The Love Triangle From Hell - Series Masterlist

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Your secret fling with Eddie Munson hadn't gone entirely under wraps, particularly to the know-it-all, Dustin Henderson. With the help of Robin and Steve, the three conspire to reveal the truth, resulting in two of the most awkward people going on a date together...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, slight crying, alcohol consumption, awkwardness, insecurities, closeted sexuality, implied coming out, secret relationship, and some explicit sexual content: fondling, mention of porn, mention of oral, and unprotected vaginal sex (fairly minor, not the focal point).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | This piece has literally been sitting in my Google Docs since June 26th, because when rewatching Friends, I though it would be a cute idea for a fic, so you'll see a lot of lines and parallels from the episode (season 5, episode 14). It's devastatingly unfortunate Matthew Perry passed when I was finishing this up. So, in memory of him and a toast to friendship, here is this fic. Be safe, appreciate life, and enjoy <3 I love you all.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

“Did you guys see that?!” A pointed finger of accusation was targeted against Eddie Munson, completely oblivious to his knowledge. 

Steve Harrington had grimaced at the mush that was once a solid cheeseburger residing inside the slobbery mouth of Dustin Henderson, as the kid spoke with such urgency, clearly unperturbed by his lack of food etiquette and social decorum. But such skills could not be expected much from Dustin Henderson. That is unless, of course, an actual adult of authority had been in the presence, to which a gummy smile was expected to assuage whatever insulting comment about the need for manners that “The Hair” would proffer in disgust. 

It was the second Saturday in a row that Steve’s been bombarded by the abuse of the children to let his residence be used for a pool party. He doesn’t understand how exactly he lost the backbone to say no to four teenagers, but the phenomenon had manifested into reality, and at the very least, a compromise was made for the young adults—of whatever weird mesh of a friend group this was between older teens, younger teens, crossover shebang—to tag along for a hot afternoon of relaxation.

“Yeah, Eddie’s hair totally looks like a wet mop.” Max Mayfield snickered between her sips of a twisty-straw-in-lemonade action. In truth, seeing lushes locks of black stick to his face and neck was quite amusing, especially when made worse as the metalhead re-calibrated like a dog, shaking his hair as a means of getting rid of the chlorine water that weighed down his head. One that could always get a good chuckle out of anyone. 

“No! Not that! That!” The ghost trail that was of Eddie Munson walking inside the Harrington villa, as pointed to by Dustin as a means of evidence, did little to provide any context of support to whatever it was he was avowing about this time. In many instances, those close to him knew to just let his diatribes continue without interference. The kid’s standards were impossibly high; people’s mistakes of simple wrongdoings were always criticized by his superiority. ‘“Oh, I’m just gonna head to the bathroom real quick.’” Dustin mimicked, mocking the voice of his Dungeon Master with dramatic gestures of flailing arms. A testament surely to get his character killed in next week’s campaign, should he have been caught by the man. 

“Yeah, Dustin, that’s kinda, like, a natural occurrence in life.” Mike Wheeler deadpanned with a patronizing voice to annoy, as it’d been known to exasperate his friend. It’d even gained a couple laughs from the lounging bodies strewn about in the breadth of the gardened backyard. 

Lucas Sinclair had jumped at the opportunity to prod further, barking a deafening cackle. “Yeah, remember that bomb you dropped after the school’s attempt to serve enchiladas?” He slapped his knee with joy. “You had the janitor running from the stalls!”

That one really got a good laugh out of everyone. But before Max could even venture at an attempt to cater for further details, Dustin struck on offense to defend his honor from the sharings of his intimate privacy, definitively emphasized with an agitated tone of vexation. “No, no! You pinky swore that you’d never speak of it! Do I need to tell everyone what Erica found under your bed?!” Old reliable; blackmail, the bargain of a lifetime.

“The hell is under your bed, man?” Steve pondered, flipping a seared patty with a slab of American cheese ready to go. If it was anything like what was under his bed, he’d surely want no one to know.

“Nothing!”

“What I thought.” Dustin muttered with a glare, as Lucas shrunk in his chair to evade any potential threats of further questions that lay on the tips of his friends’ nosy tongues. “But again, that is not what I am talking about.”  

Always the civil one out of the Wheeler clan, Nancy reassuringly stepped up to support her brother’s friend in need, settling everyone down. “We’re sorry, Dustin, go ahead.” It was to be expected she’d gain a heartfelt thank you from Dustin Henderson, himself, once the debacle simmered and the turbulence had passed. Nancy Wheeler always did have a special place in the kid’s big heart, particularly after the caring gesture of the 1984 Hawkins Middle’s Snow Ball Dance. 

“How can you all be so blind?!” Dustin seethed. “You’re telling me none of you find it even a little suspicious that Eddie just so happened to go to the 'bathroom' right after Y/N’s excuse of wanting to 'change,' like, hello?!” He huffed. “They’re totally screwing!”

Dustin Henderson felt devastatingly vanquished when a unanimous vote of disbelieving what’s hurtled his way with no mercy. He felt useless- undermined. Like the bag of Fritos left behind when children would rather fight over Doritos or Sour Cream n’ Onion Lays, rather than appreciate the artistry of a simple corn chip, left alone and forgotten until a last resort when moms took too long to make dinner; never to be cherished in the dark corner of the bulk size box of Frito-Lays. Of course, they wouldn’t believe him. They didn’t witness what he had to tragically witness. He heard it so vividly. So hauntingly vivid. Sometimes, it kept the poor boy up at night. Last week- last Friday- Hellfire’s Friday, such an exhilarating night now befouled by the auditory version of what he learned in the ninth grade compulsory course of sexual education. 

How naive of him to believe your actions stemmed from the kindness of your heart; offering your chauffeuring abilities to pick up the freshman after their campaigns, sauntering inside with a sickeningly sweet smile to pair with your tender greetings, and always wanting to lend a helping hand to the Dungeon Master, because “it just seems like so much to clean.” Puh-lease! The signs had been flashing in his face. The ulterior motives screaming in his ear. What sane person deliberately chooses to waste their time picking up three boys revved up with excitement and sweat after the thrills of Dungeons and Dragon? Jesus, shit, it was Friday night, don’t you have any plans?! Yeah, plans to stick your tongue down their Dungeon Master’s throat. Tainting the sanctity of Hellfire with your debauchery. 

Dustin Henderson had forgotten his dice. Sometimes, he wishes he would have just let the damn things go. 

“God, baby, a quickie- let’s just do it right here real quick.” Eddie’s begging voice vibrated behind the closed door of the drama department, seeping through the open cracks beneath the door, all for Dustin’s ears to hear. 

And he tried to give him the benefit of the doubt- the kid really did. Pet names were far from unusual by use of Eddie Munson. The one instance the Byers dropped back into Hawkins during Spring Break, it was no doubt Will the Wise had to get a taste of the new man running the show, and when Eddie had given Byers the innocent compliment of being such a sweetheart, the kid blushed into oblivion, stuttering a thank you in return. Hell, not to mention the infamous “big boy” that followed Steve Harrington around wherever the man took on motherly duties. So, Dustin brushed it off. But the moment had quickly transpired into something cringe worthy to the fourteen-year-old who didn’t know better. It should have been his cue to run, but the fiery design of his dice cost him six bucks of his chores earning, and they weren’t about to be discarded, as if the sweat of his forehead meant nothing from an afternoon of bending over the mop bucket to clean the kitchen floors. 

There are moments at night when he speculates if this is the doings of the heavenly man above that his beloved, Suzie Bingham, always mentioned; punishing Dustin in consequence of eavesdropping on a private matter that surely was not intended to be heard. But can you really call it eavesdropping when you were merely trying to retrieve your dice? No! You can’t!

“They’re already waiting for me in the car.” You whined against his lips. The figurine that was poking your hip was the last thing accounted for in your mind, as Eddie had showcased you onto the wooden table of the prop room. Lips smeared against yours, his hand had squeezed a chunk of your meaty thigh, bringing you forth to keep you in close company. “We can’t.” Can’t what, huh? Find the dignity to do it outside of school grounds?! Freaks!

“Little shits.” Dustin had appallingly gasped at the insult, feeling the stabbing wound of betrayal hit him in the chest as you laughed along, hand clutched over his heart to appease the pain of such affliction. The dramatics. “Come to my place after.” Eddie delicately kissed loving pecks to your lips. “That way,” his finger trailed up your thigh, “we can have our alone time, and I can finally get a taste of that pretty pu-”

Dustin Henderson knew to run away at that point. Safe to say, the kid never got his dice back.

“Are you insane?!” Motherly hand on the hip, Dustin didn’t appreciate Steve’s disciplinary tone of voice, sounding too much like his mother, Ms. Claudia Henderson, for his liking, as everyone agreed with Harrington’s proclaimed delusion against the boy. “Munson doesn’t have the skills to screw, let alone someone as hot as her.” He chuckled in disbelief.

Oh, boy, was he wrong.

“Mm, j-just like that, uh!” Your pelvis pummeled into the sink, tainting the precisely picked pristine porcelain by Mrs. Harrington, herself, as Eddie rutted his hips into the dampness that was your bikini bottoms to chase a release that was on the brink of snapping.

It was your fault he claimed; prancing in a top and bottom that left little to the imagination. Accusations of your outfit being chosen to taunt him were thrown your way, and your faux innocence only cemented it further. “Fuck- fucking take it—ugh, s-shit—take this fucking cock!” How could this ever be seen as a punishment when your boyfriend was lighting your body on fire with the ecstasy of abusing your g-spot?

Perhaps having sex in the bathroom of your mutual friend was far from the ethical rules of friendship, but the act of secrecy had bred a burning excitement that neither of you could contain. And, given the fact that four weeks ago, Steve had poked fun at Eddie’s singleness—not that Steve had any room to joke, though, at least, “The King” was relishing in the funness of meaningless hookups, something Eddie surely didn’t partake in, he lovingly had you—so seeking revenge in fucking his hot girlfriend in his friend’s bathroom had stirred something menacing in Eddie’s head to truly not give a single care in what he was doing was wrong. 

“Yes! Yes! I’m gonna cum, fuck!” Fingers tightening on the edge of the sink, your heart soared watching the reflection of Eddie’s mouth panting with want, as he fucked your pussy, ready to release his load deep inside. His hands had snaked to grab handfuls of your bouncing tits, groaning as he felt your nipples poke through the coldness of your wet bikini top.  

His hips harshly snapped against your rippling ass. “Cum all over my cock- shit! C’mon, pretty girl, fucking soak me- take all o’ me!” It barely felt as though he was pulling out, merely drilling in deeper and deeper. “I’m gonna cum- fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-”

“They are totally screwing!” The curls of Dustin Henderson’s head were on the verge of being ripped out in frustration; all that work he so earnestly dedicated night and day to maintain the silky bounce was about to be all for nothing. “They are! I heard them!”

Wrong choice of words. “You were listening to them screw?!” Robin gagged, triggering an onslaught of ew’s and perv’s- well, really, Max Mayfield had been the only one calling her friend a perv, doing it in the relaxation of her lounging chair, teasing behind her newly gifted heart-shaped sunglasses. 

“No! No!” Dustin shouted in clarification. “I wasn’t listening! I heard them talking about it!” He agonized. “They’ve been doing it for at least a week! Behind our backs!”

“Oh!” Max ventured. “Let’s bet, I say they’ve been engaged for four months, and are pregnant!” She heckled, now clearly just taking the piss out of him. 

“Has the water gone from your ears to your brain?” Robin laughed in his face. Surely the kid was mistaken, right? Aside from her personal himbo—Steve hated the nickname—you and Nancy Wheeler had become her newfound best friends. You know, a united front against the boys, girl talk, the whole shebang about girl code? Secrets weren’t a thing between your three! Granted, Robin, herself, was harboring a pretty large secret that only her himbo knew of, but that was different! Boys were nothing, she would gladly hear about all her friends’ boy problems, indulging in the drama of long distance or whatever the hell there was to complain about, but girls?! Yeah, that was, uh, that was just something- a topic still unbreached… at least, until she was ready.

“Fine!” The boy heaved, bailing out on defending his stance any further. “You guys don’t wanna believe, that’s just fine.” He snided. “But when they come back, and Y/N hasn’t changed out of her bathing suit, you won’t be laughing now!” Dustin Henderson ended his tirade with an embittered bite to his burger, dramatically dropping into his pool chair. 

They’d all learn soon, and bow down to him. 

So now, everyone waited. Waited for the fateful moment that would either prove Dustin Henderson right or wrong. And unfortunately- for you and Eddie, at least, your steamy escapade on the sink of the Harrington bathroom had left you too dazed and forgetful in the post-orgasmic bliss that was heavy breaths and loving touches of aftercare to keep up with the said excuse of “changing out of wet clothes” that got you alone with Eddie Munson in the first place. So when you marched out, glowing and relaxed—exactly two minutes and thirty-four seconds after Eddie’s “bathroom break” (so thoughtfully executed)—in the same damp bikini that had your secret boyfriend riled up to begin with, everyone gasped. 

“What?” You looked around confused. 

Unbeknownst to you, Dustin Henderson took a cheesy bite of his burger, loudly sipping a carbonated gulp of his cold Coke, ready to snap his fingers for another round of meals for his peasant friends to fetch. 

He was right. 

-

Robin Buckley confirmed it next. 

That Monday to come, Robin was staggering over the words of Dustin Henderson, and trying to piece the evidence presented to understand what was transpiring in your double life. The events after your return from “changing” left you confused by the jarring stares of six pairs of eyes testing you. Nancy, with the softest approach, had questioned you on the lack of new clothes on your body, to which your knight in shining armor—or accomplice—stepped up to save you from the army of prodding friends. “A knot in my hair, yeah, I distracted her to help me get a knot out of my hair.” Sure, Eddie, sure. 

During the uproarious minutes of lunchtime, you’d been ready to get an afternoon break from school to fork through Hawkins High’s poor excuse as to what constitutes consumable food, when the sudden scrutiny from Robin Buckley began. And, my god, was she persistent. 

In the comical marching band she suited, Robin Buckley had rushed her attempt to the first approach. “Hey, Robs. You think I can borrow your notes for Civics, I-”

“So, I hear Jonathan’s coming back from California next week!” Something about rashly eating the served cut peaches seemed to play up to the normal act Robin was going for, but truthfully, it just made you eye her strange behavior weirdly.

“Oh.” You accepted the out-of-nowhere information. Maybe you won’t do so good on Mr. Vortroski’s test on Supreme Court cases as you originally thought. “That’s great for Nance-”

“Isn’t it?!” The enthusiasm she was exerting was truly taking it over the top. But Robin Buckley had a heart for caring, and perhaps the excitement for her friend was really bubbling up today. “Nancy said they’ve been planning, like, a lot of dates, you know, to catch up on lost time?” You casually nodded along. “Single dates, double dates… and then I was thinking, hey!” She perked. “Y/N’s young and good looking! She’s probably seeing someone! So are you, I don’t know, seeing someone? Anyone? Tall, dark hair? Anyone?”

“Uh…” Yeah, maybe the hastiness of Robin’s impetuous nature wasn’t the best route to go with. “No, um, no I’m not seeing anyone.” You gave a tight-lipped smile. “Nance and Jonathan are gonna have to find someone else to double date with- oh, maybe Steve! What’s that girl's name he’s been seeing, Brenda? Beatrice? Actually, you know what, it’ll probably be really awkward to ask your ex-boyfriend on a double date with your current bo-”

“You’re seriously not seeing anyone?!” Robin’s brows furrowed with frustration. You were lying to her face- you were lying straight to your best friend’s face! “Nobody? No one?” You begrudgingly shook your head. “No thing?”

“Robin,” you chuckled, “is there something you want to tell me?” There were lots of things Robin Buckley wanted to tell you. Like, for starters, the newfound revelation that she likes how she looks with mascara, after you left yours on the dresser of her bedroom during your sleepover two weeks ago. She had no plans of returning it back to you, either. Or, possibly the fact that Bridget—the actual name of Steve’s newest lover—stole his Farrah Fawcett hairspray- or the fact that Steve uses Farrah Fawcett hairspray. Maybe the other thing, as in the strange occurrence that happens to her heartbeat whenever Vickie from chemistry happens to be around. Or, the other other thing, like the fact that she spent an obscene amount of minutes staring at cover of “Scissoring with Seduction” starring Roxie Rockett and Viola Diamond, after organizing the adult films section at Family Video- actually, scratch that, she’d never tell a soul about that, not even Steve Harrington. 

“Is there something you want to tell me?” She shot back with fervency. 

“No…?” Your questioning answer had your friend igniting her dramatic flare, slumping in her seat with a defeated huff. Dustin Henderson would surely be owed a duly apology. At this point, you’d like to say this weirded you out, but you lived in Hawkins, Indiana. You’ve seen weirder. 

Evidently not sufficed with your response, your friend sat up onto perched elbows. “Y/N, you know you can tell me anything, right?” A sincere approach. Undoubtedly better. “Like, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me stuff. I won’t judge or anything.” Robin solemnly smiled at you. 

Your tender hand squeezed her arm. “I know.” You beamed. “I hope you know that the same goes for you, Robs. If you ever have anything you need to tell me, I’ll always be here to listen to you. Probably give you way better advice than Stevie.” You both chuckled at the expense of Steve Harrington. Robin Buckley understood the feeling of not being ready for the world to know, because knowing would change the dynamics of life, and having the world suddenly perceive you in a way they never have before was scary. 

Having the world hate you for the tender love you caressed your partner with was terrifying. 

You’d tell her when you were ready, just as she would with you. 

With a nod to her head, she patted your hand. “You know, I asked Steve once on tips to upgrade my look, and he legit told me to do my eyebrows like Pamela Anderson.” 

“The himbo, himself, is too unknowledgeable to know that Miss Anderson is the only one capable of pulling off the blonde bombshell look. Though, I would love to see him with pencil brows and blue eyeshadow.” You both laughed, before you reached over to pinch her chin. “Plus, your beautiful self doesn’t need any changing, Robs. Anyone would be lucky to wake up next to it.”

Yeah, she’d simply tell you when she was ready, just as you would with her.

By three o’clock, Robin Buckley had been worn down by the insufferable compulsion that was Mr. Heizer’s fifth period calculus class. With the last day of school being around the corner, Robin wondered what warranted Heizer’s balding head to be so miserable that he felt the need to subject his students with the abuse of derivatives. Trudging her feet against the pavement of the Hawkins High parking lot, Steve Harrington had came into view, where he brandished himself atop the hood of his car. Not the most irregular of sights, given the systemic routine of drop off and pick-up that had been structured for Monday through Friday, though today, Dustin Henderson had managed to find Steve’s BMW through the array of parked cars, and was found yapping his ear off. 

So sorely critical-looking, Robin couldn’t help but tiredly chuckle. “What’s with the wrinkles, kid?” She approached.

Dustin huffed, letting his arms dramatically drop to his side in desperation. “Steve won’t go along with my plan!”

“What are you even doing here, Dustin, isn’t your mother, like, first in line at the car riders pick-up?” She laughed. 

Steve exasperated. “He waved off his poor mother, like the lunatic he is, just to track me down and tell her I was giving him a ride!” He answered, propelling Dustin to gasp with a snide.

“So we can talk about the plan!” Dustin provoked the Italian—that he probably didn’t actually have—within him, as his loose fist shook in Steve’s vicinity. 

“What plan?” Robin interjected. 

“The plan to expose Y/N and Eddie!” Dustin stressed. 

“Eddie and Y/N are not screwing.” Steve deadpanned. “What happened Saturday was just… some fluke coincidence, not proof to anything, okay? So let it go, Dustin. Just face it, you were wrong.” He chuckled a very much unappreciated chuckle in Dustin’s face. 

“I am not wrong! I know what I heard! How many times do I have to be right on the money for you all to just trust me?!” Neither Steve or Robin appreciated the numerous stares the freshman was gathering from leaving classmates and faculty. 

“Okay, just calm down, alright.” Robin shushed. “You're right-”

“Ha!”

“But I don’t think we should do anything.” Dustin heaved, scowling at Robin as if she just committed sacrilege. 

“Are you crazy? Of course, we should totally do something!” Dustin retorted. “This is big news! Two of our best friends are dating! You know what this means?! I could have parents, Robin, and you know I don’t have a dad, do you really want to be the reason I never have a dad?” A pointed finger targeted her. 

Her hand worked swiftly to smack his accusing finger away. “Eddie is not your dad, Christ, he’s not dating your mom.” She annoyingly sighed.

“Yeah, and also, I’ve known you for way longer. If anyone’s gonna be your dad, it’s gonna be me, not Munson.” Steve exhorted with ire. 

Dustin mockingly laughed. “Please, you and mother have the same hips.” 

Robin Buckley and Dustin Henderson were too engrossed in their conversation to bring any of their attention to Steve Harrington’s insulted gasp. “Look, Dustin, I already tried asking Y/N about it, and she’s just not ready to talk about it.” She explained. “Let’s just drop it until they’re ready to tell us.”

“Okay, but we can help them talk about it.” The kid returned with retaliation. “You know how great it was to see Nancy and Jonathan finally get together?”

“Which came at my expense, by the way.” Steve scoffed. “Don’t know why that brings you such joy.”

“Well, this is Y/N and Eddie, it’s even bigger!” Dustin smiled. “Look, all I’m saying is that a little encouragement never hurt anybody.” Call the boy annoying, he already knew that, but his intentions were coming from good faith. The notion of helping his friends find love- or more so express it, had him bubbling with excitement. “And the only way to get this love story rolling is if we get them to crack.”

Steve groaned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, we have to make them break first.” Dustin was beginning to get his crazy eyes, something about conspiring a plan had him menacingly smirking his enthusiastic grin. “You know, trick them into telling us.”

Robin sighed, drilling the palm of her hands into her eyes. “Okay, you know what? Do whatever you like, Dustin, but I will not be a part of this plan.”

“Of course, you will!” Dustin implored with desperate hands grabbing at her arms to shake with emphasis. “You’re the one who’s gonna have to flirt with Eddie.”

Robin and Steve blurted in disbelief. “What?!”

“Well, Steve can’t flirt with Y/N, she’ll never go for it.” Dustin rationalized. 

“Woah, woah, wait a second, what makes you think she wouldn’t go for me?” Steve plowed on, his ego taking an obvious hit by a child six years his age. “I’m a total catch, the ladies love me!” He argued. “And Robin, she can’t flirt with Eddie, she’s… uh, well, she- she just can’t!” He stepped up to try to help his friend, much to Robin’s appreciation.

Dustin sighed, placing a tender hand upon Steve’s shoulder. “Look, Steve, you gotta get over this crush you have on Robin-”

“I do not have a crush on Robin!” Steve flung Dustin’s arm away. “And back to this ‘Y/N not going for me’ thing, I can totally flirt with her to get her to crack!”

Dustin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, as though he was the adult in this situation. “Steve, c’mon, she calls you himbo behind your back, she probably thinks you have no personality.” 

“I have personality!”

“No, you have hair!” 

In the midst of the commotion, Eddie Munson had sauntered his way out of the double doors, cigarette in hand to relinquish the stress brought upon him throughout the day. Despite the matter that his van had been haphazardly parked on the west end of the parking lot for reasons being that your pretty self always used the end doors for the less crowded purposes—sue him, he loved the view—there was always something about Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson arguing that always brought happy entertainment for the metalhead. 

“Trouble in paradise?” His croaking voice startled the group, as they all looked at him stunned. “Jesus Christ, what’s with the faces?” Eddie laughed, as his cigarette scraped along the wetness of lips. 

“N-Nothing.” Robin awkwardly had to offer, forcing Eddie to raise a brow at her.

And then he spoke. Dustin fucking Henderson spoke. “Actually! Uh, R-Robin what were you saying about Eddie just now?” She snapped a deadly glare back at him, to which he gladly challenged with a grating smile that had Steve quietly laughing in the back.  

“You talkin’ about me behind my back, Buckley? C’mon, I thought we were friends.” Eddie lightly jabbed, as he paid more attention to his lighter, which was taking multiple rounds of clicks until it ignited. 

“Nothing.” She assured. “I said nothing.”

“No, no, you were saying something about his outfit.” Dustin encouraged. God, how ethical was it to beat up a child? “About how he… looks nice.” 

Robin sighed, as Eddie gave her a lighthearted smile. “Thanks, Rob, I’m really liking those patches.” He pointed to her sweater, finding nothing but the innocence of friendship in her supposed compliment. 

“A-And something about his large muscles.” A curl of his hair was absentmindedly twirled as to appear uninvolved in the scheme of his mischief, and right as Eddie’s eyes left Dustin with a confused stare, the kid’s arm shoved Robin’s back to coach her further. 

So, Robin Buckley, simply accepted. Though, tapping into her retired career of one year in drama club when she got the gracious role of playing Mrs. Soames in last year's production of Our Town proved to lack any skills training, when attempting to flirt with Eddie Munson had her stuttering like a child learning to speak. Then again, playing Mrs. Soames in Our Town didn’t exactly require her to flirt with her friend’s secret boyfriend who was a man!

“Y-Yeah, Eddie, uh, that m-material.” Robin bunglingly smiled, as a stiff hand touched the leather of his coat. “O-Oh, well, hello, Mr. B-Bicep.” She mentally prepared herself for the moment Steve Harrington would belittle her to death for her lack of flirting skills whenever this mess was over.  “You’ve been, uh, working out?” 

Attempting to give her the benefit of the doubt, Eddie chose to assuage the painful discomfiture with his casual sarcasm. “Ah, well, I try to, y’know, squeeze things.” Eddie recoiled at her over-the-top laugh that appeared too similar to that of Heidi Wilson’s, when she ran into him and Steve in the food court of Starcourt Mall last week, looking to allure his friend with whatever screech that was. “You okay?”

“Uh-”

“She’s just having guy problems.” Dustin interjected, much to Robin’s dismay. Never. Never in a million years would Robin Buckley ever have guy problems. “Go on, tell him.” 

Yeah, Dustin Henderson wouldn’t see the age sixteen. “Well, uh, you know how you’re s-sometimes just looking for something, a-and don’t even realize that it’s, um, right there in front of you... s-smoking a cigarette?”

Eddie looked down at the lit cigarette in his mouth, and quickly stepped back in panic, all while Steve Harrington’s cheeks puffed with laughter, as his sealed lips worked overtime to not guffaw out loud. “U-Um, yeah, okay, I’m gonna go.” Eddie could only spare a quick glance to Robin, before throwing everyone a small wave goodbye. 

Robin Buckley watched him walk away for two seconds, before slowly turning to Dustin Henderson, where he was met with her twitching eye. “You have five seconds to run.”

His mouth fell gape. “But wait, Steve’s my ride-”

“Five!” 

That Monday afternoon, Dustin Henderson spent forty-five grueling minutes walking the three mile hike to his home, as punishment per Robin Buckley’s request. And yes, she did wave him goodbye, when Steve Harrington’s BMW swiftly passed him on the way over. 

-

Steve Harrington confirmed it next. 

And maybe was a little asshole about it. 

Benny’s Burger had become the choice of dinner for the mundane Monday night he was currently enduring, because Eddie Munson refused to hit up the bar, despite the common courtesy that buying beers had become for the twenty-year-old men. At the very least, greasy burgers with a cigarette to follow would be the accommodation Eddie Munson could offer, since Steve Harrington had lost his weekly hookup, because his personal wingman decided to fall into a secret relationship- presumably. Steve was choosing to balance on the fence of whether or not to believe the words of a fourteen-year-old, mostly because if he did, Steve Harrington would become subjected to the sanctimonious behavior of a cocky teenager. 

And who would want that? 

“Lemme do a double cheeseburger with extra pickles, uh, no tomatoes, please. Ooh, with a side of cheese fries, a strawberry shake, and I’ll get that with a Coke, too. Thanks, Benny.” Steve eyed his friend. God, that man could eat. The bustling fan that chilled Benny’s sweaty neck had proffered a wonderful alternative to the sweltering humidity that tinted the large windows with fog. Aside from the burly trucker consuming the two cups of coffee to keep him awake for the night, Steve had all respective authority to slyly grill his buddy on whatever friends-with-benefits-slash-potential-boyfriend-girlfriend dynamic he shared with you. 

Fuck it. “Uh, might as well do the same, Ben, what he said.” The laminated menu went unskimmed, closed off, and collected for the owner to take. 

Assuring the boys their meals would follow out quickly, they met Benny with gracious thank you’s for the service, and Steve Harrington rashly followed the movements of the older gentleman, until his being was out of ear shot, promptly snapping his head back to his friend. “Why didn’t you wanna go to the bar tonight?!” If a sign as to why Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington were soulmates, for whatever reason, needed to be clearer than it already was, the incaution- not so subtle “subtle” approach was reason enough. 

“Uh,” Eddie hummed, forcing Steve’s eyes to narrow in return, “I dunno, just didn’t wanna go for drinks tonight.” He shrugged, flicking at a sugar packet he had no intentions of using. 

Steve raised a brow. “Really?”

The incredulous tone was quite too bitchy for Eddie’s liking, who merely scoffed. “Can’t a guy care about his liver?”

“Ed, there’s a pack of cigarettes hangin’ in your pocket.” Steve deadpanned. “Think organ functionality is the least of your worries.” Unwelcoming to the implied suspicion of accusation behind Steve’s comment, Eddie simply chose to stay silent, finding more interest playing with the provided condiments as trinkets for his entertainment. Steve rolled his eyes. “Y’know, I saw Myra at the laundromat not too long ago.” He scratched his clean shaven chin, playing into his nonchalant bit, that only left Eddie to raise his eyebrows in confusion as to where this was going. “She looked nice; got her hair done, these pretty, little braids, y’know, with the gold cuffs and whatnot.” 

Eddie’s head lolled, enjoying the simple task of his finger tracing the obscured lines of the faux granite table top, when the ketchup label had been read to its entirety. “So?”

“So,” Steve emphasized, “you coulda called her up, y’know, tell her to meet you tonight. How long has it been since you’ve seen her- or any girl for that matter?” He slyly asked. 

“Not interested.” Blunt and suffice, surely enough to ward off anymore of Steve’s prodding questions. 

But Steve merely scoffed. “What, in girls anymore?” 

And in true Eddie Munson fashion, a shit-eating grin consumed his face, devious smile lines and all, as he leaned on perched forearms to invade Steve’s space. “Aw, why? You interested, big boy?”

Yeah, this conversation would be going nowhere. 

As the sparing minutes filled to meaningless conversations, their full course dinners made the quick arrival, and Steve pondered at the various ways a confession could be pummeled out of Eddie Munson’s mouth, which was currently being stuffed to the brim with mushing bites of each food group—minus the vegetables, this was Benny’s Diner after all. There was the ex-fling route, but clearly Eddie wasn’t looking to explore that again; good news for you, at least. That is if anything Henderson claimed was actually true. Little shit-

But wait a minute, that was it! What would Dustin Henderson do?!

He could still hear his grating voice. "Well, Steve can’t flirt with Y/N, she’ll never go for it." As if. Steve Harrington could get you- hell, Steve Harrington could get anyone. Graduating out of the social hierarchy of high school totally hasn’t affected his game… totally. But digressing, if Dustin Henderson could scheme up a plan with no substance, Steve Harrington could, too. If anything, this would make so much more sense, given that Robin doesn’t even like boys. Dustin Henderson didn’t know anything, but Steve, yeah Steve Harrington was way more cunning than some snappy child with no regard for people’s business. Yeah, Steve Harrington could totally do this…

Eddie’s chewing slowed, brows cinched, as he wondered why the hell Steve Harrington had been silently smiling to himself for the past minute. And people saw him as a freak? Fucking weirdo. 

“Hey, uh,” Steve cleared his throat, presumably back to being normal, allowing Eddie to continue to shove his face with a strawberry milkshake covered cheese fry, unperturbed by Steve’s judgemental grimace, “I’m thinkin’ of askin’ out Y/N.”

Suddenly caught in his throat, Eddie began coughing up the fry he just downed, as Steve smiled with such amusement at the torment he just caused his friend. Maybe Henderson was right. “W-What? You wanna what?”

“Yeah, been thinkin’ about it, and y’know, I’m really feeling her.” Steve cocked a smirk that had Eddie’s face scrunching with agitation. “Very smart, funny, really fucking pretty, so…”

“I d-don’t, um- you really think that’s a g-good idea?” Eddie adjusted in his seat, composing the bubbling feeling that stirred terribly with the monstrosity he had just eaten.

Taking a large bite from his burger, Steve grinned happily. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Hunger and entertainment wonderfully satiated on this peaceful, late Monday night. 

Eddie shrugged, sulkingly throwing a stray pickle in his mouth. “I dunno, you’re just friends n’ all.” He mumbled. 

“Oh!” Steve’s eyes gleamed with laughter behind them. “You don’t think friends should date-”

“No, no, no, no!” God, the last thing Eddie was about to do was inadvertently claim your relationship was some end all be all cataclysm, but did it really have to come at the expense of encouraging his friend to date his secret girlfriend?! “I-I mean, like, some friends c-can date, like, um, good friends-”

“So, me and Y/N?” Steve quietly chuckled to himself, as he watched Eddie fret with frustration. 

“No- I mean, I dunno!” He exasperated, as Steve relished in his greasy food with a smile on his face. Eddie’s heart began sinking into his stomach. He understood how demeaning it would be to conclude you as the type to jump into Steve’s arms once he’d make the “inevitable” move. God, for once in his life someone with care to proffer promised him fundamental security, and there was no denying it, he felt. Felt it in your caressing hands, your saccharine words, your devoted kisses, your gentle touches- you touched with such love… at least, that's what it felt like. Does Eddie Munson even know love? He swallowed thickly. “D-Do you even think she would go for you-”

“I have personality!” Steve proclaimed, finger pointed and all, forcing Eddie to shove back in surrenderance, hands in the air, and a confused look to pair. 

“Okay, I’m not sayin’ you don’t, geez.” Eddie clarified, as Steve huffed, raking a harsh hand through his Farrah Fawcett hairsprayed perfection. “J-Just maybe don’t. Like, um, i-if it doesn’t work out, it could get really bad between you two, a-and it would be fucking horrible not to have her in your life at all, you can’t lose her, man.” 

Voice so small and eyes so distant, there was a deep inkling that perhaps Eddie was speaking his fears aloud. Because even in the greatness that was having the privilege of calling you his girlfriend, there was a world full of Steve Harringtons that could provide you with more than what any Eddie Munson ever could. Late at night, when the world could finally offer you both the peace to just be, entangled in arms and legs, Eddie would just stare at you and… know. Know that there is a feeling that scares the living shit out of him that he can’t feel for anyone else. A different type of feeling from the camaraderie of his club, who triumph against the evil of the universe. A different type of feeling from the shoulders he’s cried on of his uncle, because Eddie truly cannot thank him enough. You, you were a different type of feeling. One that left him just wanting to look at you, smell you, touch you, think of you all day. 

This wasn’t just infatuation, god, it felt like pure fucking lo- shit, what would he know. Eddie Munson didn’t know love. 

A sudden wave of regret washed over Steve, as he realized the saddened roundness of his buddy’s eyes. “Nah, man, that’s not gonna happen.” His calm voiced reassured. “I mean, it’s Y/N, why would she ever allow that to happen? Y’know, so what, things don’t work out between… me and her,” he explicated, “doesn’t mean your- I mean, our friendship has to change.” Steve watched, as Eddie nodded along, shoulders slumping in relaxation. “We talk it out, we understand each other, and we move on as friends. Together. We’ll still love each other like that. And, hey, at least we’ll both get a hot hookup out of it.” Okay, maybe he was still being a little shit, but he was only channeling his inner Henderson. Plus, the snapping glare from Eddie was quite priceless. 

“Are you really gonna make a move on Y/N?” His jaw ticked with clenched teeth. 

“I dunno.” Steve smiled, before snapping his fingers with a brilliant revelation, “Y’know what, I saw Robin flirting with you earlier today, how ‘bout we go on a double date?” Yeah, now he was definitely just teasing. “Hell, make it a triple one once Byers and Wheeler head back into town.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Robin was not flirting with me, she was just being… weird.” He pondered it for a second. What the hell was that that happened this afternoon? There’s no way she actually- no, impossible. Could she? No, that didn’t feel right. Well, maybe-

“Hey, do you actually think I have personality?” Oh, Stevie. 

-

On Tuesday evening, the Family Video store saw the little customers it was regularly accustomed to; Mr. Fredrickson, only to be accounted for, slowly roamed the documentary section, particularly interested in the historical segment for his afternoon leisure.

The nub of his cane poked an indent into the carpeted floors, as his supported weight allowed for close inspection of the bolded titles that plastered in an array of colors. Luckily, the lens of his glasses were thick enough to provide him the ability of sight to read what was on display for night, leaving you to mindlessly thumb through this month's issue of Cosmopolitan. “Hm.” Mr. Fredrickson gruffed. “What d’ya make of the Franco-Prussian War, darlin’?”

The Proven Personal Approach to Permanent Weight Loss. An Incredible Shrinking Woman Tells How She did it! Christ. You found more interest flipping back to the written Cosmo’s quiz determining what kind of husband your current rendezvous would make. 

“Uh…” Your back was beginning to ache from finding all support on your perched elbow digging into the counter, letting your cheek fall to your palm. “You did the Napoleonic Wars last time, no? Why don’t you give the French a break?” You skimmed the printed words of the glossy pages.

His wrinkled pointer finger shakingly racked through the tapes, as he took your word of advice. Your eyes were hanging onto the last bit of energy they were enduring to stay awake, but the weight of eyelids inevitably began to win, and it surely didn’t help that the liveliness of your thriving life was partaking in conversations with an elderly man who found amusement in learning about wars. 

But before a potential write up—Keith never found the actual courage to do so, loved to threaten it, though—for sleeping on the job could be scolded, the welcoming bell of the front door rang loudly enough to alert some life back into your body. 

“Welcome to Family Vide-euuawghh.” A guttural yawn ripped out of you, slurring your standardized greeting into an embarrassing mush of sounds. 

With watery eyes scrunched from tiredness, a rushed apology to your incoming customer had proved to fall unnecessary, as a familiar chuckle addressed you back. “Aw, such rigorous labor, working my baby to death, huh?” Eddie Munson, himself, teased, as he leaned to hover over the counter and close to your sluggish face. 

“Don’t tease me.” Your mouth jutted in offense, as you rubbed your eyes to the clear sight of being welcomed by Eddie’s bourbon eyes and a smug curl to his lips. 

His rough-tipped thumb caressed the hairs of your brow to ease. “How can I not when it gets you to make that cute pout at me, hm?”

You piqued with giddiness. “Because I’m your girlfriend.” A label you quickly learned to adore. “And you shouldn’t be mean to your girlfriend.”

Eddie smiled a breathy chuckle, as he peered at your lips. “Yeah, you are my girlfriend, huh?” He proudly verbalized with a husk to his tone. His mouth was itching to say more, pour out all he felt for the girl standing before him, but a counter the size of the world divided the union between two beating hearts of devotion. And manifesting his words of love paved the way for the potential loss of you. But not doing so also did the same. Because he’s learned good things don’t last for Eddie Munson. And what a unless world it would be to lose the profoundness of you. 

God, he wanted to punch Steve Harrington for last night.

Eddie took a deep breath. His bangs landed against your forehead, and scrunched under your nod of confirmation. You are his girlfriend. “Where’re the other two stooges?” He whispered, his breath fanning across your face. 

“In the back doing inventory.” You gladly answered the words Eddie wanted to hear. He bashfully leaned in, though before his mouth could meet yours, you pulled back with furrowed brows. “Wait, ‘other two stooges,’ am I the third?” 

Eddie barked out a boyish laugh, as he watched your faux face of aversion and shock. His large hands made your face feel small as he cupped your cheeks and brought you forth. “God, you’re so pretty.” 

His lips crashing upon yours had wiped your expression of any annoyance you tried to playfully brat out. His mouth moved against yours so languidly, it had you falling limp to his kiss, as he expressed all that he felt with the touch of his lips. Eddie pulled away slowly, leaving you to quietly hum in retaliation and chasing his lips. 

“Sorry.” He chuckled, providing you with one more loving peck. “But, hey, y’know, speaking of the other stooges, uh, Robin and Steve,” he cleared his throat, “you notice anything weird about ‘em, like lately?”

The cafeteria. “Um, yeah, actually.” You contemplated on the thought. “Why, did they say something?”

Nausea hit him like a truck, wondering if "The Hair’s" attempts to get at you were already happening quicker than expected. “S-Steve, he, uh, he said something to you?” Eddie felt his throat dry up.

“Steve? No, Steve’s been Steve, but I was mostly talking about Robin.” Jesus Christ, did you bring peace to his world. 

“Oh, yeah,” He puffed a breath of relief, “um, weirdest thing happened after school yesterday, but I think Robin was hitting on me.” Confusion had been written all over your face, as you pulled back from the counter. “She was, like, totally into me.”

“What?” You chuckled. “No, not possible.”

“Okay, ow.” Eddie playfully rolled his eyes, as you laughed, rubbing a soothing hand down his arm in apology. 

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean it like that” you giggled, “but I’m sure you probably just misread things, you know? Robin finds you charming in a platonic way, like with Steve.”

Eddie straightened up. “No, I’m telling you, sweetheart, she was all over me.” He persisted. “I mean, for crying out loud, she was touching my bicep.”

A smug smile took over your face, as you arched your brow at him. “This bicep?” You teasingly squeezed his soft arm.

Eddie scoffed. “Well, it’s not flexed right now.” 

The back storage unit of Family Video had been littered with an influx of tapes, both coated in dust to be long forgotten and pristine with the newest release of what Hollywood had to offer. This year’s box office hit Top Gun starring Nancy Wheeler’s poster boy, Tom Cruise, or the fourteen-year-old The Ruling Class with the musical humor following a priest’s death due to his autoerotic asphyxiation kink? Robin Buckley laughed. Always the latter. 

“God, can’t believe Keith expects us to organize this junk.” Steve huffed, swiping his palms against each other, only to scowl at the specks of dust that floated into the air under the beaming sunlight. “I should be seeing Bridget right now, or Heidi, or taking out Linda, maybe Jeanie, haven’t talked to her in a minute.” Robin rolled her eyes at the endless sex-capades that was Steve Harrington’s love life. Christ, she couldn’t even get a clear sign that Vickie from chemistry wasn’t standing so straight. “Or-or maybe Y/N.” He chuckled to himself. 

“What?” Robin prodded. 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you, last night I was completely bugging out Munson, and told him I was planning on askin’ out Y/N.” Steve laughed, briefly coughing as dust particles blew off the VHS tapes. 

Robin was only left deadpanning in disappointment. “You did what now?” She scoffed. “You’re supposed to be on my side, I thought we were supposed to let it go?”

“You’re the one flirting with your friend’s boyfriend.” He argued. 

“Because that little twerp forced me to!” The Ruling Class came hurdling to his chest, as she chucked it. 

Shoving old movies aside, Steve grappled onto the box of new releases to shove into Robin’s arms, as he handled the second load. “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore, there are no sides, as much as I hate to admit it, Henderson was right about those two screwing.” Steve enthused. “You should’ve seen the look on Eddie’s face when I told him I was gonna make a move on Y/N.”

Robin huffed. “Okay, so let’s just leave it at that and let them screw in peace- or, even better yet, let’s just tell them we know, so they can have the freedom to do what they want.” 

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” Steve whined. 

Robin laughed at his childish mewl. “And, unless Munson gets rid of the thing in his pants and learns to grow a cup or two, I am not flirting with him again.” She playfully gagged, while reminiscing on yesterday’s events. 

“Please,” Steve derided, “you can’t even look Vickie in the eye, I highly doubt if Munson suddenly grew some tits you’d become some sort of Casanova.” He snorted, opening the door. “Mr. Bicep?” 

Before Robin’s sneaker could step foot back into the main lobby of Family Video, Steve’s grasp onto the collar of her shirt flung her back into the storage room, with a slam to the door. “Are you inane?!” She chastised, while attempting to find her balance with a ten pound box of VHS tapes. 

“Munson’s out there!” He whisper-yelled into her face. 

“Okay, so?” 

“So, we gotta get in there, and stir the pot a little.” His brows danced impishly against his forehead.

Robin’s face dropped vacantly. “What about anything that I literally just said didn’t click for you?” A smack against his head from her hand had him reeling back in defense. 

“Ow, okay, I get it, Munson doesn’t have boobs.” Steve huffed, rubbing out the dulling pain. “But, look, Dustin wasn’t that far off, a little encouragement doesn’t harm anyone. He thinks that you like him and that I like her, you’re telling me this isn’t even a little funny to you?” My god, did Steve Harrington have a charming way of flaunting that stupid smirk that had Robin hold back a chuckle. Because in retrospect, Eddie Munson believing his lesbian friend had a crush on him, while her partner in crime, her himbo, had a supposed liking to his secret girlfriend was quite funny. Funny like a priest dying from his autoerotic asphyxiation kink. 

She sighed, giving him a pointed glare. “One time, Harrington. This is the one and only time I will ever flirt with a man again.” 

Steve threw his hands up in defense, as a smile lingered on his face. “Highly doubt there will ever be a time in which I ask you to do that again.” He laughed, while slinging the door open. “Plus, it’s Munson. I’m sure his cynicism won’t even count it as flirting.” 

“Well, Y/N's flirting surely worked.” She joked, as they stepped out. 

“You think it’s because he has personality or nice hair?” Steve interrogated. “Because I sure as hell have way better hair than him.” 

Despite your alluring face, Eddie caught a glimpse of Steve and Robin making their way over while looking past your shoulder, forcing him to make the regretful decision to back away from you. “Ed.” Your tiny pout of confusion made it all that harder, until Steve’s voice boomed out. 

“Hey, y’know, as a customer, you’re supposed to actually rent something!” Him and Robin joined you both at the counters, where they sat the boxes of movies. “Or, you could, y’know, stock shelves with us.” 

Eddie flipped him the bird, as he smiled. “Actually, I was just stoppin’ by to ask if Halloween is still rented out.” He turned to look down at you with a smirk. “Is it?”

“I can go check that for you.” Your sweet customer service voice had him biting back a grin, as you stepped away to the computer. 

As Steve and Robin began displacing films from the boxes, his elbow nudged her side to grab her attention away from organizing. “Just keep it casual.” He whispered, as she rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m sure if you unfocus your eyes, the five o’clock shadow will go away, and he’ll totally look just like Vickie.” And he huffed right back when Robin rightfully scoffed at him. “What? They have the same eyes… just, y’know, different color… and shape.” 

Robin waved him off before anything further could come out of his mouth. With The Fly nestled in her grasp, Steve threw her a nod of encouragement, before scurrying to the shelves with a small laugh escaping his lips. 

“Sorry, Eds.” You clicked off the computer. “Landon K. beat you to it; no Halloween.” 

“Should totally check out The Fly.” Robin slyly imposed, as she handed him the film. “Can never go wrong with some Cronenberg, right?” Eddie inspected the film with a shrug. “Sure, better than taking movie suggestions from Harrington.” 

There came the inordinate laugh from Robin that had Eddie throwing you a knowing glance, and Robin, herself, internally dying inside. “Ha! Always so funny!” She clumsily fist-bumped his arm. “Uh- anyway! Better get back to work.” A large smile flashed both your ways.. “I, uh, I’ll see you later… handsome.” And following in the footsteps of her grandmother when she wasn’t screaming something batshit crazy, Robin Buckley pinched Eddie Munson’s cheek before running away to Steve Harrington. 

“You pinched his cheek?!” Steve contemptuously chortled in her frazzled face that burned with embarrassment. 

Robin’s hands smack her face, dragging the skin down, as she groaned. “Well, I don’t know how to do the whole flirting thing!” Her fist came smacking down at his chest.

Steve bent at the waist with a cramping stomach of laughter “Okay, yeah, but he’s not a baby!”

Your eyes followed Robin’s running figure until she disappeared into the maze of shelves, and you incredulously turned to your stunned boyfriend. With his mouth wide, and eyes bulging, Eddie fretfully spoke. “Okay, did you see that?! With the compliment, and the pinching?!” 

You bewilderedly settled at the realization. “Actually, I did.” You couldn’t believe it. Your best friend was flirting with you boyfriend- well, technically, she had no clue he was your boyfriend, but still- Eddie? Not to sell your boyfriend short, god, he was perfect in every way, but Robin? Robin and Eddie?!

“Okay, so now do you believe that she’s attracted to me?” He persisted. 

You thought for a second, and Eddie Munson watched your face drop with concern, as your hand clutched your chest. “Oh, my god! Oh, my god! She knows about us!” You cautiously warbled, as you began pacing about behind the counter. 

Eddie’s face scrunched with distress. “Are you serious?” 

“Robin knows, and she’s just trying to freak us out!” You belabored, anxiously looking back to where Steve and Robin could no longer be seen. Your hands dramatically dropped at the revelation. “That’s the only explanation for it!”

Eddie vacillated at the unwarranted insult. “Okay, but what about my pinchable face and bulging biceps?” He confidently pointed to his arm, before the lacking muscle of scrawiness suddenly hit him like a truck. “She knows!” 

Your hand comically slapped the counter, as you chuckled in disbelief at her attempt to fool you. “Oh, man, she probably thinks she’s so slick for messing with us.” Eddie joined in, frenziedly laughing, completely feeling stupefied, though giving props to the mastermind, nonetheless. Impressed he was. “But, hey, you know what? She doesn’t know we know she knows, so…” 

“Ah, yes!” Eddie piqued with interest. “The messers become the messees!” 

-

“You sure you kids are alright?” Shrugging on his utility jacket for the night, the aging lines of Wayne Munson’s forehead scrunched with suspicion for the nightly activity his nephew and his supposed “friend” were going to be up to. 

Sure, the sight of you over at his trailer wasn’t something peculiar, in fact, for the past months, you, in particular, were the only one of Eddie’s buddies who made a regular appearance to their humble abode. Why? Well that was a question that still went unanswered whenever Wayne tried to prod into the life of his nephew. But the way Eddie would blush, while simultaneously attempting to quickly change the subject, made Wayne’s throat tickle with a chuckle. 

Who the hell were you two fooling?

But now, with much concern from Wayne, it seemed as though Eddie’s oddities had begun rubbing off on you, as you both strangely huddled around the yellow home phone, clearly waiting for the second Wayne would close the door behind, as he left for the graveyard shift. 

Attempting to “casually” lean against the paneling of the wall, Eddie’s head was quick to snap up and down in return. “Yeah, yeah.” He rushed. “Better get goin’, don’t wanna be late for the bosses.” He threw an overcompensating smile, as you sat at the kitchen table, merely following suit to that of your “friend.” Wayne Munson couldn’t care less about the bosses. 

“Alright then.” The old man huffed, picking up the keys of his pick-up truck, letting the humid spring breeze waft through the front door. “Get ‘er some dinner if you’re makin’ ‘er stay late.”

“As always.” Eddie threw you a sly wink, as Wayne left with a quick exchange of goodbye thrown from both parties, until the front door finally closed. 

At the click, you sprung from your chair, snatching the phone out of the receiver to hand to Eddie, to which he happily grabbed with a maniacal snicker. “You sure she’s over at Steve’s?” 

Your fingers were fervent with the harsh press to the buttons, dialing the numbers to phone the Harrington residence. “Uh huh, something about watching Fast Times with Robin.” The second your finger pressed down on the last digit, you were quick to maneuver the phone against Eddie’s ear. “Okay, just stick to the script.”

Eddie scoffed, flipping his hair back. “Sweetheart, please, I was able to get you, I sure as hell can get Robin.” Your hand met his chest with a chastising slap. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He laughed. 

Up the road, on the secluded sector of Cornwallis Street, Robin Buckley was anxiously plowing through a bowl of popcorn, as the fifty-second minute was fastly approaching, and suddenly Phoebe Cates was climbing out of the pool with the detrimental ambience of teenage horniness. 

“Here it comes, here it comes!” Steve snickered, as he absentmindedly chewed on a licorice piece. 

Robin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “God, Steve, you don’t have to point out the obvious!” But after forcing her friend to endure two hours and thirty-four minutes of the satirical musical critique of institutional religion that was The Ruling Class, Steve decided to return the torture by subjection of… boobies. 

“What I’m point out is the fact that Vickie lived through this exact moment, meaning she was staring at boobies, meaning-”

“Don’t say it!”

“Vickie likes boobies!” Steve implored, the largest grin on his face, as he watched Robin slap her hands onto her face at a brutal attempt to shield herself from the mortifying experience that was having Steve Harrington as a friend. 

But, in slow motion, as Phoebe Cates’ fingers clutched onto the center hook of her bikini bra, the phone shrilled, allowing Robin to exhale a “thank god,” as Steve’s attention begrudgingly turned to the incoming call. 

Swiftly jumping to the end table, Steve picked up the brick phone. “Yeah, hello?” He spoke, munching on another rope of his candy, surely missing the quick glances Robin was making back at the TV. Steve’s brows piqued at the static voice. “Oh! Yeah, she’s right here!” Turning to Robin, his hand cupped over the speaker, as he giddily shoved the phone to her. “It’s Eddie, he’s probably gonna cave in.” He whispered. 

Rolling her eyes, Robin cleared her throat from any stray popcorn kernel, ready to end this once and for all. “Hello?” 

Back at Forest Hills, your toes pressed against the linoleum tiling of the kitchen floor to push yourself up to his height, smushing your ear against the other side of the phone, as mischievous smiles consumed both your faces. “Hello, Robin… I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day.” Eddie channeled his most suave voice, forcing you to bite back a laugh, suppressing your mouth into his shoulder. 

“Huh?!” Devious as ever, both you and Eddie almost broke at her considerable shock. 

Steve raised a questioning brow, attempting to scoot closer, only for Robin to preserve her personal bubble and shove him back. Much to his nosey dismay. “Well, y’know that thing you said before, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.” Eddie teased, as you nodded your head along to show your proudness for your boyfriend flirting with your friend. 

Yeah, things in Hawkins, Indiana surely were weird. 

“R-Really?” Robin choked, as the popcorn in her stomach suddenly turned at the uneasiness of male attention. Gross. 

Ever the villain, Eddie smiled triumphantly. “Yeah, listen my uncle isn’t gonna be here tonight, so why don’t you come over, and I’ll let you, uh, feel my bicep… or maybe more.” You quietly chuckled. God, what a cute loser.

Robin grimaced, stuttering with concern. “Uh, you know, I-I’ll have to get b-back to you on that, uh, okay, bye!” She was quick to hang up the phone, while you and Eddie intimately celebrated in the lonesome of his kitchen with silly squeals and tiny jumps. “Oh, my god! He wants me to come over to feel his bicep and more!” 

Steve Harrington was left speechless at Robin’s panicked announcement, as his mouth hung wide. “Are you kidding?!”

“No!” She gagged. “I know what I heard!” 

Steve felt incredulously at the scumminess of his friend. “I cannot believe he would do that to… wait a second.” His brows furrowed. Eddie Munson nearly launched at the chance to shut down any ideas of Steve dating you, why on Earth would he suddenly- oh, shit. “They know!”

“What?!” 

“They know that we know!” Steve clarified, as the gears in Robin’s head turned, until her face was enlightened with the fact of the matter which was that her best friend was trying to deceive her right back!

She gasped. “I can’t believe those two!” Instantaneously, any reservations Robin initially had for Steve and Dustin’s plan had left, as all she felt was dramatic offense at the idea of trying to be demeaned. 

“They thought that they could mess with us?!” Steve proclaimed.

“They’re trying to mess with us?!” In disbelief, both friends chuckled with bewilderment at the unexpected slyness coming from you two. That was, until Robin Buckley schemed with realization. “They don’t know we know they know we know!” 

Steve’s face scrunched with confusion, though nonetheless a team player, he nodded along, giggling at Robin’s wicked implication. Suddenly, a call to the Henderson household was in need. 

Dustin Henderson’s calves burned under the rigorous strain of bike riding from the northern end of Cornwallis street to reach Steve’s house. Haphazardly disposing his bicycle in the driveway, Dustin had barged in with no warning, coming face-to-face with Robin Buckley, resident polyglot band geek, wearing Mrs. Harrington’s blue cocktail dress, as Steve Harrington, retired king of Hawkins High, played makeup artist with his mother’s newly bought red lipstick in hand. 

It was undeniable at this point, Hawkins, Indiana was most definitely weird. 

“Would you just quit moving, so I can put this on you?!” The vein on Steve’s forehead became pronounced under the immense pressure he felt. Being a makeup artist surely wasn’t easy, especially when your client was nagging about the intense blush placement of his work. 

“Enough with the makeup, it’s Eddie for Christ sake!” Robin complained, enduring the endeavor of trying to shove Mrs. Harrington’s shoes onto her feet. God, why was the woman’s shoe size so small?!

“Really Steve?!” Robin and Steve jumped at the intruding voice of Dustin, as the kid stood with his hands on his hips, imitating the signature pose of the man before him. “That’s totally not her color, you’re making her look like a clown!”

Both parties scoffed, rightfully offended. 

Robin pushed Steve away, rubbing her cheeks harshly to blend out the monstrosity that was Steve’s makeup skills. “Okay, this is plenty!” She stressed. “We’re gonna call him, we’re gonna get that date, and we’re gonna win!” 

The boys cheered, Dustin more so heavily appreciative of this new Buckley mentality, as they circled around her when she reached for the phone. “Mm! You better grab a spring roll before I eat ‘em all.” Eddie’s crowded mouth of mashed vegetables spoke. Chinese had been delivered in the wake of your celebration, congratulating both of you for your—mostly Eddie—duplicitously clever work. 

In the midst of diving into your tangled lo mein, the phone shrilled, which had Eddie springing from the couch. “Probably calling back to surrender!” You cheered, as Eddie snickered, sliding his socked feet into the kitchen. “Good job on creeping her out, babe!” 

Eddie bowed, accepting whatever weird kind of praise that was, before answering the phone with a muffled mouth of spring rolls. “Hello?”

“Be sexy.” Steve encouraged, eliciting a scoff from Robin, as she turned her focus onto the phone call. 

“Hi!” Both terribly displeased with her lack of commitment, Robin was met with strict glares from Dustin and Steve to amp it up… so, she did. Clearing her throat, she dropped an octave to obtain the sultriness of what she could only assume Roxie Rockett and Viola Diamond to sound like. “Uh, I mean, hey, you.” Robin Buckley wanted to puke. “So, Eddie, I’d love to come over tonight.”

A piece of pork was hacked from Eddie’s throat, as he choked on his food. “R-Really?!”

Watching his face drop, you stood with concern wondering what was going on on the other line. “Oh, absolutely. Should we say around nine?” Eddie checked his clock. In fifteen fucking minutes?! 

But Eddie Munson wasn’t going to back down. Eddie Munson, Dungeon Master of the great Hellfire, who’s pushed his men to prevail against the nefarious dark lords of villages and towns alike, was not going to be defeated by Trumpet Girl. The man glared his eyes. “Yes.” He tested. 

Robin Buckley accepted his challenge. “Good.” She smiled, as she watched Steve motion for her to crank it up a notch. “Uh, I’m really looking forward to you and I h-having sexual intercourse.” The phone hung up and flung from her hands the second the words left her mouth. 

Eddie Munson’s face dropped. Dustin Henderson gagged. Steve Harrington laughed. And Robin Buckley wanted to crawl into a hole to forever perish in the depths of torturous hell. 

Because that’s what it felt like to flirt with a man. 

-

“Okay, showtime!” Dustin applauded from the backseat of Steve’s car, where Robin scrambled to effortlessly scrunch her hair around. 

“Here’s the perfume.” Steve pushed down the nozzle of the stolen fragrance of his mother’s collection—thanking god for the moment that she wasn’t here—where his finger spritzed numerous doses against Robin, causing the car to invade with the nauseating scent of strong, overpowering flowers. 

Robin coughed. “Alright, quit it! The kid has allergies.”

“I have allergies!” Dustin sneezed. 

Steve huffed in annoyance, watching as Robin unbuckled from her seat. The beaming headlights that had once reflected off the vinyl-covered walls of the trailer had been switched off for stake-out purposes, as Steve’s car parked in the open area of the Munson home in the quiet night. 

“Hand over the wine, Henderson.” Buckled next to the seat of Dustin’s—for protective measures—a bottle of his parent's stolen chardonnay rested like a passenger on board; Steve’s, ever the romantic, suggestion for the authenticity of a real date. 

“Is this really necessary?” Robin truly had no room to talk, she most definitely hadn’t experienced the polarizing events of the dating scene, let alone ones of heterosexual realms (thankfully).  

Scoffing, Steve was galled by the dig at his—for once—knowledgeable expertise of life phenomena. “Are you kidding, chicks go for this shit.” Surely, Bridget, Heidi, Linda, and Jeanie can attest to his opinion. 

“Yeah, well, Munson’s definitely not a chick… unfortunately.” She mumbled. 

“Huh?” Dustin asked. 

Robin was quick to shut up in a panic. “Nothing!” 

“Look, just get in there, and do your thing, alright?” Whatever attempt at a pep talk this was from Steve Harrington devastatingly fell short, as the last thing Robin Buckley expected to do on her Tuesday night was go out on a date with a man, who so happened to be her best friend’s boyfriend. Thing?! What thing?! She couldn’t even stare her crush in the eye for Christ sake, Steven! Robin Buckley has no thing! And Eddie Munson unfortunately does- the repulsing (to her) kinda thing that Robin Buckley doesn’t even like! She huffed. “Just take it easy. The second Munson lets you in, we’ll sneak up to the door, and hear through there.” 

On the edge of his bed, Eddie Munson let your hands wander about, until his appearance was up to your liking; voluminous hair, controlled friz, straightened shirt, and a bottle of minty mouth spray that he coughed at, but necessary for the prevention of spring roll breath. “Okay, you’re gonna be great!” You motivated him with the words of encouragement, as you brushed away his stray hairs. “You just make her think you want to have sex with her, and it’ll totally freak her out.”

Eddie straightened up, shaking his body from any jitters, and stretching as if a marathon was in place. “Okay, so how far am I exactly supposed to go with her?” His face etched with concern. 

You waved him off. “Relax, alright, she’s gonna give in way before you do!” If there was anything you learned about Robin Buckley in your months of friendship, it was the blatantly obvious fact that she would shrivel up in awkwardness before anything further took place. 

Eddie Munson freaked at your sudden certainty. “How do you even know?!”

“Because you’re on my team!” You stressed. “And my team always wins!” 

His face scrunched with fret. “At this?!”

Tentative knocking against the front door pulled you both away from the conversation. It was game time. “Eddie,” his head whipped back to you, “you’re the Dungeon Master, okay? This, this is nothing in comparison to dark lord wizard thingies.” God, he knew for certain you didn’t fully understand his interest in Dungeons and Dragon, but the time you took to support him was making his heart beat faster than any fake date with your best friend could ever make him feel. 

You make him feel such incredible things. 

“You’re the master here, you’re in control, you got this!” Jesus Christ, the corny shit your competitiveness was making you say was too fucking cute. “Just go get some!” You finished him with a quick kiss that had him yearning for more, but your body quickly scurried away to the bathroom. 

Eddie Munson sighed. Cracking his neck, he rolling his shoulder. “I’m the Dungeon Master. I’m in control.”

Steve clutched a heavy hand on his steering wheel, as both him and Dustin peered through the windows. “Okay, just wait for it… wait for it… wait- get down!” The boys dropped their heads the second Eddie’s front door opened with a dramatic swing. 

And there she was. Eddie cocked an eyebrow for whatever reason it was Robin Buckley chose to show up overly dressed like a middle-aged woman, and with an awkward smile to taint her image. But Eddie Munson was right there to follow suit with a strange grin to greet her. 

“Robin.”

“Eddie.”

“Come on in.”

“I was going to.” 

As the trailer door closed shut, Steve and Dustin silently crawled their way out of the car with their utmost quietest attempts of closing the doors shut behind them. With crouched stances like detectives on duty, the pair scampered their way to the top of Eddie’s cemented stairs, where their heads pressed against the front door to hear the muffled conversation from the other side. 

“I, uh, brought some wine.” Robin held up the bottle, as Eddie was slightly taken aback. What the hell kinda teenager brings wine to a date? Probably the kind who’s a lesbian, and going out with her best friend’s boyfriend out of competition. “Would you like some?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Making their way to the kitchen, Eddie secured two cups, as Robin popped off the protruding cork top, and suddenly she felt entirely even more stupid than the fact that she was on a “date” with a man, when Eddie proffered matching Garfield and Odie mugs for glasses of chardonnay. 

The dreadful silence began to take over, and Eddie could only manage to fill it with thorny chuckles, as Robin filled the mugs. “So, uh,” she sighed, “here we are. Nervous?”

“Me? No. You?” He skeptically questioned.  

But Robin Buckley was there to provoke him. “No, I want this to happen.” 

“So do I.” Eddie cleared his throat, before their glasses clicked with a toast, and Robin and Eddie found themselves chugging down the mug-fulls of alcohol to hopefully forget the disturbing night they were about to endure. When cups fell empty, Eddie sighed and turned to the radio that rested atop of the washing machine. “Why don’t I, uh, play some music; set the mood a little.”

Call her inexperience, whatever, but Robin knew there was no way in hell the screeching voices of Slayer attested to “setting the mood” during date night. God, she felt bad for you- for straight women. “Maybe-maybe I’ll, uh, dance for you.” She dared right back. 

Where Robin could judge Eddie on his music taste, Eddie could return the favor in her lack of mobility, as her body began clumsily swaying about in his kitchen, off rhythm to the already undanceable sounds to thrashing metal. Her contorting ankles in kitten heels paired with her jutting hips allowed her to mortifyingly saunter her way over to an uncomfortable Eddie, who was wielding the willpower to not bark a laugh in her face. 

But Robin Buckley was not going to win this. Not when Eddie Munson’s pride stood in the way. “Mm, you look good.” He spoke so stiffly, as he defied back with a taunting grin. 

“Why, thank you.” She forced out a laugh. “Y-You know, when you say things l-like that, it makes me wanna, um, rip that… Weird Al t-shirt right off.” Jesus Christ, Dustin made him get matching ones. 

“Okay,” he cleared his throat, “well, uh, why don’t we move this to the bedroom then?” His brows pointed, eyes glared. 

Robin immediately stopped her bizarre dancing. “Really?” Her panic settled in. 

“Oh!” Eddie quickly stepped back with an impeding smile. “Do you not want to?” He urged. 

“No, no.” Robin composed herself, waving him off with faux confidence. “I just, um, you know, first, I wanna t-take off all my clothes, and have you r-rub lotion all over me.” Is that what straight people do before sex?!

Eddie’s throat constricted with little air, and a tightening hand of embarrassment. “Well, that would be nice.” His voice raised a cracking octave. “I’ll, uh, go get the lotion.” Before Robin could respond, Eddie was already running away to the bathroom. Your gnawing teeth had bitten through your nail when Eddie came bustling through the door. “Okay, this is totally getting out of hand.”  He fretfully groused, as he crowded your area in the small room. “She wants me to put lotion on her!” Eddie dramatically snarled. 

You rebuffed his dread. “She’s bluffing!”

Eddie huffed. “Look, she’s not backing down. Jesus, shit, she went like this!” He suddenly gyrated his stiff hips harshly against you to mimic her dancing. 

A couple feet away at the front door of Eddie’s trailer, Robin was in consternation, frantically rambling to Steve and Dustin. “He is not backing down! He went to get lotion!”

“You aren’t done yet?” Dustin heaved. “You’re supposed to be on my team, he should be cracking right now!” 

Her angry finger flicked against his forehead, despite his insistent cries of pain. “This is all your fault to begin with!”

“Okay, will everybody just calm down for a second?” Steve hushed, where his hands found the relaxing perch against his hips, as if his motherly duties were calling. “Think of it this way, the sooner you get Eddie to break, the sooner this can all be over with.”

“Ooh, I like that.” Robin nodded along. 

“Just amp the flirting, alright?” Steve coached. “Look, it took him weeks to actually approach a girl at the bar, he used to get totally flustered whenever he’d play wingman for me. How the hell managed to get Y/N? I don’t know, but all I do know is that just like you, Eddie Munson is a total dud when it comes to flirting.”

Her mouth fell agape at the insult that stung too much from the utter reality of the statement. It didn’t make her feel any better when Dustin shoved that patronizing look in her face. “Yeah, Robin, sweetie, you are not doing a good job right now.”

“How would you know? You’re fourteen!” She bellowed. 

“And yet, which one of us is in a loving, committed relationship?” The kid snided.

Steve shushed Dustin away before a catfight could break out on the doorstep of Eddie’s home. “Look, you got this. Just make Munson uncomfortable! You’re a girl, you got this!”

“He’s a boy, he makes me uncomfortable!” She spat. 

Ransacking his bathroom cabinets for a bottle of lotion, you hastily shoved the bottle into his grasp, and clutched onto his shoulders. “You go back in there, and you seduce her till she cracks!” Never in a million years did you think you’d encourage your boyfriend to do that. Though with this much commitment, he should really get you into Dungeons and Dragons.

“Okay, just give me a second.” He took a deep breath for composure, just as he got a good glimpse of his bathroom. “Did you clean up in here?!” Your eyes rolled, before grappling onto the doorknob, and pushing Eddie out of the bathroom. He slowly approached the kitchen, where his nervousness eased at the sight of Robin at the door. “Oh, you’re, uh… you’re going!” He smiled.

Steve Harrington's voice replayed in her head, and Robin cleared her throat to pull out the sultry crisp she was needing to flirt. “Um, not without you, lover.”

Eddie flashed her a tight-lipped smile, as he released a big sigh. “Well, uh, come here.” He beckoned. “I’m very happy we’re gonna have all the sex.” 

Robin ignored the disgust in her belly to test him. “Y-You should be.” She smirked. “I’m very bendy.” Eddie’s eyebrows pulled with fright, as she stepped closer. “I’m going to k-kiss you now.”

And Eddie bothered her right back. “Not if I, um, kiss you first!” With a foot apart, Robin Buckley made her first move on a man, as her stiff hand latched uncomfortably to Eddie’s waist. Devastatingly following in line, Eddie’s fingertips barely grazed her skin, as they lightly rested onto her shoulder, neither party urging anyone to come closer. “Well, I-I guess there’s nothing left for us to do than to kiss.”

“Here it comes.” With rigid lips tucked inward, and tense bodies hesitantly pulling together, Eddie Munson genuinely began to realize how much of a idiotic idea all this was. A nauseating feeling struck him, as he understood what a lousy world it’d be to live in if he had to continue to disguise his feelings for you. I mean, going on a date with your best friend? This is the lengths he’s going to to hide something so perfect? And Robin. For the love of god, if picturing Joan Jett over Eddie’s face was needed to make this experience slightly less miserable, then, yeah, maybe this plan was stupid all along. 

“Okay, okay, okay! Fine, you win!” Eddie pulled away, as Robin’s face astounded. “I will not have sex with you!” He huffed with exhaustion. 

“And why not?” Robin smiled, as the victory was coming her way.

“Because I’m in love with Y/N!” 

“You’re-you’re what?” The front door jolted open, as Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson hurdled their way in, but Eddie took no notice of the peculiarity in that. Not when he heard the bathroom door open behind him. 

“Love her!” He proclaimed at the top of lungs. “That’s right! I love her!” Eddie pointed to you, as you made your way closer. “I love her! I’m in love with her!” And suddenly, the reality of you actually standing in front of him hit him, and Eddie realized the weight of what he just admitted to you… and his friends. Eddie took a deep breath, as he solemnly stared down at you, and in an instant, he felt his body calm at the sight of your smile. “I love you, Y/N.” 

His hands took solace against your warm cheeks, where you stared up at with adoration in your eyes. “I love you, Eddie.” Your arms circled around his neck, as his desperate hands clung to your shirt to pull you into an intoxicating kiss that had you both mewling with tenderness. This was it. Eddie Munson knew love.

That was until Robin spoke. “Oh, my god, you guys! We thought you were just doing it, we didn’t know you were in love!” She gushed. 

Steve shyly smiled from the back. “Dude!” He effused. 

“Aha!” And then there was Dustin Henderson. “I told you! I told all of you! And none of you wanted to believe me! I was right and you were wrong!” He pompously smiled, before turning to you and Eddie. “By the way, I was the first to know! I’ve been knowing for a week after you freaks forced me to lose my dice!” 

Eddie chuckled, as his hands stayed secured around you. “Actually, Dustin, Max was kinda the first to know. She found out four months ago, when she caught Y/N leaving my place at night.” He admitted. “Been blackmailed ever since; spent $20 on some damn heart-shaped sunglasses.” 

“Are you kidding me!” Dustin felt gobsmacked, betrayed and abandoned, like those damn Fritos. 

“Hey, but, uh, hats off to you, Robin.” Eddie smiled, offering a hand of congratulation. “Quite the competitor.” And she shook it proudly, another notch in whatever weird belt this was. 

“I still can’t believe you never told me.” Dustin gasped. “I mean, seriously, Max out of all people.” Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington, and Eddie Munson’s voices eventually faded into the background, as you managed to slip away from your boyfriend’s grasp to hold onto the hand of your best friend, while you whisked her away to the quiet corner of the living room. 

“Hey, so I just wanted to apologize to you real quick.” You softly smiled at Robin. “I mean, going through all this just because I kept this from you,” you sighed, “I’m just really sorry you were forced to date my boyfriend.” 

Robin laughed, as she squeezed your hand. “I’m sorry you’re forced to date him everyday.” She joked. “No, but seriously, you don’t have to apologize at all.” Her throat began to sting with the heftiness of her feelings, but she felt the warmth of fingers against hers, and Robin Buckley took her deep breath. “I understand why you did it- why you felt the need to hide.” 

“You do?”

“Yeah.” She tearfully smiled. “I feel the same way, just a little different. I just, um, I know what it’s like to want to keep something to yourself, because having to come out as something you know the world isn’t going to love is scary. It’s really scary, Y/N.” Her hand tightened, as her voice cracked. 

But in true Buckley style, that beautiful smile never left her face, as she told you her biggest fear. But what a shame it was that the world made her biggest fear her truest self. Your arms wrapped around her in a suffocating hug, where she let out a shaky sigh against your shoulder. “Robin,” you whispered into her hair, “I love you.” You implored. “Eddie does. Steve does. I hope you know that this town isn't worth being scared of.” You felt her shudder against you, as your hand soothed down her back. “Not when you’re so goddamn perfect.” Robin laughed, as she pulled away, clearing her eyes from any unspilled tears that threatened to stain her cheeks. “I know it’s easier said than done, but genuinely, don't waste your perfect self on what the world wants.” She digested your words, flashing you a thankful grin, as she steady to jumping nerves. “I mean, take it from the man himself, your date tonight, who’s univocally himself.”

You both turned to the kitchen, where Steve and Eddie had Dustin pinned, with a spring roll in hand, trying to shove it down the defiant kid’s mouth. “Jesus, I really am sorry you have to date him.” 

You both laughed, as you watched the commotion take place. And you looked at Eddie Munson, how effortlessly beautiful he was, and how comfortable those around him came to be in his accepting presence. “He’s not too bad.” You smiled. “Now, c’mon, we have Chinese and chardonnay to celebrate!” 

Finally letting the child go, Steve snagged the spring roll with a monumental bite of pleasure, before closely crowding into Eddie’s bubble. “No, but seriously, dude, how the hell did you do it?” Steve Harrington pointed to you, as Eddie Munson smiled.

---

Favour - Part 3

Title: Favour (Part 3 of 3) Pairing: ClubOwner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  When your boyfriend messes up with the wrong people he offers you up as free labour in Bucky Barnes Club.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Violence,  Blood,  Noncon/Dubcon Elements, Dark Themes, Manipulation, Psychological Domination, Public Humiliation, Power Play,  Possessiveness, Rough Sex, Chocking, Degradation Kink, Fear Kink, Bucky Being a F**king Monster (And we love it!), Unprotected sex, Fingering.  NO BETA

A/N: Final part to series that was part of my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for Bucky 108th Bday event  This is the conclusion!   Part One Here & Part Two I don’t know if I’m going to do anymore parts for this… but we’ll see what happens, never say never.. Square: a1 – Clubowner AU Card Number: 4B003

The month had unraveled like a slow-motion disaster, each passing day tightening the noose around Brock Rumlow’s neck. He had made promises, excuses, spun lies into makeshift bandages, but in the end, none of it mattered. His time was up.

And you felt it.

That morning, you had woken to the sound of Brock pacing. The sharp rhythm of his boots on the floor, his muttered curses, the occasional snap of his knuckles cracking- it painted a picture of a man cornered. His frustration was a living thing, a beast clawing at the walls of your apartment, suffocating the space between you.

You had learned long ago when to step lightly. When to make yourself small.

So, you had dressed in silence, slipping into your clothes quickly, avoiding his gaze. His energy was volatile, his movements erratic, his words clipped when he finally spoke.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag. “Work.”

His nostrils flared, jaw ticking. He said nothing more.

You didn’t wait for an argument. You were out the door before he could sink his claws in deeper. 

You’d hoped that you’d be able to relax at your desk, but you didn’t. The idea of eating lunch just made your stomach twist with nausea. The tension from home, from Brock, seemed to follow you into your shift behind the bar. Everything felt just as wrong here as it did there. No one really looking at you. The girls you thought you’d made friends with exchanging glances, whispering when they thought you weren’t listening.

Something was very, very wrong.

It was 1 AM when a hand finally came down on your shoulder.

"You’re wanted upstairs."

Your mouth went dry. Your hands shook.

This was what they meant when they said ‘dead man walking.’

The hallway smelled of whiskey and old leather, but beneath it, the iron tang of blood coiled sharp in your nostrils. You could seen see the blood stains, dark on the burgundy carpets that weren't able to fully disguise it's presence.  The sounds filtering from Bucky’s office were unmistakable- flesh meeting flesh, the wet squelch of impact, the grunted responses of pain.

Then came the voice- low, controlled, laced with something far more dangerous than anger.

"One month. I gave you an entire extra month!"

Another wet impact. A groan. A sickening thud that made your stomach twist.

"Your girl’s bought in more than you have."

A muffled noise- Brock trying to speak, cut off by a sharp crack, followed by a wheeze of pain.

"Stop treating me like I’m stupid, Rumlow!"

Your breath stilled in your chest. Your fingers curled into your palms as you hesitated just outside the door, pulse hammering against your ribs. You knew what was waiting for you inside, knew that once you crossed that threshold, there was no looking away.

But Bucky Barnes had summoned you.

And you had never really had a choice.

You knew what you would see before you even stepped inside.

Still, the sight of Brock’s slumped, battered form made your stomach turn.

He was barely upright in the chair, wrists bound, head lolling forward. Blood painted his face in crimson streaks, dripping sluggishly from a gash at his temple. One eye was swollen shut, lips split, breath coming in wet, rattling drags.

Bucky stood near his desk, rolling his sleeves back down, movements methodical, almost bored. The contrast was staggering- where Brock looked like something discarded, Bucky was pristine, composed, a man who had never lost control a day in his life.

He wiped his knuckles clean on a handkerchief, exhaling a slow breath, before finally lifting his gaze.

Right to you.

“You’re out of options, Rumlow.”

The words slithered through the air, finality threaded in velvet.

Bucky took a step forward, and the weight of it settled over you, thick as smoke, as it pressed into your lungs. The air itself seemed to shrink, heavy with the scent of blood and the unshakable authority he carried in every movement. Your pulse stuttered, throat tightening as though his presence alone had wrapped invisible fingers around your neck, demanding your submission before he had even spoken. The way he moved- deliberate, assured- sent a slow crawl of heat down your spine.

Rumlow stirred, his remaining eye cracking open, gaze flicking between you and Bucky. His bloodied lips curled, voice thick with spit and venom.

“She’s mine, Barnes.”

Bucky hummed, something dark and knowing flashing behind his eyes. He lifted a hand, dragging a slow, lazy fingertip from your jaw, down your throat, over your collarbone.

“Not anymore.”

The silence pressed heavy, thick with unspoken truths.

Bucky traced the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, the touch deceptively soft. A claiming.

“She’s not yours,” Rumlow spat, voice cracking. “She’s not- ”

“She is now. You practically gift wrapped her for me." 

Rumlow made a sound- half snarl, half choked breath- but he wasn’t fighting anymore. He was just watching. Watching as Bucky’s hand traveled lower, over the curve of your waist, thumb dipping just beneath the waistband of your skirt.

"You’re the only thing he’s got left to give me,” Bucky mused, voice low, edged with satisfaction.

Your breath hitched. You wanted to protest, to say something, but your body betrayed you, frozen beneath his touch.

Rumlow's breathing turned ragged, his body tensing against the bindings, his fingers twitching uselessly where they were tied. His chest heaved, each breath coming out in thick, rattling bursts, fury barely held beneath the surface. He shifted against the chair, as if testing the strength of the restraints, his shoulders bunching, his jaw clenching so tight it looked like his teeth might crack.

But he wasn’t struggling to fight anymore.

No, this was different. This was a man trying to cling to something already slipping through his fingers, too slow to stop it, too weak to change the outcome. His good eye darted to you, frantic, flickering with something ugly- accusation, betrayal, the last remnants of his pride bleeding out alongside his dignity.

And then, the realization hit him fully.

He had already lost. He saw it, too.

"Christ, you fucking whore!" His voice is a wet rasp, thick with blood and fury. He spits in your direction, and you feel it hit your hand, warm, sickening. Your stomach clenches, but you don’t move.

"Knew it! Knew you'd been putting out for him! Fucking slut!" The venom in his voice is weaker now, laced with something that sounds almost like fear. Like he’s realizing too late that he’s already lost.

Bucky doesn’t even flinch. His fingers only tighten against your waist, his amusement evident in the smirk that curls at his lips. "That’s it, Doll," he murmurs, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "Look at him. Not even worth the effort, is he?"

Bucky leaned down, breath fanning against your ear, his words for you alone. “Tell me, sweetheart… did he ever deserve you?”

Your pulse pounded. Your fingers curled into fists. And you hated that you didn’t have an answer. Brock had used you, stomped you down, sold you off. Hate sizzled under your skin. 

Bucky’s lips ghosted against your jaw. “Didn’t think so.”

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound curling around your spine like smoke. His fingers trailed along your cheek, smearing a streak of Rumlow’s blood across your skin. His touch was deceptively gentle, reverent almost, a stark contrast to the brutality he had just unleashed.

“Just a sad, sad loser,” he purred, thumb pressing against the curve of your jaw, tilting your head back to him. “Who threw away the only thing that should have mattered.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers toyed with the button on your blouse before he started to undo them. The cool air of the room kissed your exposed skin, but the heat of his palm followed, searing in its wake. His fingers lingered, tracing over your collarbone, dipping lower, teasing, claiming.

“Want someone better, don’t you?” he murmured against your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver. “Someone who knows what you are.”

A soft whine escaped your throat as he guided you toward the desk, his grip firm but never forceful. His hands knew their way around your body, knew exactly how to make you tremble. Your shirt hanging open. 

“Loyal till the end, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he mused, lips dragging over your temple. “Would’ve let him drown you to save himself.”

Your stomach twisted because you knew it was true. Brock never would have taken the fall. Never would have bled for you.

Bucky’s fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your skirt, teasing at the sensitive flesh beneath. His smirk was lazy, knowing, pleased.

“I know a prize when I see it,” he whispered. “Know when something good comes into my life.” His fingers pressed, slow, firm. Your lips parted in a sharp inhale. “And you want to be good, don’t you?”

Your knees felt weak, your body betraying you, betraying everything you thought you knew about yourself.

“Want to show him what he’s going to miss?” His teeth scraped along the shell of your ear, voice thick with amusement. “What you’ve needed?”

You should have pulled away.

Your mind had screamed at you to move, to step back, to reclaim the last shred of control you still had. But your body betrayed you- breath shallow, fingers twitching at your sides, legs weak beneath the weight of his touch. The heat of him, the scent of leather and blood, the quiet, possessive hum vibrating against your ear- it held you there, trapped between defiance and surrender.

Bucky had given you a choice.. 

But it wasn’t really a choice, was it?

You could fight, but what would that change?

You could run, but where would you go?

And maybe, just maybe, there’s a part of you that wants this.

That wanted to hurt Rumlow back for everything he’d done to you. That wanted to let go, let someone else take control for once. That wanted to belong to someone who wouldn’t throw you away when it was convenient.

You didn't answer.

You didn't need to.

Bucky knew.

His hands moved slow at first, teasing, testing the waters, making you feel every second of his touch. The rasp of his calloused fingers against your skin. The heat of his palm as it pressed against your stomach, your hip, the inside of your thigh.

He slid your blouse off your shoulders, letting it drop to the floor in a whisper of fabric, his fingers grazing along your bare skin as he went. His touch was slow, deliberate, reinforcing the control he had over this moment since the second you stepped through the door. Your breathing was sharp, shallow, your pulse thundering against his lips when he dragged them down the side of your neck.

Rumlow shifted in his chair, hands curled into fists. You could feel his anger, his humiliation, but you didn't look at him jsut threw him. 

Because he had never really looked at you.

Never really saw you at all.

“Look at her,” Bucky murmured, fingers pressing under your chin, tilting your face toward Rumlow. His voice was dark, cruel, intoxicating. “She was never yours.”

His hand slided under your skirt, rough fingers pushing aside the thin barrier of your panties. Your body betrayed you, your hips shifted into his touch, breath catching when he draged his fingers along your slit.

“She’s dripping for me,” Bucky chuckled. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Shame burned your cheeks, your body trembling against his as he stroked you, teasing, relentless.

Rumlow watched, silent rage carved into every muscle. His breath came fast, shallow, his chest heaving. He hated this. Hated you.

You hated him back. 

This was his mess, Brock had pulled you into this whole circus. 

Now you were stuck, trapped in world you never wanted to be part of. 

A tangled mess of emotions coils in your stomach- shame, defiance, something darker still. The heat of Bucky’s touch branded you, claiming, unraveling you inch by inch. You should resist. You should hate this. But the way Rumlow seethed - it stirs something primal, something that makes your thighs press together but Bucky parted them instead. 

And it only made you wetter.

Bucky’s grip tightened, his other hand curled into your hair, dragging your head back so he could nip at your throat. “Good girl,” he murmured against your skin. “That’s it. Let him see.”

His fingers kneaded the soft flesh of your chest, cupping, squeezing, rolling your nipples between rough fingertips as his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. “Take it off,” he whispered, voice thick with command. “Show him.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers trembled as they reached behind your back, unclasping your bra. The fabric slid down your arms, baring you to the cool air of the room, but the heat of Bucky’s touch was already there, claiming every inch of exposed skin.

“Look at her” Bucky purred, his hands finding their way back to your chest, massaging, teasing, reveling in the way your body responded to him. “You threw this away.”

Shame burned at the edges of your mind, tangled with something deeper, something darker. You hated Rumlow- hated him for dragging you into this, for making you a pawn in a game he was too stupid to win. But more than anything, you hated the way your body responded to Bucky’s touch, the way his control settled over you like something inevitable.

Bucky’s hand slid down your stomach, over the curve of your hip, gripping the waistband of your skirt before spinning you around and bending you forward over his desk. The sound of his chair scraping across the floor as he kicked it away sent a shiver down your spine.

One large hand pressed firm against the back of your neck, keeping you in place, while the other slid down, tracing the swell of your behind before slipping between your thighs. His fingers pushed inside you with ease, stretching, exploring, claiming.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice deep and satisfied. “And he gets to watch every fucking second of it.”

Bucky worked you open with slow, torturous precision, curling his fingers just right, his touch unrelenting as your body betrayed you further. Your breath hitched, a soft whimper slipping past your lips as heat coiled low in your belly. His grip on your neck eased slightly, but only so he pressing possessively against you.

“Yeah, Doll,” he purred, the deep rumble of his voice sending a fresh wave of arousal through you. “Bet he never did this for you.”

A sharp pang of resentment twisted through you, shame tangling with reluctant pleasure as you realized- he was right. Brock had never touched you like this. Never made you feel like this.

Your hips had rolled back against his hand before you could stop yourself, seeking more of the friction he so cruelly teased. The motion made you aware of the thick, hard press of his cock against your backside, straining through his pants.

Bucky chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. “That’s it, baby. You want more, don’t you?”

Your answer came in the way your thighs shook, in the way your body arched instinctively into his touch. He let go of your neck then, his hand snaking around to your mouth, fingers pressing against your lips. “Open.”

You hesitated only a second before he slid two fingers past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, letting you taste the remnants of your own arousal.

“Oh yeah, let me feel that tongue,” he groaned, his fingers thrusting in slow, deliberate movements, his other hand still buried between your legs, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

That idea made your core clamp down around his fingers, the rush of heat twisting low in your stomach. Rumlow made a noise- something between a growl and a choked breath- but you couldn’t focus on that. Not when you were so close.

Bucky felt it, too. "That's it, Doll," he murmured, voice thick with approval, fingers pushing deeper, curling just right. "Go on. Come for me."

Your body betrayed you completely, the pleasure crested so fast and sharp that you barely recognized the sounds spilling from your lips. The air thickened around you, every nerve alight as your thighs trembled, your hands scrabbling weakly against the desk for something- anything- to anchor you. The sharp tang of sweat and musk filled your senses, your pulse hammering in your ears as your mouth fell open in a choked gasp, your body wracked with sensation so intense it was almost unbearable. Your nails dug into the desk as your legs trembled, a strangled cry escaping as the tension snapped and pleasure crashed through you in waves.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, feeling the way you clenched around his fingers, dragging it out, letting you ride every last ripple of sensation. And then, just as you sagged forward, boneless and panting, he pulled his hands away.

The loss made you whimper, but he only chuckled, lifting his fingers to his mouth. His tongue flicked out, tasting you, slow and deliberate. "Sweet," he mused, smirking as he turned his gaze back to Rumlow. "Bet you never even tried, huh?"

Brok snarled, but he was powerless, his bindings holding him tight. His face was twisted in barely contained rage, humiliated, but Bucky only laughed, rubbing his slick fingers together before finally reaching for his belt.

The sound of the buckle coming undone made your breath hitch, anticipation and something darker pooling between your legs. You barely had time to process it before his wet hand- still damp from your mouth- pressed down on your shoulders, guiding you forward until your chest met the cool surface of his desk. His other hand tangled into your hair, tugging your head up just enough to make you face Rumlow again.

"Look at her, Rumlow," Bucky murmured, his voice dark and mocking. "You're going to watch. Like a good boy."

Then he pushed into you, the stretch of him immediate and overwhelming. Your fingers clawed at the desk, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants as your eyes rolled back.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck- "

Bucky’s grip tightened in your hair, keeping you steady, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "No, no," he corrected, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're going to take it. You're going to love it." 

The stretch was too much. He was too much. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, body trying to fight the intrusion even as another part of you surrendered. The burn made your breath hitch, made your nails scrape against the wood of his desk as your legs trembled beneath you.

Bucky felt it. Felt the way your body fought him, trying to adjust, trying to take him. And he loved it.

“Easy pretty girl,” he murmured, his tone mockingly sweet as he dragged his cock out a fraction before pressing in again, forcing your body to yield. His grip in your hair tugged your head back, keeping you from burying your face in the desk. He wanted you watching. This time you whined loudly, your eyes getting wet as tears pricked in the corners.

“Shhh, Doll. I know it’s a lot,” he purred, his chest pressing against your back as he leaned down, lips just by your ear. “But you’re gonna take it for me, aren’t you? Be a good girl and let me ruin you?”

You let out a choked sound, half whimper, half moan, your body torn between resistance and something darker. The pressure, the overwhelming fullness- it was too much and not enough all at once.

Bucky groaned, his grip shifting from your hip to the nape of your neck, pressing you down harder. His is fingers flexed, tightening, possessive. “That’s it, baby. Stop fightin’ it. Just let me in.”

You whimpered, body finally starting to give in, your muscles loosening, letting him sink deeper.

“There you go, sweet girl,” he cooed, his thrusts turning slow, deep, merciless. “That’s what I thought. You just needed me to break you in a little, huh?”

"Buck-Auh." 

Your legs were shaking now, your breath coming in uneven gasps as your body stopped resisting. It was all too much, too overwhelming- the feeling of him stretching you, filling you, owning you, the weight of his body that pinned you down, the way his voice slithered into your ear, hot and filthy and so damn cruel.

And Rumlow. Watching. Seeing everything.

Bucky made sure of that.

He tugged your hair again, tilting your head enough that your blurred gaze met Brock’s, that he could see the way your lips parted, the way your eyes fluttered shut every time Bucky pushed deeper.

“See that?” Bucky grunted, his voice sharper now, his thrusts harsher, shaking the desk with each movement. “See how much she likes a real man fucking her, Rumlow.”

Your whimper had only made him smirk. His other hand had left your hip, dragging up your stomach, up your chest, gripping your throat, holding you still.

Bucky wasn’t  done teaching.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” he murmured again, his hand tightening around your throat, forcing your head up, keeping your back arched as he pounded into you. “This is what it means to be owned.”

A strangled moan tore from your throat, your vision blurring as the sensations overwhelmed you. You didn’t know when the fight left your body- when your resistance melted into submission, your hips pushing back. “That’s  it Doll,” he groaned, satisfied. “That’s what I wanted. Knew you’d learn.” His pace didn’t slow, hips slamming into yours, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every stroke dragging along your sensitive walls, making your nails dig deeper into the desk.

Your body was burning, your legs weak beneath you, pleasure a tightening coil in your stomach. The desk holding you up more then your legs did.

But he wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

“You got to learn, too, Rumlow.” Bucky’s voice was mocking, dripping with cruelty as he pulled you back by your hair, your neck arching, your chest lifting off the desk. “You watching? You paying attention?”

A low, muffled noise- Rumlow’s disgust, his helpless fury. But it didn’t matter.

Bucky owned this moment. Owned you.

His hand slid down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, slow circles, teasing you, making your thighs tremble.

“You’re gonna come for me,” Bucky ordered, his breath hot against your ear, his thrusts unrelenting. “You’re gonna come while he watches. Gonna show him what it looks like to be fucked by someone who knows what he’s doing.”

Your body shook, heat cascading through you, your muscles locking as the pressure inside you snapped. Your orgasm slammed into you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream, your body tightening around him like a vice.

Bucky cursed, his fingers digging into your hip, riding it out with you, his thrusts never stopping, never giving you a moment to breathe.

“Oh god, oh god..”

Then his hand left your hip, sliding up, fingers to wrap back around your throat. Not just to hold you this time. The pressure was immediate, firm but controlled, cutting off just enough air to make your head go light, your pulse pounding against his palm. Your vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in like ink seeping through water.

"That’s it, Doll," he groaned, his grip tightening. "Give it to me. Let go. Give me the another one."

Your body spasmed around him, muscles clenching, the sharp pleasure twisting with the darkness creeping into your mind. You barely heard your own ragged moan, barely felt the last desperate pulse of your orgasm before the world faded, before you felt him spill inside you- hot, claiming, absolute.

Bucky held you there, his cock buried to the hilt, his hand still wrapped around your throat as he emptied himself into you. The last thing you felt before the blackness swallowed you whole was the deep, satisfied hum of his voice against your ear.

"That’s my girl."

TAG: @swiggityswoody52

---

Harmless Masterlist

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, series)

Keep reading

---

what love is; track one [e.m. x fem!reader]

summary: Everybody in Hawkins High knew Eddie "the freak" Munson, two-times-failed (so far) senior, proud metalhead, and dungeon master of the Hellfire club. Most knew the studious, sweet, good girl who probably had a full ride to any college she wanted to go to. But few people truly knew them, least of all, themselves. Now, in the summer of 1985, their paths cross again, intertwining to a point of no return. AKA, the trial and error of learning to love and be loved with Eddie Munson.

warnings/content notes( for this chapter): shitty parents, homophobic comments/slurs. suggestive content.

author's note: My bad habit is describing the reader in too much detail (clothing-wise, not appearance), so I apologize if the reader's style isn't yours, but I hope you can still enjoy the story. Also, I'm making Eddie a human disaster cause there's no way he's as smooth as I see in so many fics.

rating: 16+

word count: 6,543

taglist: @ratridingaskateboard (lmk if you want to be added!)

◁◁͏͏ 1: More Than A Feeling   ▷▷   0:38 ━━❍─────── 4:06

—— July, 1985 ——

It’s an easy day at work- the customers are few and far between, most of them mindlessly browsing the aisles, flipping through each vinyl and tape with one finger, looking at one after the other, after the other, after the other, after the other, pop or rock or metal, classical or movie soundtracks or even Christmas albums even though it's the middle of July. With how slow it is, (Y/N) is stuck leaning her elbow on the counter, chin in her palm as the sound of Boston’s More Than A Feeling plays from the radio next to her.

Getting this job had been such a stroke of luck after she graduated high school. A music shop with records and tapes and players ranging from pop to soundtrack to even metal– which her parents hated– tucked in downtown Hawkins within biking distance of her house, so she could stay living at home while she saved money to move out, and it paid well enough that she wasn't too worried about living there much longer. Plus, most days were like this- slow, easy- and she spent most of her time scribbling in her journal and listening to rock music that wouldn’t be allowed in her parent’s “pure, Christian home” and meeting like-minded people whom she otherwise might not have come across. And though her straight-laced, puritan parents weren’t too keen on her “out-there” job exposing her to things like “satanic rock-and-roll and ungodly fantasy”, at least she was making money.

She’s humming along to the guitar in the pre-chorus, tapping a pen across the list titled ‘Coming To Store, July 1985!!!’ that her boss had left for her to stock later on. The chorus swells with emotion right when the bell above the entrance rings. She freezes as she looks up to greet a new customer, eyes catching someone familiar, and suddenly she’s back in the Hawkins High School cafeteria at the beginning of her junior year, 1983, quietly making heart eyes at a long-haired, loud-mouthed boy across the room, for whom her heart had decided to beat for. 

Eddie Munson.

(Y/N) twirled the cord of her walkman’s headphones around her finger, barely poking at the lunch in front of her as her eyes focused on a senior boy at the head of the table a few rows down from hers. He’d been letting his wild hair grow out to his shoulders and looked like those rock stars in magazines that her mom never let her buy. He was the ‘leader’ of the Hellfire Club, who played a game called Dungeons and Dragons after school, about which she knew nothing except what she read about people trying to tie it to devil worship and satanism. With his long, messy hair and leather jackets and the denim jacket he had recently chopped the sleeves off of, he was loud and defiant, non-conforming, and everything her parents warmed her to be against. 

He was Eddie Munson, the Freak of Hawkins, and he had been stuck on (Y/N)’s mind since sophomore year. 

“Hey,” Her friend nudged her, tugging her headphones off and pulling her back into reality. The small group of awkward, acne-ridden high school kids who had yet to find their group giggled around her. 

“Hey! I was listening to-!” 

“You were ogling Munson again.” One interjected. 

“You know someone said he performs rituals? Like sacrificing people and shit?” Someone said, a sarcastic smile in their voice. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” She scoffed at the idea of devil worship. It was all scary stories to threaten kids into being safer. “C’mon, you sound like my parents.”

“I don’t believe it,” She cut in. “But he’s just… a freak.” Some kids around the table cut in, arguing that they were the weird kids too. The only difference was that he wasn’t ashamed of not fitting in. “Well devil-worship aside, he’s still probably going to end up like his dad, you know. Not really the best choice to be crushing on.” 

(Y/N)’s  friends continued to argue back and forth, but the girl’s eyes were fixed. Eddie had hopped up on the table, talking loudly to his table of misfit friends, taunting the popular groups of students, who jeered at him. The confidence, the pure lack of shame that radiated from him as he stuck his fingers up into devil horns and grinned wildly, it drove her insane. She’d never known someone as bold and unafraid as him, someone so true to themself and unbowing to the social pressure to change, despite the daily judgment and rumors and whispers behind his back. And a part of her-- a much larger part of her than she’d like to fully admit-- wanted to sneak her way into his group, be taken under his wing. Have some of that fearlessness rub off on her.

God knew she needed some bravery. 

For a moment, as Eddie jumped down from the lunch table, she swore his eyes locked with hers. Just for a moment.

“Hey, kid,” Her boss, Bill, jolts her back to the present, Boston’s song still playing on the radio. “-I closed my eyes and she slipped away-” She looked up, slightly saddened that she lost sight of that familiar face before she even saw him. “I’m clocking out for the day, make sure you sort out all those new tapes tonight.” 

She nodded, flustered, shaking away the embarrassing thoughts that had been plaguing her. “Oh, um, someone asked me earlier, are we getting the new Tears For Fears album soon?”

After only a moment, during which her eyes scanned the store, hoping to find that curly head, he spoke up. “Ah, that’s coming in next week. And while I’m thinking about it, we’re getting the new Dio album right after it comes out. Make a note of that so we don’t forget.” 

She nodded jotting it down on her paper. “Thanks.” 

“Stay outta trouble tonight.” 

But (Y/N) didn’t hear his words, or see him leave, as her eyes focused on a wild mop of hair coming around the corner of one of the shelves. As he browsed through the tapes in the metal section, she couldn’t help feeling like a creep watching his every move. She was entranced at the way his fingers so gently brushed a curl back out of his face. This was the first time she’d seen him outside school in the three years she’d known of him, and it was strangely intimate to see him in a place he fit into so well. A place where he didn’t need to defend himself and his interests every waking moment. Here he was, flipping through albums with a gentle hand when most of her memories of him were of him standing on cafeteria tables egging on the jocks or sitting outside the principal’s office without care. 

Eddie’s face turned towards hers, and it felt like a shock of electricity as she snapped her attention to the list of bands in front of her. Where were we… Bryan Adams… Duran Duran… Tears For Fears… New Dio album– In her peripherals, she could see him passing by the front counter. 

She braved a glance up, telling herself that it was only to seem natural, to check if he was ready to check out. Instead, their eyes locked for half a second as he walked past to browse tapes on the other side of the store. Again, her eyes tore down to stare a hole through her paper, and the counter beneath it, and the floor beneath that, getting so hot in the face she thought she might pass out. Had he seen her watching him? Did he remember her from high school? No, why would he? They’d only spoken briefly in class in her senior year, nothing memorable.

She remembered the first day of her senior year when none other than Eddie Munson– who she had thought graduated the year before– sat down a couple of seats over from her in English class. She’d nearly lost her mind at seeing him again, having thought her crush was one of the past and she could live out her senior year in peace, without being distracted by a meaningless little crush. But no, instead, there he was for her to oggle all class, watching him doodle on his papers, or nearly fall asleep whenever the teacher was lecturing. Her face heated up at his gall when she watched him grin while getting scolded for being late. 

(Y/N) couldn’t help but wonder if he’d graduated. She didn’t remember seeing him at the ceremony, but plenty of kids didn’t attend, and considering his reputation and rumored familial situation– or lack thereof– it would make sense if he wanted to graduate silently and get the hell out of town.

The song ended, and she held rewind on the tape, not caring what the customers thought and feeling like she would float away without something to ground her to the earth. Eddie Munson, here in the store, after she thought she was over her stupid crush. 

“I lost myself in a familiar song, I closed my eyes and I slipped away”

She closed her eyes for a moment. This must be a dream. It had to be. She hadn’t seen him since last semester, and here he was in her store, his hair a little longer than the last time they’d seen each other. All throughout high school, she swore she’d never seen him in short sleeves and now here he was, the cut-off sleeves of his shirt and denim vest exposing the ink on his forearms to the sticky July air. If she looked hard enough, the long holes where he'd gone in with scissors exposed the sides of his slim torso, too. Not that she was staring.

Her mind was buzzing with all the little memories of him, the details about his presence, the way the chain on his jeans clattered against his chair in class, the way he sank in his seat and sat low, uninterested, and confident, and the way he would get scolded by the teachers every time. The way he cast a quick glance at her before tests because she had given him a copy of her notes, a glance that she’d always been too shy to hold when she caught him looking. She remembered going home every night and sinking into her bed under the covers, flipping through her secret journal for the cut-out and glued-down magazine pictures of rock stars on stage with long curls and dark clothes like his. Some might think she was crushing on him because he looked like the men in her magazines, but really, she liked them because they looked like Eddie.  

Ding!

A sharp trill on the ‘ring-for-service’ bell in front of her yanked her back into the present. Her eyes shot open, embarrassed to be daydreaming on the job, and there he was, standing in front of her with a dizzying smile, hand hovering over the bell.  

“Boston?”

Oh shit. Oh shit. He’s talking to me. Is he actually talking to me? (Y/N) looked up, meeting the eyes of Eddie Munson himself, pointing at the tape player next to them. Doe eyes, she suddenly realized he had. She’d never been this close before, even when they had math class together. Wait, what did he just ask? Oh, the band. "Y-yeah. Hahah. I like them."

"Cool, cool. Slow day?"

“Um- uh, yeah!” Smooth, she thought, really fucking smooth. “Just… keeping busy I guess, ha.” She motioned to the list in front of her. He leaned over the counter, eyes glanced through the list briefly. (Y/N)’s eye got stuck on the rings that adorned three of his fingers on the hand that rested next to the paper. All too soon, he retreated, stepping back, looking lightheartedly apologetic, and holding his hands up with a little smile. He smiled from the corner of his mouth. 

“Sorry, is it supposed to be secret?”

That brought a small laugh bubbling to her lips, the way he seemed so genuinely hesitant to offend her or the ‘secrets of the business’. “Um, no, it doesn’t matter.” She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the way she was giggling in front of him. Her face was burning. “It’s just the albums that we just got. I have to stock them tonight.”

His eyebrows raised, a smile spreading across his face. “Oh, yeah? Fill me in?” 

She glanced at the pins on his denim vest– bands he likes– then looked at the list, running her finger down. “Um, we have the album… Metal Heart? That was from back in February, we’re just getting it. Or we’re getting a restock.”

“Accept?”

“Yeah.” She nodded in confirmation of the band. “And a new Megadeth album.” 

“This is one of the only places I’ve found in this shithole town that has metal.” He smiled and pointed at a Megadeth patch sewn at the bottom of his vest. It looked a bit messy, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him sewing them on himself. This man in front of her was nothing like the loud, scary boy she saw in high school. “I, uh, guess I’ll be coming back, then? For that. When you get it?” He said it like a question, each sentence getting more and more unsure. 

She felt dizzy. Was he flirting? No, just being kind. A customer. The thought of seeing him again was making her head spin, and only after a moment did she remember where they were. “Oh, did you have something? To buy? For me to– did you need to pay for something?” 

“Oh, shit. Yeah.” He fumbled for a moment before setting down a single tape. Dio, The Last in Line. 

“Dio!” She exclaimed, maybe a bit too excited for a band she didn’t even listen to. She pointed at it, flustered at her outburst. “You listen to Dio.”

His face seemed to light up with some sort of emotion she couldn’t pin down. He turned and jutted his thumb out at the back of his vest, a homage to the album he was buying. He had that wild grin on his face like he was so proud to show her. “They’re my favorite. Put this on right after I heard their last album. My last tape got all messed up. Unwound and shit, must have listened too much.”

She rang him up with a smile, trying not to stare at his biceps. She’d never seen him so wholesomely enthusiastic about something so mundane. And this is the ‘Freak’ they say worships the devil. How could they see him as anything but endearing and brave? She shook her thoughts away quickly, remembering why she exclaimed about his purchase in the first place. “They, um, they have a new album coming out. In August, I think? Did you hear?” 

He was nodding his head enthusiastically before her question was even finished. “Of course, I heard.” He twisted his rings around each finger, grinning. “Do… uh, do you listen? To them, I mean.” (Y/N) hesitated, torn between telling the truth like she knew she should like she was raised to, and lying to sound cooler, for just the chance he’d think the awkward bookworm in English class was cool like he was. While she was caught in her own struggle, Eddie had seemed to grow nervous himself. “It’s just, you seemed really excited–”

“Yeah.”

Silence hung in the air between them, nothing but the sound of the guitar solo as background music, neither of them quite sure what she was saying ‘yes’ to. After a moment, Eddie tilted his head towards her in question. “...Yeah? You listen to them?” 

(Y/N) was nodding before she even understood what she was saying. A grin split across his face, so stunning and unlike anything she’d seen from him, that it wiped away the guilt of her bluff. A soft laugh rumbled out of him, and his pretty, dark eyes were on her in a way that had her stomach doing flips. “Wow, you don’t seem like the type.” Heat flooded her face. She prayed to anything out there that she wasn’t about to hurl in the trash can in front of him. “It’s just… Look at you, usually someone who looks like you isn’t cool like that, you know?” He seemed to notice her expression and motioned vaguely to her. With her colorful polo shirt and the ribbons tied in her hair, she was the picture of a ‘good girl’. Of course, she doesn’t listen to metal like he does. But he didn’t seem to notice. That, or he was challenging her. That would be stupid. “What’s your favorite song?” The simple question broke her down. She felt like he could see through her, transparent yet fully on display in front of him. Surely he’d seen through her lie. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by the whole interaction. 

She lifted the tape to draw his attention back to it. “It’s, um, six dollars.” 

His face fell, and the smile wiped away completely. “Right.” He pulled crumpled-up bills from his pocket and counted them quickly, his shaking fingers overlooked as she put it in the register. As she handed his receipt over, her eyes caught his, brows knitted together in deep concern, eyes wide and searching. She tore her gaze away. 

“Treat this one nicer, please.” 

She couldn’t bring herself to meet his dejected gaze, let alone watch him walk out the door. Instead, she stared at the paper in front of her with the note about the new Dio album, written in her pretty red ink until she heard the bell of the door opening and shutting behind him. Angered at herself for letting her meaningless crush get a hold of her, she stuffed the note in a drawer. Fuck Dio, fuck all these albums, fuck her boss, fuck herself for fucking up what could have been a cute moment with her crush. 

‘It’s more than a fee-’

Fuck this song. 

She slammed the radio off, content to sit and wallow in embarrassment for the rest of the day. 

Raw, gnawing guilt ate away at her through the rest of her shift, through her stocking duties after closing, through her whole bike ride home, and all the way up the stairs to her bedroom. As soon as she stepped into her room, with her perfectly made bed and neatly organized desk, she was intruded by thoughts of the metalhead she had spoken to that day. How he was the exact opposite- rough around the edges and loud- and how he would stand out with his leather and denim and wild curls laying against her pretty pastel comforter. How he would probably take up space in here, not only physically but simply with his energy and presence and mannerisms as if everything in her universe was gravitationally pulled towards him. 

She ripped those thoughts away and stored them for later. For now, there were other things to be done. 

From her work backpack, she pulled the tapes she had grabbed from the store and snuck home with her. Holy Diver. The Last In Line. There were only two albums, which made it easy enough for her to fit them both in one night. In her oversized Hawkins High t-shirt, she sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor next to the cheap sticker-covered telecaster she had practically begged her parents to let her buy, and popped the first tape into her little pink radio, making sure to turn the volume down as low as she could. There’d be hell to pay if her parents caught her.

Come on, Dio, show me what you got. 

There was something embarrassing to her about listening to this. It felt strangely intimate, even though she knew it wasn’t, to listen to his favorite band just because it was his favorite band and she wanted to be interesting to him. If her parents found her listening to this…

But she wasn’t thinking about them, too lost in the sound coming from her speakers. So this is what Eddie Munson liked to listen to. She jumped up to grab her senior yearbook from her bookshelf, flipping through to exactly the right page, as if the book remembered and had molded to open immediately to that picture. Eddie Munson, circled with a red sharpie heart, posing among the rest of the Hellfire Club for their obligatory yearbook photo. He had his tongue stuck out, a wild look to him, devilish and taunting. It matched, she decided, even though she knew it was silly. He looked like his favorite music sounded. 

‘The Freak?’ Her friend had whispered junior year when she let a little secret slip about the crush she’d been harboring. ‘No way… you know what people say about him, right? You don’t want to get tangled up with that dirtbag. Your parents would kill you.’ 

I don’t care, (Y/N) thought in the present. Let them kill me. I want to get tangled up with him. 

For three days, (Y/N) suffered through her eight-hour shifts. For three days her eyes shot up to check the opening door at every ring of the bell, hoping it was him. And for three days, it wasn’t. For three days, she thought over what she would say if one of these days it was him. Then, on the fourth day, as she was ringing someone up— they were buying Agent Provocateur, the Foreigner album from last December, one that she really enjoyed herself, and couldn’t help but wonder if Eddie would listen with her— when the man in question stepped through the door, another cut-off tank-top, the same denim vest, the same rockstar hair. At first, (Y/N) didn’t believe her own eyes. She’d tricked herself into thinking she’d seen him a few times now, but as she gave a quick “Have a nice day” in her best customer service voice, their eyes met across the store.     

Neither tore their gaze away immediately like they had in their last interaction like lovesick fools caught staring across the classroom, but after a few moments, Eddie’s lips turned into an unsure smile, and (Y/N) finally set her gaze on the counter, guilt eating away at her over their parting. 

“Hey.”

She jumped, not having noticed him approaching in her peripherals.

“Sorry.” He offered a gentle apology, a half smile on his lips. His tank top was printed with Metallica, the same pins in his vest as always. His appearance was comforting and familiar. Like she always did when he was around, (Y/N) became overly aware of her own appearance, wondering if he thought she was weird, sitting cross-legged on a stool behind the counter, oversized ABBA shirt tucked into flared shorts, frilly socks peeking out from her sneakers and colorful barrettes in her hair. She hoped despite her thoughts that he didn’t think she looked silly. 

“It’s okay.” She cringed at how squeaky her voice came out.

“Okay.” He had a similar look of discomfort on his face. He played with his fingers again, twisting the rings around. There was a skull, what looked like a boar, and some other animals. She tried not to stare at the black ink on his forearms– the bats– or the dragon on his bicep. But her eyes gave her away, and as she met Eddie’s gaze, he was already watching. Watching her ogle him. 

“I like your dragon.” She pointed at it.

“Thanks.” Eddie smiled, appreciative. “It’s actually a wyvern.” (Y/N)’s brows furrowed, confused. “It just… a dragon with only two legs, really. That’s all.” Wordlessly, the expression on her face changed to one of understanding. Then, Eddie pointed a finger out, poking her own sparkly painted ones resting on the counter. He was warm against the cool of the fan blowing at them, even to the tips of his fingers. Then, he withdrew his hand quickly, as if remembering pointing was rude. Not that (Y/N) would have cared. She craved his attention. "I– I like your nails. They’re cool.” 

“Really?” She looked at them, the sparkly polish she’d applied the night before– while listening to that Dio album again, no less. The idea of him thinking they were cool was endearing to her. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah.” Then, Eddie held up his own hands, an open invitation for her to stare at them. “I’ve thought of painting mine. People already call me plenty of names, so what’s another, right?” He chuckled. 

(Y/N) frowned at the memory of what she’d heard people call him– to his face just as much as behind his back. Freak. Devil worshipper. No good dirtbag. Scum. Even queer. She winced as the word passed through her mind. He would look lovely with some black nail polish. It would suit him. She told him. 

“You think?” 

“Yeah.” 

They smiled at each other before (Y/N) noticed a customer standing behind Eddie. The boy followed her gaze and stepped aside for a little old lady, gesturing kindly for her to go ahead of him. (Y/N) rung her up– some oldie band on vinyl. 

“Oh, look at you, young man!” The woman fawned over him. “You look like a rockstar. Are you a rockstar?” 

Eddie flushed, smiling at the woman’s kind compliments. He looked cute when he was flustered. “Not quite a star, no.” 

“Well, you sure have the look for it, with all that hair!” Then, as (Y/N) handed her her purchase and receipt, she smiled fondly as she turned to leave. “You two are so lovely.”

After a shyly exchanged glance, Eddie responded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

When she was gone and Eddie stepped back to the counter, (Y/N) was suddenly more aware of their surroundings. She’d been getting lost in the pink-tinted haze of her crush standing in front of her for so long that she forgot she was still at work with customers around. “Did, um, did you have something to buy?” 

“Oh.” His cheeks tinted pink again as if they’d even stopped. He was cute when he got all rosy, the same way he was cute when he was talking about his favorite bands or his tattoos, and at the thought of him painting his nails. 

“Oh?” 

“No. No, I– I don’t have anything to buy. I just… came for… to talk?” 

(Y/N) froze, shocked. “Talk?” He came just to see me. 

“Yeah– I, I guess.” 

“You came just to talk to… me?” 

“Why do you sound so surprised?” She didn't answer, just glancing at his attire and down to her own. He seemed to follow her eyes, understanding. “Do you think I’m scaryyyy?” He teased, dragging out the end of the word. 

“N-no, just–” She faltered, and he waited patiently when she expected him to interrupt. “You’re you and I’m… me.” 

His mouth opened. He hesitated. There was something he wanted to say. Again, he fidgeted with his rings. “I actually… wanted to apologize. About that.” 

“For, for spooking me earlier?” 

“No, no. About last time.” 

(Y/N) frowned at his words, wondering what reason he had to apologize. He’d been nothing but a perfect gentleman, from her recollection, if a bit awkward and shy. He was watching her with truly regretful eyes, twisting the rings around his fingers. “What?” 

“For, I- for assuming, I guess? What I said, that you didn’t look cool, it was totally dick-ish of me.” He stumbled over his words. When she still didn’t say anything, he dipped his head towards her, as if trying to grab her attention back to him. “I do think you look cool, really, just, I guess, not how I’d imagined. I mean, with you listening to Dio and- I just didn’t expect…”

“Eddie.” She stopped him with her hands held up, letting his name pass her lips for the first time- the first of many, as she’d later find out. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I was rude to you.”

He was silent for a bit, rocking back and forth on his feet as if he had something to say and couldn’t stand still. (Y/N) watched as a playful smile began to pull up at the corners of his pretty lips, obvious that he was trying to hide it, trying to push it down, and clear he was weighing the outcome of the words he could say. The Cars were playing on the radio next to them- “I don’t mind you coming here…”- and his ringed fingers were tapping along to the rhythm. Before she could ask, though, a full grin split across his face, all shame thrown to the wind. Softer, now, with mirth in his eyes, he mused. “You remember me?” 

Eddie.

They stood in the silence of her little slip-up for a few moments longer, her cheeks growing hot while he grinned down with such an amused look on his face. How could she even respond? Her heart was pounding in her ears. Of course, she remembered him. She had spent two years admiring him from a distance. But surely someone who was the target of so many awful rumors and had gained such notoriety as the town pariah wouldn’t be forgotten so easily. 

“Of course, I remember you. Who doesn’t?”

He pointed at her, that grin not leaving his pretty lips as he twirled a curly lock around his finger. “Ah, I guess you got me there, (Y/N).” 

Time could have stopped, and (Y/N) never would have noticed, not with the sound of her name falling out of Eddie’s mouth like that. I was a given that she had remembered him, but what made her so special that he remembered her presence, let alone her name? She noticed, at that quiet moment, locked in his gaze, that her heartbeat was in tempo with the song. She gathered up all her courage.

“You… remember me?” 

He scoffed, feigning offense. “You think I could forget you?”

Yes, of course, she thought, I was nobody important. “But– how? Our only class together was--” 

“--Mrs. O’Donnell’s senior English class. First semester.” He finished, eyes twinkling with glee. “You helped me with notes when I forgot them… which was… just about every test.” He laughed.

She flustered at the memory. In O’Donnell’s class, students would group together and exchange notes on each night's reading before class began, and (Y/N) had always noticed no one went up to Eddie. Fitting, she’d thought, everyone thinks he’s awful. One day, before a particularly big test, as everyone partnered up, gathering their desks together into little groups, she decided to bite the bullet and approach him. He was doodling on the corner of his paper when she greeted him, and he’d looked up as if he’d never been spoken to before. 

“Hi.” 

“Um, hi?” 

Her confidence was dripping away with every second of his eyes on her. Other students must have been watching too. Maybe he was mean and scary like everyone assumed. “I’m, um.” She lifted up her notes, gesturing to them. “Do you want to go over our notes together?” 

His eyes widened, a deer caught in headlights, brows raising into his shaggy bangs. “I- I don’t- I didn’t take any notes.” His voice was quiet, so unlike the other times she’d seen him and his theatrics.

Her sneaking suspicion had been true, though she didn’t want to unfairly believe it. “We have a test today, you know? Open notes. Did you even read the assigned section?” He shook his head. Looking back, she cringed at how she sounded and hoped Eddie hadn’t thought she was stuck up. She was, ultimately, just concerned for him. He was already in his second attempt at senior year, and (Y/N) hated seeing people struggle with no help. “That’s okay. Here, quick, pull out a paper and write my notes down.” 

 “Well, yeah. No one else was helping you. I thought it was unfair.” 

He nodded, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as if she’d hit the nail on the head. “And that’s why I remember you. You know, I think you’re the only reason I passed that class.” A shy smile fluttered onto her face, butterflies filling her up and making her dizzy on her feet. She leaned against the counter, and Eddie matched her pose with a smile, laying his forearms out towards her and leaning in. “Now that we’ve gotten these introductions out of the way, why were you apologizing?” 

Flustered, though newly confident on the high that her high school crush remembered her as more than just a wallflower like most people in school thought of her, she opened her mouth and let her bluff fall out. “I lied to you.” 

His eyebrows pinched together, the sudden confession confusing him. 

“The other day, when you asked me if I listened to Dio.” She couldn’t stop the words from flowing. “I said yes. I lied. I didn’t listen to them. I wanted to sound cool–” Like you are, she meant, but she caught herself. 

Eddie stayed frozen for a few moments, gears turning in his head as he sized her up with searching eyes. (Y/N) watched him, embarrassed, and sure this would be the end of their short-lived friendship. Now, he thought she was weird, a liar, not trustworthy. But instead, he nudged her arm with his own, laughing— a sound that erased all of her worries just like that. “I don’t think most people around here would call that cool. Different, definitely. Satanic, probably.” He chuckled, a bitter edge to it. “Take it from me. Don’t go around getting associated with my type of stuff. People will think I’ve corrupted you.”

I don’t care. I want to get tangled up with him.

“I think it’s cool.” She insisted. “It’s music. Loud, heavy music. But it’s music. And I think it– and you– are cool.” 

His cheeks tinted pink, a smile sliding out the corner of his lips as he ducked his head a bit shyly, hair shielding his face. “Well, flattery sure does work on me, huh?”  

(Y/N) sucked up all of her breath at that statement. She could sit down and flatter him for hours, compliment his bravery, his passion, the way he made her feel. But, instead, she could think of something else he might appreciate. “Rainbow In The Dark.”

“What?” 

“Dio. It’s my favorite song… I think. They have a lot of good ones. But I like that one a lot.” 

His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again, as if his words were stuck halfway out, eyes sparkling. “I thought you didn’t listen?” 

“I… Well, I didn’t. But I did, then. That night.” She reached into her bag at her feet and pulled out the two tapes she had been sneaking home, setting them on the counter between them. Eddie huffed out of his nose, a lighthearted sound. Amused. She smiled, proud. She had flabbergasted Eddie Munson. He was smiling, and it was at something she had done in thinking about him. Her heart swelled. “So, yeah. I think it’s pretty cool.” 

“Huh.” 

“Huh?” 

He was so close to her that she could see his dark eyes darting back and forth between hers. “Rainbow is pretty cool. It suits you, I think.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How?” 

A verbal tennis match. Eddie smiled. “I don’t know. Just does. Believe me.” 

“Because it’s one of their more poppy-sounding ones? Do you think I’m poppy?”

“Do you think I’m scary?” He countered.

“Hey, I already said no to that!” When he cocked an eyebrow at her, she grinned. “I like the synth in it. It's cool sounding."

Now, he full-on laughed, leaning back from the counter they were leaning in together on. When he stopped, something softer came over his eyes, and he twisted his rings around. He was nervous. “Do you think... Um. Can, um, can I give you my number?” 

(Y/N)’s heart thumped in her chest. She could barely hear the song anymore with how loud her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. Through the drumming broke Eddie’s voice, the lighthouse to her ship stuck out at stormy sea, asking if she’d heard him. Of course, she had. Her attention had been on him since the second he'd walked through that door. “Your number?” 

“Yeah.” He let the word out in a breath, eyes searching yours, frantic. He lifted a hand to his head, scratching the back of his neck. She tried not to stare at his bicep. “I’d like to talk music more with you. Sometime. Catch up, maybe? It– I mean, if that’s okay with you. If you want to. I want…  you’ll have to call me, first, so you can take your time–”

“Eddie.” The second time she said his name aloud, it was with a smile. Nervous, wide-eyed, with a dazed smile on her face. If she had known, mere days ago, that her high school crush would be giving her his number… If high school her could see this… She pushed her journal towards him, open to a blank page. “You can give me your number.” 

A wide, toothy grin split across his face, squishing his cheeks up and crinkling his eyes. It was beautiful. He nodded, his hair bobbing. “Shit, cool. Okay. Cool.” His fingers were shaking visibly as he reached for the pen. In glittery red, he scribbled out ten digits, large fingers looking comical on the small pen. He signed his name below it, a mere scribble of capital letters. EDDIE. “Oh, um. If you call and… and I'm not there, if an older man answers who’s not me, don’t think I gave you the wrong number. I live with my uncle.” 

“Good to know.”

“So, uh.” Eddie shifted on his feet, smiling. “I should… probably go, sadly.” 

“Okay.” She was doing everything she could to keep composed, but her grin was eating her cheeks, her face burning hot to the touch, and she felt dizzy and delirious in this feeling. She had his number. His number. Were they friends now? What did this mean for them? They had spoken for the first time post-high school four days ago, and now she had his number?

He took a few steps back, taking all the time in the world before finally letting his hands slide off the counter. “So, um. Call me, I guess?” The words felt foreign on his tongue as he backed towards the door. 

“I’ll call you.” They felt foreign on hers too. 

He grinned one last time, waving his hand and not turning around fully until he was at the door. The bell began to ding as he cracked it open, turning over his shoulder as if he didn’t want to leave yet. Through a smile, he called, “See you later, (Y/N).” And then he was gone.

The second time Eddie Munson said her name aloud, her heart felt fuzzy and warm. 

She had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time.

Thank you for reading!!!!!!! I won't lie, the entire idea from this fic came from listening to this first song and imagining a 'looking up and seeing the one' moment at the chorus. it just fits. and then I imagined an entire relationship so here we go. The whole premise of the fic is gonna be about their friendship and relationship growing and them learning and being dorks together.

This is the first chapter of at least a few, so be sure to stick around for more!!! I hope you enjoy all the upcoming song references and blatant 80s tropes and awkward teen things in every chapter and check out the official playlist too!!!

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS AND ASKS ARE APPRECIATED!!

— lylia

TRACK ONE | NEXT TRACK >>>

---

It’s impossible to ignore you. (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Next.

Summary: Chrissy and Eddie seem to become close after a drug deal. The feelings you kept locked up suddenly start overflowing and you become afraid of losing your best friend. You fail to realize Chrissy was helping him gain the courage to admit his feelings to you.

Warnings: Slow burn friends to lovers. Angst. Unrequited feelings (but not really). So much miscommunication/misunderstanding. Reader being an anxious mess and an over thinker. Both Eddie and reader being oblivious dumbasses.

A/N: I said I was bringing angst to the Eddie fandom and here I am. Im deciding to make this 3 parts instead of two because I wrote so much already. And I love dragging the way they are idiots. Comments and messages are so welcomed! Yell at me! Thank you for all the support (:

Word count: 7k or something

You were confident in your friendship with Eddie. The friendship was build on so much trust and years of learning each other’s quirks and habits. Confiding in each other with secrets that you wouldn’t tell another soul and insecurities that ate away at your thoughts during the night.

You both were practically each other halves. Yin and Yang. Others may have found it kinda annoying, the way you both were practically attached at hip. But no one could deny how much you complimented each other.

Many would go as far to say you were platonic soulmates, which you happily accepted at first. Until the platonic aspect begin to leave a bitter taste in your mouth. A taste you desperately ignored and whatever thoughts followed was pushed to the back of your mind because you were not going down that worm hole.

Because you were his best friend. You were the first one to force him into a friendship when he first moved to Hawkin’s, running away from his parent’s home to his uncle’s, with a toothy smile on your baby face.

You were the one to compliment his drawings he hid at first of his dnd characters and learned the game to hear him excitedly talk about it at any chance. The one to force him to tell you who had formed the bruise on his eye. The one who then proceeded to hold their packaged popsicle against it until it melted.

And he was yours. He was the one to tell you that it was okay to be sensitive despite your parents harsh words. Eddie was the one to hold you after scary nightmares when he had convinced you to watch a scary movie you definitely had no reason to watch, only to tease you once there was no more fear in your system.

He was the one that held your textbooks even if he complained the whole time between classes. Eddie was the one to make a whole show of embarrassing himself in order to make you feel comfortable. He was the only one who understood your anxious rambling at random subjects that were in your mind on that particular day.

So yeah. You were content and happy with your place in Eddie’s life as best friends. Even if your developed crush was always something you beat down every day. Because as long he was in your life, you didn’t care if platonic was forever stamped on your relationship.

You were each other’s first choices. Always. So when he had mentioned one lunch period that Chrissy was meeting up with him for a deal, you only felt surprised that the school’s cheerleading Queen was going to buy drugs. A bit amused that she was meeting with her boyfriend’s worst enemy, the “Freak” of Hawkins.

You didn’t put much thought into it until you watched him and Chrissy seem to have a prolonged eye contact moment after said deal, in your last class together that same day. The blush in his cheeks when he looked away being the final realization that oh, maybe you really weren’t okay with it at all.

“How did the deal go?” You asked a little later, over the milkshake that was being shared at the small diner that was both your favorites. With the campaign Eddie had planned for that night, it was decided to hang around town before heading back to school.

“It went fine.” He answers after taking a long sip of the strawberry shake, emptying the glass.

You groaned, “Eddie, you hog!”

He smiles innocently as you tilt the glass to stare at the loss. “Oops.”

The pout on your face was immediately knocked down when he grabs the cherry he saved for himself and places it on your napkin. You accept the trade off as he continues. “She didn’t buy anything anyway. At least not for now.”

You hum as you grab the cherry he gave you, popping it in your mouth. “How come? It took a while so figured she did buy something in the end.”

He seems to fiddle with one of his rings anxiously. “We talked a bit,” that blush was back on cheeks, “Guess it took longer than expected. But I didn’t have what she needed, so she’s coming back to my trailer after hellfire tonight.”

“Talk about what?” You ask a bit too quickly, wiping your fingers on your napkin.

“Just..stuff.” He shrugs and pushes the empty glass to the end of the table. Eddie grabs the forgotten menu, even though you both know it by heart. “Hey, you want another milkshake? Or should we ask for a cheesecake?”

Oh. The cherry tasted dull in your mouth but you chewed it regardless, ignoring the small tug on your chest at the change of demeanor. It was so small yet you noticed it. He seemed uncomfortable at the topic, as though he didn’t want to breach it.

You were quiet for a moment before realizing he was looking at you questionably, so you smiled. “Trying to get me sick so I’ll miss hellfire, and not embarrass you huh?”

“Ohhh, those are fighting words sweetheart,” he narrows his eyes and his tone darkens. “I’m not one to back down. You’ll going to wish I wasn’t dungeon master.”

The implication on his “small talk” had you reeling as he drove you both back to the highschool. What exactly did they talk about then? And why did Eddie seem embarrass? As though whatever was shared between them in the woods wasn’t something he wanted to share with you.

Eddie didn’t have to share everything with you. But he always did. So seeing him dismiss the topic so quickly, it was different.

He always would tell you about the potheads that would regard him like some god, or the way the preppy kids acted like he would curse them if they were in his space for too long.

It wasn’t a big deal. Really. But Chrissy knocking on the door to the room Hellfire had taken place in that night, calling Eddie’s name had you feeling small suddenly. You, Gareth, and Eddie had been putting all the chairs back after the exciting game Erica had concluded with her lucky roll, when she walked in hesitantly.

Eddie jumped up from jamming his stuff in his backpack to greet her.

“Sorry, it ran a little longer than usual.” He states. “But we could head out now. You got your stuff, bug ?” Eddie looks towards you where you were zipping up your backpack. The idea of being in the same van as them together had you feeling uneasy suddenly.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to see any interaction that would make your anxious thoughts worse. Your eyes shift towards Gareth and your mouth spoke before you could think, “oh I can’t. Gareth had invited me for pizza tonight.”

“I did?” Gareth head jerks up from where he was, hand on the door knob ready to leave the room.

“He did?” Eddie sharply accuses at the same time, turning towards Garth who was staring between you both with wide eyes. His mouth hanging open, looking at you confused. You stared wide eyed back at him and nod quickly, pushing yourself towards the brunette.

“Ha! yeah he did, I totally forgot to tell you Eddie!” You shove Gareth a little too hard out into the hallway, out of sight before he could protest and expose your lie. Pretending like you didn’t hear the sound of him slamming against a locker.

“He only invited you?” Eddie voice was a bit tight, he pauses and coughs, “I mean, why not invite the rest of us?”

You felt bad realizing that your get away was going to make Eddie excluded. “Well, I mean, you have to take Chrissy right?”

Eddie blinks like he forgot she was there. “Well yeah but-“

“So it’s fine! He’ll take me home, don’t worry Eddie.”

“Right..” he mumbles, noticing Chrissy smiling at him before perking up, “You better bring me a slice yeah? Or else you’ll walking to school in the morning.”

You roll your eyes, nodding before he could try to mess with your hair and push yourself to leave them alone in the room.

You tried not to watch them leave the school together as you sat in Gareth’s car, recognizing the ugly emotion that washed over you in waves.

—

A part of you secretly hoped that would be the end of it. That Chrissy would buy whatever drug she needed, realize it isn’t her thing and they didn’t need to interact anymore. It wasn’t because you were jealous, something you repeated in the mirror a hundred times the night before, but for a normal reason.

Chrissy had a boyfriend. Jason who despised your best friend, so it wouldn’t be good for Eddie too continue to deal with her. She was just acting out, and that would be it. That’s all, right? No more ugly emotions.

“—and then he got mad because someone mentioned Chrissy.” Lucas explains during lunch as you kept glancing towards the double doors for Eddie’s late presence. “He cancelled practice for this week. It was stupid.”

“Didn’t you hear? .” Dustin chimes in with a mouth full of pudding. You would have scolded him for it if it weren’t for his next words, “He got dumped.”

“What?” You tore your gaze away from the doors, “Chrissy and Jason broke up?”

“Yeah. Apparently she asked for a break.”

“And how do you know this Dustin?” Luke leans forward from the end of the table to stare at his best friend.

“I know everything.” He smiles sweetly raising his eyebrows which forces Mike to snort with a small yeah sure which he takes offense to. “At least it was face to face, unlike El’s break up letter.”

“Why would mention that dude ?” Mike hurt voice drowns out while you stare at Eddie’s empty seat.

That sinking feeling in your stomach was back.

Eddie had arrived eventually, a hand grasped onto Gareth’s shoulder who seemed a bit tense to whatever Eddie was chatting away about. He looked really happy , a bump on his step as he made way towards the table and plopped down on his seat next to you. His smile so big that deep down you had a feeling that Chrissy had to do with it.

Of course. Who are you to completely stop that? She was single and just a few minutes during a deal had made Eddie head over heels for her.

One of your mozzarella sticks disappeared off your tray before he places his elbows on the table and tears it in half. “Hey, do you think Steve is working today ?”

You pushed away your thoughts once more. Eying the cheesy string between the two pieces before shrugging. “Uh no? I think Robin mentioned closing alone tonight. Something about Steve calling out for a date.”

“Ah, King Steve in action once again,” he rolls his eyes before popping one piece in his mouth, “Still good for me, I was going to stop by and didn’t want him to be on my ass for late fees.”

“Eddie you really need to stop losing the dvds,” you scold, grabbing your juice and handing it to him once you notice him eying it. “At this point we’ll be banned.”

“Hey, we both can’t get banned-“

“I also have late fees because of you begging Robin to use it under my name the last time.”

“It’s not my fault she’s so easy to convince ” He grins, “anyway, that’s good to hear, I was hoping to see her to rent a couple movies after school.”

“For what?” You ask, looking down at your tray. “Planning for a movie night?”

“Mhmm,” he hums happily, looking at you expectedly. “For a special girl.”

God, you felt pathetic for the way your smile was wiped off your lips. Your eyes stayed glued to your tray, your right hand coming up to scratch your neck in an attempt to hide your expression. “Oh cool…”

He was planning a movie date. Was it for Chrissy? It had to be, why else would he say it like that. The lunch food was beginning to disagree with your stomach. You pushed the tray away softly before looking up at him once you fought off a frown.

There was a frown tugging on his lips though, watching you carefully. He seemed, hesitant to say anything at first which made you feel worse. Is it really noticeable how uncomfortable you were ? You were ruining the good mood he was in.

“You okay?” He finally asks softly. One of hands reaching out under to table and brushing against yours. You force a smile once more, nodding before making show of holding your stomach.

“Sorry, I have a really bad stomach ache.” you laugh pathetically, “I think I need to go straight home after school” Instead of accompanying you to picking out whatever movie you have planned for Chrissy.

Eddie seems dejected but he nods. “Do you want me to take you to the nurse? I can carry you bridal style.” He attempts to joke but you only shake your head.

“No it’s fine.” The bell rings and you stand up a bit too fast for someone who was complaining about a stomach ache, “I’ll just get though it.”

You barely give him time to respond as you grab your tray ,”I’ll see you after class.”

—

He drove you straight home after school, the van mostly quiet for most of the ride as you allow yourself to go over your thoughts once again. Eddie tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing over you every so often before finally deciding to reach into his compartment and take out a cassette tape.

A few seconds later, your favorite band was playing through his speakers and you smiled. Eddie’s singing voice bringing you out of your funk for a few minutes as he sung along to the chorus, head banging despite it not matching the beat. Your laugh filling the van along with the music when he accidentally swerves the van after he looked away a little too long to sing to you.

For now, you’ll let yourself forget about whatever Eddie and Chrissy had going on.

-

It didn’t last long. Because as a week went by and Eddie began missing some lunches, and even a class period, you find out through Dustin that he caught Eddie meeting up with Chrissy.

Now it was clear they at least had a friendship going on. It really wasn’t your place to say anything.

Special girl. It rang in your head when you noticed Eddie keep glancing towards where she sat across the cafeteria. At first you ignored it, convincing yourself for a short time it was okay. But Eddie began to act different. Whenever you both would talk and joke, you would catch him glancing towards Chrissy. It hurt to see him so distracted while even with you, so you began to speak less and less.

Chrissy was special. Chrissy, the girl who everyone loved at Hawkins for her looks and skills in cheerleading. The blonde not only was really pretty and was the ideal image of what a perfect girl is, she also was really sweet. So you couldn’t even be mad at Eddie for his choice.

Anyone would want to date her and they would be considered lucky. So really, you should be happy for your best friend. Even if you felt annoyed from waiting after school, 20 minutes and most of the parking lot empty save the kids attending detention, and you see them both exit the building together.

They seem to be in deep discussion about something, before Chrissy placed her hand on his shoulder, saying something that had Eddie attention completely on her. You looked away from the sight, gripping onto your textbook on your lap.

A minute later he was standing next to you with an apologetic expression. “Shit, I’m really sorry bug. Ms. O’Donnell had me staying after to make up for being late to class.”

You smile tightly, because that’s all you been doing since this started, faking your smiles. “Right.” You get up from your seat on the bench and brush past him towards his van. He follows close behind, tugging on your backpack to signal to let him carry it but you ignore him, brushing his hand off and pulling it against your shoulder.

Eddie frowns at that and doesn’t unlock the door when you pull on the handle. “I said I was sorry y/n.” He whines, pouting and trying to wrap his arms around you but you pull away once again.

“Yeah I heard Eddie,” you sigh as you look at him, your annoyance growing at the confused look in his face. It pushed you to speak again before thinking clearly.

Word vomit. You had learned that phrase from Robin. “I guess you and Chrissy were both late huh?”

Eddie blinks taken back, looking towards where Chrissy had walked off to meet up with other cheerleaders. “Oh- that.” He clears his throat and rubs at his neck. “No, I bumped into her right after O’Donnell let me off.”

“Talked for a bit too?” Shut up. Why do you keep talking?! You screamed in your head.

“I just had something quick to ask her.” You looked at him raising an eyebrow, waiting and hoping that he would finally tell you what they had going on. But again, Eddie blushes, not looking at you and you realized he rather keep it from you then tell you. “It was stupid, like uh, about homework. ”

You felt done with the conversation, nodding and pulled on the handle again. “Cool, can you open the door now?”

“Come onnn y/n, don’t be like that-“

“Eddie you had me waiting in this heat“ you huff, crossing your arms and glaring at him. “I just want to go home and take off these sweaty clothes. Please.”

Eddie pauses and seems to think before suddenly dropping on his knees. You gasp and step back as he puts his hands together and shakes his head.

“I’m ashamed of myself. I am y/n. I failed you, something I can never forgive myself for.” He begins, shaking his head dramatically. You drop your bag and pull on his arm trying to make him stop.

“Eddie seriously!”

A few lingering students were staring. “Please. I’ll do anything for your forgiveness your highness. I’ll buy you some donuts, or even that horrible Tears for Fears album you dare call music.”

“You ass-“

“I’ll shave my head!” He whines dramatically, “just for you to look at me again.”

“Oh god” you laugh, unable to stop a real smile to appear and succeed in pulling him to his feet again. “Please don’t. I don’t think I’ll survive another buzz cut.”

Eddie smiles dusting off his knees and bending down to grab your bag, throwing over his shoulder. “So?”

“I forgive you,” you roll your eyes, watching him sigh relieved and hold his chest. He unlocks the door this time and lets you climb in.

“Cant even let me be mad for more than 5 minutes.” you mumbled when he throws both your belongings to the back and gets in. He starts the car, pointing at your seatbelt in warning, waiting to hear it click in place before driving out of the school’s parking lot. “Maybe I wanted to ignore you the whole car ride”

“I don’t think I could survive that” he teases, but there was truth in it. He looks towards you, his gaze softening. “You sure you’re not mad anymore?”

“Yeah, it’s fine Eddie.” Your smile was small as you look out the window. You really weren’t mad. His antics was enough for you to brush off your jealousy. Eddie was your best friend. You shouldn’t be acting this way anyway. You just needed time to get your feelings in check.

It doesn’t seem like Eddie is convinced because he sighs. You turn to look at him.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That” He waves his hand over you before looking at the road. “I don’t know. Off. You smile but it doesn’t even seem..” he struggles before snapping his fingers. “It’s not you.”

Shit. He’s noticing. You rub the side of your face and shake your head. “Really Eddie, it’s nothing.”

“Is it? You seemed off all week.” You flinch at that, wanting to sink into the seat. He really was noticing, will he eventually connect two and two together? What if he figures out your feelings that you hid for so long.

No you couldn’t let that happen.

“I haven’t been feeling my best Eds” You make sure to keep your voice steady, trying to be believable. “I guess, I just been stressed. With the way things are changing..”

That part was true.

“What do you mean?”

“With finals coming up, and graduation just two months away.” You play with the end of your hair ignoring his gaze. “I guess it finally just got to me. You know me and my anxiety.”

You smile pathetically and Eddie slumps back in his seat. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it before ?”

“You seemed..distracted..” That also was true. Really you were giving half truths so you didn’t feel too horrible for lying to him. “But really, I’ll get over it.”

Eddie reaches out and grabs your hand, shaking his head. “Distracted? What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing.” Eddie sighs but lets it pass.

“Don’t be hiding that shit from me anymore. Alright? You know I hate when you get into your head. Talk to me, okay?”

You nod, squeezing his hand back and play with his rings, pushing back your feelings. “Okay. Promise.”

—

The next few days were better. Sure, you saw him talking to Chrissy once between classes. But after Eddie had forced you to sleepover his trailer that day you half confessed in his van, and watched movies with you all night and made you hot chocolate, you felt safe to say it didn’t hurt that much.

You can accept it. You were still an important part in his life and he in yours. You shouldn’t be so selfish to wish for more. It was okay.

You were studying for your math quiz when your bedroom phone rang. You quickly scribbled down an answer before you forgot it, and reached over to the nightstand next to your bed.

“Hello?”

“Hey bug.”

You smile and lay back on your pillow, grabbing the base of the phone to place on the bed while you twirled the cord between your finger. “Don’t tell me you want me to give you the answers? Did you even try to solve one of the problems.”

“No I just..” he pauses. You mirror that by freezing with the cord around your finger. “Wanted to talk. Wanted to talk to you, you know?”

There wasn’t a blush on your cheeks at the gentleness in the way he said you. You change your position the bed to lay on your stomach, frowning. “Eddie? Is something wrong?”

He stays quiet. You can hear one of the records you gave him softly playing in the background.

“You know you can talk to me.” Please talk to me. Don’t push me aside. “Remember what you told me, last week, that we don’t hide anything.”

“Yeah, yeah you’re right.” He sighs and there’s some shuffling on his side. “This is just..really hard to say. It’s..different than what we usually talk about.”

Uneasiness swirls in your stomach. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t reply right away so you backtrack. “I mean that shouldn’t matter. We told each other so much already, I’m sure this isn’t much different Eds.”

“You won’t..freak, right? No matter what.”

Your throat tightens. That tightening feeling appears in your chest. You clear your throat in fear that your voice will break. “Y-yeah, I won’t. Try me.”

“Okay..” He coughs then sighs. “Okay. Okay, so..” he struggles before finally speaking. “There’s someone that I really like.”

You thought you were prepared. Part of you was relieved that after keeping it from you for so long, he finally confided in you. That should be good, right? Your worries that he didn’t have that trust in you evaporated, all that anxiety was proven wrong. Yet, the other part of you that you thought was going to fine and under control, broke.

“Oh wow,” you let out breathlessly, “You were scared to tell me that?” You push the back of your hand against one of your eyes once you feel the tears building. “Why are you worried about that.”

“Y/N- it’s, it’s just...” He whispers, “I been too stupid to realize my feelings and I’ve been wanting to ask her out for a few weeks now. But I can never figure out how she feels about me..”

His voice was shaky. “I’m terrified she won’t feel the same way if I tell her. Because y-“ he coughs, “she’s so amazing and perfect, and I guess I’m really scared you know? What if I’m not enough? I wouldn’t blame her for thinking so.”

Your heart hurts not only knowing he’s referencing to Chrissy but knowing that he didn’t feel good enough. How could he even think like that? Eddie was someone you looked up too. His ways of drawing attention towards him with his dramatic speeches and overall personality was admirable. So hearing him sound so small, dejected at the idea had you pushing your own hurt aside.

“Eddie. Anyone would be lucky to have you. This girl, god she would be so fucking lucky to have you as her boyfriend.” You stare at your ceiling, hand gripping the phone tightly. “You’re so much more than good enough. You’re sweet and funny, and, and I know she will be the happiest girl with you. Anyone would.”

I would. The voice whispers in the back of your head.

“You really think that?” Eddie asks, in awe. You nod forgetting he couldn’t see you. “Do you really believe that?”

“Of course, Eddie. You’re the most amazing person I know.” Eddie stays silent. You notice how fast your heart was beating.

“Thank you bug,” you swore you thought you heard a sniffle. “I..that made me feel better. You don’t understand how much.”

You both stay silent. You were waiting for him to drop that it was Chrissy. Go into more details about her but he continues to not talk. So you decide to rip the bandaid yourself.

“So, when are you asking the special girl?” You force your voice to sound excited, shutting your eyes tight. “I better not have gave that speech for nothing.”

“Actually, I was thinking about doing it tonight.” he trails off. You felt like you were going to vomit.

“Good! I-I hope it goes great, Ed. I’m rooting for you, and..I know she’ll say yes.” Your hands began to shake. It felt harder to breath. You thought you were able to handle it but no, you feel yourself falling apart.

You needed to end the call before he hears you break down.

“Y/N..I wanted- I was going to ask you-“ You cut him off once you feel a single tear slip down the corner of your face. A few more tears follow as you shake your head.

“Eddie I-I’m sorry I need to go.” You slam the phone shut and pull your pillow over your face. Hoping it’s enough to pause your tears but it didn’t. A sob is muffled by it instead.

You weren’t going to be okay after all.

—

You spend the rest of the night staring blankly at your homework before deciding you were not accomplishing anything but staining the sheet with a few escaped tears. You turned off all the lights and tried to sleep, trying to come up with an excuse as to why you hung up. You didn’t think clearly.

You could say you felt sick again and had to throw up, or that your heart was ripped out of your chest and you felt like you were dying.

The former was better. At least it was believable and didn’t need anymore questions.

You left the following morning earlier than usual. Deciding to take the bus that you seen Max always hop on. Eddie had tried giving her a ride before but she only quietly rejected it and often left earlier than you both did.

You sat next to her on the bus, headphones blaring Kate Bush voice. She glanced at you, raising an eyebrow.

“You look like shit.” Her headphones were pushed down to wrap around her neck.

“Thanks.” You reply, crossing your arms over your stomach and turning your head towards her smiling softly. “And you look amazing like always Max.”

She shrugs, turning her nose away as she glanced out the window towards the trailer park that was disappearing from sight. “Did you and Eddie fight?”

“No.” You feel sick again at the mention of his name. “I wanted to go early and didn’t want to wake him up. He’s grumpy when I do.”

“Righht..” she turns towards you again. “Eddie definitely is anything but grumpy with you.” She makes a disgusted expression before pulling her headphones back on top of her head. The volume increasing this time.

Well damn. You were hoping the younger girl would make more of a conversations with you. Maybe you should try a little harder with her the way you had with the other freshman, but push that for another day. You allow to swallow in self pity the rest of the bus ride.

The rest of the morning was a blur. Eddie had looked for you when he arrived a few minutes before school started, nearly disrupting your first class when he pushed the door open a second before the bell rung. Eyes set on where you sat in the back but was quickly yelled at by your math teacher.

“Eddie Munson! This is not where you’re suppose to be-“

“I need to see y/n,-“

“You can see her later. Out! Now!”

You hid your face behind your notebook, guilt eating at you as you could feel him staring at you before he was escorted out.

Your plan was to avoid him that morning, needing just a little bit more time. Then prepare to see him at lunch and hear all about what occurred with his confession the night before. You were going to sit there, at the lunch table, apologize for hanging up and ditching that morning, then make it up by listening to him talk about how Chrissy accepted his confession. And you will smile through it all, and support him.

You could do that.

But when you walked out your history class for lunch, and Eddie was waiting right across the hallway, your mind blanked.

“Seriously. What the fuck y/n.” He began, pushing himself away from where he was leaning against the locker. You began to walk down the hallway. “Jesus Christ! Really? Where are you going?”

“Eddie I have to meet up..” you think quickly, “with Nancy! Yeah, Nancy wants my opinion on some shots she took of the basketball game.”

“Nancy Wheeler? Mikes sister?” He questions, walking beside you and matching your fast pace. “Since when were you two friends?”

“She’s friends with Robin. So that makes us acquaintances” you reply, staring ahead.

He throws his hands up in the air and scoffs. “Okay. Okay fine. Are you just not going to tell me why you hung up on me yesterday? And ignored my calls after?” He grabs your arm and stops your walking. “Or even why I went to your trailer for your mom to tell me you had left early to school? What’s up with that?”

“Had to talk to my teacher about my final grades, and I knew coming early was the best option.” It was such a shitty and not well thought out lie. “Didn’t want to wake you up, especially after last night.”

Eddie’s grip loosens and his expression falters. The anger flowing into something you couldn’t recognize. He pulls away and stuffs his hands into his leather jacket. “Last night..” he sounds sad, “are..are you even going to ask about that?”

“About what?” You don’t look at him. You weren’t ready yet.

“About what we talked about.” Eddie says desperately. “Come on y/n. I told you it was something I was afraid to talk about, and you go hang up on before I could even..” he stops and rubs his face.

“I wasn’t feeling well. Ha , it’s weird. It just hit me, I thought I was going to throw up-“

“Bullshit.” He hisses, pointing his finger at you. “That’s such bullshit.” You step back surprised by his outburst. He looked outright angry.

“Eddie-“

“You keep saying all these lies. I’m not an idiot. And then you go and ignore me all morning. What the fuck did I do? Did I..did I do something?” He asks.

“No Eddie, you didn’t.”

“Then why are you acting like this right now? Christ, I don’t understand !” He yells, throwing his hand out.

“Let’s talk about it later, yeah?” You stammer, feeling overwhelmed.It wasn’t suppose to go this way. You had it all planned out and now it’s getting out of control.

“Why later? Why not now?”

“I just don’t want to right now, okay?” You pull away, seeing your escape and make way to the bathroom. Eddie following close behind. “I’m still not feeling well. So, just..we can talk about it after school.”

“I don’t fucking get this. Why are you acting like this.?”

You push yourself into the bathroom. Slamming the door shut before he could even think to follow you in. “Eddie please ! I’ll meet you in the cafeteria, okay?”

“I thought you were meeting with Nancy.” He states from the other side of the door. “See I knew you were fucking lying.”

You don’t say anything else. Back pressed against the door as you wait.

“Y/N please..” you hear him beg quietly, “I really can’t handle this from you. Not right now. Especially after last night..”

You frown at this. What does he mean by that?

“I need you.” His voice was small. You wanted to open the door and slam against his chest, hugging him the way you always do when you both were suffering from bad thoughts.

But this was so much different. All your ugly insecurities and jealousy powers through any rationality right now.

So you say nothing. Despite the confusion at his statement. You hear Eddie sharp intake of a breathe once he realizes this before you hear his knuckles tap on the wall, a quiet “fuck this”, then his footsteps receding.

—

You stayed in the bathroom all lunch. Pathetically allowing your thoughts to overflow and beating yourself up for not being able to act normal. Your mind was reeling, not allowing you to focus on your other classes.

School ended and you walked out to see that Eddie’s van was gone. You didn’t even know if he had stayed in school after he walked away from the bathroom.

You sat next to Max again. She didn’t say anything at first, until the bus was halfway to your destination. It seemed like your own silent treatment had annoyed her enough to rip the headphones from her ears.

“I can literally feel your sadness rub off on me and it’s annoying.” She narrows her eyes at you. You sigh and tilt your head at her.

“That’s not even possible.” You mumble, not hiding the sadness in your voice. She takes note of this and finally resigns.

“Okay. Just tell me what’s going on with you and Eddie.”

“Nothings going on.”

“Dustin was complaining to me about how he hadn’t made it to lunch despite needing to go over the last campaign. And you’re here, unfortunately . So..” she shakes her head, “it’s pretty clear.”

You groan and slam your head back onto the bus seat. “Okay fine. I’ve just..” you pause and play with your fingers. “He and Chrissy has a thing..”

“Chrissy Cunningham??”

“Yeah I know.” You laugh, “these past few weeks, they been hanging and he has been acting weird. And..I guess he likes her.”

“Oh okay. This makes so much more sense.” She states, sitting up. “You’re jealous.”

“Yeah.” You finally admit. “Really jealous. But I can’t do anything. Because who am I to do so? We’re best friends and I’m acting like a fucking jerk.”

“He asked Chrissy out yesterday,” you continue, “he called me before hand and was telling me about his feelings for her and how he planned to tell her. And I..freaked out and hung up. Then avoided him today. And I know he’s mad but I just can’t face it Max. I don’t want to hear about their relationship because it hurts. So much.”

Max usual nonchalant front faded into a concerned expression. She listened to you.

“He said he needed me and god, he wouldn’t do this to me if I were crushing on some other person. He would be happy and would be excited to hear me talk about it because he doesn’t like me the way I like him..I really am a horrible friend. Aren’t I?”

You felt pathetically for ranting to a 15 year old but when Max simply shook her head and said, “No. it’s okay to feel hurt by this.” You felt a bit relieved before she continued. “But maybe you should talk to him about it. I don’t know, you’ll get used to it. Don’t break a friendship over it, he’ll understand.”

“I don’t think I can tell him though..”

“Then don’t, idiot. But you can’t ignore him forever. I’m sure he’s really confused by all of it and doesn’t know what to do. He’s stupid that way.”

You snort.

“And it probably is hurting him. I can see the way he cares about you.” She says honestly, furrowing her eyebrows like a thought crossed her mind but she doesn’t mention it.

You nod, feeling a bit embarrassed but better. She was right. It’ll take time to get over this hurt but you can’t allow for it to ruin what you and Eddie had. Eddie’s reaction was clear enough for you to see you were being selfish.

It didn’t matter if it hurt. You couldn’t allow it to overshadow what you and Eddie already build.

“Thanks Max.”

“Whatever.”

You walked her to her trailer once the bus driver drops you both off, hugging her and enjoying the way she smiled shyly before she pushed you away and ran in her trailer.

Eddie’s van was parked in front of his trailer. So you had no other option but to take your time walking across the dirt trail and step up to the door.

I need you.

You knock on the door, the small pattern that only you and Eddie knew coming as second nature, and waited.

The door opened and Wayne appeared.

“Oh hey kid.” He says, glancing inside the trailer for a moment before looking back at you. “I’m guessing you and Eddie fought?”

“Was it that obvious?” You grimace, tugging on the sleeve of your sweater.

“Just a little. No other person can get Eddie to be slamming that door shut and blasting his music like you.” He says with humor, stepping back and opening the door wider for you to enter. You ignore the small comment and follow him inside. “But I’m glad you’re here. I really need to get some sleep so if you could..”

You nod quickly, giving a small apology before walking towards his room. The vibration of the heavy guitar solo could be felt in the hallway. The beat thrashing against your eardrums when you push the door open.

Eddie was sitting up with his back pressed against the metal bars that made up the headboard of his bed. Guitar in hand as his fingers moved effortlessly against the strings. Eyes shut as he had his head tilted towards the ceiling. You wait to see if he’ll notice that the door opened but he continued playing.

You build up the courage to speak. “Eddie.”

You didn’t think he would be able to hear you but the song came to a stop, eyes snapping open as he turns his head over to you.

“Y/N?” He puts the guitar down. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you. And your uncle let me in.” You explain, moving towards his bed and sitting on the edge. “He probably would have left me out there if it wasn’t for him wanting to get some sleep.”

“You know he would let you in no matter what.”

“I know.”

He watches you, fingers twirling one of the rings in circles in his other hand. Sadness evident in his eyes, uncertainty mixed with it as he switched his gaze from between your eyes. Waiting.

“Look Eddie, I’m really sorry”

“You been saying that.” He replies.

“No but..” you stand up and rub your hands against your thighs. “I’ve been such an ass.” You hold your finger up before he could say anything, “and I’ve been acting like a shitty friend. And I know you’re confused and have asked me to be honest, but..”

You look at some of his posters. “I am honest about my anxiety being part of the problem. I’ve been struggling right now, dealing with feelings I don’t want to.” You swallow, pushing on. “And I guess I’m just afraid. Of stupid stuff that doesn’t matter and shouldn’t have. And I took it out on you and that’s not right.”

“So, it wasn’t because of me? I thought I was doing something wrong this whole time.” Eddie watches you pace back and forth.

Yes.

“No.” You bite your lip and hug yourself.

“Then what was it?” He frowns, “I mean. Why didn’t you just come to me? You promised. I told you to talk to me about it all.”

“I know Eddie. I know. Really. It was just all me and my overthinking. And I’m really really sorry and-“

“Bug, I understand.”

“No , I’ve been horrible!” You frown and plop down on the bed beside him, covering your face. “I’m really truly sorry. I promise you I’ll stop being ..how I am.”

“I like the way you are. Christ y/n.” He pushes your hands away from your face and forces you to sit up, grabbing your shoulders. “I wasn’t mad at you because of that, I was just mad that you been pushing me away. I was mad not knowing whether I..I was the reason.”

“It wasn’t you Eddie. I promise.”

He nods, shoulder sagging from relief before he grins. “You know, it’s weird not having you ranting into my ear 24/7 about what’s bothering you. I hate when you get all quiet.”

You watch him, pouting and he pushes at your cheek. His hand cupping your cheek and you ignore the warmth is spreads across your chest. “I’m sorry for screaming at you earlier and not being there after school. That was not cool.”

“No, I deserved it.” You glance down and play with the chain attached to his pants. “I wasn’t listening to you about last night.”

Eddie tenses. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

“No we can!” You’re able to ignore the heavy feeling in your chest. The pit in your stomach wasn’t that big either. It felt somewhat okay. “What else were you going tell me? How did it go?”

“Nothing happened. I never got to ask.” He wasn’t looking at you.

You falter, confused. “What? I thought..”

Eddie clears his throat and stands up, grabbing his guitar and hanging it up in its place in front of his mirror. “Yeah, I totally chickened out. It doesn’t matter now.”

“It..it doesn’t?” You asked, feeling even more stupid now. No wonder he was so angry at you for ignoring him. He needed more support, encouragement and you weren’t there to give it. “Shit, Eddie. I really am sorry for hanging up.”

“It’s fine, really.“ He taps his fingers on his chin, still not looking at you. “Besides..I have a better idea.”

“Uh..” you begs to ask before Eddie suddenly bends down and grabs your waist and throws you over your shoulder as you scream in surprise. “-the fuck!”

“We are going to celebrate us surviving our first real fight!” He grins, conversation forgotten as he attempts to grab his denim vest and wallet with out dropping you. Your wiggling makes it hard but he manages to do it.

“And how are we going to that?” You giggle, relieved at the familiarly of your dynamic with Eddie. It was feeling okay again.

“We are going to get a milkshake.” He smiles and proceeds to carry you out of his room on his shoulder. A small bang echoing from your head hitting the door frame and your groan following it. “..And painkillers.”

---

•°∘∗ treacherous ∗∘°•

summary: you’re asking yourself why he keeps coming back, he’s asking himself why you keep letting him in. it’s a treacherous slope but neither of you can turn back now.

pairing: outlaw!bucky barnes x female reader

warnings: SMUT (18+, minors DNI), swearing, fluff, angst, mention of: alcohol, blood, injuries, guns, death, murder, violence, and non-con (it’s alluded to in regards to an unnamed character).

length: 16.8k

a/n: written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded. i know nothing of the old west but this is fiction so. title inspired by this song and one part of this fic is inspired by a scene in butch cassidy & the sundance kid (if u know which part ur cool). second time writing smut ✌😬.

You never could quite handle the sight of blood, nor could you ever hide your instinctual response to it. Your father used to terrorise you with the cuts he’d sometimes earn from a hard day’s work, always finding your reactions humorous.

Each time he would smile and say, “You’ll get used to it one day, kid.”

That day didn’t come while he was alive and it hadn’t come now.

Opening your front door to the man you’d spied knocking on it from the kitchen window, you almost shut it again.

The stranger towers above you, his frame taking up the entire doorway, but your focus is drawn down to where his hands - covered in dirt and blood, press above his left hip.

“Ma’am,” He greets in a gruff tone. “I hate to bother you, but I find myself in need of some assistance…” The man nods to his injury, as if it had gone unnoticed by you.

It takes a moment for you to respond and when you do it’s with a jerky bob of your head as you step out of the doorway.

One blood stained hand raises to tip his hat at you as he enters.

Your eyes follow him as he wanders into the kitchen to his left, a slight sway in his steps.

How long has he been bleeding out?

Shutting the front door, you finally find your voice. “What do you need?”

Grunting as he lowers himself into a chair at your small, rectangular table, he answers “Rag, needle, thread, and alcohol - whiskey preferably.”

Removing his hat, he places it on the tabletop.

Okay, he’s done this before.

Focusing on the task he’s provided, you move around the kitchen and sitting room across from it, gathering each item.

The stranger is in luck. Your father had loved whiskey and there’s still plenty of bottles stashed away in the cupboard.

When you come to stand in front of him with everything in hand, you find that he’s lifted his shirt, providing an unobstructed view of his injury.

There’s so much…

“Bullet just grazed me.” The man observes quietly to himself. “Still made one hell of a mess though.” He grumbles, finally lifting his head.

Blood. There’s so much blood and the skin has -

A deep, rough laugh pulls you from your spiralling, making you swallow thickly.

“It’s alright darlin’.” There’s a lighter edge to his tone. “Just put the stuff on the table, I’ve got it.”

You do as he directs but remain where you are.

The man opens the bottle of whiskey first and takes three healthy swigs before pouring the liquid over his wound, hissing.

Quickly averting your gaze with a wince, you focus on his face instead.

What skin you can see is dirty, like his clothes. It’s clearly been some time since he last bathed or even tidied his appearance. His hair is long and tangled. You think it’s naturally a dark brown but it’s hard to be certain. A thick, wild beard hides most of his mouth and half his face, while a sharp nose -

Oh god.

You’ve seen the wanted posters hanging around town. Heard the stories that accompanied them.

Bucky Barnes.

The famed outlaw, responsible for some of the decade’s most daring robberies and revered as the fastest gunslinger in the west, is sitting in your kitchen. Tending a gunshot wound.

For the briefest moment you wonder who it was that shot him and what their fate had been.

Then you realise that’s something you really don’t want to know.

“Ma always said I could never be a tailor.” The man - Bucky mutters, eyeing his truthfully pitiful stitching. “But it’ll do.”

Placing the blood soaked rag on the table, along with the needle and leftover thread, Bucky’s eyes meet yours as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey.

You feel the shift in the air as he sets the bottle back down.

Somehow he knows.

“I’m not lookin’ for any trouble ma’am.”

“Says the man famous for trouble.” You can’t help but retort.

Did I seriously just smart mouth him?

To your shock Bucky merely grins, his teeth surprisingly white and clean. “That’s fair, but a pretty girl’s house isn’t exactly where I make my trouble.” Morphing his grin into a smirk, he amends “Unless I’m asked.”

Your skin heats at the insinuation.

“I won’t be asking.” You state firmly.

“Then you’ve got nothin’ to fear.” Bucky assures, his mouth returning to its serious line underneath his beard.

He regards you carefully and it’s only then that you notice his eyes are the most electrifying blue.

“I best be on my way.”

The sudden declaration should fill you with relief, but as you watch Bucky rise from the chair with an unsteady step, you hear yourself saying “You can stay.”

Something tells you the last time he bathed was also the last time he had a decent meal or rest. He wouldn’t be finding any of those things nearby, especially in his condition.

It’s a miracle he even found you.

The downward tilt of Bucky’s eyebrows is the only indication of his confusion as he looks up from the hat in his hands. “Are you -”

“Just for the night and no funny business.”

Bucky’s eyes study you again and you swear no one has ever looked at you with such intensity.

Then he blinks, focusing on the front door over your shoulder. “I left my guns with my horse. You can keep ‘em with you if it’ll make you feel better.” Meeting your gaze once more, his deep voice rumbles “But I promise you won’t need ‘em.”

How much was an outlaw’s promise worth?

Eyeing him in the same observing manner, you begin to understand what Bucky had been searching for.

Slowly shaking your head, you tell him “It’s alright.”

You had your father’s shotgun should it come to that and you were familiar with the weapon.

“I’ll show you the bathroom.” You declare, striding out of the kitchen. “If you’re gonna stay, you’re gonna be clean.”

Behind you, Bucky responds with a - dare you say, amused “Yes ma’am.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Your eyes fall shut as you lean back against the front door, sucking in a deep breath of the crisp afternoon air.

There’s an outlaw in my bathroom.

Re-opening your eyes at that insane truth, you realise you’re not alone.

Bucky’s horse watches you curiously from where she stands in front of the porch steps, her gorgeous white coat shining under the setting sun.

Descending the steps cautiously, you extend a hand to the mare, letting her sniff you. When she makes a soft whinny and nudges at your hand, you move it to stroke her neck.

Her calm temperament surprises you, as she gladly allows you to lead her over to the barn not far from the house.

You settle her in a stall opposite your own horse, Chester. A gelding you aptly named after his chestnut complexion.

When you relieve her of Bucky’s saddle, you spot two guns amongst his belongings, just like he said you would. You leave them there in the barn.

Back in the kitchen, you clear everything except the quarter filled whiskey bottle from the table.

He might as well finish it off.

Wiping down the wooden tabletop to erase any trace of blood, you lift the bottle to clean under it and get a large whiff of the alcohol, making you pause.

It’s been years since you smelt the once common scent and it has memories flickering behind your eyes as you realise you’ve missed it.

Shaking your head, you put the bottle back down.

An hour passes, Bucky yet to emerge from the bathroom.

You stir dinner distractedly, staring out the window in front of you that overlooks the barn and the great nothingness beyond it as the sky slowly darkens.

“Smells good.”

Christ.

Heart thumping sturdily at the small fright, you let the wooden spoon rest against the side of the pot and turn to face Bucky.

Oh.

It’s no wonder he took so long. Bucky had found good use in a pair of scissors and your father’s razor.

His wild, untamed beard has been reduced to stubble, highlighting a handsome jawline. Bucky’s hair - which is a dark brown and currently damp, curls under his ears instead of brushing against his shoulders.

Definitely trouble.

However, dressed in your father’s old clothes, it’s hard to find him as intimidating. 

Your father had been a stout man, so you knew the clothes wouldn’t be a perfect fit.

The pants are a bit baggy and come up short, ending above the ankles of his bare feet, while the shirt tucked into them is an even looser fit. Bucky has rolled up the long sleeves to keep them out of his way, revealing just how thick and muscular his arms are.

“I can wash your clothes if you like.” You offer, realising you’ve been staring.

“No need darlin’,” Bucky responds smoothly “Washed them with me and hung ‘em over the porch.”

You hadn’t even heard the front door open or close.

“Kid, that wanderin’ mind a’yours is gonna get you in trouble one day.”

Nodding, you gesture to the table. “Well take a seat, dinner’s ready.”

Dishing out two bowls of stew, you place one in front of him, along with a basket of bread rolls.

“Can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.” Bucky divulges, taking the spoon you offer him.

Sitting in the chair opposite him, you say “There’s plenty more if you want it.”

The two of you eat in silence, Bucky at a much faster pace. You’re only finishing your first serving when he begins his third.

Guess it has been a while since he last ate.

Or maybe this is just his usual appetite. 

“Is it just you here?” Bucky asks after polishing off another bread roll, ending the quiet stretch.

In any other circumstance you’d think twice before giving an honest answer, but it’s pointless to lie to him now.

“Yes, it used to be my father and I, but he died two years ago.”

The pain his loss caused wasn’t something you could describe.

Your mother passed away when you were only four, taken by illness. If it weren’t for the two photographs your father had of her, you wouldn’t even know what she looked like.

After she died it was just you and him.

When his health began failing him some years ago, you both knew it was only a matter of time. You had just hoped for more.

Adjusting to life without your father had been challenging, but you were fortunate. You’d been left with a home - having no one else to come claim it, and the money that came from loaning out the land to cattle ranchers. It kept you fed, warm, and content.

Bucky lifts his eyes to look at you. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You nod, your throat tight with emotion.

Pushing up from the table, you take your empty bowl to the sink as Bucky continues eating.

The subject of your father’s passing stopped affecting you heavily some time ago, but it seems the turmoil of today’s events has brought your pain back to the surface.

“I’ll get your bed ready.” You announce, leaving the kitchen.

He’ll stay in the spare room - your father’s old room. It’s bigger than yours, but you could never find the will to claim it as your own. You were happy in your childhood room.

Grabbing sheets from the bedroom’s wardrobe, you start making the bed.

The room is sparse, containing only the bed with a small table either side of it, the wardrobe, and a chair. On one bedside table sits the two photographs of your mother.

You’re slipping a cover over the pillow when Bucky’s figure appears in the doorway.

“Have enough to eat?”

You doubt there’s any leftovers.

“More than, your cookin’s somethin’ else.” He declares.

A smile escapes before you can stop it.

You’ve always loved cooking and it’s been years since you’ve had someone to feed or receive compliments from.

Dropping the pillow, you look over at Bucky and find his gaze fixated on the bed.

“I’ll leave you be.” You state, moving towards the door.

Still staring at the bed, Bucky steps further into the room and out of your way.

Glancing at him one last time, you utter out a soft “Goodnight Bucky.”

You’re startled by how quickly his dark blue eyes jump to you. Then you realise it’s the first time you’ve spoken his name.

“What’s your name, darlin’?”

A pause.

Softly, you tell him your name.

Bucky’s deep voice repeats it, adding “Thank you, for everything.”

His tone is lighter again, like it had been earlier after he laughed, allowing you to hear the emotion in it - sincerity, in this instance.

You’re not sure why it pleases you so much.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

When you wake you’re not as well rested as you’d like, eyelids heavy and unwilling to open.

You spent most of the night tossing and turning, all too aware of the outlaw just two doors down.

Forcing your eyes open, you sluggishly get out of bed, taking your time getting dressed and fixing your hair.

Emerging from your bedroom, you peer down the hall to your right. The bathroom resides next to your room, the spare room next to it. Both rooms have their doors wide open, unoccupied.

Taking a few steps down the hall until you reach the opening on your left that leads into the sitting room, you walk in and find Bucky to your right, in the kitchen... making breakfast?

“Mornin’,” Bucky greets as you approach. Cracking two eggs into a pan, he answers your unspoken question. “Figured I at least owed ya breakfast.”

You weren’t going to argue that.

Taking a seat at the table, you ask “How did you sleep?”

Peering at you over his shoulder, Bucky replies “Like a rock.”

“And your wound?”

“Healin’ just fine.”

Bucky’s still wearing the clothes you gave him, but judging by the heat you can already feel in the air, you know his will be dry before you even finish breakfast.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You walk back to the house with Bucky on your right and his horse - Alpine, as he’d introduced, on his other side.

He doesn’t mount the mare until you’ve reached the steps that lead up to your front porch. When he does you’re stunned by the ease and swiftness his large body executes the movement with.

“Thanks again darlin’.” Bucky nods, touching the brim of his weathered black hat. “For your cookin’ especially.”

Back in his own clothes with a gun belt around his hips, Bucky looks every bit like the outlaw he is.

For the second time since you’ve met, your mouth takes on a mind of its own. “Well, if you ever find yourself this way again maybe I’ll cook you something else.”

The edges of his lips turn up in a smirk at your offer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a light press of his leg into Alpine’s side, the white beauty starts moving forward. You watch as she builds her momentum until she’s galloping, her and her rider becoming nothing more than a dot on the horizon.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 7 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Truthfully, you never expected to see Bucky Barnes again.

The memory of his visit had been stored away at the back of your mind and some days you wondered if it ever even happened - if it had simply been a daydream you’d gotten too lost in.

However, the knocking you hear on your front door one afternoon weeks later is very much real. As real as the man you see standing on your porch through the window above your kitchen sink.

Once you’ve opened the door, Bucky smiles in a way you can only describe as mischievous.

“Hi darlin’.”

You’re relieved to find not one speck of blood on him, just dirt.

Bucky’s maintained his shorter hairstyle but his beard has thickened, though not to the wild state it’d been in when you first met. 

You realise your memory had failed to capture the precise blue of his eyes, as well as the depth of his voice.

Quirking an eyebrow - but giving a small smile nonetheless, your only response is “Bathroom.”

Chuckling, Bucky tips his hat at you, stepping out of his muddy boots before entering the house. You assume the bag in his hand contains clothes since he doesn’t ask for any as he disappears into the hallway.

Walking out onto the porch, you meet Alpine at the bottom of the steps and stroke her neck in greeting, leading her over to the barn.

Bucky’s left his guns on his saddle once again and you place all his belongings on one of the workbenches before settling Alpine in the same stall she’d occupied last time.

After stopping by Chester’s stall to dote on the horse, you head back to the house and start making dinner.

It’s not too long after when you hear heavy footsteps cross through the sitting room, followed by the front door opening.

Glancing to your left, to the window above the sink that looks out onto the porch, you watch as Bucky hangs his wet clothes over the railing.

He disappears from view and you hear the front door shut before his voice fills the room “How ya been darlin’?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you answer with a simple “Good.”

You’re caught off guard when Bucky appears on your right, the smell of the soap he just used invading your senses.

Standing side by side, it’s impossible to ignore his imposing height.

The top of your head barely reaches his broad shoulders and you feel like you have to look up and up to see his face.

You lower your gaze as your heartbeat accelerates, unnerved by Bucky’s sudden closeness. However, it slows as you spy him inhaling the contents of the pot simmering on the stove in front of you.

“‘M starvin’.” He quietly groans.

Smiling, you roll your eyes and tell him “It’ll be done soon.” Pointing to a cupboard at the end of the kitchen you add “There’s whiskey in there if you want some.”

When Bucky doesn’t move or say anything in response you look up at him again, startled to find him staring at you intently.

“You a saint or somethin’ darlin’?”

He speaks gruffly, but you hear a trace of humour in his tone.

Scoffing, your gaze drops again as you take a step towards him, so you can stand in front of the counter. Bucky takes a step backwards to accommodate you.

“What’s saintlike about offering someone whiskey? And to an outlaw no less.”

As the last part slips from your mouth, you tense.

“You’re always talkin’ first and thinkin’ later, kid.”

Bucky merely hums in response, turning around to lean against the counter as his arms fold. The action pulls his shirt tight across his chest.

Not that you’re paying attention to that sort of thing.

“Isn’t that what saints do? Help lost souls?” He drawls.

“You’re lost?” You retort sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.

That earns a chuckle from him as he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m always right where I wanna be.”

Bucky’s midnight blue gaze hasn’t left you once, while yours constantly shifts away, like it does now. “And that’s here instead of somewhere nice?”

“Nice costs money.”

Your eyes dart up to his for no less than a second before flitting away.

This time you’re smart enough to not say the first thing that comes to mind.

Concentrating instead on the corn in your hands, you jump when you feel the rough pad of Bucky’s index finger under your chin, nudging your head up until you meet his gaze.

“Don’t start holdin’ your tongue now darlin’.” Bucky states in a low tone, dropping his hand.

Your heart is racing again, but you’re not sure if it’s from fear or... something else.

Swallowing thickly, you manage to voice “I thought you’d have plenty of money.”

“Sometimes I do.”

“Sometimes?”

Really can’t help myself, can I?

The left side of Bucky’s mouth twitches. “It’s not always about the money,” He answers vaguely.

You frown, “Then what’s it about?”

At last, Bucky smirks. “Curious thing, ain’t ya?”

The comment flusters you.

“Why do you wanna know?” Bucky deflects, leaning in until his face is only inches from yours. “Thinkin’ about joinin’ the life darlin’?”

“No thank you.” The bite of your words is lost in your breathless tone, the result of his close proximity.

Bucky just huffs out a laugh, his breath tickling your face. Then he’s gone, strolling across the kitchen for the whiskey you offered hours ago - or so it feels, and that’s the end of that.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Waking with a deep inhale, your eyes blink repeatedly against the bright sunlight your curtains do little to block.

You stretch with a satisfied hum, having found sleep much easier than the last time Bucky stayed the night.

It’s well into the morning so you dress quickly, curious to see if Bucky’s still here, maybe even making breakfast again, or if he’s already taken off.

When you venture down the hall into the sitting room, you find the answer to your question lounging in an armchair, one of your favourite books in his big hands.

“Not an early riser, are you darlin’?” Bucky drawls conversationally, not looking up from the page he’s reading.

You frown, crossing your arms. “It’s morning, isn’t it?”

He’s right though, you’re not one to rise with the sun - never have been. The few times you have are few and far between, the most recent being on his last visit.

Regardless, it’s not that observation that has you feeling defensive.

“Ten o’clock is hardly mornin’, you’ve missed half the day.” There’s nothing in his tone to suggest it, but you know he’s teasing.

It goes straight over your head however, as you’re too focused on what’s in his hands.

“Enjoying the book?” You snark at him.

Bucky smirks.

Oh yeah, he’s definitely winding me up on purpose.

“Tell me, are all your books so -” Bucky breaks off in a chuckle as you pluck the worn book out of his hands and press it to your chest. “So... romantic?”

You grasp the book a little tighter, having half a mind to hit him over the head with it for the gleam in his eyes.

An urge you think he senses.

“I like their humour.” Is your only answer.

Bucky hums lazily, clearly finding your answer lacking as he raises out of the chair.

The visual reminder of his towering height briefly shortens your breath.

Gazing down at you, Bucky lightly brushes against your side as he heads towards the kitchen. “I’ll go warm up breakfast.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 5 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You’re not sure what shocks you more when you open the front door. The fact that Bucky is clean, or the fact that he’s holding flowers.

Flowers.

It’s definitely the flowers.

You recognise the handiwork too. Clara, an elderly woman who was as kind as they come, grew all sorts of flowers and sold them from a stall in town.

They’re a little wilted from the long ride here, but still vibrant and pretty.

Resting a shoulder against the doorframe, inadvertently bringing him closer, Bucky’s deep voice teases “What’s the matter darlin’? No man ever bring you flowers before?”

Dragging your gaze up from the bouquet and narrowing it, you jab “I’m just wondering if they’re stolen.”

Bucky only chuckles at your bite, like you expect him to.

You’re not sure what to make of that realisation - that you expect things from him.

Holding the flowers out to you, he states “They’re paid for darlin’, I promise.”

There he goes again, making another promise.

Kept his last one, didn’t he?

Your facade doesn’t last long either way, the corners of your mouth turning upwards as you accept the flowers, your fingers brushing over Bucky’s hand in the process.

Raising the flowers to your nose - and ignoring the tingle in your fingertips, you breathe in their scent, the stems of lavender standing out the most.

Before you can thank him, Bucky’s bending forward and ducking his head until his dark blue eyes are level with yours. “Was the money technically mine...”

Your mouth drops open as he trails off, his implication hanging clear in the air.

Bucky gives a genuine laugh at your reaction, the warm sound almost eliciting one from you as he pushes away from the door.

You watch him saunter down the porch steps to take Alpine to the barn, completely and utterly bewildered by this outlaw.

He looked dangerous with his imposing height, broad shoulders, and wide chest that peeked through the unbuttoned top of his long sleeve shirts. The same shirts that his muscled arms bulged beneath.

Not to mention his roguish features - the dark hair, thick beard, and piercing blue eyes.

He sounded dangerous, his voice deep and coarse in a way you’d never heard before, every word he spoke seeming to rumble out of him.

He just didn’t act dangerous.

Outlaws weren’t giving, they didn’t tease, or smile, or laugh, and they certainly didn’t let some girl smart mouth them.

However, you weren’t a complete fool.

You knew there was another, more prominent side of him that you were yet to truly witness. You saw glimpses of it sometimes - of the outlaw.

A man who was used to being respected or feared, or both. A man who had the strength and skill to take whatever he wanted, when he wanted it, and without asking.

Then Bucky would blink or turn away, and that momentary glimpse you were afforded passed.

It shouldn’t drive you mad, it shouldn’t make you want to see that side of him, yet... it did.

If you thought about it too long - the image of him being rough and commanding like his lifestyle demands, well...

You jump when Bucky’s hand waves in front of your face.

Looking up from the spot on the porch you’d been staring at but not actually seeing as you lost yourself in your thoughts, you meet Bucky’s blue eyes below his furrowed brow.

“You really get lost in there, don’t ya darlin’?”

Thoughts still scattered, you absentmindedly respond “I don’t mean to.”

Bucky just hums.

Shaking your head to finally clear it, you walk back into the house, listening as Bucky shuts the front door behind him.

Grabbing the old, empty vase that sits on the small glass table in the sitting room, you bring it to the kitchen sink and fill it with water before arranging the flowers in it.

You can feel Bucky’s gaze following you as he takes his usual seat at the dining table, but it doesn’t unsettle you.

Returning the vase to its place in the sitting room, you admire the flowers once more with a soft smile before treading back to the kitchen.

When you pass Bucky you let out a small, confused sound as you come to a sudden stop.

Spinning to face him, you feel the skirt of your light green prairie dress tighten around your legs, and you discover the cause when you spot Bucky’s hand holding onto the bottom of your dress.

“What are you -” You start, flabbergasted until you actually focus on the section Bucky has grabbed.

“What happened?” He asks, not even having to look up from where he sits to meet your gaze.

The fabric is ripped, splitting the skirt upwards about four inches. There’s a scratch to match it along the back of your right leg, which you assume Bucky must have seen.

You can’t read any emotion on his face, but you sense that he’s not pleased.

Strange.

“I was trying to fix the curtain rod in your - the spare room, but the wooden crate I was using broke and I fell.”

Fell seems like an exaggeration.

There wasn’t much distance between you and the ground, but you had landed awkwardly, the wood catching on your dress and scratching your leg - thankfully not deep enough to draw blood.

Currently, you’re more concerned about how you almost referred to the spare room as Bucky’s.

When did it become his room?

Bucky frowns at you but doesn’t speak, making you frown back.

A moment passes before he finally releases your dress, standing up. Still silent, Bucky turns and strides towards the hallway.

By the time you catch up he’s already in the spare room, assessing the window.

You’d been replacing the curtains when the curtain rod bracket came off the wall on one side. It just needed to be screwed back in but the bracket was out of your reach.

The screwdriver sits on the windowsill, where you left it while you tossed the broken crate outside with some unfriendly words as your leg throbbed.

Grabbing the tool, Bucky reaches up to screw the bracket back in, the height not even a stretch for him.

Picking the curtain rod off the bed, you sit down in the same spot and bunch the curtains in your lap, keeping them off the floor as you watch Bucky quickly complete the task.

Turning around, he takes the curtain rod from you and hangs it up.

“What else?”

You stare at him for a second before pointing to the wardrobe behind you. “The right door’s a little loose.”

Diligently, he rounds the bed to the wardrobe and opens the right door, tightening the screws in the top hinge.

“I thought it was you the first time I saw it.” Bucky says abruptly, nodding to the bedside table closest to him where two photographs sit.

Both are of your mother.

In one she’s holding you as a child - you’re no more than two years old, on her lap with a smile. In the other she’s by herself and younger, about the age you are now.

“I once told my dad that I wished I could remember what she looked like, he told me to look in the mirror.”

He hadn’t been exaggerating, the resemblance between you and her was clear as day. Something that always made you wonder if it was hard for him at times - being constantly reminded of her when he looked at you.

You might not have been old enough to remember it, but the love your father had for your mother shone brightly, never once fading over the years that followed her death.

“He said that was the only thing we had in common,” Grinning, you drop your voice to a faux whisper as you repeat your father’s loving words “She was a horrid cook and complete trouble maker.”

Bucky grins at that, giving a slight shake of his head as he swings the mended wardrobe door shut. “I dunno darlin’, I think you’re plenty of trouble.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

After dinner is eaten and the dishes are cleaned, you always move into the sitting room for a bit while Bucky heads straight to bed.

Tonight however, he’s joined you.

Each sitting in an armchair across from one another, he nurses a glass of whiskey while you stitch the ripped fabric of your dress back together.

You use the light provided by the oil lamp and candles on the glass table between you and Bucky, placed around your vase.

As you glance at the flowers you realise you never actually thanked him for them.

Drawing your eyes higher, you’re not alarmed when you meet Bucky’s gaze.

He’s always watching you.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

Bucky was right of course, no man has ever given you flowers before.

“My pleasure darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles.

You’re not sure why you suddenly feel so warm.

“And for fixing those things for me.”

It’s not like you don’t do anything for him in return, but you still want him to know you appreciate the help.

“I’ll fix anythin’ you need,” Bucky states a little rougher “Just don’t go hurtin’ yourself again.”

I didn’t do it on purpose, you almost huff out.

Bucky must anticipate the retort or something similar to it, because he stands, finishing the rest of his whiskey in one mouthful.

He takes his glass to the kitchen sink before returning, clearly on his way to bed.

“See you in the morning.” You say as he passes you.

“You mean afternoon?” Bucky calls back, his tone lighter.

This time you do huff, letting out a quiet “Shut up.”

His chuckle echoing down the hall lets you know you were heard.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 4 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

The fourth time you open your front door to Bucky Barnes is... different from the others.

Nothing’s wrong per se, but it’s not right either.

Bucky’s the dirtiest you’ve ever seen him. In fact, you’re struggling to find a visible patch of skin on him.

His large hands rest on the top of the doorframe and his dark blue eyes bore into you the moment the door is open.

“Darlin’.” The word is spoken bluntly and you instantly know he’s not in the mood to talk.

You have a short-lived thought of turning him away.

Instead, you step to your left, silently inviting him inside.

For the first time since you’ve met, Bucky feels dangerous.

Especially when you eye the guns still on his hips.

If this had been the Bucky who knocked on your door while bleeding out, you’re certain you never would have let him stay the night - let alone return.

Bucky trudges off to the bathroom, your eyes trailing after him.

When you hear the bathroom door shut you release a short breath, looking outside to find another irregularity.

Your feet carry you out onto the porch and down the three steps without a thought, drawn to where Alpine patiently waits.

She greets you cheerfully, nuzzling into your hands and covering them with dirt. She’s filthy.

Every other visit her white coat has gleamed, leaving you no doubt that Bucky cared for her deeply. Yet, like her owner, it’s hard to find a clean spot on her.

Alpine makes a noise and seems to nod towards the barn, as if to tell you that she needs food, water, rest, a bath.

The irritation you felt at Bucky’s stiff demeanour is replaced with concern.

You were in town only yesterday and hadn’t heard of any new incidents involving Bucky.

Not that you were keeping an ear out.

“What happened, huh?” You ask Alpine, leading her to the barn.

She simply whinnies in response.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You’ve just started drying Alpine when you hear heavy footsteps enter the barn.

Her white coat shines once more, the familiar sight easing you, unlike the man approaching.

Bucky’s body radiates warmth as he comes to stand behind you, the scent of soap filling the air.

Daring to glance at him over your shoulder, you find him clean but worn out, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by.

Wordlessly, you let him take over the task.

You prepare Alpine’s stall, stocking it with fresh food and water while Bucky dries her. He’s quietly murmuring to the horse, but you can’t hear his words over the sound of Alpine chewing hay.

When Bucky’s finished he leads Alpine into the stall, closing and locking the gate behind her.

It’s almost humorous. Alpine and Bucky are clean but now you’re not. Your dress is soaked and covered in mud.

The walk back to the house is taken in silence.

“I’ll start dinner after I clean up.” You tell Bucky once you’re inside.

He gives no response.

After your bath you change into a simple white dress, the fabric light and less likely to make you sweat until you switch into your nightgown later on.

Stepping into the kitchen, you find Bucky leaning back in his usual seat, a bottle of whiskey opened on the table in front of him and almost finished.

You decide to make one of your specialties for dinner, hoping it will... well, you’re not really sure what you’re hoping it will do.

As you move around the kitchen you feel Bucky’s eyes on you, tracking your every movement as you keep your back to him more often than not.

That is until you have nothing left to do but let dinner simmer on the stove.

Turning around, you rest your back against the kitchen counter and meet Bucky’s stare.

He doesn’t shift his gaze and neither do you.

“What happened?” You ask quietly.

You don’t expect an answer and Bucky’s continued silence tells you there won’t be one.

Probably for the best.

Instead, Bucky lifts the whiskey bottle and swallows another mouthful, emptying it.

Pushing off the counter, you tread over to him.

“You should have some water.” You state, reaching for the bottle.

Before your hand can wrap around it, it’s grabbed by one of Bucky’s, the quick manoeuvre drawing your gaze.

He doesn’t look at you as he turns your hand over in his, focusing instead on your palm as he runs his thumb over the lines of your smoother skin.

You watch in a dazed state, letting him do as he pleases.

Bucky slowly brings your hand towards him, closer and closer until he’s pressing his forehead into your open palm.

The action stuns you and for a moment you don’t know what to do.

So, you go with what feels right.

Pushing your fingers back and forth timidly, you weave them between the strands of his damp hair.

The droop of Bucky’s shoulders boosts your confidence and you take a step forward, raising your right hand to join your left.

Bucky’s head remains bowed, his face hidden from you.

Taking another step forward to stand more comfortably, you release a small noise of surprise when Bucky’s hands grab at your waist, tugging you even closer until his forehead presses into your stomach instead.

Your heart stutters in your throat and your hands falter, but with a shaky breath you start stroking Bucky’s hair again, just as his strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against him.

Being held in such a way makes you feel...

No, don’t dare think it.

Growing bolder, your fingertips start drawing shapes on the back of his neck while you play with the ends of his hair. The longer you do this, the more relaxed Bucky becomes.

Eventually however, the sound of dinner bubbling concerningly cuts through the peace.

You look over worriedly, not wanting the meal to ruin.

Bucky seems to realise, his arms tightening around you before dropping completely. Without looking at him, you dart over to the stove and turn it off.

Dinner is eaten in silence.

“‘M going to bed.” Bucky states once he’s finished.

His first sentence since arriving.

“Okay,” You reply softly.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You don’t expect to find Bucky making breakfast.

Walking into the kitchen, you had been prepared to discover that Bucky had left long before you woke. You’re glad he hasn’t.

He doesn’t appear as worn down either, and the brief upwards tug of his mouth when he turns to see you is more than enough to have you smiling back.

While Bucky’s still clearly dealing with whatever, his mood has at least improved.

Predictably, it’s quiet throughout the meal.

You wait at the bottom of the porch steps while Bucky retrieves Alpine from the barn, admiring the flat plains that appear to stretch on forever all around you.

The sound of Alpine’s hooves reaches your ears and you watch as Bucky leads the white beauty to you, stopping her by your side.

“You gonna be okay?”

You’re not sure why you ask, but you do.

Bucky looks at you over his shoulder, his hands on the saddle he was about to mount.

He studies you, his eyes dark under his hat, before doing something that muddles your brain.

In a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, Bucky drops his hands and turns from Alpine, covering the distance between you in a short step before pressing his mouth to your forehead, his beard scratching at your skin.

“Just fine darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles as he pulls back.

Looking at you one more time, Bucky spins back to Alpine and mounts her in one fluid movement. Then they’re gone.

You can still feel the touch of his lips as you watch their figures fade.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Town was a good hour’s ride from your home, and it was for that reason you only ever made the journey once a week, every Thursday.

Your main stop was the general store where you bought food and other necessities. The store’s owner - Billy, would talk to you from his spot behind the counter, giving you a weekly rundown of town affairs.

Most of the time it was just mundane gossip you didn’t really care for, but not today.

According to Billy, there was a new gang causing havoc around the plains, trying to make a name for themselves.

“They’ve been robbin’ properties all over, startin’ fires and roughin’ up any fella in their way, they even -”

Billy never finished that sentence, but his averted gaze told you how it ended.

“Dunno why I’m worrin’ ya with this girl, God himself couldn’t find ya all the way out there.”

The declaration wasn’t that farfetched. Unless someone knew where you lived they needed to be lost to find it.

However, if someone was intentionally on the prowl...

You check over your father’s shotgun the minute you return home.

Some days it’s hard to forget that you’re a woman living on her own, with no help nearby. Tonight that fact looms over you like a dark cloud.

In fact, it keeps you wide awake, sitting at the dining table with the shotgun in reach until the sun rises again.

You’re sluggish the whole day, tired and on edge.

When afternoon rolls around you’ve cleaned the entire house in an attempt to distract yourself and for the most part, it’s worked.

That is until you hear the unmistakable sound of horse hooves in the distance.

Fear strikes your heart in a way you’ve never experienced and you instantly wish to never experience it again.

Racing to the window above the kitchen sink with the shotgun in hand, you almost cry in relief at what you see.

A white horse and her dark rider.

Sucking in deep breaths, you close your eyes and focus on the fast thump of your heartbeat until it returns to a calmer rhythm.

You’re putting the shotgun back in its place under your bed when you hear his heavy footsteps on the porch, followed by three loud knocks.

There’s no denying the way you immediately feel... safe.

“Bucky,” You greet a little breathlessly as you open the front door.

“Hi darlin’.” He grins, eyes softening just slightly.

It’s hard to picture the sombre man you invited inside only two weeks ago.

“Back so soon?” You attempt to tease, though you feel it falls flat in your drained state.

You wonder if Bucky can tell.

Ducking his head and pinning you under his stare that’s regained its usual intensity, he responds “You don’t mind, do ya?”

No, never.

Smiling, you answer “Luckily for you, I’m in a gracious mood.”

The tease lands better this time.

Humming, Bucky agrees “Lucky me.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

After dinner it wasn’t Bucky who retired to bed first, but you.

The moment your head hit the pillow you were out cold.

Maybe it should concern you how easily you let your guard down just because Bucky was close by, but you don’t ruminate on it long enough to let it.

It’s late morning, maybe even afternoon when you eventually wake. The heat in your room makes that much obvious.

Bucky doesn’t say a word once you walk out into the sitting room where he waits, reading one of your books again. However, the smirk he occupies as he gets up and goes into the kitchen says it all.

While you eat the breakfast - lunch, Bucky has made, you feel fear start to leach back in.

You don’t want him to leave you.

Unable to voice your plea, you take your time eating, dragging out the inevitable until you’re standing and taking your plate to the sink.

When you don’t hear the familiar sounds of Bucky collecting his things, you peek over your shoulder and see he’s still seated at the dining table.

Your gaze meets his.

Bucky answers the question in your eyes. “I’m supposed to meet my - some friends east of here in a couple of days.” You don’t miss his slip of tongue. “If I wouldn’t be overstayin’ -”

“No.” You interject much too quickly. “No, you wouldn’t be.”

He nods and stands up from the table, gesturing to the front of the house. “Your porch needs fixin’.”

While you kept the inside of the house to a spotless standard, the exterior was starting to show its age. The porch in particular, the boards old and beginning to rot.

“I know, I’ve got new wood to replace it with.”

You had it delivered out a couple of weeks ago. You just hadn’t gotten around to actually starting the task yet.

The sun beams down on you both as you walk side by side to the barn, past the horse stalls where you give Chester’s outstretched neck a fond pat, to the back where the tools and wood are stored.

Bucky hauls a bundle of wooden planks over his shoulder while you carry a crateful of tools behind him.

That’s all he lets you do, refusing your help when you go to walk back with him to collect the rest of the planks.

Standing on the bottom porch step, you watch him go back and forth from the barn until he’s brought out the last plank, creating a large pile.

“I can help.” You insist, feeling guilty about having him do all the work, even though he was the one who offered.

Bucky just shakes his head with a huff.

“Darlin’, go inside and relax.” He instructs, bending down to pick up a hammer from the crate. “Or,” He adds, straightening and strolling over to you, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “Sit out here and give me somethin’ pretty to look at.”

Your stomach drops as heat floods your face.

Managing a weak scoff, you avert your eyes and spin around, quickly retreating into the house.

Bucky’s hearty laugh follows you inside.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Taking Bucky up on his first suggestion, you spend the rest of the day in the sitting room, reading.

When late afternoon creeps around and Bucky’s been outside for around three hours, you mark the page you’re on and get up to make him a snack.

Using the door at your end of the hallway that leads outside to where you do the laundry, you balance a sandwich and glass of lemonade on a tray as you walk down the side of the house.

The sight that greets you when you round the corner almost has the tray slipping out of your hands.

Bucky’s shirtless.

His tanned skin glistens with sweat, the muscles in his back and arms prominent as he saws a wooden plank in half.

The longer you stare the more scars you begin to see, most small, others not, marking his body in a pattern unique to him.

You want to ask for the story behind each and every one.

Blinking out of your stupor, you step closer to where Bucky stands in front of the porch steps, sawing through the few remaining planks.

Swallowing thickly, you call out his name.

Bucky’s head lifts, looking over his shoulder at you before the rest of his body turns.

For a second time, you fight to keep the tray steady in your hands.

You’ve only seen peeks of the hair that covers his chest, but now it’s on full display and you can’t help but sweep your gaze down, over his firm stomach, to another patch of hair that leads to -

“Made you something to eat.” You declare, lifting the tray.

It only shakes a little.

Striding over to you, Bucky grins “Thank you darlin’.”

His large, rough hands brush over yours as he takes the tray and warmth pools in your stomach.

“You’ve done a lot.” You observe, desperate to look at anything except him.

All of the old boards have been ripped up and Bucky’s already laid down new ones on the entire left side of the porch, as well as on the steps, where he now takes a seat.

“Should be done by sundown.”

It’s... nice, you realise. So utterly nice to have a man around to help you - to help look after you.

Though not just any man.

Bucky.

You’ll admit that. To yourself at least.

The sound of Bucky’s glass hitting the tray draws your attention. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s already finished.

“You keep eating that fast and your stomach will end you before anyone else gets the chance.” You comment with a raised eyebrow as you wander over to him.

Bucky smirks as he stands, handing you the tray. “Darlin’, if your cookin’ is what takes me out, I’ll die a happy man.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

As the sun begins to dip behind the horizon, the front door opens.

You look up from where you’re curled into one of the armchairs with a book in your hands.

Bucky’s dark blue eyes roam over you for a prolonged moment before he husks out “Come take a look darlin’.”

He disappears back outside as you stand and make your way over.

Opening the front door fully, you take in the restored porch with a wide smile, stepping out onto it.

“Wow,” You gush “It looks amazing Bucky, thank you.”

You glance over to where he stands in front of the porch steps and meet his gaze briefly before he breaks it, pointing to a pile of the old wooden planks a few yards away.

“That wood’s no good for your fireplace so I’ll burn it tonight, that way it’s not takin’ up any space.” Bucky explains, moving to pick up the tools he left on the ground, dropping them into the crate.

You watch him quietly, leaning against the railing just down from where his shirt and gun belt hang.

It hadn’t escaped your notice that Bucky was wearing it when he arrived yesterday, like he had on his last visit.

You hadn’t thought much about it at the time and you don’t now, too mesmerised by him.

There’s a sense of delight in watching him while his attention is focused elsewhere.

Suddenly you think you understand why he watches you.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that darlin’.”

Bucky’s abrupt words startle you as he turns and captures your gaze.

Like what?

You can’t find the courage to ask him.

Shifting your eyes, you act as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what kind of name is Bucky?”

His chuckle makes you brave enough to look at him once more.

“It’s a nickname.” Bucky answers.

Watching him as he slowly wanders towards you, you press “What’s your real name then?”

Bucky comes to a stop in front of you and for the first time you’re the one that has to look down - if only just.

He runs a hand through his sweat dampened hair, pushing it back from his face as he studies you.

“James Buchannan Barnes.”

The confession is gentle, meaningful.

“James,” You repeat softly, giving a small smile. “Now that’s a name.”

Vivid blue eyes - dark and electric, gaze upon you with something you can’t name as you unexpectedly feel Bucky’s knuckles brushing against your cheek.

“Say it again,” He murmurs.

Your breathing grows heavier as your heart begins a wild rhythm in your chest, his touch so... addictive on your skin.

When your mouth parts to speak, his thumb catches on your bottom lip and it’s a miracle you remain upright, clutching at the porch railing.

Before you can utter his name again, you hear it.

It’s faint, but it still manages to draw your attention.

There’s horses in the distance, kicking up a large dust cloud behind them as they race towards you, the sound of their hooves echoing across the flat landscape.

You can’t tell how many there are yet.

The rough sound of your name returns your focus to Bucky, who is already marching up the porch steps. He breezes past you, reaching for his shirt and gun belt.

“Get inside and stay there.” Bucky orders sharply.

Just like that, the side of himself he’d just been presenting to you disappears, replaced by -

“Now.” He grits out, his eyes shifting to you.

That finally sends you rushing inside, leaving him as he buttons up his shirt.

Darting into the kitchen, you draw the curtain across the window that overlooks the porch.

Bending over the sink, you pinch the bottom right corner of the curtain between your thumb and forefinger, lifting it until you can just peek out.

Redressed, Bucky takes a seat on one of the two porch chairs and places his black hat on his head, tilting it down until his features are obscured and leans back.

He looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

You pick up on a faint noise and realise that Bucky’s whistling, as if truly unbothered.

A man like him would be.

Somewhere between a minute and an eternity passes before the horses - four of them, come galloping up to the house with their male riders.

Bucky keeps whistling.

The horses come to a stop beside each other in front of the porch, forming a line. The man to the far right urges his horse forward a step.

He eyes Bucky before glancing back at his comrades, pulling out a shotgun from behind him and placing it across his lap.

“Oi!”

Bucky’s whistling fades out, the sudden silence unsettling as he straightens in the chair, hat still tilted.

“Can I help you?” Bucky drawls.

His reaction has clearly thrown the men into confusion as they all look to one another before three of them focus on the man who yelled - their leader you assume.

“You’re not too bright, are ya fella?”

The insult makes you wince.

Bucky laughs.

It’s a sound you should find familiar for all the times you’ve managed to raise one out of him, but there’s nothing familiar about it - it’s dark and without humour.

Maybe it should scare you.

It doesn’t.

The men dumbly laugh with him, the one on the far left announcing “We’re here to rob you fool!”

Laughter rings out louder from them, the gang appearing to relax in this odd situation they’ve found themselves in.

“Yeah,” Another one echoes “Everythin’ ya got.”

Not to be left out, the only one yet to speak adds “That means any ladies too.”

Bucky’s laughter abruptly ceases and the leader notices immediately, unlike his three cackling morons.

“Ya gonna give us trouble fella?” He asks warily, the others falling silent at the sound of his voice.

There’s a pause before Bucky answers “Depends.”

“On what?” A moron sneers, clearly unimpressed.

“On whether or not you leave.” Bucky states, voice low and menacing. “‘Cos you make one move towards this house and the last thing any of you will see is the bullet I put between your eyes.”

He draws their attention to the guns on either side of his hips.

The leader hovers his hand above the shotgun on his lap.

Another moron lets out a guffaw, “They’re not even out!”

God they’re dumb.

“No,” Bucky agrees, his tone clearly revealing his dwindling patience. “But I’ve been told I got pretty fast hands.”

Knocking his hat back from his face, Bucky’s hands drop to rest on the handles of his guns.

“Bucky Barnes.” A moron gapes, looking like he just wet himself.

The atmosphere completely shifts amongst the gang, their leader’s eyes widening as he moves his hand away from his shotgun, raising it in the air instead.

“Mister Barnes, we ain’t mean no disrespect sir.” He quickly appeases.

Heads bounce up and down as the others hurriedly agree, watching Bucky fearfully.

You can’t stop the smile that pulls at your lips.

“Well boys, I’m not too bright,”

Oh, he’s good.

“So remind me what it was I just told y’all to do.”

Instead of actually doing it, one of the morons stutters out “Uh, well, you told us to leave sir.”

There’s a lull, Bucky’s frustration palpable, and a part of you believes he’s going to shoot them. In fact, you’re about to turn from the window to avoid the sight.

Before you can however, Bucky speaks again, his voice harsh. “So?”

Finally they gain an ounce of sense and urge their horses to move.

“Thank you sir.” The leader gasps gratefully, turning his horse around.

He’s smart enough to know he’s escaped a bullet, but not smart enough to see how his words irk Bucky further.

It doesn’t matter now. He and his morons are already racing away like the devil himself is behind them.

Maybe he is.

Bucky doesn’t move from the chair. Instead he watches as the gang disappears into the horizon.

When the sky grows dark, the sun all but gone, you pull back the curtain and move away from the window.

You’re lighting the candles and lamp on the sitting room table when the front door opens and Bucky steps inside.

Looking up at him, you straighten and say “That was...”

Trailing off, you frown as you realise you don’t really know how to describe what that was.

Watching Bucky handle the situation, making the four men appear stupid and harmless had been amazing, even though -

Even though they weren’t.

The realisation hits you then.

If you had been alone like you should’ve been, those men, those four men would have -

“Hey,” Bucky’s deep voice cuts through the terror settling in your chest - the terror he must see on your face. “You’re okay darlin’.”

But...

You’re vaguely aware of Bucky striding over to you.

“If you weren’t here -”

“I was.” Bucky cuts in, his voice leaving no room for argument. Grasping your chin, he tilts your head up until you meet his gaze. “I was here and that’s all that matters.”

The declaration is spoken gruffly, but the tender stroke of his thumb over your chin is comforting - the action belonging to your Bucky.

Your?

“Okay.” You reply quietly, after a few minutes have passed and his words have sunk in.

“You’re safe,” Bucky assures. “You’re safe with me.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

It’s late at night, the moon high in the sky when you find yourself standing on the porch.

You can’t sleep, your mind refusing to be quiet.

Too much happened today. Too many emotions were brought to the surface, bringing with them revelations you’d been trying hard to ignore.

Ignoring them now seemed impossible.

You’ve never had romantic feelings for anyone. You knew long ago that your future would be a lonely one, and you had made peace with it.

Then he came along.

Instead of finding your usual place of contentment in the loneliness each time he left, you found yourself counting the days between his visits, eagerly listening for his knock on your front door.

Then came the feelings.

At what point did your heart choose to swell and thunder in your chest at the mere sight of him? At what point did you find yourself missing his watchful gaze when it wasn’t on you? At what point did you decide to trust him with your life?

In your relatively short time together, Bucky has somehow managed to carve out a space for himself within you, and you don’t know how to get him out.

You don’t know if you want to get him out.

“Everythin’ alright darlin’?”

For a second you think you’ve imagined Bucky’s voice during your ruminating, but his presence beside you is real.

“Yeah,” You answer softly. “Was just looking at the stars.”

It was one of the reasons you came out here.

Humming, Bucky leans against the railing to your right, peering up. “There’s no better sight to fall asleep to.”

You remember him once mentioning that most of his nights were spent on the ground in the great nothingness.

“I’m sure,” You reply. “But I think I’d miss my bed every once in a while.”

Bucky lets out a faint chuckle.

There’s a comfortable silence as you both admire the stars twinkling above, but soon a prickling at the back of your neck has your head turning to find Bucky openly watching you.

“You drive me crazy like this.” He murmurs, almost to himself. “You drive me crazy all the time,” He amends “But especially like this.”

Like what?

You don’t have to find the courage to ask this time.

“Standin’ in your nightgown, smellin’ like lavender,” Bucky admits freely, repeating “Drives me crazy.”

Your body comes to life at his confession.

Goosebumps erupt over your skin and your heart pounds faster as a warmth settles low in your stomach.

“James...” You respond softly, not sure what to say.

“I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since we met. Every day, you’re my first and last thought. Always wonderin’ if you’re havin’ a good day, if you’re safe, if you’re thinkin’ ‘bout me.” He shifts closer to you, ducking his head until you’re eye level. “Wonderin’ what your mouth tastes like, how your skin would feel under my hands, what kind of sounds you’d make for me.”

Your breathing grows short and heavy as he leans in so his mouth is only an inch away.

“Gonna let me find out darlin’?” Bucky whispers against your lips.

“Yes.” Breathless and desperate, you add “Please.”

Desperate to be touched - loved, by him.

A thought you’ll come back to another day.

Bucky’s mouth claims yours gently, his lips softer than you imagined as they press against yours, his beard grazing your skin.

You’re tentative in your inexperience, but soon you’re pressing back with an eagerness Bucky happily returns. His tongue glides along your bottom lip, encouraging your mouth to open and when it does he consumes you.

Your arms anchor around his neck to steady yourself as his hands run down your sides to find purchase on your hips.

When you pull back for a desperate gulp of air, Bucky’s hands slip behind your body to grasp your bottom, making you gasp as he lifts you against him.

Securing your legs around Bucky’s waist, you cling to him as he carries you back into the house.

You use the time it takes to get to your room to feel him.

His beard scratches against the palms of your hands before you slip them into his smooth hair, all while you press light, shy kisses to the bare skin of his neck. The soft sigh Bucky releases enchants you.

Then you’re feeling the floor of your bedroom under your feet as he gently sets you down.

Bucky lowers to his knees in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours as his hands close around the hem of your white nightgown, his knuckles brushing against your calves.

The only lighting is the candle you left burning on your bedside table and the moon beaming through your thin curtains, but it’s enough to see the desire in his eyes - which is surely reflected in your own, as you nod to his unspoken question.

In one swift motion Bucky stands, slipping the nightgown up and off of you.

Your legs press together instinctively and your hands twitch with the urge to cover yourself once more as you’re hit with the vulnerability of being completely bared to Bucky.

“No darlin’,” He husks out roughly, grasping your wrists and holding your arms still as his heated gaze peruses your body. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

The fervour Bucky speaks with has you weak.

Pulling you to him, Bucky’s clothes rub against your skin and for some reason make you burn even hotter as his mouth swallows yours in a passionate kiss.

Walking you backwards until your legs hit the bed, Bucky breaks the kiss to lay you down, crawling over you still clothed. His lips seek out your neck this time, sucking and nibbling at the skin.

The sensations of his mouth are soon drowned out by the sudden feel of his rough hands on your lower stomach and you gasp as he slides them up your body to cup your pebbled breasts.

For the first time, you moan.

Bucky’s head jerks up from your neck to look down at you, his expression ravenous as he massages your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples as you feel the wetness pooling between your legs.

He lowers to kiss your mouth, this time slow and intimate as his hands continue their sinful touch, his right hand straying away from your chest to trail down and down and...

Gasping against his lips, your body shudders as you feel Bucky’s fingers push through the curls covering your sex, just millimetres from -

You reach for his wrist.

Bucky stops instantly, his hand stilling as he pulls back from your lips to meet your gaze.

There’s no way he doesn’t already know, yet you still find yourself needing to say “I... I’ve never...”

“I know darlin’,” Bucky soothes. “I’m gonna go nice and slow. Make you feel so good, I promise.”

You release his wrist.

Bucky’s left hand cups and rubs one of your breasts while his right continues its way down to where no man has ever touched you.

The whole time, you watch one another.

You gasp sharply when his fingers graze along your folds, feeling the wetness and warmth flowing from your centre.

It pulls a deep grunt from Bucky who dips down for a hot kiss.

“Gonna treat you s’good, sweet girl.” He whispers as he breaks away, moving down your body.

He’s never called you that before.

Say it again.

You’re torn from your thoughts when his mouth wraps around your left nipple while his right hand keeps caressing your sex.

Bucky switches his attention between each breast until you’re a wriggling, panting mess. With a smirk he moves even further down, planting kisses over your stomach as he goes.

Kneeling between your spread legs, Bucky wraps his large hands around your ankles before skimming them up your legs to grasp your thighs. He rests them on his broad shoulders, his warm breath fanning over your core.

Confused, you’re frowning down at him when he does the unexpected. Staring at you, Bucky lowers his head and licks along your slit.

Your hips buck up but don’t go far in his hold, your stomach tightening at the strange sensation as you let out a strangled noise.

Bucky makes a sound of satisfaction as he glides his tongue over your sex, his hands clutching your inner thighs tightly to keep you open for him.

This...

You’ve talked about sex in hushed whispers with some women in town but they never, ever mentioned anything like this.

When Bucky closes his mouth around your sensitive bud your legs jerk while your hands seek him out, gripping his hair firmly as you moan so vulgarly you don’t recognise your own voice.

“That’s it,” Bucky praises, licking your clit. “Keep makin’ those noises for me sweet girl.”

Your brain is nothing but a puddle of mush as one of his fingers pushes into you experimentally.

How long Bucky spends working you over, you have no idea, but eventually he’s pushing three of his fingers in and out of you.

You’re loud, making noises foreign to you as he licks, pushes, and sucks. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s...

“I’ve got you darlin’, come on, come for me.”

With one final suck on your clit, your body tenses and then snaps.

You shout out in your pleasure, tugging on the strands of Bucky’s hair as he keeps licking, watching you explode.

It’s not until your sounds turn into something small and pitiful at the overstimulation that he stands from the bed, his beard shining with you in the moonlight as he finally undresses.

You eye him hungrily in your dazed state, watching as his shirt flutters to the floor, followed by his trousers. Your stuttered breath fills the otherwise quiet room.

He’s...

Subconsciously, you press your legs together again.

Bucky tsk’s, his hands sliding under your knees and pulling them apart. “Sweet girl, what did I tell you?”

Settling between your legs once more, he hovers above you.

You can only hold his dark gaze for a moment before your eyes drift downwards.

His cock is hard, and leaking, and big. You don’t think they’re supposed to be that big. Your hand wouldn’t even be able to fit around it, so how was it supposed to fit in you?

“Like whatcha see darlin’?” You hear the smirk in his rough tone before you look up and see it.

Flustered, you mumble out a breathless “It’s big.”

Bucky groans deeply, like he’s in pain, and swoops down to kiss you, dominating your mouth.

“Don’t worry sweet girl,” He whispers against your lips. “It’ll fit in your little pussy.”

Shivering at his wicked tongue, your eyes dart down to look at it again.

“Can I touch it?”

Bucky grunts, watching you from underneath his lashes. “S’all yours darlin’.”

Timidly, you reach down between your bodies until you can wrap your hand around the base of his cock.

You were right, your hand doesn’t fit around it.

It’s hot and heavy in your palm as you give it a soft stroke before returning to the base. You repeat the action but this time you trail your thumb along the vein you had felt on the underside of his cock.

Bucky’s forehead drops onto yours, his breathing heavy.

A flick of your eyes upwards shows you that Bucky’s are closed, his jaw clenched tight.

The sight sends tingles through you and with a burst of confidence you tighten your grip around his cock and stroke him again, thumbing at his leaking head when you reach the top.

Hissing, one of Bucky’s hands shoots down to grab your wrist.

You look up and meet his open eyes.

Pulling your hand off his cock, Bucky husks “Won’t last if you keep doin’ that sweet girl.”

The statement thrills you.

Bucky’s hands wrap around your thighs, placing them over the top of his and spreading you beneath him.

Grasping himself in one hand, Bucky keeps his eyes on you as he slowly pushes into you. The stretch burns, making you bite down on your lip as you try to take all of him.

Stopping, Bucky lowers to capture your mouth while his other hand sneaks down to gently circle your bud, relaxing and distracting you as he continues to push in bit by bit until he finally bottoms out.

“You tell me when darlin’.” Bucky pants above you, unmoving.

A few minutes pass and when you feel like you’ve adjusted as much as you can, you say “Okay, just...”

“I’ll go slow sweet girl.” Bucky promises again, reading your mind.

True to his word, Bucky gradually pulls his length out of you before pushing it back in at the same pace. Your teeth snag your bottom lip again as he moves in and out of you, the feeling just shy of painful.

Bucky never looks away from your face, catching every emotion that flashes across it. You’re warm and tight - so tight, around his cock and it has him on the brink of madness. However, your pleasure is what he cares about most and when your face remains pinched on his fourth push into you, his eyebrows draw in concern.

As he pushes himself in on his fifth stroke, Bucky says “Darlin’, do you -”

You moan loud and short, the sound a mixture of bliss and surprise as the pain suddenly gives way to pleasure.

Bucky grunts above you, the look on your face seeming to make him even harder as he puts a little more power behind his next thrust, watching as it makes you moan again.

“There you go sweet girl,” He husks. “That feel good darlin’?”

“Yes.” Your hands wind in his hair, bringing his face down to yours for a desperate kiss as Bucky continues his slow thrusts.

Something’s clawing at your stomach, wanton. You need more.

Your right hand untangles from Bucky’s hair to slide down his muscled back, brushing over the bumps of scars as you hold onto him.

Breaking apart, you pant against his lips “Faster.” You don’t know how you know that’s what you need, but you do. “Harder, please.” You plead in a lustful tone.

You haven’t been oblivious to the wild look in his dark blue eyes, to the barely restrained control he exhibits.

However, your words, your tone, they undo Bucky’s control for a moment and in an almost uncontrollable action his hips slam up into yours as he grunts “Fuck darlin’.”

The powerful thrust claws a breathy whine of shock out of you.

“Gonna kill me, aren’t ya sweet girl?” Bucky murmurs thickly, reining his control back slightly as he does what you asked and pushes into you at a faster pace, his thrusts harder.

Your head pushes back into the bed beneath you as you moan out, the nails of your right hand digging into their hold on Bucky’s back while your left grips his hair tighter.

“Look at me.” Bucky commands in a tone so low you feel the rumble of it against you.

You tilt your head down to meet his heady gaze.

“James,” You whimper, the sensations building within you.

“Fuck.” He thrusts a bit deeper, pushes a bit harder, making you mewl. “I know, I know darlin’, gonna come for me again, aren’t ya?”

He gives another deep thrust, the force pushing you slightly up the bed.

It feels so good. You’re so close, you’re right there...

“Say my name sweet girl,” Bucky groans, rubbing at your clit. “Say my name when I make you come.”

A pleasure so intense it has your eyes rolling back erupts in you, making your whole body tighten and relax repeatedly as you moan, whine, and pant for James as you swim in ecstasy.

The sight of you coming so undone for him - because of him, sends Bucky hurtling.

Pulling out of your pulsing heat, his right hand wraps around his painfully hard cock and squeezes as he tugs it roughly, consumed by lust. On the third harsh stroke he spills over your stomach with a wrecked moan of your name.

Bucky’s forehead drops to yours, your heaving breaths mingling together as you both come back to yourselves.

Pressing forward, Bucky claims your mouth in a brief, sweet kiss.

“You okay darlin’?” He whispers.

A drowsy, satisfied nod is all you can manage.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You’re surrounded by warmth when you blink awake and it takes you a moment to realise the source isn’t the sunlight streaming into your room, but Bucky’s body underneath yours.

If heaven was a feeling this had to be close.

“Mornin’ darlin’.” Bucky’s voice is raspier, a clear sign he’s not long woken.

Tilting your head up from where it rests on his bare chest, you meet Bucky’s gentle gaze and give a small smile, quietly returning “Morning.”

In a movement too fast for your sleepy mind to comprehend, Bucky grabs your hips and effortlessly rolls you onto your back so he can hover above you.

Nudging your nose with his own, he captures your mouth in a tender kiss.

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling back.

Images of last night rush back to you, flooding your body with heat as you answer honestly. “A little sore, but good.”

Humming, Bucky runs his left hand up and down your side. “Just good?”

You duck away from his burning gaze, making him laugh.

“Still shy after last night darlin’?” He questions, though it comes across more like a statement.

Regardless, Bucky doesn’t wait for a response, instead he leans down and kisses you again.

This one is deeper, his lips pressing against yours harder as you willingly open your mouth to him.

You feel the air in the room thicken as Bucky’s left hand continues to roam and grasp while both of yours stroke through his hair.

Despite the soreness between your legs, that desire from last night begins pooling in your stomach.

Breaking apart, you both breathe heavily as Bucky utters “Already need you again sweet girl.”

Pressing soft kisses all over your face before moving down to your neck where he scratches his beard against you, Bucky speaks against your ear. “But I gotta let you recover first before I ruin you all over again, don’t I darlin’?”

You shudder at his words as he places a final kiss below your ear before moving away and getting up.

He pulls on his trousers, his blue eyes swimming with desire as he peruses your naked body while doing them up.

Licking his lips, Bucky husks “I’ll get breakfast started.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

“When do you have to meet your friends?” You ask Bucky as he takes your plate and sets it with his own in the sink.

“Whatcha mean darlin’?”

“You said you were waiting to meet them.” You remind him, recalling the conversation you had yesterday.

Yesterday?

It felt like a lifetime ago now.

Bucky’s back is still to you and his silence makes you frown. “You’re... not meeting them?” You guess hesitantly.

Why would he lie?

If he wanted to stay longer, he just had to ask.

Turning around to lean against the kitchen counter, Bucky’s arms bulge as they cross over his still bare chest.

Despite the current circumstance, the sight makes your stomach flip.

Bucky observes you for a moment before admitting “I heard there was a new gang causin’ problems ‘round these parts.”

That’s all he says, leaving you to fill in the blanks.

Your heartbeat quickens at the possible implication of his words.

“So...” You prompt softly, daring to hope.

Pushing from the counter, Bucky steps over to you, his gaze holding yours as he rests a hand on the table beside you before ducking until your eyes are level.

“So I needed to make sure my sweet girl was safe,” He whispers, raising his other hand “And that she stayed that way.” Brushing a gentle finger over your cheek, Bucky finishes “I’ve got nowhere else to be darlin’.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 6 DAYS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

For six days you’re in a world of your own, where only you and Bucky exist.

You knew it was only a matter of time, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment you feel when life finally crashes in.

Waking up to an empty bed for the first time since you surrendered yourself to Bucky, you don’t think too much about it as you slip on your nightgown.

Venturing out into the hallway, you freeze when you hear voices.

Fear begins to take hold until you push it back.

Bucky would never put you in danger. Of that, you’re certain.

“You sure? The law’s been gettin’ closer than I like.” An unfamiliar male voice states.

“We’ve been plannin’ this for too damn long to back out now.” Is Bucky’s reply.

Sucking in a breath, you know you really shouldn’t be listening to this.

Continuing towards the sitting room, you step louder than you normally would, alerting them of your presence.

Two men sit in your kitchen, their hulking figures making the small table between them appear child-sized. Their heads turn and two sets of blue eyes - one light, the other dark - land on you as you loiter awkwardly in the sitting room.

Glancing as long as you dare at the stranger, you note his dark blond hair which brushes against his dirty collar and wild beard that reminds you of Bucky’s the first time he knocked on your door.

You know you’ve seen his wanted posters, but his name eludes you.

“Darlin’,” Bucky crooks a finger at you, urging you over to him. “This is Steve, we’ve been friends since we were kids.”

Steve.

You could recall the name at the bottom of the posters now - Steve Rogers.

“Hello,” You greet shyly, offering your name as Bucky’s hands settle on your hips and pull you onto his lap.

Not meaning to interrupt them, you look up at Bucky in question. He squeezes your hips, telling you it’s okay.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Steve declares with a secretive smile. “I’m sorry for barging in.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you?” Bucky grumbles at the same time, making Steve chuckle.

This one laughs too.

“I’ll give you two a moment.” Steve appeases, standing up and settling a worn brown hat on his head.

You realise he’s only wearing socks and find it oddly thoughtful that he took his boots off before coming in.

“We’ll have to get acquainted some other time.” Steve remarks, and by the way Bucky’s grip tightens you gather he’s only saying it to be a menace, especially when he adds “Maybe you can cook me somethin’ too.”

“Fuck off.” Bucky growls, but Steve’s already slipping out the front door with a grin.

Grumbling, Bucky lifts you off his lap and onto the table, fusing his mouth to yours.

Once he’s thoroughly reduced your mind to empty space, Bucky pulls back and orders “Don’t you dare cook him or any other man anything, ever.”

“James.” You sigh, smiling.

“You won’t like what happens if you do darlin’.” He promises in a darker tone.

The thrill that shoots up your spine suggests that maybe you would.

Regardless, you playfully huff “If you insist.”

“I do.” Bucky grunts before kissing you again.

When you break apart, the mood turns solemn.

“You have to go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah darlin’, I gotta go.”

Forcing a smile, you whisper “Okay,” as if you have any say in the matter.

Rubbing his nose against yours, Bucky soothes “I’ll be back darlin’, like always.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 3 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Sighing, you dry the plate in your hands and eye the dishes you still have left. You probably would’ve finished the mundane task by now if you didn’t move so slow while daydreaming.

You spent most of today in the barn, completing chores. It wasn’t until the sun had almost set that you wandered back into the house and began making dinner.

Once these dishes were away you planned on taking a long bath.

Stacking the last plate, you pick up one of the candles on the dining table and blow out the rest, blanketing the house in darkness.

Using the light source in your hand, you check over the windows and lock the front door before trudging down to your bedroom.

Stepping into the dark room you can’t help but miss the moon and the light it provides as you place the candle on your bedside table.

Clutching the bottom of your pale yellow dress you lift it up and off, leaving you in nothing but a thin slip when you hear the unmistakable sound of a match striking.

Gasping, you whirl around as your heart hammers in your chest.

“Don’t stop on my account darlin’.” Bucky drawls, seated in the chair at the opposite corner of your room.

Waving out the match he just used to light the candle on the dressing table beside him, his dark eyes watch you like a hawk. “Go on.”

A shiver races down your spine.

This isn’t your sweet Bucky.

In an almost nervous manner you reach for the straps of your slip, hesitating for just a second before pushing them off your shoulders.

You hear Bucky’s deep inhale as the fabric pools at your feet.

“Come here.”

Your feet are quick to obey the order.

The candlelight flickers over his face, allowing you to take in his appearance.

He looks much the same as he left, beard full but tamed and brown hair reaching his shoulders. He’s a little dirty, but you can’t complain since you are too.

Bucky grabs your waist as soon as you’re within reach and pulls you down onto his lap, your legs either side of his as your naked breasts press into his shirt.

His hands move to grip your bottom roughly, drawing another gasp from you.

Grazing your lips with his own, Bucky whispers “I’ve missed you.”

You’re not given a chance to return the sentiment as his mouth captures yours.

The kiss is ravenous as Bucky takes everything he wants - everything he needs, from you. All you can do is hold onto him, your hands wrapped around his thick biceps as you let him take.

Both of you are panting for air when he eventually pulls away, his right hand gliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck and urge your head backwards, exposing your throat to him.

Running his nose under your jaw, all the way down to your collarbone, Bucky groans in satisfaction against your skin. “Smell s’good.”

It was merely coincidence that you had been using your lavender oil more often since his comment on the porch.

You feel him bite the place where your neck and shoulder meet - as if in claim, before licking over the spot, making you moan.

Bucky nips and sucks along your collarbone, dipping lower until he tugs one of your nipples between his teeth.

You don’t even realise you’ve started rocking against his hard length under you until both his hands seize your hips, halting your movements.

Raising his head, Bucky taunts “Desperate for me darlin’? Where’d my sweet, shy girl go?”

Why those words make you whine at him you have no idea, but Bucky loves it.

Smirking, he slowly rocks you up and down on his length and hums “Maybe my girl’s not so good, huh?”

You moan as he moves you faster, pressing you down to rub harder against his erect cock straining beneath his trousers. Your hands tighten around his biceps as your head drops to his shoulder.

“That’s alright darlin’, ‘cos I plan on doin’ bad, bad things to you.” Bucky murmurs in your ear, beard scratching as your sensitive skin.

His words added with the light press of his thumb on your clit undoes you, making you cry out his name.

If it didn’t feel so good, you’d be embarrassed at your quick climax.

Growling, Bucky stands while you’re still reeling in pleasure and carries you to the bed, manoeuvring your compliant body until you’re on your knees, face down.

He’s never had you like this before.

The sound of Bucky removing his belt has your hands gripping the sheets.

“Can’t wait any longer darlin’.” He grunts, shoving his trousers to the floor before grabbing your hips. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this little pussy every day, dyin’ to feel it wrapped ‘round me again.”

That’s all the warning you get before Bucky pushes in, the intrusion tearing a shout from you, followed by a drawn out moan.

You feel so full. You didn’t realise how much you missed this.

How badly you’ve been craving it.

“That’s it.” He purrs, your walls clenching around him. “Fuck.”

Pulling out until just the tip remains, Bucky surges back in.

You whine again, clawing at the sheets beneath you.

“Oh, you are a good girl, aren’t ya darlin’?” Bucky thrusts into you, pitching your whole body forward as he bends down and husks in your ear, “‘Cos you’re gonna take everythin’ I give ya.”

The way he’s talking is hurtling you towards the edge again.

You don’t respond - you can’t, but Bucky’s not looking for a response.

Straightening, he begins pounding into you relentlessly. You swear the bed is going to give out with how it creaks as the frame bangs into the wall, competing with the sounds coming from you.

When Bucky’s large, rough hand trails under your body to cup your sex, his fingers sliding up until they reach your bud, you almost scream.

Chuckling out a groan, he states “You’re squeezin’ the life outta me sweet girl.”

Bucky’s fingers are as unforgiving as his cock as they rub tight circles on your clit, bringing you to that point.

“Come.” He growls, leaning over you to wrap his large body around yours as his fingers bully your bud. “Now.”

You’re helpless to his demand.

“James!” You squeal, falling limp as your release slams into you.

Moaning deeply, Bucky pulls out of your spasming centre and flips you onto your back. Tugging his cock, he spills onto your stomach, cursing your name.

Collapsing forward, Bucky catches himself on his left elbow, hovering above you.

You’re breathless, eyes fluttering as he lowers to kiss your lips.

It starts out tender but soon turns into something lustful as you feel Bucky growing hard against your stomach. Your resulting whimper breaks the kiss.

“Keep those eyes open sweet girl,” He whispers. “I’m not done with you yet.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You wake wrapped in Bucky’s arms and a smile instantly spreads across your face. Lifting your head from where it rests on his shoulder, your smile widens when you realise his eyes are still closed.

Bucky always woke before you, yet here he is, fast asleep.

He looks different. Peaceful.

For a while you just watch him, listening to his steady breathing as you feel his chest rise and fall under your right palm.

Eventually you can’t resist the urge to brush his hair back from his face, which leads your fingertips to dance over his beard, down his nose, and over his mouth.

Your forefinger traces across his bottom lip before it’s suddenly snagged between his teeth, making you gasp then laugh.

Bucky’s eyes blink open and lock onto yours as he releases your finger.

“Morning,” You smile softly.

“Mornin’ darlin’.” His raspy voice after waking up is a sound you’ll never tire of. “What you doin’ up so early?”

Huffing at his teasing words, you sit up and move until you’re straddling his firm stomach, both your hands pressed against his chest.

“It’s not that early,” You glare playfully.

Cupping your hips, Bucky smirks “I just know how much my girl likes her sleep.”

My girl.

Lowering until your nose bumps his, you respond “I like spending time with you more.”

Bucky gives a quiet groan, his hands gliding up to cup your face and pull you down further until your mouths connect. It’s a slow kiss, every stroke of his tongue deliberate as he savours the taste of you.

He doesn’t let you go far when you break away for air, his nose prodding yours as he whispers “I have to go.”

“You just got back.” You can’t help but protest, eyebrows furrowing.

Bucky sighs, “I know darlin’.”

Rolling the two of you over so he can hover above you instead, Bucky’s forearms settle on either side of your head as he rests his forehead against yours.

“I got a... job to do,” Bucky explains vaguely. “But, when I come back it’ll be for a good while.”

You mull his words over for a moment before whispering “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He angles his face lower to place light kisses over your cheeks and down your neck where he then rubs his beard, well aware of how much it tickles your sensitive skin.

Once you have tears in your eyes and are stuttering for him to stop between giggles he finally relents, raising his head to meet your gaze.

The grin on his lips is much too boyish to belong to the man who spoke such sordid things to you last night.

“How ‘bout I get breakfast started?” Bucky suggests.

It’s at that moment, in the warmth and safety of your bed - of Bucky, in the little world you’ve started to create together that you realise you love him.

That you have for quite some time.

It’s in that moment, with his dark blue eyes shining down at you, his rough hands tenderly caressing your skin, and the lingering ache in your body from last night that you almost tell him.

Fortunately, common sense rears its head, snatching the words from you before they can tumble out and ruin everything.

You know he cares for you - maybe even adores you, but you don’t think men like Bucky Barnes can do love.

So instead you say “That sounds great.”

You’ll take everything you can from him before he leaves, knowing his absence will be even more palpable this time around with your realisation, and you’ll wait patiently until he comes back and gives you more.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Securing Chester’s reins around a post outside the general store, you give his chest a loving rub as he drinks from the water trough.

Moving around him to retrieve some money from the satchel on your saddle, the sound of running feet grabs your attention.

You turn in time to see a group of young boys race past, rushing towards the town centre.

“Hurry up or we’ll miss it!” One of the boys shouts back to his slower friends.

Frowning, you look around and notice that quite a few people are heading in the same direction.

Closing your satchel with the money still inside, you walk up the two steps leading to the general store’s small porch, intent on asking Billy what all the fuss is about.

A piece of paper stuck to the front door informs you he’s not inside. The messily written ‘be back soon’ only fuels your curiosity.

Striding back down the steps, you join the people making their way to the town centre.

It’s an underwhelming reveal.

Your eyes roll when you round the final corner and see that the gallows have been erected.

A hanging, of course.

What else drew such a crowd?

Certainly not one to enjoy such a gruesome sight, you turn around and head back the way you came. You’ll simply wait with Chester until Billy gets back.

You take four steps before stopping.

The whole town seems to be gathering - if not more. Only someone with a name important enough to know would be worth so much attention.

Don’t be stupid.

Fear turns your blood cold.

It can’t be him.

You’re thinking foolishly, you know that.

In what world did law enforcement ever actually catch a man like Bucky Barnes?

The notion was comical.

However, your need for reassurance has you spinning back around and trekking closer. You weave your way through the growing crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the criminal yet to be led up to the high platform of the gallows.

After a few minutes you’ve only managed to make it halfway through the throng of spectators, the rough shoves of uncaring men hindering your progress.

Standing on the tips of your toes, you peer around the figures in front of you, looking to the left corner of the gallows where you know the stairs that lead up to the platform start.

You’re not sure if it’s just a trick of your overactive imagination, but for a split second you swear you catch sight of familiar brown hair and your breath lodges in your throat.

No. It can’t be. It can’t.

The next few moments seem to occur in slow motion.

A brief gap in the crowd gives you a perfect, straight line of vision to the brown haired man. The reveal of his face almost brings you to your knees.

No. No, no, no -

You’re frozen in denial at who you see.

James.

His hands are tied behind his back and two deputies flank him, ready to escort him up the stairs.

Your direct line of sight is broken by the crowd, causing everything to speed up as you finally kick into motion.

Like a desperate woman - because you are, you push through the crowd, ignoring the protests and elbows you receive. You don’t stop until you’ve reached the front.

Ducking around the unsuspecting deputy stationed to keep the mob at bay, you bolt to Bucky, sliding to a standstill in front of him, your shoes touching his boots.

“Darlin’,” Bucky speaks like the wind’s just been knocked out of him, his blue eyes wide.

“James what are you - they’re -”

You can’t speak. You can’t breathe.

This was Bucky Barnes, the famous outlaw. He didn’t get caught and he certainly didn’t die.

“You promised.” You gasp out, eyes itching with tears “You -”

“I’m so sorry baby.” Bucky’s voice strains in his effort to speak softly and you hate it.

As much as you hate that you can’t give a second thought to his sweetest term of endearment for you yet.

“Don’t -”

Regaining their wits, the deputies around you spring into action, one of them grabbing your arms from behind and pulling you backwards.

“Hey!”

“Don’t touch her!” Bucky spits vehemently, rearing forward only to be tugged back by the deputies either side of him.

Throwing your right heel back, you catch the deputy in his shin, forcing him to let go. You lunge at Bucky, clinging to the front of his shirt like it’s your only lifeline.

“Please James,” You plead, as if he has any say in this. “I love you, please.”

You should’ve told him. You should’ve told him that morning.

“Listen to me baby,” Bucky implores, his deep voice gentle like you know it can be with you - not soft. “I want you to know how much I love you, that you’ve given a meanin’ to my life that I had no right to expect, that no one can ever take from me.”

“James.” You choke out, throat tight with the tears that stream down your face.

He loves me. He loves me.

The beautiful declaration should fill you with happiness, not anguish.

“You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me.” Bucky declares, lips curling as his blue eyes admire you.

When the deputy grabs hold of you this time there’s no chance of you breaking out of his tight hold even if you had the strength to try - which you don’t.

Your body is limp, weak, and shattered as you’re dragged away from the only man you’ve ever loved. The only man you’ll ever love.

“It’s alright darlin’,” Bucky insists over his shoulder as he’s pushed up the stairs, his gaze unwavering. “You’ll be okay, I promise.”

You’re shoved into the crowd - which parts from you in disgust, while you watch Bucky ascend to the top of the platform, feeling anything but okay.

They stand him beside the noose and your legs tremble as you subconsciously start walking backwards through the horde of onlookers - as if you can escape what’s about to happen next.

“Bucky Barnes...” A big, well dressed man addresses him before reading out his sentence.

They’re going to kill him.

Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth as the reality sinks in.

He’s going to die.

Only watching you - always watching you, Bucky’s mouth opens.

You can’t hear what he says, but you make out the words.

“Don’t watch.”

“Please.”

The pain suddenly burns you and your shoulders shake from the force of your tears.

Gasping in a deep, shuddering breath, you look at him one last time before closing your eyes, forcing yourself to honour his final request.

Why? Why does death have to take him from me too?

You’re barely aware of anything other than the affliction raging inside you, so you don’t know how you even hear it over the jeering crowd, but you do - a low whistle.

It shouldn’t mean anything to you, but something urges you to open your eyes.

Blinking through your tears, you turn your head to the right - where the sound had been loudest, and zero in on a man who towers over most of the spectators.

A black bandana covers the lower half of his face, but he’s looking at you, his bright blue eyes visible as he winks.

Steve.

Shifting his gaze from you to Bucky, he whistles again, this time a two tone note that’s loud and piercing.

All around you, people scattered within the crowd fling back ponchos to reveal guns that they fire up at the sky or towards the gallows, sending the crowd screaming and running as all hell breaks loose.

---

eddie munson x shy fem reader

warnings: hope y’all like CHEESE, reader wears glasses

a/n: this is incredibly self indulgent and lame but i hope y’all enjoy xx.

“You’re staring… again.”

Nancy says under her breath, which has your eyes immediately darting away and back down toward your lunch out of sheer embarrassment.

“I was not staring….” you hiss, picking at the pile of peas on your tray.

“Oh, you soooo were,” she laughs, knocking her shoulder into yours. “Why don’t you just go and talk to him?”

You let out an exasperated breath before glancing over at your best friend. She’s giving you that soft yet encouraging gaze that’s entirely Nancy.

“Why would someone like him be interested in someone like me?”

Your voice is softer, but that underlying fear bleeds through nonetheless.

“I’m just so….” you trail off, chewing on your lower lip. “Boring.”

Your eyes have drifted back over to the hellfire table, where they seem to find themselves almost every lunch period now. Totally entranced by the male sitting at the end of the table.

Eddie Munson, dungeon master and local metalhead. Also the guy you’ve been harboring the biggest crush on since your junior year.

He looks even more pretty with the afternoon sunlight shining through the windows of the cafeteria, highlighting the warm chestnut hue of his fluffy curls. His lips are poised in an annoyed pout, fingers drumming on the table in rapid succession while he listens to Dustin’s nervous ramblings.

“He’s just so— outgoing and doesn’t give two shits what these dipshits around here think of him.”

Your lips can’t help but quirk up into a small smile when you witness him tossing a pretzel at Mike’s head.

“You are not boring,” Nancy sighs, her curls bouncing when she shakes her head in distain. “But you’re not gonna know if something could work out between you if you don’t at least try.”

Your snort has her rolling her eyes, but yours are still transfixed on the boy in question. So much so you haven’t noticed the way your glasses continue to slip down the bridge of your nose.

“I doubt he even knows my name, Nance.”

When your eyes suddenly catch his chocolatey brown ones, you feel mortified. You’ve been very careful about your… admiring during lunch or in between classes. But Nancy had momentarily distracted you, and now you’d been caught red handed.

Unbeknownst to you, this isn’t the first time he’s noticed your wandering gaze. Soft eyes that are filled with the utmost longing and kindness. Someone with a reputation such as Eddie Munson doesn’t have looks like that thrown his way very often.

So it’s no surprise he’s caught on.

But you don’t seem to notice the way he always glances back once you look away, dark eyes seeking out your figure in the halls. The longing of his own for you to finally meet his gaze. But your nose is either stuck in a book or those pretty eyes are trained on your feet.

It was maddening.

You quickly break his curious stare and jump up your feet, missing the way he shoots up from his own seat. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and leave your tray abandoned.

“I gotta go… I’ll see you later, Nance,” you say before she even has time to protest, keeping your head down as you make your way toward the exit.

Mentally still kicking yourself for being caught gawking at him like a bumbling idiot. But your heart leaps into your throat when you hear the slapping of sneakers on the linoleum behind you.

Before you can even process what’s happening you all but collide into a denim clad chest, gasping softly when his arms slip around your waist to catch you before you almost stumble backwards onto your ass.

“Whoa, easy there,” he chuckles, those same pouty lips quirking up into a lopsided grin. “Didn’t mean to scare ya…”

When he releases you, your whole body deflates— already missing the warmth of his palms. Even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

“Uh… sorry, did you need something?” you ask, unable to hide the confusion in your tone.

He purses his lips, twisting his rings on his fingers in almost a nervous manner.

Why would he be nervous?

“I just had a question is all…” he mumbles, “and honestly, I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while now.”

And your heart nearly stops when he carefully pushes your glasses back up the bridge of your nose.

“You free tonight?”

---

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader (Fey)

Prompt: Rockstar Eddie Munson meets his match in his fiercely competent assistant, Fey, as the chaos of his career collides with unexpected emotional depth. State: Finished

Genre: Slow-burn romance, humor, angst, slice of life

Word Count: ~58,000

Sneak Peak:

As Eddie Munson’s assistant, you thought you had the job figured out: keep the rockstar on track, clean up his public disasters, and maybe—just maybe—survive his relentless teasing. But life with Eddie is anything but predictable.

From late-night rescue missions at exclusive LA clubs to managing his chaos with photographers snapping at your heels, you’ve become an expert in handling his larger-than-life personality. But something weird happens.

Suddenly, you’re juggling more than itineraries and tantrums. There are moments that catch you off guard: Eddie teaching a random little kid to air-guitar, the way he defends you against his cutthroat manager, and the quiet vulnerability that hides beneath his smirking exterior.

But it’s not all heartwarming chaos. Between industry parties where you're painfully out of place, Eddie’s knack for pushing your buttons, and the constant tension that sparks whenever you lock eyes, it’s clear this isn’t just a job anymore. It’s a battle to keep your walls intact while Eddie Munson—infuriating, talented, and impossibly endearing—keeps finding ways to knock them down.

Chapters: [¹][²][³][⁴][⁵][⁶][⁷][⁸][⁹][¹⁰][¹¹][¹²][¹³][¹⁴][¹⁵][¹⁶]

Blurbs:

Eddie needs to squeeze the pimple on your skin! (domestic fluff)

⚠️ Trigger Warnings:

Alcohol and substance use

Mentions of neglect and poor parenting

Emotional manipulation and toxic dynamics

Public scrutiny and paparazzi behavior

Discussions of career and financial pressures

---

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: Y/N and Bucky are always arguing but underneath the arguing there is something more.

---

The safehouse was quiet, save for the scratch of Y/N’s boot across the floor as she paced in tight, agitated circles. Sam sat on the worn couch, nursing a coffee, watching her with an amused expression.

“You’re gonna wear a trench in the tile,” he said.

Y/N didn’t look up. “Then maybe someone will finally fix the plumbing while they’re at it.”

Before Sam could respond, the door opened with a low creak.

Heavy boots. A leather jacket. A glint of metal. Blue eyes. 

Y/N stopped pacing but her heart began to beat faster. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

“Good to see you too,” Bucky Barnes said flatly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. 

Y/N’s eyes swept over him before she could stop herself.

His hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen him, the scruffy length replaced by something neater, sharper—but it didn’t make him look any less like trouble. If anything, it made the angles of his face more striking, the steel in his eyes harder to ignore.

He wore a pair of dark blue jeans that fit him a little too well, paired with a simple gray t-shirt that stretched just enough across his chest to be distracting. Over it, the familiar dark leather jacket—worn at the edges, like it had seen more than its share of nights just like this one.

Still him. Still Bucky. A little more tired. A little more unreadable. Still ridiculously, unfairly good-looking.

Sam groaned, standing on the opposite side of the room, already knowing what was about to take place. “Here we go…”

Y/N crossed her arms, eyes narrowing like she’d just been handed a punishment rather than a mission. “I thought you were off brooding in Brooklyn or whatever it is you do when you’re not starting bar fights.”

“I got a call,” Bucky replied, jaw already tight like it physically pained him to be in the same room. “Didn’t realize you’d be here, or else I would’ve said no.”

Y/N blinked slowly, unamused. “Aw, and here I thought you missed glowering at me across the room.”

Sam raised both hands, already regretting life. “Okay. Ground rules—no stabbing, no sniping, no snide comments, no killing each other.”

Y/N and Bucky immediately replied, deadpan and in perfect sync: “Then they have to leave.”

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, I miss Steve.”

Bucky smirked. “He wouldn’t have let her talk to me like that.”

“Oh, please,” Y/N shot back. “Steve was team me the second I showed him how to do a proper disarm.”

“You cheated” Bucky gritted. “You used pepper spray.”

“It was tactical.”

“It was petty.”

“It worked.”

Sam muttered under his breath, “I swear I’m too old for this.”

Y/N turned to him, innocent. “What? We’re just catching up.”

“Yeah,” Bucky added dryly. “You know, bonding.”

“If by bonding you mean barely tolerating each other’s existence,” Sam mumbled. “Sure. Great. Love that for us.”

Y/N smirked. “Oh, c’mon, Barnes. Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me.”

He shot her a look. “Like a rash.”

“Like an itch you can’t quite reach?” she teased, stepping just a little closer.

“Like a headache that talks back.”

Y/N clutched her chest dramatically. “You do care.”

“I’m praying for an excuse to leave.”

Sam muttered something about regretting all his life choices and walked into the kitchen, leaving Y/N and Bucky staring at each other, the tension in the room thick.

---

Later that day, the three of them were staking out a suspected Flag Smasher hideout—Bucky in the alley, Y/N on the rooftop, Sam above them both in the drone.

“Your comms are off again,” Y/N said through gritted teeth.

Bucky’s voice crackled back. “Maybe I just wanted some peace and quiet.”

She huffed. “God forbid someone try to help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

“You keep saying that. I keep not believing it.”

He sighed heavily. “Look, I’ve been doing this long before you started playing sidekick to Sam—”

“Excuse me?” she snapped.

“You heard me.”

There was a tense silence over the line before Y/N muttered, “You’re impossible.”

“And you never shut up.”

“You never smile.”

“You never stop talking long enough to make me want to,” Bucky snapped. 

Sam’s voice crackled in: “I swear to God, if you two don’t start flirting with less hostility, I’m going to crash this drone.”

---

There were moments—small, unspoken ones—that carried more weight than any argument ever could. Something neither Y/N nor Bucky dare speak of out loud. 

Like when Y/N stumbled during a chase, her footing lost for just a split second—and Bucky was already there. His hand on the small of her back like it belonged there, steady and sure. She stiffened, spine straightening as she glanced at him with a flicker of defiance. “I’m fine,” she said, brushing it off like it didn’t matter but in reality her heart was pounding. Not from almost falling but from the placement of his hand- afraid to admit she liked it. 

He didn’t move, not right away. His hand lingered—just long enough to say everything he didn’t. “I know,” he murmured, low and steady.

Or the night she’d fallen asleep at the table, exhaustion pulling her under while intel files lay all around her. Bucky had watched her for a moment, then eased the tablet from her fingers with more care than most people gave breakable things. He draped his jacket over her shoulders—soft, worn, and carrying the faint scent of him—without a word.

Then there was the time she caught him staring. She’d felt it first, like warmth on the back of her neck, and when she turned, there he was—blue eyes locked on her like she was something worth memorizing. He looked away too quickly, but it was too late.

She’d seen it and had already begun to feel the same way.

---

The tension between them finally snapped, unraveling in the aftermath of a mission gone sideways.

The safehouse was dim, still humming with adrenaline and silence too loud to ignore. The echo of gunfire clung to Y/N’s skin like smoke, and Bucky’s jacket was still spattered with dirt and blood that wasn’t his.

“You almost got yourself killed!” she exploded, her voice sharp as she began pacing, hands clenched at her sides. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I had it under control,” Bucky growled back, arms folded tightly across his chest. 

“No, you didn’t! You jumped in front of that guy like—like your life doesn’t matter!”

He stood slowly, deliberately, tension rippling through his shoulders. “And what? You care now?”

Y/N stopped mid-step. Her breath hitched.

“I see how you look at me,” he said, quieter now. “Like I’m a grenade that hasn’t gone off yet.”

She laughed, bitter and breathless. “You think that’s it? You think I argue with you because I’m scared of you?” Her voice cracked as she stepped closer to him. “You don’t scare me, Bucky. You never have.”

He froze, surprised—caught off guard by the softness buried beneath her anger.

“I argue with you,” she continued, more gently now, “because you make me insane. Because you throw yourself into danger like you’ve got nothing to lose. Because you act like you’re not allowed to matter to anyone.”

His jaw twitched. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“So what?” he asked finally, voice low, unsteady. “You’re saying you care about me now?”

“Yes!” she shouted, exasperated. “You stubborn, reckless idiot.”

Bucky just stared at her, stunned into silence.

She broke eye contact, running a hand through her hair with a shaky breath. “God, I didn’t want to feel anything for you. I told myself you were a headache, a pain in the ass, someone I had to put up with. But somewhere between the death glares and the brooding... I started to see you.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I realized I care. And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Bucky stepped forward, slow and cautious. 

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” he murmured. “Just… don’t take it back.”

Y/N met his eyes again. For once, she didn’t have a comeback. Just silence, and the distance between them—closing inch by inch.

Then, softly, Bucky said, “I care about you too.”

Y/N turned to him.

“I just... don’t always know how to show it,” he added.

She stepped closer. “Try.”

And he did.

---

The kiss wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t all heat and urgency or cinematic sparks.

It was something quieter—gentler. A moment that didn’t demand attention but deserved it, soft and grounding in all the ways neither of them expected.

His metal hand hovered just above her hip, uncertain, trembling with the weight of hesitation and history. Like he was afraid to touch something too good, too real.

But his other hand—his human one—was surer. It cradled her cheek with aching tenderness, calloused thumb brushing her skin.

She leaned into the touch before she could think better of it, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N smirked faintly. “That wasn’t terrible.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward. “You never shut up, do you?”

“Not unless you kiss me again.”

He did.

---

Codename: Lazarus

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Things are complicated between you and James Barnes. For you, life doesn’t mean much when you never stay dead for very long. But it might just be an ex-soviet assassin that convinces you to start living again.

In Order of Publication // All work is 18+ // Please Read Warnings

Better When Wet 

Synopsis:  So he pushed you in the mud, least you’re not dead.

Winter Soldier

Synopsis: A mission goes sideways and Bucky is triggered into Soldat leaving him with the consequences.

Small Deaths 

Synopsis: Dying is the easy part. It’s coming back that really fucks you up

The Daddy Look 

Synopsis: A few little quips during a mission leads to a new chapter in the kink book.

Ass-Kicking

Synopsis:  The one and only time you ever heard Bucky say, “Kick his ass for me, doll.”

Sowing The Seeds 

Synopsis: Bucky seeks to find himself after the events of the mission. Hard truths come to light and three little words just might make it all better.

Catch Me If You Can

Synopsis:  It’s the Annual Stark Christmas Extravaganza and you hesitate to name what this thing is between you and Bucky. Maybe being spontaneous isn’t always such a good thing.

Calm Before The Storm 

Synopsis: Enjoy a lazy morning in the sheets with Bucky.

From Moscow With Love

Synopsis: The answer to that burning question, What happened in Moscow?

Easy A

Synopsis: A little bit of teasing goes a long way.

Netflix and Chill

Synopsis: You’re having a very bad day for no good reason. Bucky’s working and so are your usual gal pals, that calls for some chilling out with your newest bestie.

Emotional Support Assassin

Synopsis: Your possessive streak is showing.

Novel Idea

Synopsis: Bucky enjoys a relaxing day reading while you bake cookies its entirely domestic.

The Broom Closet Serenade

Synopsis: You crash the party and Bucky’s inside Op just for a chance to see him in a suit while Bucky does the oldest and noblest of Spy traditions. The Broom Closet Serenade.

Spontaneous 

Synopsis: You and Bucky go on vacation and after a little teasing Bucky shows you just how spontaneous he can be.

Confused about the timeline? Here’s a handy dandy list of the fics and when they happen in the Codename Lazarus timeline.

Catch Me If You Can - Ass-Kicking - Netflix and Chill -  Emotional Support Assassin - The Daddy Look - Small Deaths - Novel Idea - Calm Before The Storm - From Moscow With Love - Better When Wet - Winter Soldier - Sowing The Seeds - Spontaneous - Easy A - The Broom Closet Serenade 

---