y/N) hated seeing people struggle with no help. “That’s okay. Here, quick, pull out a paper and write my notes down.”
“Well, yeah. No one else was helping you. I thought it was unfair.”
He nodded, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as if she’d hit the nail on the head. “And that’s why I remember you. You know, I think you’re the only reason I passed that class.” A shy smile fluttered onto her face, butterflies filling her up and making her dizzy on her feet. She leaned against the counter, and Eddie matched her pose with a smile, laying his forearms out towards her and leaning in. “Now that we’ve gotten these introductions out of the way, why were you apologizing?”
Flustered, though newly confident on the high that her high school crush remembered her as more than just a wallflower like most people in school thought of her, she opened her mouth and let her bluff fall out. “I lied to you.”
His eyebrows pinched together, the sudden confession confusing him.
“The other day, when you asked me if I listened to Dio.” She couldn’t stop the words from flowing. “I said yes. I lied. I didn’t listen to them. I wanted to sound cool–” Like you are, she meant, but she caught herself.
Eddie stayed frozen for a few moments, gears turning in his head as he sized her up with searching eyes. (Y/N) watched him, embarrassed, and sure this would be the end of their short-lived friendship. Now, he thought she was weird, a liar, not trustworthy. But instead, he nudged her arm with his own, laughing— a sound that erased all of her worries just like that. “I don’t think most people around here would call that cool. Different, definitely. Satanic, probably.” He chuckled, a bitter edge to it. “Take it from me. Don’t go around getting associated with my type of stuff. People will think I’ve corrupted you.”
I don’t care. I want to get tangled up with him.
“I think it’s cool.” She insisted. “It’s music. Loud, heavy music. But it’s music. And I think it– and you– are cool.”
His cheeks tinted pink, a smile sliding out the corner of his lips as he ducked his head a bit shyly, hair shielding his face. “Well, flattery sure does work on me, huh?”
(Y/N) sucked up all of her breath at that statement. She could sit down and flatter him for hours, compliment his bravery, his passion, the way he made her feel. But, instead, she could think of something else he might appreciate. “Rainbow In The Dark.”
“What?”
“Dio. It’s my favorite song… I think. They have a lot of good ones. But I like that one a lot.”
His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again, as if his words were stuck halfway out, eyes sparkling. “I thought you didn’t listen?”
“I… Well, I didn’t. But I did, then. That night.” She reached into her bag at her feet and pulled out the two tapes she had been sneaking home, setting them on the counter between them. Eddie huffed out of his nose, a lighthearted sound. Amused. She smiled, proud. She had flabbergasted Eddie Munson. He was smiling, and it was at something she had done in thinking about him. Her heart swelled. “So, yeah. I think it’s pretty cool.”
“Huh.”
“Huh?”
He was so close to her that she could see his dark eyes darting back and forth between hers. “Rainbow is pretty cool. It suits you, I think.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
A verbal tennis match. Eddie smiled. “I don’t know. Just does. Believe me.”
“Because it’s one of their more poppy-sounding ones? Do you think I’m poppy?”
“Do you think I’m scary?” He countered.
“Hey, I already said no to that!” When he cocked an eyebrow at her, she grinned. “I like the synth in it. It's cool sounding."
Now, he full-on laughed, leaning back from the counter they were leaning in together on. When he stopped, something softer came over his eyes, and he twisted his rings around. He was nervous. “Do you think... Um. Can, um, can I give you my number?”
(Y/N)’s heart thumped in her chest. She could barely hear the song anymore with how loud her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. Through the drumming broke Eddie’s voice, the lighthouse to her ship stuck out at stormy sea, asking if she’d heard him. Of course, she had. Her attention had been on him since the second he'd walked through that door. “Your number?”
“Yeah.” He let the word out in a breath, eyes searching yours, frantic. He lifted a hand to his head, scratching the back of his neck. She tried not to stare at his bicep. “I’d like to talk music more with you. Sometime. Catch up, maybe? It– I mean, if that’s okay with you. If you want to. I want… you’ll have to call me, first, so you can take your time–”
“Eddie.” The second time she said his name aloud, it was with a smile. Nervous, wide-eyed, with a dazed smile on her face. If she had known, mere days ago, that her high school crush would be giving her his number… If high school her could see this… She pushed her journal towards him, open to a blank page. “You can give me your number.”
A wide, toothy grin split across his face, squishing his cheeks up and crinkling his eyes. It was beautiful. He nodded, his hair bobbing. “Shit, cool. Okay. Cool.” His fingers were shaking visibly as he reached for the pen. In glittery red, he scribbled out ten digits, large fingers looking comical on the small pen. He signed his name below it, a mere scribble of capital letters. EDDIE. “Oh, um. If you call and… and I'm not there, if an older man answers who’s not me, don’t think I gave you the wrong number. I live with my uncle.”
“Good to know.”
“So, uh.” Eddie shifted on his feet, smiling. “I should… probably go, sadly.”
“Okay.” She was doing everything she could to keep composed, but her grin was eating her cheeks, her face burning hot to the touch, and she felt dizzy and delirious in this feeling. She had his number. His number. Were they friends now? What did this mean for them? They had spoken for the first time post-high school four days ago, and now she had his number?
He took a few steps back, taking all the time in the world before finally letting his hands slide off the counter. “So, um. Call me, I guess?” The words felt foreign on his tongue as he backed towards the door.
“I’ll call you.” They felt foreign on hers too.
He grinned one last time, waving his hand and not turning around fully until he was at the door. The bell began to ding as he cracked it open, turning over his shoulder as if he didn’t want to leave yet. Through a smile, he called, “See you later, (Y/N).” And then he was gone.
The second time Eddie Munson said her name aloud, her heart felt fuzzy and warm.
She had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time.
![What Love Is; Track One [e.m. X Fem!reader]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fe0d8753d3c02b2d0eed1e8bbcc74b13/89c367cf65c44aa1-b5/s500x750/2eb6f8f3bb76932d651fbe357970f2dea83aa2b4.png)
Thank you for reading!!!!!!! I won't lie, the entire idea from this fic came from listening to this first song and imagining a 'looking up and seeing the one' moment at the chorus. it just fits. and then I imagined an entire relationship so here we go. The whole premise of the fic is gonna be about their friendship and relationship growing and them learning and being dorks together.
This is the first chapter of at least a few, so be sure to stick around for more!!! I hope you enjoy all the upcoming song references and blatant 80s tropes and awkward teen things in every chapter and check out the official playlist too!!!
REBLOGS AND COMMENTS AND ASKS ARE APPRECIATED!!
— lylia
TRACK ONE | NEXT TRACK >>>
-
sporadicpeacedeer liked this · 1 month ago -
jinx53 liked this · 1 month ago -
likeyoustillbelieve liked this · 1 month ago -
anonimorodrigues liked this · 1 month ago
-
evieeee2000 liked this · 1 month ago -
fefefehgtter liked this · 1 month ago -
bugswillfollow liked this · 1 month ago -
daydreambeliever1997 liked this · 2 months ago -
h0llyh0lly liked this · 2 months ago -
friedbreadpanda liked this · 2 months ago -
wiimpii liked this · 2 months ago -
pinnland liked this · 2 months ago -
nebulavintage liked this · 2 months ago -
izzie----18 liked this · 2 months ago -
oakley29 liked this · 3 months ago -
cheesesandwichsanto liked this · 3 months ago -
altbree liked this · 3 months ago -
lavender-does-tings27 liked this · 3 months ago -
xxpsanzxx liked this · 3 months ago -
stayinsalem liked this · 3 months ago -
butterflythoughtsblog liked this · 3 months ago -
originalcddball liked this · 3 months ago -
h34tssss liked this · 3 months ago -
everyonehatesmesstuff liked this · 3 months ago -
wr3nn liked this · 3 months ago -
littlemissholy liked this · 3 months ago -
kpopnationunited424 liked this · 4 months ago -
elegantkoalapaper reblogged this · 4 months ago -
r-is-typing liked this · 4 months ago -
asiaemerald liked this · 5 months ago -
nonexistentpossums liked this · 5 months ago -
catpjimin liked this · 5 months ago -
iveofficiallylostmymarbles liked this · 5 months ago -
nicolitherussianspy liked this · 5 months ago -
honeybug-victoria liked this · 5 months ago -
jink1es liked this · 5 months ago -
marscina liked this · 5 months ago -
yummylavender-soap reblogged this · 5 months ago -
daydream-believer19 liked this · 5 months ago -
invalid-croissant liked this · 5 months ago -
opaliserende liked this · 6 months ago -
lingering-around liked this · 6 months ago -
spencerreid011-hp liked this · 6 months ago
-
devrill liked this · 6 months ago -
poppyr22ussell liked this · 6 months ago -
lilypilky liked this · 6 months ago
-
srandomblog reblogged this · 6 months ago -
srandomblog liked this · 6 months ago
r, 25, a collection of fics I enjoyed - 18+ I follow from @spookysaturn
207 posts