Life On Your Line (Ch. 1)
Life on Your Line (Ch. 1)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.
He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.
Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.
Notes:
No use of (Y/N), but you do go by a lot of different fake names over the years; if any of the fake names is your actual name, feel free to make up a name there instead.
Bucky calls you “Rose” (you’ll see why) and you call him "James." If your name is actually Rose... Sorry.
You had a family (specifically, you had a child you loved dearly... Please note "Implications to Child Death" tag).
PLEASE READ WARNINGS CAREFULLY. I will put a warning at the beginning of the chapter if the content is particularly dark. If I missed any warnings, please let me know.
Word Count: 4.6k
CHAPTER 1: August 1935 - June 1943
PART 1: LIFE ON YOUR LINE
How does someone tell a story if they don’t know how it started?
That question always tormented your mind when you opened your journal at the end of the day, staring at the next line waiting to be filled with tales of your life.
You knew how your life in general started. Born to two loving parents and given a brother a few years later. Worked day and night to provide for the family just like your mother did. Grew up with dreams, with some coming true, and always excited for the next day.
But now? You dreaded tomorrow. This dread began when your other life started; when a new story unfolded within you with no prologue—just chapter one and so forth.
Tightening your grip on your pencil, you started your entry the same: with the time and date:
August 10, 1935. 7:09 PM
From there, you would either write about your day or close the journal, putting it in a large glass jar that’d get hidden next to the other journals, right in between some rocks that decorated your brother’s grave. Today, there was nothing to write about, so you stood up, lightly brushed the dirt off your dress, and then walked away.
<><><>
August 11, 1935. 8:01 PM
You paused, wondering if there was anything worth writing about today. A few seconds went by before you simply exhaled, feeling frustration creeping up in your bones. You shut your eyes, feeling the fading sun slowly take away the warmth on your skin. With another breath, you flipped backward through your journal.
August 10, 1935. 7:09 PM
August 9, 1935. 7:39 PM
August 8, 1935. 8:05 PM
You continued to flip through the pages until eventually, you found the last entry you wrote.
June 19, 1935. 7:56 PM
It’s Henry’s birthday today. It’s hard to believe how much time has passed. I finally went to Manhattan the other day and saw that Clara’s hair had turned gray, and Roy and Ella now have children of their own now. Their children run about happily, and yet I can’t help but think that Henry should have been there to see his grandchildren grow up.
I can only watch them from a distance. I know I promised Henry that I’d stay close to Roy and Ella, but how could I when I look the same age as them now? They would be horrified if they saw me, and I don’t want my niece and nephew to be scared of me. I know Henry said I should tell them one day, but I never will.
How cruel must the world have been to take him away when I could’ve saved him? Of all people, my baby brother. Why can’t I use this curse to help those I love? Henry should be here. Why must this world be so merciless?
When I saw Clara from afar, I saw it in her body. How she carries the weight of Henry’s absence every day. I could’ve saved her husband. Why didn’t the world let me?
Damn this world. I hate it all.
You slammed the journal closed and dropped to the grass, shoving the journal back into the glass jar before hiding it between the rocks again.
<><><>
For the first time in nearly two months, you found a reason to write more than just the time and date.
August 12, 1935. 7:36 PM
I managed to save a boy’s balloon today. He couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16. He had a balloon and a car rushed by him and the wind made him let go of it. It didn’t surprise me. He was small. If the breeze today was any stronger, he might’ve flown off with it.
The balloon got caught in the tree and he couldn’t reach for it. No one bothered to help him. Perhaps they expected him to man up and move on as if his sorrow over a lost thing was something foolish. Shame on them.
I went over and pulled it down for him. He thanked me, such a polite little thing, all blonde hair and blue eyes. He wasn’t ashamed for a second for letting a woman like me help him. He told me he was bringing the balloon home for his sick mother. What a good boy she raised. I wonder if my baby girl would’ve done the same for me, bringing me a balloon or pastries when I felt unwell.
Regardless, when I watched him leave, I felt wonderful.
You read through your entry one last time, wondering if there were any more details to add. With a soft smile, you closed your book but quickly paused, feeling a familiar sense of longing overcome you again. You hugged the journal, biting your lips while slowly lowering yourself onto the grass again. You stayed like that for a while, letting the sun slowly set.
It was nice to save something so simple.
<><><>
You were aching like hell, stumbling to your brother’s gravestone before falling to the ground. The grass soaked into your knees as you struggled to open the glass jar and release your journal. With trembling hands, you pulled out a pencil and flipped to the latest page, but you paused at your last entry.
August 15, 1935. 7:25 PM
You stared at it before shaking your head, quickly writing down the newest entry before you forgot any details.
September 16, 1935. 6:48 AM
I saved a boy on August 16, and I woke up feeling as if I were made of broken bones.
It feels as though people on the streets have been getting more reckless, driving around like they’re invincible. I was on my way here to write my next entry. I had stopped by the bakery first to get some eclairs.
On my way here, I saw a boy and his friend. I recognized his friend, it was the blonde boy who had the balloon. This boy, on the other hand, was taller with dark hair. He also looked older than his friend, like 18 or 19, or maybe his friend was so small that I thought he was younger than he actually was. They were walking away from the deli with a bag full of what I could only assume were snacks.
Then they went to cross the street and I felt the pull. I saw the car right then and there so I ran for him. I pushed him out of the way just in time. It hurt. It really hurt. I believe the car that hit me sped away.
I laid there while people screamed around me. The boys were next to me calling for help. The dark haired boy I saved was crying. He had frost blue eyes and asked me to stay awake, but I knew I wouldn’t.
My body was screaming when I woke up, and yet I found myself on my living room floor. The world didn’t even give me the decency to let me wake up in my bed this time.
With a long sigh, you shut the book and tilted your head back, feeling the wind on your skin. Within one month, the morning sun felt cooler, still warm enough to slowly make your skin sticky, but it was clear that autumn was approaching Brooklyn. You looked back down at the journal, suddenly feeling a rush of resentment toward it. Biting your lip, you quickly hid it in its usual spot before you made any regrettable decisions—you’d made a few of those before. You stood up again with a gasp, patting your dress down before walking off.
You had the same routine every time you returned to life: get a new identity and pretend your past self never existed. You used to move to a different home to avoid walking to the same streets, bumping into the same people, but recently stopped as it became too exhausting to relocate every few months. It was just easier to lie and act like those who recognized you were mistaking you for someone else.
The streets were never quiet, but they were emptier, as it was still early in the morning. You sped toward your workplace, knowing your best friend would’ve already arrived. You could see the Riverside Bookshop in the distance, carefully moving past strangers in case someone familiar was among them.
You walked right in with a huff of breath, the bell above the door ringing. Footsteps immediately caught your attention, and you looked up to see a woman in her fifties walking around one of the bookshelves. She went to speak, but she froze.
“Hi, Minnie,” you said, shifting in your stance. “Um, so…”
“You look awful.” Minnie sighed before shaking her head. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks,” you murmured while approaching her. “I’d say I’m sorry for skipping work, but you already know the drill.”
“You bet I do,” she replied, her eyes scanning you. “You need Lewis to fix you up with a new identity?”
You exhaled with relief in your voice. “I’d appreciate that. Sorry, though. I know it’s only been a few months since—”
She raised a hand to stop you. “Don’t give it a second thought. He won’t mind a bit. It’s a shame, though. Sherry was a nice name for you.”
You nodded in exhaustion, fidgeting with your fingers as you tried to shake off the weight of it all. Minnie was still staring at you, watching you quietly.
“I heard what happened,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she gauged your reaction.
You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you quickly turned to her. “What? How did you—”
“Ada from church told me.” Minnie picked up a stack of misplaced books. “It was inevitable someone would talk about it. The ‘lady who died in a car accident saving a boy,’ you know? It was all anyone was talking about for days.”
A cold shiver ran down your spine. Though you had gone through this process numerous times, it was often in a quieter place, with fewer bystanders to witness your less dramatic death. You stood up straighter as your heart pounded against your chest. “Was…was anyone who knew me there?” you asked, your voice trembling a little.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “None of my friends. All they’ve been calling you is ‘the lady.’ That’s it.”
You let out a deep breath that was restrained, the knot in your stomach loosening. “That’s…that’s good,” you muttered. “No one knows it was me.”
Minnie watched you for a moment before sighing softly. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said, putting one of the books back in its original place. “Die and come back for strangers. Every time.”
Your lips went ajar as you looked at the floorboards. You shrugged, the familiar weight of it all pressing down on you once more. “It’s just…how it is,” you quietly said. “I feel a pull, and I know whoever is in danger right then and there needs saving. It’s like something inside me is telling me to do it. I don’t have a choice.”
Minnie watched you for a moment, her lips pressed together as she let out a slow breath. You could see the sadness in her eyes, though she said nothing. As your childhood friend, she had been with you since you were given this curse, keeping your secret while she grew older. She knew this was how it was, as much as she hated it.
“Do you want to work today, or would you rather take a day off?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.
“I’d rather work,” you answered rather quickly. “I feel bad for leaving you alone for a month.”
“We’ve been through this before, and it’s okay.” Minnie grinned before glancing at your knees. “Maybe you want to go home and change, though. Your dress is stained.”
You blinked before glancing down at where the grass had left dirt and morning dew on your knees. Your cheeks turned red as you cleared your throat, “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Take your time. You just came back.”
You nodded, but you hastily left the store and rushed home, desperate to get right back to organizing bookshelves and cleaning the windowsills.
Right. That was also part of your routine: live your life as if you didn’t die a horrible death a month ago.
<><><>
June 12, 1943. 7:19 PM
June 14, 1943. 9:22 AM
For the first time in a long while, I’m late to write in this journal, and it wasn’t because I died. I ended up going to a little gathering Minnie hosted last night and it was fun. Well, I guess everything is always fun when people don’t really know who you are, right? You can make up any story you want. It’s always a little strange pretending to be Minnie’s niece… But still, it was really nice to find some joy in these times.
It’s been scary. The war is getting crazier and they’re only dragging more people in. Minnie’s been upset over Robert getting dragged to war. I can’t blame her. She has every right to fear for the safety of her grandson. I’m just worried that she will have a heart attack like Lewis from this whole thing. I don’t want to lose her too. We can only hope that Robert comes back home safe and sound.
You paused, your hand suddenly trembling around your pencil. With a quiet, shaky breath, you finished the entry.
Sometimes, I wish I were on the battlefield next to Robert. Because maybe, if needed, I could save him like I should’ve with Henry.
Setting down the pencil, you shut the book and slid it into your bag under the front table. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to stand up straight. It was hot and empty in the store, the kind of warmth that would annoy the average person, but you were used to it. You tugged on your collar, feeling the fabric peel from your skin, and you groaned.
Okay, maybe you weren’t used to it as much as you hoped.
“It's hot, isn’t it?”
You looked up at Laura, Minnie and Lewis’s daughter who had taken over Riverside Bookshop since Minnie retired. It was still crazy to you that you watched Laura grow up her entire life, and there she was now, physically older than you. “Yeah, it is.”
Laura chuckled, dusting off the tops of the shelves, “At least we don’t have to spend our day outside.”
You hummed, stepping around the front desk to help with tidying up the store. There was not much to do as they hadn’t had a lot of people come in lately, as the war waged on, but you couldn’t just stand around and do nothing. You wiped down the reading areas, removing the dust from the tables when you heard the bell above the door ring.
“Hello! Welcome in,” Laura greeted the customers with melody in her voice, as if her son wasn’t currently fighting for his life on the other side of the planet. “Let us know if you’re looking for anything in particular.”
You briefly peeked past the shelves to see a boy and a girl. The teenage, dark-haired girl looked around the store in awe while the dark-haired boy—or rather, a young man—in a military uniform watched her with a smile.
“Like I said, you can pick any book you want,” he told the girl, who snapped her head up at him.
“Really? Jimmy, is that alright?”
“Of course it is, Becca,” he laughed, gently nudging her shoulder. “Just don’t tell Annie and Betty. I don’t need them thinking I have a favorite sister.”
“Even though I am?” she teased.
“As long as you’re quiet about it.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at their conversation. It made your heart warm to see siblings get along very well. You and your brother had been very close, with you starting as his protector and then switching roles once he grew taller and stronger than you. Lately, you had seen a lot of siblings argue and fight and refuse to talk to each other altogether. It made you want to scream; you wanted them to understand that their sibling was someone they could always trust to have their back.
So hearing those two giggle as they roamed around the store made your voice soft with your own giggles. You continued to tidy up the store, cleaning off dust from the lovely books and reorganizing any that were out of place. It was nice and calm in the room, and despite the heat, you felt yourself smiling like how your mother would when listening to you and Henry joke around.
Although you did sometimes forget that you were now around the same age as your mother when she passed away. An old lady in the body of a young woman, forever trapped in time.
“My brother is leaving tomorrow.”
You perked your head up, eavesdropping on the girl, Becca, speaking to Laura on your right. “He’s going to fight in the war tomorrow, so he wanted to get me a gift.”
Your smile vanished as you heard Laura speaking, immediately noticing the motherly terror in her voice at learning about the young man’s leave, “I see. That’s sweet of him to get you a gift. You like reading?”
“Honestly, I don’t read much, but my brother reads all the time and he used to share these stories with me. I guess I wanted to read more because of him.”
Her words soothed your heart, and you found yourself smiling again, only with sadness this time. Becca clearly admired her older brother, her voice tinted with sorrow while she put on a brave face for others. You softly sighed, gripping the book in your hand tightly before placing it back on the shelf.
Then, you began to hear someone walking closer on your left. You looked up to see the young man, Jimmy, approach you with a gentle smile, and you immediately grinned back without the sadness.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he started, his warmth radiating off of him, “do you know where I can find—”
He froze, his smile immediately dropping as his eyes locked onto yours. You faltered briefly, perplexed by the loss of warmth in the young man, and—though you didn’t want to admit it—you were slightly intimidated by his gaze. As a horrified frown took over his lips, you took note of his frost-blue eyes.
…Wait.
No, it couldn't—
“Yes?” you quickly spoke, trying to mask the sudden intensity between the two of you. You forced out a lovely smile, though his expression continued to twist. “How can I help you?”
But the young man didn’t reply. He just continued to stare so deeply into your eyes that maybe they were hurting a bit. Or maybe it was because you were trying to keep your own emotions in check. To stop any tears from forming. This was ridiculous—you shouldn’t cry over this, but you couldn’t help but wonder if this was really the boy you—
“It’s you,” he suddenly breathed out, his voice too soft for anyone but you to hear.
You blinked, pretending to be confused when you knew exactly who you were looking at. “I’m sorry? I don’t follow.”
“You—” He suddenly stepped back as if he was staring at a ghost; to be fair, you could be one. His chest heaved and his lips began to quiver. “You saved me. It’s you. It’s—”
You raised both of your hands quickly, plastering more confusion into your face while the concern was real. “Whoa, sir. Are you alright? You don’t look so well.”
“Jimmy?” Becca walked over from behind you, holding a book with furrowed eyebrows. “Jimmy, what’s going on?”
But the young man didn’t respond to his sister. He could only keep his eyes on you, and you could only do the same. Laura joined you all while you took a breath and put on another smile, more gentle and warm than the last, though chills continuously went up your spine. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow what you’re saying…”
“I…” His hands lightly shook as his eyes shifted all around, taking in your face every possible way. Trying to digest the appearance of the woman who saved his life.
But she was dead. He learned later in the day at the hospital, where he had gone with his mother and his friend to thank the woman, that she had died. That her body had failed on her before she even made it to the hospital and was soon to get buried.
Her name was Sherry.
Upon hearing the news, the boy collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably as his mother tried to soothe him. He suddenly remembered the woman’s face so clearly—how the blood heavily coated her skin and light slowly faded from her eyes. It was his fault she died.
The boy’s friend stood frozen, unable to process the death of the woman, watching his friend crumble before he lost it too.
Because maybe they were a bit more careful, you’d be alive.
You bit the inside of your mouth as Becca reached for her brother's shoulder, gently shaking him. “Jimmy…?”
He suddenly blinked rapidly, realizing his stance, and shook his head. “I, uh—” he cleared his throat and smiled embarrassingly, “I’m sorry. I’m fine.”
Laura narrowed her eyes, clearly concerned for the young man. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Um, I’m sorry, ma’am.” He turned his attention back towards you, his gaze no longer intense but now just heavy. “I didn’t mean to scare you out. I… You just look like someone I knew.”
Your stomach coiled. Suddenly, you felt so sick.
Although you couldn’t see her directly, you felt Laura’s eyes on you, realizing what the young man meant by his words. You forced a smile once again, acting like you weren’t dying on the inside. “It’s alright. I’m…I’m sorry that I’m not who you were expecting.”
He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s just… The person you remind me of is very important to me. But that’s no excuse for scaring you. I’m sorry.”
He smiled at you again, but your chest only tightened by the hurt in his eyes. He desperately wished you were the one who saved him all those years ago—the one who pushed him out of the way and died in his stead—the one who he deemed to be very important in his life.
But you were. You really were. But you bit back your words and returned the grin. “It’s alright. It happens.”
He nodded, though the hesitation was evident. He turned to his sister and gestured to the book. “Is that the one?”
Becca, still eyeing him down with furrowed eyebrows, slowly nodded. “Yeah. Jimmy, are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m alright.” He nudged her shoulder playfully before taking her book.
Laura gestured to the desk behind her. “I can take care of that for you at the front.”
Jimmy and Becca followed her to the front desk, their footsteps soft against the worn wooden floor. You lingered behind, drifting toward a nearby shelf and running your fingers along the spines of books. In reality, you were only putting distance between yourself and the young man, as if that could settle the unease curling in your stomach.
Still, even without looking, you could feel him glancing at you. A flicker of attention. A hesitation. A longing.
To force a sense of normalcy, you lifted your head and met his eyes with a polite, easy smile. Nothing too stiff, nothing too strained—just enough to make it seem like everything was fine. He faltered, his fingers curling around the book tighter while his lips pressed into a thin line. Then he exhaled and gave you a small, apologetic smile in return.
He was sorry, but for what? For your lies?
The siblings took their purchase and made their way toward the door—Jimmy didn’t dare to look at you again. The bell jingled as they stepped out, but the second they were gone, you spun toward the front desk. Laura stepped back with a quiet breath, watching you yank your journal from your bag and quickly flip through the pages.
“Auntie?” she said, trying to calm you down, but you couldn’t.
You couldn’t because you knew. You knew. But still, you just had to check. You had to make sure it was really—
The dark haired boy I saved was crying. He had frost blue eyes and asked me to stay awake, but I knew I wouldn’t.
The journal fell from your grasp as you stumbled back into the chair, tripping over it and tumbling to the floor. Clutching at your chest, you bit your lip as you tried to control your unsteady breathing. Laura swiftly kneeled next to you, holding onto your shoulders as she whispered.
“Hey, it’s alright. Auntie, it’s alright.” She glanced at your journal as if it carried some terrible omen. “Do you need a second?”
“I…” You inhaled sharply before letting out a slow breath. “I think I need a bit of water.”
“Alright, I can get that.” Laura stood up, uneasy about leaving you but still hurrying off to fetch a drink.
You just sat there. Staring at your journal.
At one point, Laura did come back and give you water. Let you hide behind the front desk on the floor, pretending you weren't in the room when other customers would stop by and wouldn’t see you. You sat there with the journal in your hands for a while, quiet in your whirling thoughts as the need to write crawled up your skin.
Soon, you found a pencil.
June 14, 1943. 10:47 AM
I lied. Not everything is as fun as it seems when no one knows who you are. How do you tell someone — someone who thinks you're dead — that you're so glad they lived?
I saved that boy so long ago and he recognized me. That never happened before — no one remembers me.
His frost blue eyes are as vibrant as before and I think he's roughly the same age as Robert now. How amazing is that? That he got to grow up that much? And he has a sister—I think he has a couple of them. He seems like such a sweet boy, buying his sister a book just to make her happy. He looked so happy doing it too.
I overheard that the boy young man is leaving tomorrow.
Why? Why would they let him do this? They can’t. I saved him once, but now he’s off to a place where I know I can’t reach him.
Why would the world let me save him just to let him die young?
That girl is going to lose her brother just like how I lost mine.
This isn’t fair. None of this is fair. I just want it to end.
NEXT CHAPTER >
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your hands have made some good mistakes
“I kneel into a dream where I am good and loved. I am loved. My hands have made some good mistakes. They can always make better ones.” - Natalie Wee
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Bucky has to spend six months locked up with a stranger.
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Warnings (added as they occur): 18+ minors DNI, angst, Bucky’s mental health is Not Great, cursing, lots of awkwardness and banter, pining x100, SMUT, masturbation (m), alcohol consumption/drunkenness, needy!bucky (he gets a warning), not-so-dry humping, a Steve Rogers plot twist, hand jobs, slightly subby Bucky, vaginal fingering, oral (m and f receiving), outercourse, human disaster Bucky Barnes, angst (it bears repeating), legal proceedings, panic attacks, PIV sex, creampie, cum kink, possessive behavior, jealousy, semi-public sex, past/period-typical homophobia, ~complicated~ relationships, slight emotional infidelity, sexual fantasies about current partners & others, hurt/comfort, blood, hospital setting, medicinal drug use, premature ejaculation, metal arm kink, sex pollen trope/dubcon, voyeurism/exhibitionism
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a/n: This is the xreader rewrite of my hands have made some good mistakes (yes, I think I’m clever). Told (mostly) from Bucky’s POV. Not really an AU, just not Endgame/TFATWS compliant (everyone is alive).
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❤️🔥 Part 20 - Shimmer Posted 3/04/22
❤️🔥 Part 21 - Aphrodisiac Posted 3/22/22
❤️🔥 Part 22 - What Now? Posted 4/4/22
Winter
❤️🔥 Part 23
❤️🔥 Part 24
Part 25
Bonus Content
❤️🔥 Insatiable: a yhhmsgm collection - a series of standalone smutty incidents that fit into the yhhmsgm timeline. Will be posted horribly out of order. No thoughts, just thots.
❤️🔥 Bucky’s nsfw alphabet
Bucky character meta
Annotated playlist
✨ Hot Mess - Bucky’s dance moves
Hi lovely! Here’s my ask: Bucky and reader have been pinning for each other nonchalantly for a while but reader says something that causes Bucky to throw them over his shoulder and threatens to tickle the shit out of them (and then does it after seeing how flustered they are). Feelings get confessed, weaknesses are exposed, it’s a whole plate of fluff. 🥰😘
hell. why not? This prompt is so fun - thanks, anon! hope you enjoy x
Predictable
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (no pronouns used)
Word count: ~1500
Content / warnings: swearing, kissing, tickle fic
minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a romantic and intimate storyline between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.
The hallway was quiet except for the sharp click of your boots and the heavy, measured steps of Bucky Barnes beside you. The mission briefing had ended, the others scattering to their own quarters, leaving you and him walking under the hum of fluorescent lights.
“You’re quieter than usual tonight,” you said, casting a sidelong glance at him. “Bored? Lost in thought? Don’t tell me you’re planning another dramatic brooding session. Maybe in front of a window, rain streaking down the glass?”
Bucky looked at you, one brow quirked, his lips curling faintly at the corner. “You done?”
“I gotta say, you’re really sticking to the dark soldier aesthetic,” you quipped, hands shoved in your pockets. “It’s impressive. Very consistent.”
His lips twitched in the ghost of a smirk. “Consistent, huh? That your way of saying I’m boring?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say boring.” You turned to him, letting your grin curl just sharp enough to bait him. “More… predictable.”
He stopped walking, his head tilting just slightly, and the gleam in his eye made something in your chest tighten.
“Predictable?” he repeated, his tone soft, like he was rolling the word around to test it.
You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress the grin threatening to spread. “It’s not a bad thing, Bucky. You’re… reliable. Steady. I can set my watch by your moods - glare, brood, occasional grunt of disapproval. It’s comforting, really.”
The words hung in the air for a beat too long, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the silence and tension stretching between you.
“What?” you asked, try to hold back a smirk. “Did I hit a nerve?”
His gaze sharpened on yours, glinting with something dark and teasing that made the hair on the back of your neck rise. “You really think I’m predictable?”
The air between you crackled with tension, each word a spark igniting the unspoken feelings lurking beneath the surface. You felt a flush creeping up your neck, but you held your ground, refusing to let him see how much his attention affected you.
“I’m just saying-”
Before you could finish, he moved. Quick as a snap, his hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward him. You stumbled, nearly cursing, before he bent low, braced his shoulder into your middle, and straightened, hoisting you up and over.
“Bucky!” Your voice came out an octave higher than usual, your palms pressing against his broad back as you flailed. “Put me down!” you hissed, your fists pounding helplessly at his shoulders as the world spun upside down.
He ignored you, his laughter low and dangerous as it rumbled through his chest. “Still think I’m predictable?”
“Yes! You’re-” Your voice caught, your brain short-circuiting when his palm splayed against the back of your thigh to keep you steady. The touch was firm, effortless, and it did unforgivable things to your ability to form coherent words. “Y-you’re shooting the messenger. This is completely unnecessary!”
“Unnecessary?” he echoed, his tone laced with a sinister amusement. “You sure about that? Because I think this is overdue.”
Your stomach flipped at the shift in his voice - low and teasing, laced with a playful edge you’d never heard before.
He turned a corner abruptly and nudged open a door with his boot, stepping into a small, dimly lit storage room.
“Wait, what- what are you doing?” you demanded, kicking your legs uselessly. “Bucky, I swear- ”
“I’d save your breath if I were you,” he said darkly, the door clicking shut behind him.
Your mind lurched. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
A slow, devilish chuckle rolled through him. “It means, smartass, that I’m about to tickle the shit outta you.”
Your brain flatlined.
You froze. Completely froze. For the first time, your mouth opened - but nothing came out. Heat flared across your entire body, and Bucky’s amused hum was like a spark to gasoline.
“Oh,” he hummed, patting your thigh like some cruel punctuation to your embarrassment, “that got your attention.”
“Shut up!” you finally spluttered, mortified, because now he knew. Now he knew, and you’d just handed him a weapon far more dangerous than any gun or blade.
His laughter was low, dark, and - gods help you - so unfairly attractive that it only made things worse. “What, did I hit a nerve?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your squirming renewed tenfold, panic spiking through you as you tried to push yourself up off his shoulder. “Don’t you dare, Bucky Barnes! I swear-”
He unceremoniously let you drop back onto your feet, your balance faltering as you collided with his chest, still breathless. You shoved at him instinctively, trying to regain your footing, but he was already advancing, backing you toward the nearest wall.
Your face was on fire now, your usual sharp wit nowhere to be found. You’d never seen him like this - playful, teasing, free - and it was completely throwing you off.
You stammered, breath catching as your back hit the wall. “B-Bucky- no! Don’t-”
“You're really worked up about this,” he interrupted, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk tugging at his lips. The shadows softened the hard lines of his face, but his eyes… his eyes burned with something else.
He leaned in slightly, caging you in with his hands braced against the wall beside your head. “You’re nervous.”
“I am not,” you hissed, even as you felt your face go hotter.
The smirk grew. “I think you’re lying.”
“I’m not-”
"Predict this, sweetheart."
Before you could blink, his hands darted to your hips, fingers digging in with deliberate precision. Your reaction was immediate - a gasp, a choked laugh you couldn’t swallow back in time.
“No!” you shrieked, laughter already bubbling out of you as you squirmed violently. “I take it back, okay?! I take it back!”
“Too late,” Bucky replied, grinning like the devil himself as his hands squeezed your sides again. “Now I’m invested.”
"B-Bucky! Cut it out!"
“Cut it out?” he repeated, his tone mock-innocent as his fingers dugs across your ribs. “I thought you were tougher than this.”
“Shut up!” you managed between gasping laughs, your cheeks burning with humiliation and something dangerously close to exhilaration.
“Is this what you wanted?” he taunted, his voice dark and edged with amusement. “When you called me predictable? Did you want me to prove you wrong?”
Your response was lost in another fit of helpless laughter as his hands found a particularly sensitive spot just under your ribs. You twisted against him, but his grip was unrelenting, his body solid against you.
You let out a strangled laugh, pressing back against the wall as your knees started to give. “You’re- you’re cool! And- and spontaneous and - Bucky - fuck! You’re hot and mysterious and-”
He paused for a second, his grin sharpening as he processed your accidental confession. “Hot, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and entirely too smug.
Your face burned like the sun. “I didn’t mean- fuck, just forget I said-”
“Oh, no,” he said, his hands still firmly on your waist. “I think we’re gonna talk about that later.”
“Buck, I didn't-”
“Nope,” he interrupted, his fingers digging into your sides again, drawing another breathless shriek from you. “We’re not done yet.”
Your laughter filled the room, wild and unguarded, as you tried in vain to squirm away. He zeroed in on your lowest ribs, his fingers hitting angles that sent you reeling. You tried to hold on the desperate peal of laughter, but it echoed through the storage room as your knees weakened further.
“Bucky!” you gasped, your voice breaking as you gripped at his jacket to try and keep yourself upright, another shriek bursting through your lips when his fingers pressed into another susceptible spot. "Please! I can't breathe- BUCKY!"
His grin softened, and for a moment, the teasing melted into something quieter, something genuine. He caught your chin gently with one hand, lifting your gaze to meet his.
“Hot, huh?” he repeated, softer this time, his eyes searching yours.
The word hung in the air, a moment of suspended silence between frantic laughter and tension thick enough to choke on. You froze, still panting, your face burning with horror.
Bucky stilled too, his gaze locking onto yours. Then, slowly, his grin returned - this time sharper, hungrier.
His lips were on yours before you could think, a sudden, fiery kiss that stole the air from your lungs.
You melted immediately, fingers curling into the front of his shirt as he pressed you further into the wall, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck as he tilted your head back, the other gripping your hip. The heat of it was overwhelming, his lips firm and insistent. It was messy, unpracticed, and searingly real.
When he pulled back, you were breathless, still panting, cheeks aflame. His thumb brushed your temple, sending a shiver up your spine, and the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk as his lips grazed yours.
“Did you see that coming, too?”
You couldn’t help it - you grinned against his lips. “Yeah. From a mile away.”
Before he had the chance to retaliate, you kissed him again.
Snow in Indiana
Eddie Munson x Reader
5.7k words
Eddie has spent the past decade thinking about the pen pal he lost touch with, but fate has a funny way of bringing people back together when they need it most
Warnings: family death (unedited bc it is 3am and I have been working on this for hours)
“Dear Eddie,
Does it Snow in Indiana?”
He had read the beginning of the note hundreds of times by now. He had memorized how each individual letter had been written and slightly smudged. He knew the entire contents of the letter by heart, but that never stopped him from coming back to it from time to time.
“My grandma hasn’t told me much about Hawkins, just that it’s just like home. Except it’s on the other side of the country. Grandma likes the snow, so I hope you say yes.”
Something about the innocent nature of your writing calmed him down when things got rough. He had received the note in the middle of August at the beginning of 6th grade. Your grandmother had just moved across the country, and she just so happened to be the Librarian at Eddie’s new middle school. She had told both of you that the other could use a friend, even if you were thousands of miles apart. She also insisted that being pen pals would improve both of your lackluster reading and writing skills. She meant well.
“Can I tell you the truth? I didn’t want to write you a letter when grandma called and told me I should. My teachers say I’m not good at writing anyway. But Grandma also said maybe you and I could be friends. And I think I would like that.”
Some of your words had been crossed out with pen, either from misspellings or second thoughts on phrasing. Eddie had stared at the paper for so long that he even knew what was underneath those scribbles.
When the snow started coming down each winter, it was hard for him to not want to keep the letter on him at all times. The opening line of your first letter to him always floated into his head with the first snowflakes.
He had written you back to assure you that it does snow in Indiana, that he too had troubles with pleasing his teachers with his school work, and of course, that he too would like to be friends.
That was over 10 years ago now. He had never met you, never heard your voice, never learned what you looked like (besides the poorly drawn picture you had included for him one time) but you had been a part of him for his middle school years.
The letters started slowing down in the 8th grade. You had told him you were nervous for high school, that you’d heard that kids were meaner there. The last letter he had sent you was in the summer before both of your freshman years. He hated that he couldn’t remember what he had said, what his last words to you were. All he knew was that he wished you luck for your first day.
Then the letters stopped completely. After months of checking mailboxes impatiently, he got the hint and gave up.
At the age of 24, he wishes he sent another letter. He wishes he got some closure on why you stopped writing. He had always wondered if it had been something he had said, or maybe you had just found new friends in high school and decided you didn’t need him anymore.
He was embarrassed to admit that it was his first heartbreak. So he refused to admit it even happened to anyone he knew now.
He tucked the old letter in his pocket as another patron entered the diner. He had picked up a second job as the night cook in hopes of saving up enough to to move out of the trailer with Wayne. It had been months of helping Wayne with bills now, and he was just barely starting to see the hard work pay off in his savings account.
He peeked out the pass through window to get a glimpse of the first customer they’d had in the last hour and a half. The snow had been coming down hard, and it was preventing the already few people who would be coming in to the diner at this hour from showing up. He wasn’t surprised to see the young woman, somewhere around his age, follow the waitress quickly to the booth in the corner and sit down. He was, however, surprised to see no new car in the small lot outside. He hadn’t seen headlights arrive or depart to drop her off. The snow that has accumulated on her hair, even thought it has been covered with a hood, was making him think she had walked a distance to get here. If the counter hadn’t been blocking his view, he would have seen the bottom of her pants completely soaked through from the snow piled outside to confirm his suspicion.
“Can you start on a stack of pancakes, Ed?”
He nodded at the waitress, Judy, who wasn’t usually one to whisper like she was now. She rushed off to the phone in the back office, which did nothing but pique the interest in Eddie’s under stimulated brain.
Curiosity got the best of him, so he made his way out of the kitchen quickly, grabbed a mug from the counter and the full coffee pot, and made his way over the girl in the corner.
You had been staring out the window, and Eddie recognized the look as he approached. You were doing your best to hold yourself together. He was used to this kind of customer at this time of night. People who really needed the company, who had nowhere else to go, often found their way here after midnight. But there was something different about you, and it wasn’t just that he had never seen you around town. No matter how hurt he could tell you were inside, you did your best to keep up a facade when you saw him approaching.
“Coffee?” he offered, less poised than he had intended.
“Please,” you smiled up at him as he set down the mug and poured. He allowed himself to take you in, and that’s when he saw the snow still caked on to your sneakers, and the damp cloth stretching from the hem above your ankle nearly up to your knees. There was snow yet to melt from head to toe, and you were trying your best not to shake from the cold.
“You walk here?” He tried to make light conversation as he chuckled, but you weren’t as chipper.
“My car broke down about a mile up the road. Walking was my only option,” You tried to keep the smile on your face, but Eddie saw the look, almost like a shunned child. As if you were embarrassed by what you had done, preparing for the lecture or consequence coming your way.
Before he could say anything, Judy returned from the back office.
“Tow truck won’t be running ’til morning, darlin’. But I left a message telling them you’d call first thing,” Judy gave you a halfhearted smile, before turning to Eddie, “Where’s that stack I told you to start on?”
“Right, sorry,” he quickly excused himself back to the kitchen, but did his best to listen for the conversation you were having on the other side of the room.
“Where are you staying tonight? I can try to get you a ride there.”
“My grandma’s house, well it used to be I guess. I think it’s just a few more miles into town, I’m not a hundred percent sure though, I’ve never been out here.”
“Used to be your grandma’s house?”
“Yeah, she, uhm… passed away not long ago. Hard to own something six feet under,” you tried to joke, but failed to make either of you laugh, “Funeral service is next week, I came early to pack up her things. Guess I chose the wrong day to drive in though.”
“I’d say. Well let me see what I can do, do you have the address?”
“Yeah, it’s right…” you trailed off as you checked your pocket, slowly coming to realize that you had left the torn piece of paper with the address written on it on your passenger seat, right on top of the map you were struggling to follow in the heavy snow. “Guess I left it in the car.”
Just as the realization was threatening to break you, Eddie came and set a fresh stack of 3 pancakes in front of you.
“You eat up, it’s on the house. And let me know if you remember any of that address,” Judy smiled at you and walked into the back before you could refuse the free pancakes.
Eddie watched you for the next hour through the pass through window. No other customers came in, so he didn’t exactly have anything better to do. It was nearing 4 am, the end of Eddie’s shift. He had cleaned his station in the kitchen faster than he ever had and made his way out to your table to check on your before he left.
“Any luck with that address?”
“Don’t think I’d remember it with a gun to my head. I might as well walk back and grab it.”
“Not a chance. My shift is over in a few minutes. Why don’t I drive you back to your car, you can grab it, and I can get you there.”
“I couldn’t possibly-“
“No need to be polite. You’ve had a rough enough night, let’s just get you home.”
You didn’t correct his phrasing. This was the furthest you had ever been from home, and you were sure as hell feeling that in this strange diner with barely a concept of where you were. The snow falling outside only exacerbated your feeling of being out of place.
Eddie rushed to the back to grab his belongings and wish Judy a good night, letting her know he was going to get you out of there, before he made his way back out to you. You had brought the hood of your sweatshirt back up, and were staring out at the snow silently. He approached cautiously and gently spoke, “Let’s get out of here,” before guiding you through the door.
“I’m Eddie, by the way. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier.”
You paused at his name, but he was too busy trying to find his van through the wall of snow to notice.
“I’m y/n, thanks again for helping. You and Judy are both angels.”
He smiled at your name for a moment, but kicked the idea from his mind.
Both of you thought of the letters you had sent all those years ago, unaware that the person climbing into the same car as you was in fact the person you were reminiscing on.
Eddie shook the snow out of his hair like a wet dog before starting the van.
“Left out of the lot?”
“Yeah,” you smiled.
“You know, I’ve helped fix up a few cars in my day. I could take a look under the hood for you when we get there if you’d like.”
“You’re already helping enough, thank you though.”
“I really don’t mind. Can’t hurt just to take a look.”
The glance and smile he shot you made your stomach do flips. In the low light of the passing, sparse streetlights, he looked incredibly handsome. Your mind wandered back to what you thought your Eddie looked like back in middle school. You had sent him a drawing of yourself, mostly as a joke since your drawing skills as a 12 year old weren’t amazing, but you were also trying to send him the message that you desperately wanted to know him better. Of course, when your grandmother had insisted you become pen pals with a strange boy, you weren’t too happy about the idea, but as time went on, the sound of a friend sounded too nice. You hadn’t had many of them in elementary school, and it concerned your family. But as your friendship with Eddie grew with each letter, you found yourself hoping for something, anything, more. Now, as an adult, you blame your adolescent brain for the silly crush. But that didn’t stop you from thinking about him from time to time, still wondering what he might be doing in that moment, or if he is happy. But most of all, you wondered if he missed you as much as you missed him.
“You doing alright over there?” he asked you over the quiet metal playing over the speakers. He was playing it at about 1% of the volume he usually listened at, in an attempt to not scare you off just yet.
“Yeah, just a long night,” you smiled back at him. He nearly assured you that you could be real with him, that he could tell that something more was bothering you, but he worried that would be coming on too strong. And before he could find a way to say it without sounding creepy, you pointed out your car on the side of the road with a sigh.
It had only been a couple hours since you had left it, but it was nearly buried in the snow.
“That’s a little more difficult to check out,” He chuckled as he pulled to the side of the road, lighting up your car with his headlights.
“It’s fine, I’ll just go grab the address and we can get going,” you tried not to sigh as you opened the passenger door.
“Wait a second,” Eddie reached for your hand before you could make it out of the car, “I’m fine with taking a look, and I can grab the address too. No need for you to get cold again.”
“I already walked a mile in the snow earlier, I don't think a minute out there will kill me.”
“All the more reason for you to stay in here if you ask me.”
“Fine, but skip looking under the hood. I can call the tow truck when I wake up, it should be fine until then. Even if you could fix it with nothing, I don’t think I should be driving any more today.”
“Long trip?”
“Since 8 am. I really just want to get to sleep.”
“Deal,” he smiled again before stretching his hand out to you, “Keys?”
You reluctantly let him have the keys to go grab the paper, but not before trying to assure him you were capable of grabbing it yourself. You watched him as he rushed as fast as he could through the near foot of snow, grabbed the address, and rushed back to the van.
“You didn’t lock it,” you stated, nervous to not to sound nagging.
“I know, do you have a bag or something I can grab for you?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, where is it?”
“It’s in the back seat on the passenger side. It’s a small black suitcase.”
“You got it, here, take this,” he handed you the torn paper with your grandmother’s previous address written on it in a handwriting that would have been familiar to him, had he glanced down at it.
He ran back to grab your suitcase, and made sure to double check that the doors had locked after he shut them before he rushed back to the van. He threw your suitcase in the backseat before jumping back into the drivers seat.
“I don’t know how you lasted a mile in that, I’m already freezing,” he complained, but his smile still refused to leave his face.
“I’m sorry,” you tried yet again to apologize.
“Don’t be,” he paused to look you in the eye to assure you that he wasn’t upset in the slightest, “Now let’s see that address. Hopefully I actually know where it is.”
You handed him the paper, and even in the low light, you couldn’t miss the way his face fell, even for a millisecond. He hadn’t seemed to stop smiling all night, but the second he saw the paper, it faltered for just a moment.
“Everything ok?”
He looked up at you, and you could tell he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.
“Yeah, uhm, this is on the other side of town though. It’s a bit of a drive, is that ok?”
“I’d rather drive a little further than stay in my car tonight. So yeah, it’s fine,” you giggled, relieved that he didn’t seem angry or annoyed with you like you thought.
But he had seen the handwriting. He would know it anywhere, yet he still wouldn’t let himself get caught up in the coincidences. You were just a girl with similar handwriting, and the same name. You weren’t his y/n. He could never be so lucky.
“So, what brings you to town?” he asked after a moment of driving.
“It isn’t the happiest story, and I don’t want to be a bummer.”
“I’m nosey, and that does nothing to curb my interest,” he joked. He just needed to prod, he needed to know if he was being crazy.
“My grandma passed… about a week ago now. Her funeral is next week, but someone needed to clean up her house for the service, and no one else wanted to make the drive out.”
“Do you have any other family in the area to help out?”
“No, she only had 2 sons. My dad and my uncle, and they’re both back west. She moved here, like, 12 years ago now I think. Maybe 13.”
Just another coincidence. He’s not this lucky.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
You looked at him out of the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t heard that yet. Just stressed adults complaining about how traveling in the winter was too much of a hassle. Hearing those words, from a near stranger no less, was enough to make you tear up. And Eddie could hear that in your voice when you thanked him, but he chose not to comment on it.
“So,” you began after a moment of awkward silence, “How long have you lived in Hawkins?”
“My whole life.”
“Do you like it here?”
“Uh… It has its moments,” he tried his best to hide his discontent with the town. If it weren’t for his uncle, his band, and his small group of friends, he would have ran for the hills by now. He was too attached to them to run… and also lacking the funds to do so.
“That good huh?” you laughed.
“Hate to sound like an ass, but there are definitely plenty of cons that outweigh the pros for me half the time. But that’s not everyone’s experience.”
“Grandma seemed to like it, but she also liked it back home, and it’s no cake walk back there.”
You almost spat the end of your sentence, and although it wasn’t spoken explicitly, Eddie understood.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep bringing the conversation down. It’s just been a really long week.”
“I believe it,” He paused, “So how long are you going to be staying in town then?”
“I have no idea. Rumor is Grandma left me the house. And even if she did…. I’m sorry, I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours now, and driving for over 15 of them. I know you really don’t need to hear any of this.”
You started to make your body as small as possible, hyper aware of how loudly you had been speaking, and how riled up you were getting. Your father would have hated to see it. But not Eddie.
“No, keep going. Like I said, I’m nosey, and it sounds like you could use someone to talk to about this.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” he agreed nonchalantly, unaware how much it meant to you.
“My grandma and I were really close before she moved. She didn’t get along with either of her sons, but she was the world to me as a kid. And my dad put up no effort to even reach out to her in the past decade, but he expects all of her stuff to be left to him, and my uncle wants the same. But my mom told me that one of them had reason to believe that she left it all to me. I don’t even know where they heard it, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful, I promise. I just don’t know what to do about the two grown men that she apparently left out of the will if that’s true, and how mad they’re going to be at me.”
“They wouldn’t be mad at you.”
“You don’t know my dad,” you scoffed. You knew damn well that the man wasn’t afraid of throwing a tantrum, especially if it came to money. And he wouldn’t care if you were the one getting hurt in the process.
“What would they have to be mad at you for though? For your Grandma loving you enough to leave you something to start your life on? How is that your fault?”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s my fault, they just care that they get their share. If it’s left to me, I might as well just divvy it up before they say anything.”
“But that’s not what you want, is it?”
“I just don’t want to have any issue with them.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not fair to you.”
“You really need to stop being so nice, you’re going to make me cry,” you chuckled, genuinely fighting back the tears as you spoke.
“Sorry,” he chuckled back. He took a subject before continuing. “Have you seen the house? Like have you ever visited?”
“No, actually. Who knows, maybe it’s a real fixer upper and I’d be better off passing it on to my uncle,” you giggled, and that put the smile back on Eddie’s face.
“If I didn’t mess up the address, it should just be in this next neighborhood.”
You kept saying that all you wanted was to get some rest after your long day, but now that you were talking to Eddie, you didn’t want the drive to end. The disappointment hit you like a rock as he pulled into the driveway of your grandmothers old house, but the feeling quickly turned to something else as you looked out the window to see the beautiful 2 story house with large trees on either side.
“So much for the fixer upper theory,” Eddie said with a whistle, but you were speechless. This was much more than you had been anticipating, much nicer than you had spent your younger years picturing every time you missed your grandma.
“You ok?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was just taking it in,” you chuckled nervously, still staring at the house.
“Why don’t we get you inside?” He said, reaching in the back for your suitcase. You put a hand gently on his arm to stop him, and he looked up to see your nearly empty stare, still on the building in front of you.
“Can you give me just a minute? I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”
“No, it’s fine… Are you ok?”
“Yeah…Yeah, It just,” you trailed off for a moment, “I hadn’t seen her in years. Had no idea what her house looked like, or what she looked like anymore. I got letters, I got calls, but… Part of all this didn’t feel as real. Going in there, that’s real.”
“Want me to come in with you?”
“No, that’s fine. I just need a second.”
“Have you ever lost anyone before?”
You didn’t answer, just shook your head as you moved your eyes from the house to him.
“Let me walk you in. You shouldn’t be alone for that.”
You looked back at the house for a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded your head.
Eddie carried your suitcase through the front door, and you both kicked off your shoes before stepping on the carpet. You took a deep breath before reaching for the light switch. Eddie sensed your hesitation as your fingers hovered. He took the opportunity to grab the fingers of your other hand. It gave you enough courage to turn on the light in the entry way.
The furniture was mostly unfamiliar. You could see a few pieces in the living room that you had remembered from your childhood, and the sense of nostalgia calmed you. Eddie let you walk ahead of him, letting go of your hand as you ventured further into the room. Slowly but surely, you made your way to a wall on the other side of the room. It was covered in pictures, new and old, of your grandma with family and friends. You recognized yourself in plenty of them, but the newer ones were the ones that you couldn’t stop looking at. She looked so much older that you had remembered, but still had the youthful glow to her that you had attributed to her mischievousness. No matter how old she got, how wrinkled her face grew, or how gray her had and gotten, you still recognized her. Part of your heart began to ache for not knowing her as she was before she passed. It had been so long.
You felt Eddie approach you from behind, and you expect him to say something nice, or encouraging. But he didn’t. He was surprisingly quiet. You turned to make sure he was alright, but he didn’t seem fine. He was staring at one of the photos on the wall, and he looked like he was about to be sick.
“Are you ok, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Uh, yeah,” he replied, still white as a sheet as he tore his eyes from the photo to look at you. He barely shot you a half smile before looking back up at the pictures. You took a step back to stand next to him.
“I just remembered that she worked at the middle school when she moved here. Did you know her?”
“Yeah.”
“…Did you like her?” you tried asking after waiting for him to say anything more.
“Yeah, she introduced me to my best friend.”
“Me too,” you smiled at the memory of your old pen pal.
“Someone back home?”
“No, actually. I probably shouldn’t refer to him as that still. We haven’t spoken in… years actually.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, finally peeling his eyes away from the photos on the wall.
He should have said more, but he didn’t know what else to say. This was her. He was in shock. The girl he had spent the last decade wondering about had wandered into his diner. His thoughts were moving a mile a minute, he felt like he could physically hear them, and it was hard to focus on anything you had possibly said. But luckily, you weren’t saying much.
He followed you like a ghost as you explored the first floor of the house. You were happy you had arrived before anyone else. You had the chance to see the house how she had left it, how she had lived in it. It gave you a sense of closure you weren’t going to get otherwise, it felt as if you were getting a sense of knowing her once again. You were caught up in it until you saw a clock on the wall, reading nearly 5 am. Realization hit you that you were keeping Eddie, and a sense of guilt washed over you. You turned to find him, with a bit of color returned to his face.
“It’s really late, I’m sorry I’ve kept you. You can go home if you’d like. I’m sure you want to get some rest too after your shift.”
He took a second, before asking, “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” And you hesitated before nodding.
“Honestly, the roads are pretty bad out there. I could stay on the couch, help you figure out your car in the morning. How does that sound?”
He way have been a complete stranger just hours ago, but you really did feel like you could trust him. So you smiled and nodded.
“I’ll go find some blankets for you,” you smiled before disappearing up the stairs. Eddie didn’t expect you to come back for a while. You were bound to find your grandmothers bedroom and need to look around for a while. He made his way back to the living room while he waited. He stared at the wall again, but not in shock this time. Now that he knew was 24 year old you looked like, he desperately want to see what 12 year old you looked like. He found a picture near the middle of the wall, of a young girl smiling at the camera. It was the only photo on the wall without your grandmother in it. She had your eyes, had your smile, but most importantly, she actually looked like the drawing he had received all those years ago. You weren’t as bad of an artist as you’d thought. Eddie tried not to grow emotional staring at the photo. He only tore his eyes away from the picture of younger you when he heard you making your way back down the stairs.
Before you could reach Eddie, you paused by the window next to the back door, blankets in hand. The snow coated the back yard, reflecting the light from the back porch into the sky. You began to tear up, just as Eddie approached to take the blankets from you. He saw one of the first tears fall down your cheek, and quickly, but gently put an arm around you.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just… Is this what it looks like every winter?” you asked, looking up at him with misty eyes.
“For parts of it, yeah. Why?”
“Grandma loved the snow,” was all you could reply before looking back out at the yard.
He contemplated it for a second, fought himself on whether or not this was the right moment to say it, but he couldn’t help himself.
“I told you she’d like it here”
A moment passed as you processed what he had said. You gasped quietly, quickly turning your head to face him. He looked nervous, as if he had just handed his heart to you on a platter, waiting to see if you would reject it.
“Eddie?” you asked cautiously, and you both knew what the question really was.
“Yeah,” he nodded, still nervous and unable to read what you were thinking.
“You stopped writing,” was all you could get out before another tear dropped.
“What?”
“Y-you stopped writing,” you repeated, beginning to choke on your breathes as you spoke.
He nearly panicked as he tried to reply.
“Y/n, w-what do you mean? I only stopped writing when you stopped replying.”
“Oh my god, it’s really you,” you couldn’t stop looking at him, another tear dropping down your cheek. Your exhaustion was exaggerating your emotions, but you may have felt the same regardless. You had waited 12 years for this moment.
“Yeah. Why don’t we go sit down,” he smiled at you, before herding you towards the couch.
“Y/n,” he spoke softly as he crouch in front of you, one hand resting on each of your knees as you sat on the couch, “What do you mean I stopped writing?”
“I sent you a letter, you never replied.”
“That’s impossible, I waiting for months to hear back from you. There’s no way I missed a letter from you.”
“No, I sent one, and I waited, but you never replied. You broke my heart Eds,” you quietly began to sob, filled with too many mixed emotions.
Eddie quickly sat next to you on the couch and pulled you to his chest to comfort you the best he could, but he was still confused. He had checked his own mailbox, his neighbors mailboxes, other houses in town with the same street number as his trailer. This didn’t add up. He quietly shushed you as he thought.
“What did the last letter say?” he asked as you began to calm down just slightly. He had half the collection of your letters memorized, but especially the first and last. He would know if he had read it if you described it.
“It was before Freshman year, I told you how scared I was that all the kids were going to be mean. I was so afraid that I was going to get singled out for still having no friends, and I waited for months to hear back from you. But you never wrote back. You were my only friend, and you stopped writing.”
“No, sweetheart, I would never,” he sighed as his heart dropped. He got that letter, he replied to it. Which meant that she never got his last letter. Neither of them had stopped writing on purpose, they had both assumed the other had given up. But he had sent out one last letter that was unaccounted for.
“Sweetheart, can you look at me,” he gently guided you to look up at him, “I promise you, I wrote back. I don’t know what happened to it, but I never would have stopped writing like that. I thought you had just ignored my last letter.”
“You wrote,” you said quietly, and Eddie couldn’t tell if it was a question, or if you were trying to reassure yourself.
“I did, I promise,” he whispered as he swept a tear off your cheek with his thumb.
And though you still needed to know what happened to his letter, and you had had one of the longest days of your life, nothing mattered more to you in that moment than leaning in, slowly. You took a second, pausing right before reaching his lips so he could pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t. It was a quick kiss, but it was gentle and sweet. Eddie didn’t try to pull you in for another, but he didn’t want to part as you pulled away.
It took him a second to open his eyes again, but when he did, he was smiling just as big as you.
“You ok?” he asked for what must have been the hundredth time that night. But unlike every other time you had answered, this time you told him the truth.
“I am now.”
(may or may not be already trying to figure out a part 2 for this, depending on if people like it <3 )
@embrace-themagic @fanficparker @heartbeats-wildly @saturn-aka-six @calum-hoodwinked-me @peterplanet @mischiefmanaged49 @nicotine-sunshine820 @itsjusttor @emistrash @thenoddingbunny-blog @sovereignparker @raajali3 @eddielives1986 @eddieswifu @chickpeadumpsterfire @fluffybunnyu @panagiasikelia @canthavetoomuchchaos @whenshelanded @starlitlakes @witchwolflea @ali-r3n @g0thdraculaura @celestcies
i was cleaning out my keep notes and came across an idea from months ago, then just word vomited this out 😌 so here you go!
Hawkins High School is a churning cesspool of popularity contests, forced conformity, and purity culture, but being with Eddie Munson makes you forget all that. Or maybe being with him just makes you not care, like his cavalier, snarling-mutt defiance is contagious. Who gives a fuck what the reason is, really, when he makes you feel like this - stomach swooping like you're on a thrill ride, swept away by the frisson buzzing in your hot blood as he presses you up against your locker. Hot bodies against cold metal, pinned together by the hips. Tangled up in your own shared world - your fists in his battle vest, his hands smooshing up your hair as he angles you up, devouring your lips like you two aren't an active obstacle keeping the rest of the student body from flowing through this hallway. Plaque in the main artery of the school building, the pair of you are, almost certain to cause a heart attack since you've chosen now - the busiest time of the school day - to make out like you're trying to burrow down and live inside the other.
And you love this about him. Even before you were together, you loved how Eddie would never censor himself in public - never lower his voice when he talked about shit that pissed people off, never stifle a cackle or turn down his music when they called him satanic, never rub off his nail polish even when they hissed slurs at his back. Made himself the target to take the heat off his freak friends even when it cost him; took whatever was doled out with a cut brow and a manic, flashing grin every time. It always made your heart swell. And now that he's yours, you love it even more, because it means you get the same treatment as everything else in Eddie's life that he loves.
He doesn't hold anything back.
It means he doesn't care if anyone sees how much he cares for you, how much he wants you, how you bring out the softness that lives inside him, give it air to breathe out in the surface sunshine. It also means that he's gotta have his hands on you all the goddamn time, and if he wants to feel your soft body pressed all up on him, wants to suck on your tongue between French and Biology right where everyone can see him devouring you, well. He's gonna do it.
And no one's ever made you feel as wanted as Eddie does. Like no amount of you could ever be too much, even when you're being weird or ugly or rotten sometimes. Eddie doesn't mind weird, or ugly, or rotten. He's a freak, after all. It doesn't phase him, 'cause he also feels weird and ugly and rotten sometimes, and that hasn't pushed you away, now, has it?
So even though you know you just bombed that stupid quiz on verb conjugations last period, you couldn't care less at the moment because Eddie's warm and heavy against you and his nose is whistling with those quick, heavy breaths as he meticulously sucks on your upper lip, working it until it's deliciously swollen and throbbing. The pull is intense, shooting little sparks down to the pit of your belly every time he tugs a little harder, suctions a little meaner, just so you'll sigh with relief when he lets your lip pop free. A devious plan of his own design, orchestrated just so he can capitalize on the opportunity to drag the broad flat of his tongue into your open mouth.
"Mm." He hums into you, nearly a purr as your buzzing lips eagerly split wider for him. Your tongue draws his taste from his mouth into yours, feeding on spearmint and nicotine as your fingers twist in the broken curls at the nape of his neck. You echo back his satisfaction, your little moans buzzing from your ribcage into his as you both luxuriate in the rhythm of your kisses, the ebb and flow of feeling, the give and take and all that it awards you.
Beyond the sound of his breaths, dimmed by the rabbit-fast thrumming of your own heart in your ears, the cesspool swirls, churning out its giggles and whispers, its furtive glances and pointed looks shared by passersby as they skirt around the void that you and Eddie create. You allow it to exist without paying it any attention until it forces itself between you, manifesting in the form of a green letterman jacket and a steep blonde side part lacquered church-smart with pomade.
"Hey, freaks." The hiss is so close you feel its warm puff against your cheek through the spread of Eddie's fingers. You recoil before you can suppress the instinct, your mouth jerking from Eddie's as you sway away from the intrusion.
Jason Carver straightens up when he succeeds in making you flinch, smug superiority in his blue eyes when you glare at him. "Save it for the trailer park," he sneers. "None of us came to school today asking to see this disgusting display."
Nevermind that Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler necked in the hall for weeks last year without anyone batting an eye. Your burning insides rear up at the insult, but Eddie wraps his forearm even tighter around your lower back - pulling you in, holding you even closer as he turns his head toward Jason. "Aw, Jasie-poo," he coos, brows puckered in a mockery of sympathy. "Don't be jealous, baby. If you wanted me to kiss you, all you had to do was ask."
You watch as Eddie melts into a seductive performance, batting his lashes and pursing his lips, pink and pouty and spit-slick from your shared saliva. He leans in toward the shorter boy, smacking his lips with a series of exaggerated kissy noises.
Jason's face jumps with alarm, disgust and embarrassment warring in his features. He sputters, grasping for a retort until he finally spits out a "Fuck you, Munson."
Instantly, Eddie's face lights up, his brown eyes wide and his grin full and manic. Jason's expression falls further as Eddie lets his tongue fall out, wagging it at him, delighted that it took so little effort to get Jason to lose himself and curse.
Red-faced, bested, Jason retreats. And when Eddie curls his tongue back behind his teeth - sharp, victorious, subversively powerful - you feel a surge of intense attraction towards him.
What can you say? His antics really turn you on.
Eddie stares down the hallway at the back of the retreating jock he scared off, oblivious to how your pussy has taken you over, turned you rabid for him. As soon as his chin nudges back in your direction, you snatch him up, surging up to your toes to kiss the breath from him. He stumbles, making a little whimpery noise of surprise as you wrap your arms around his neck, a beat late in clutching you back, trying to keep up with the deep, thorough pace of your lips.
Once you can bear it, you pull away briefly, your eyes flicking up to his, taking in his blown pupils and slightly dazed expression. "That was hot," you murmur against his lips, and he smirks crookedly for only a fraction of a second before you dive back in.
It was heated between you before you were interrupted, but now, the intensity has transformed, taken on an edge of urgency and need beyond what it should considering you're in public - freaks or not. Your chest heaves as Eddie presses closer, squishing you hard against the locker, one palm dragging heavy and damp down the side of your neck to land against your collarbone. You suck on his lower lip, coaxing out little noises you can feel more than hear as they vibrate in your chests, your libido raging as his thumb flexes over the neckline of your shirt, clearly yearning to edge beneath it.
It's when you nibble him - bare your teeth and sink them into his lower lip, a light, stinging pressure that promises more - that Eddie breaks away from you, rearing his head back with a heavy exhale. His adam's apple bobs with a thick swallow, and though his tone is light, he sounds slightly hoarse when he exclaims, "Okay, okay. Don't wanna pop a boner in the hallway."
You giggle, slowly walking two fingers up his chest - over denim and pins, pausing at the hand-sewn patch over his heart. Low, husky, you murmur, "You sure?"
A chuckle bursts from him, breathless and bordering on hysterical as he looks down at you - dark eyes like liquid, melted for you. "You're a goddamn vixen--"
"Munson!" The heft of the snapping voice promises more than just social trouble, and Eddie jumps with you this time. Synchronized, you both whip around to see Mrs. O'Donnell glowering at you from behind wire-rim glasses. "Get out of my sight this instant before--"
He doesn't give her a chance to finish. Snatching up your hand, Eddie spins on his heel, booking it in the opposite direction, hobbling slightly as his other hand hovers over the front of his dark jeans to protect his modesty.
Don't ever let it be said that Eddie Munson never knows when to pick his battles.
VACANT MIRRORS ; MASTERPOST
PINTEREST | AO3 | SPOTIFY
shit’s been rough. shit was rough even before the blip. dr. hart shares an office with dr. raynor, and you share with waiting room with bucky barnes. set before tfatws; a friends-to-lovers, slowburn, eventual smut.
— CHAPTERS / completed!
1. I LANDED ON YOU LIKE A SUCKER PUNCH
2. BUT I’VE HAD WORSE NIGHTMARES
3. SO I’LL BE PLUGGED IN & TUNED OUT
4. WHILE YOU & I RIDE INTO THE SUN
5. PLATONICALLY SO, OF COURSE
6. GO AHEAD & PLUCK MY HEARTSTRINGS
7. TOGETHER WE’RE LOVERS ON THE LAM
8. SPIRALING TOWARDS THE STORM
9. KISSING IN THE AFTERMATH
10. TO THE TEMPO OF YOUR HEARTBEAT.
— DRABBLES & ONE-SHOTS
1. ALL BLACK
— OTHER
1. dolly’s jukebox, an audio imagine
2. the vacant mirrors tag
3. readers make their rabbit!
4. fan art & memes
5. the glass cannon’s club set list
— birbs
freaks, creeps, and weirdos - chapter one
eddie munson x fem!reader
fic summary: y/n escaped hawkins lab years ago, and teame dup with the crew to help them take down every monstrosity they've faced so far. with the threat of vecna looming over hawkins, yours and el's powers will be needed more than ever. for now, you have to blend in with the rest of town. but everything you think you know about living a normal life gets turned upside-down when you meet eddie munson.
chapter summary: it's your first day of school. ever. like, ever ever. all you want to do is focus on getting through the day. but among all those giving you a hard time, you make a new friend who is anything but normal.
warnings: sfw. soft! naive! reader. bullying, teasing, reader doesn't understand social cues. she/her pronouns for reader. hopper is basically reader's adoptive dad, though technically she's 18. steve is her bestie.
a/n: this chapter makes me ache. i was bullied a lot in school. undiagnosed autism and being a geek will do that to you, yk? i wish i had someone like eddie to help me out! this is the first part of an ongoing series that takes place during '85-'86, with a happier ending for eddie (pinky swear!). this is a slow-burn, sweet and sexy romance. and enjoy!
chapter one: take a seat
"If you change your mind and want me to pick you up, just call me, okay?" Steve told you for the billionth time that morning. "The phone is in the front office. You know where that is?"
"No, but neither do Mike, Lucas, Max, or Dustin." You look at him with a knowing glare. "And their parents are not talking to them like this."
"Okay, enough with the snark," he said, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. That meant he was kidding, but he was getting tired of the parent joke.
You'd learned how to read Steve like that, the same way you'd learned how to understand that Nancy's tight smile meant something was wrong that she didn't want to talk about. You'd learned it all through time and their graciousness. Robin and Jonathan had been kind enough to let you know when you'd misread a situation, or what a figure of speech meant, or when Max was being sarcastic. Ugh. Sarcasm. You still hadn't mastered that yet.
And now you had a school full of people to learn how to read. You hoped they would be patient with you.
Despite your nerves -- despite Steve giving you a much safer option -- you opened up the passenger side door and stepped out. You were parked right out front, cars and busses rolling by. You felt like a rock in a stream, students coursing around you like water.
Voices crashed over you like waves. Loud, invasive, like pins pricking at your brain. Your grasped your backpack straps, trying to ground yourself. You glanced back at Steve. His head was bent, peeking out the window at you over his sunglasses, hands on the wheel. He lifted his fingers in a small wave. You waved back, forcing a smile, then returned your grip to your backpack straps.
You took a deep breath and made your way up the steps. As you went, you put up a mental barrier, like Papa had taught you. The voices that stung you like barbs fell away. Reading minds was, as Steve had put it, "useful, but a little creepy." Who knew being around so many people thinking so many thoughts at once would hurt? You'd only found that out when Steve had dragged you to Starcourt Mall on opening day and you had a panic attack. You'd spent the next two days at Hopper's cabin in a dark room, nursing a migraine.
But since that day, you'd become better at blocking out everyone's thoughts. You read minds only when it suited you. Moved objects with your gaze alone. That was simple. It was the rest of being a normal teenager that scared you.
It took you ten minutes to find your classroom, and another five to figure out how to open your locker. For a second, you panicked, worried you'd be late, and nearly used your abilities to bust the thing open. But then you spotted Nancy in a nearby cluster of students. She gave you a smile, but her eyes were dark with concern. You didn't want to disappoint her, or make her worry over nothing. Finally, you relaxed and got it open.
She and Robin had promised to look after you, but there wasn't much they could do about adjusting your timetable. That meant you only had one class with each of them, and the others you would spend alone -- including your homeroom class. You gnawed at your lower lip as you stepped into the classroom and took a seat. Everyone was chattering. Tossing wadded up balls of paper, discussing their summers, comparing timetables. They were all so different. Some girls had skirts and lipstick and bows, others wore all black with torn jeans and painted nails. There were tall, muscled guys in green-and-gold jackets, while others wore smart dress shirts and glasses or had plain tees with long, messy hair.
"That's my seat."
You looked up and saw the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen. She looked like she could be on a magazine cover, with her teased blond hair and bright, poppy clothes. She carried a pink handbag instead of a backpack, and her lips were the same vibrant colour.
"Uhm, hell-o? Did you hear me?"
You blinked. "Oh, uh. This is your seat?" You didn't know they assigned seats. You looked around, searching for your name on the other seats. "Sorry. Where is mine?"
The girl scoffed, her brows pulling together. "What did you just say to me?"
"Where is my seat?" you repeated, gathering your bag and standing. You walked up and down the row, searching for some sign. The girl slid into her official seat, and two others sat down beside and behind her. They were all so glamourous, dressed brightly and made up like models. They whispered frantically, giggling.
A bell rang. Everyone in the classroom watched you, probably wondering why you were wandering around so much. Your cheeks were hot. Why hadn't Robin and Nancy warned you about this?
"Ahem."
You looked over your shoulder. An adult, the teacher you assumed, stood at the head of the class. Her eyes were on you, her foot tapping. Impatience.
"What's your name?"
"Y/N." You'd picked it out of a magazine a few years ago, after learning 'Three' wasn't an ideal name for a normal teenager to have.
"Well, Y/N, would you kindly take your seat so we can begin class?"
You looked around again. There were still a couple seats empty. "W-Which one?"
A collective snicker rippled through the classroom. Everyone was smirking, except for the teacher; her smile was tight, like Nancy's. She swept her hand across the sea of seats.
"Whichever you'd prefer."
To save yourself further embarrassment, you picked the closest one and plunked down. The teacher introduced herself as Ms. Clarke, and class began just as everyone had told you it would. You kept stealing glances at the girls -- especially the one in your old seat. They looked back at you, too, then they'd laugh and whisper something to each other.
It made no sense. All you could understand was that you'd done something wrong. You resolved to ask Robin in your next class, and tried to pay attention. Nancy had taught you how to take notes, so you did that. But every so often, your mind would wander back to that transaction. The girls obviously knew what happened. So did everyone else in the class. All you had to do was reach out with your mind and do a little prodding...
No. That was wrong. Everyone had told you to not do that. (Well, Max said it might be fun.) But Hopper and Joyce had told you to respect everyone's privacy and keep out of their heads. So you stopped yourself, though curiosity nearly killed you before finally the bell rang, dismissing you.
\
"I still do not understand," you said to Robin as you walked to the cafeteria together. "What was so funny?"
You had filled her in on the transaction with the girls in class -- the one who had spoken to you was called Jennifer, you'd learned, and Robin had just called the others the Clones.
She lifted her shoulders. "I mean, maybe the fact that you didn't know? Which is terrible, I know, but they're idiots; they laugh at awful things."
"Should I... apologize?"
"No! Ew, no, don't apologize to any of them. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then what do I do?" You couldn't imagine spending the rest of the semester, each and every day, sitting in class with them laughing at you. At how... stupid you were.
"Ignore them. They'll forget all about it by tomorrow, and then you can just leave them alone."
You fought back a frown as you joined the food line. You knew it was wrong for them to laugh at you, but you wanted to be accepted at school. In the movies at Steve and Robin's job, girls like Jennifer were in charge of the social scene. You wanted to get on her good side.
"I guess," you sighed.
You stepped into the cafeteria and quickly spied Nancy sitting with a group of well-dressed students. They looked kind of nerdy, if you were to quote the movies. Robin was called over by members of the band. Every other table was filled with all sorts of people, and just like in the classroom, you had no idea where to sit.
"You can come with me," Robin whispered. "My friends would love you! Or you can sit with Nancy, if you want."
You weren't sure. Before you could make a decision, someone stood up. He was wearing a green-and-gold jacket with a tiger's face on it, and had shiny, blond hair. He shot you a white smile as he approached.
"Y/N, right? You're Chief Hopper's niece."
You didn't know what to say, so you just nodded.
"I'm Jason. Jason Carver." He offered you his hand to shake. "I'm captain of the basketball team, and you may have met Chrissy, my girlfriend." He stepped aside a little, and you looked past him to see his table. Among his friends, all of them clad in green-and-gold as well, you saw a petite girl with bangs in a cheerleader uniform. She gave you a soft smile and a wave.
"N-Not yet," you stammered out, shaking his hand. His grasp was warm and firm.
"Why not meet her now? Come and sit with us." He gave you another winning smile. "We want you to feel welcome here."
You glanced at Robin, as if for permission. She nodded.
"Go on. I'll see you after school."
You let Jason lead you over to the table, which was already crowded. Chrissy shifted a little, allowing you space beside her. When you sat, you were bombarded with more names and smiles. They all flew over you head. All that mattered was that you were sitting with the cool people, the pretty people, and -- most importantly -- the nice people. They took your timetable and passed it around, searching for classes you had together.
"So, Y/N, where are you from?" Chrissy asked.
"Canada," you replied. You'd rehearsed everything. Your name, your age, you place of birth, why you had transferred, your plans after high school. They could ask you any question, and you knew the answer.
"Where did you get that shirt?"
Except that one.
The one who had asked you sat across from you. She was in a cheerleader outfit, too, with hair black as oil. Her hand reached out, perfectly manicured fingers brushing the long, plaid sleeve of your shirt.
"Uh... A shop."
"A charity shop?"
"Yeah," you nodded, clinging to the suggestion. A few people smirked. Chrissy rolled her eyes.
"Mary, please."
"I was just asking! I think it looks nice on you, Y/N. You look like a lumberjack. Fitting, since you're from Canada."
You pursed your lips. You didn't know much, but you could understand some insults. Everyone had a chuckle at that. Even Jason snorted, but Chrissy smacked his arm.
"Oh, would you look at that!"
A familiar voice came from behind you, shrill and coddling. You turned to see Jennifer flouncing up with her Clones. She shot you a smirk with a wrinkled nose, as if she were cooing at a baby.
"Aw, she found her seat! Good job." She accentuated the last two words with a couple claps.
You felt eyes on you, more eyes than you were comfortable with. You needed to fix this. You had a chance at befriending the popular kids, sealing the deal and ensuring that your first and last year in high school would be fun. You tipped your chin up, proud.
"Jennifer, right? I like your purse."
Her cool gaze shifted to her bag, then back to you. "O...kay?"
"I think maybe we should hang out some time."
Jennifer's Clones scoffed, while Jennifer took a cautionary step back.
"Why would I ever want to hang out with you? What are you, slow?"
"She is in the slow class next period," Mary said, waving your timetable. Chrissy snatched it away and slid it into your backpack.
Jennifer's mouth shifted to a big O shape. "That explains so much. Awh, she's a dumbass!"
"Excuse you!" you snapped. "That was so rude! Say you are sorry, right now."
"Or what? Gonna cry?" Jennifer pouted.
You felt Chrissy's hands on your shoulders. "Jen, that's enough."
Tears pricked at your eyes. This was all wrong. Your first day was supposed to be fun. You were supposed to make friends. But instead, Jennifer had her hands on her knees, bending to laugh in your face.
"Oh my God. She's crying."
Most of the cafeteria had turned to look at the commotion. A tear escaped and ran down your cheek, but you swiped it away with your sleeve. The sleeve of your stupid, ugly shirt. You'd just wanted to look like Joyce or Max, but instead you looked like an idiot.
You could feel your mental barrier cracking. Breaking away, piece by piece. You grasped at it, but it slipped from your control, and suddenly the voices came over you in a great wave.
She's so weird. She's such a freak. Ugh, math next period. Who is she? Jennifer, not again. She's in the fucking slow class, this is too much. I wonder what's for lunch tomorrow. Is that girl crying? Oh my God, is she staring, do I look okay? What a freak.
You sucked in a breath and, your lunch tray abandoned, stood up and made for the door. On your way, you bumped into one of the Clones. It wasn't very hard of a bump, but she went down, crying out dramatically.
"She pushed me! You saw her, she shoved me!"
"N-No I didn't." Panic rose in your chest.
Chrissy said something to you, but you couldn't hear her. Jason was on his feet. Mary was laughing, but Jennifer and her other Clone surrounded their friend, fawning over her. You could hear Robin's voice, and saw Nancy making her way to you.
Ew, gross. Does she have a nosebleed?
You swiped your hand under your nose, and it came back bright red. Your mental barrier was completely down. You scrambled to the doors. You just needed some fresh air.
"Whoa!"
You bumped right into someone's chest, nearly going down again. They hands grasped your upper arms, keeping you upright.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
You looked up to meet their eyes. They were big, soft, brown eyes, poring into yours with genuine concern and a little twinkle of amusement. He had long, brown hair, unruly curls. He still grasped you, his fingers decorated with silver rings that dug into your arms. He was all torn denim and leather, and he smelled of cigarettes. You knew his kind from the movies, too: trouble.
His gaze dipped over you, brow furrowing. "Hey, you okay? You're bleeding."
His grip on you loosened, and you stepped around him with a mumbled apology. You could barely untangle your own thoughts from the crowd, and were amazed that you found your way outside. The sun was hot, but the breeze had a sharp edge to it that helped clear your mind. Little by little, the roar of voices faded and left behind a pounding headache. You sank onto the pavement, your back against the building's hot bricks.
Nancy and Robin found you a few minutes later. Another miracle. Nancy assured you that she had told the monitoring teacher that it had all been an accident, and everyone at her table backed you up. Robin regaled you with how Chrissy snapped at Mary and Jason after you were gone. After Nancy gave you a pill to help ease the growing pressure in your head, you started to feel a little better.
That's what you told yourself, anyway. The day was almost over. You had Robin in your final period, and she'd look after you. All you had to do was get through one class. The slow class. You groaned inwardly. When Joyce had helped enroll you in school, they'd found out that while you were fine in math and science, you were way behind in English. They promised they would catch you up, and you hadn't thought anything of it. But now that Mary and Jennifer had made fun of you, you weren't so sure.
Into the classroom you walked, your head still aching, eyes downcast so you wouldn't meet anyone's gaze. Your other classes had at least twenty students. This one had only twelve, including you. You quickly found you seat (it could be any seat, Robin had assured you) far in the back of the room. Away from everyone else. The pill made everyone's inner voices hazy enough that you didn't feel guilty for spying in on them. You let your barrier fall, tuned the sound out so the roar of everyone's minds was a gentle hum, and waited for the bell to ring. When it did, the teacher at the front introduced himself as Mr. Wong. He was an older man, with soft edges and a gentle smile. He spoke slowly, looking you each in the eyes as he explained how class would go. You nodded along whenever he looked at you, and --
"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Wong."
You looked up to find the boy you'd ran into in the cafeteria standing in the doorway. He was red-cheeked, breathless, with his backpack slung over one shoulder. Mr. Wong's face creased with his frown.
"I thought you'd graduated, Mr. Munson."
"So did I," he laughed. "But then I realized I'd miss you too much."
Mr. Wong's frown only deepened. Sarcasm. You could catch that one. The boy slunk into the classroom and sat down right beside you. He brought along with him the stench of... skunk? You wrinkled your nose and tried to keep your focus on the lesson.
"Hey."
You pursed your lips and kept writing. The eraser end of a pencil poked you in the arm.
"Hey."
You looked over to find the boy had scooted closer to you.
"Yes?"
"I'm Eddie."
"I'm Y/N."
"Excuse me, Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Munson." Mr. Wong gestured at both of you with a piece of chalk. "If you're going to be like this from day one, maybe I should separate you."
"S-Sorry," you stumbled, turning your focus back onto the lesson.
A few more minutes passed. Then, two ringed fingers slid a piece of paper onto your desk. You peeked over at Eddie. He had his gaze on the chalkboard, rapping his fingers against his knee.
You opened the paper. His writing was awful, but you could make out the message. Saw what happened at lunch. You okay?
You frowned. Great. Did everyone at school know what had happened? I am fine, you scribbled down. Then, Thanks.
You passed the note back. Surely, he wouldn't write anything el--
He slid another paper over. His eyes flickered to you, then back to the chalkboard. You looked around, finding a few people staring at you. Was he trying to get you in trouble? You opened the note.
Don't pay attention to those girls. If you need someone to sit with, you can sit with me and my friends.
You couldn't help but smile a little. You scrawled a quick thanks back to him, and that was it.
To his credit, Mr. Wong had a captivating way of teaching. He made sure to look everyone in the eyes, and only continued when he felt everyone understood the subject. And, to your credit, you did try to pay attention. You knew that Joyce would be disappointed if you failed, and you wanted to prove to everyone that you could succeed.
But every time your eyes drifted to your right, and you saw Eddie scribbling away beside you, you felt a flutter in your stomach. Maybe it was because you didn't have time to eat lunch. And taking a pill on an empty stomach was never a good idea. But at one point, Eddie caught your glance and smiled. It wasn't a glamourous, award-winning smile like Jason had given you. Eddie had this crooked grin, which he hid behind a lock of hair that he grabbed and pulled over his mouth. He looked like a little kid.
Your stomach tightened at his expression. He was just so... nice. And people like him, who dressed like him, were never nice in the movies. Then again, people like Steve were usually mean, and Steve was probably one of your best friends in the world. A guy like Hopper would be jaded and cold, but he had actually been soft and sweet in his own way. And you expected Nancy to be prissy and prude, but there was nothing prissy about the way she handled a shotgun. Almost everyone you'd met so far had been contradictory to what they seemed on the outside. Maybe this Eddie guy was different.
But you'd thought that about Jennifer, and Mary, and Jason. They even tried to take you in, to be nice to you. But that had all been a ploy to get you close only for them to snap the trap shut when you least expected it. What if this was a trick, too?
Eddie left straight after the bell rang, so you didn't have a chance to gauge his true intentions. You might have followed him out to the parking lot, if your head wasn't still pounding. Instead, you stepped out to find Steve sitting right where you'd left him. Did he even drive off after you went inside?
"Well? How was it?"
You hesitated. If you told him what had happened, he would never let you go back there again. But you hated lying to Steve.
So you shrugged. "It was good. The classes were sometimes boring. But it was not as scary as I thought, and I only got lost twice."
Steve grinned and started the car. "That's great! Everyone was nice, right?"
Robin was nice. Nancy was nice. Chrissy was nice. Eddie was nice. Who cared about anyone else? You nodded.
"And you made friends?"
You nodded again. At least, you thought you'd made friends. Steve's hands tapped away at the wheel, excited.
"That means you're okay to take the bus tomorrow, right? 'Cause I got an early shift at Family Video and I won't be able to drop you off."
"I guess so." You didn't see what the big deal was. But your hesitant answer had Steve's eyes on you as he backtracked.
"I mean, I can call Keith and ask him to switch my shift."
"No, I will," you said. It was part of the experience, right? You wanted to be a normal kid, and normal kids took the bus.
And they didn't wear oversized plaid shirts, apparently. You'd go through your closet when you got home to see if you had anything more appropriate. Maybe you'd lay out some magazines and compare outfits.
Not that you had any time. Joyce called you all the way from California, everyone there wondering how your first day went. She said that El's first day was great, and that Will looked out for her. "I'm so proud of you, sweetie," she kept saying. "You're gonna do great." Jonathan said the same thing, when he took the phone from his mom. "It'll be a piece of cake. Just stay away from the weirdos and you'll be fine."
They were all so excited for you, how were you supposed to tell them that there was nothing to be proud of? That you were the weirdo? Well, that didn't matter. You had messed up a little -- the clothes, the seating. But you would do better tomorrow.
Besides, you had someone to sit with. If he'd meant it, that is.
Wing Man Master List
Wing Man: (AO3) Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie. COMPLETE
Rating: T+
Current Word Count: 88k words
Tags: Strangers to friends to lovers, no use of y/n, reader is not described, weirdo!reader, rocky horror picture show, Flight of Icarus compliant, Steve and Reader are best friends, implied Upside Down but it's fine
Chapter 1 You are sick of seeing Steve striking out, so you come up with a solution that could work for both of you.
Chapter 2 You and Steve go hang out at the Palace Arcade with a bunch of high school students and pit two against each other in air hockey.
Chapter 3 You really should be trying to flirt, but somehow you and Eddie can only ever talk about Chris Morrison.
Chapter 4 Well, the arcade was a bust, but maybe going to a local dive bar and listening to music will yield better results.
Chapter 5 Ranting about Ozzy Osbourne counts as flirting, right?
Chapter 6 What DID he mean by five? The second meeting.
Chapter 7 Dustin spills the beans, and Wayne gives some advice.
Chapter 8 Eddie explains himself, and you two make plans to hang out on purpose.
Chapter 9 You and Eddie go on your first date, but the past always lingers
Chapter 10 It’s no longer Halloween, but the ghosts from yours and Eddie’s pasts are coming back to haunt you.
Chapter 11 Steve talks shit. Paige and Eddie talk business.
Chapter 12 You go to your audition, but things never go as planned.
Chapter 13 You remember.
Chapter 14 Corroded Coffin audition with Paige, and you take more than one risk.
Chapter 15 Everyone prepares for take off. The final chapter.
Epilogue Corroded Coffin takes flight, and you’re on air.
Post Credits Post Credit Scene
Bonus Stories
Next October: It's your birthday, and you're drowning in work. Thankfully, you have an amazing boyfriend to help you relax.
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r, 25, a collection of fics I enjoyed - 18+ I follow from @spookysaturn
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