#MUTUAL PINING IS THE BEST!!!!

[waitimcomingtoo]

A Film By Peter Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter gets back into making little videos once the two of you start hanging out

warning: extreme 2017 homecoming era nostalgia

Masterlist

Of course he went for Liz.

Liz was the ingénue. She was perfect in every possible way. Perfect grades, perfect face, and the perfect boy pining after her. You’d been crushing on Peter since the third grade but with Liz around, he never noticed you.

But Liz was gone now. She had moved to Oregon following her dad’s arrest and taken Peter’s feelings for her with her. Now that she was gone, you decided it was time to stop pining after Peter from afar and start pining from up close. And so, when you walked into the cafeteria that day, you didn’t sit at the end of the table like you usually did.

“Oh, hey.” Peter smiled in surprise when you sat down next to him. Smiling was good. Smiling meant he wasn’t creeped out by you sitting so close. You gulped before giving him best smile back.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” Ned asked, making Peter give him a look. You immediately regretted your decision and wished you’d just stayed in your usual spot.

“What do you mean? She always sits with us.” Peter pointed out.

“No, she always sits down there. She’s never actually sat with us before.” Ned replied and gestured to the end of the lunch table.

“Yes, but I’m sitting here today because I needed Peters help with the chemistry homework.” You said and put your chemistry notebook on the table. You knew you couldn’t just randomly sit with them without a reason, so you came prepared.

“Oh, for Mr. Eddie’s class? It’s easy. I’ll show you my notes.” Peter’s offered with a smile. You returned the smile as he pulled out his own notebook. It was a win/win for you since you actually needed help with the homework and it would start a conversation with Peter. While he was explaining the problem to you, you never once looked down at the notebook. You were too focused on the curve of Peter’s suspiciously long eyelashes, the longest you’d ever seen on a boy. Ned noticed the way you were staring his his best friend and frowned a little.

“Does that make sense?” Peter’s asked when he was done explaining.

“Yeah, it does. Wow, thanks Peter. It sounds so easy the way you explain it. I wish this stuff came as naturally to me as it does for you. You’re so smart.” You said as if you had listened to a single word he had said.

“That’s nice of you to say but I’m really not that smart. I just like chemistry.” He replied as he blushed from the compliment.

“Oh, come on. You’re the smartest guy I know. You’re the only one that answers questions in that class. And you always get them right. When Mr. Eddie asks if anyone has any questions, I don’t raise my hand because I don’t even know what I’m confused about yet.”

“That’s I feel in English. I can barely make it through the first line in a poem and you’re already going back and forth with Ms. Teague about Pindaric odes or whatever they’re called.”

“You listen to when I talk in English?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Of course I do.” Peter shrugged. “I always find the reading boring until you raise your hand and talk about how you interpreted it. You make it interesting.”

“I liked that book we read when the kids ate the other kids.” Ned said and interrupted the moment. Your smile dropped as you and Peter looked at him with disgust.

“The one with the flies-“

“We know.” Peter cut him off.

“Anyways, thank you for helping me with the homework. I’ve been stuck on it all week.” You said to Peter.

“Ugh. That’s been me with my paper for Mrs. Teagues class. And it’s due tomorrow.” Peter groaned.

“Oh, the analysis essay? I could help you with that.” You offered.

“Really? You’d help me?” Peter smiled in surprise.

“Yeah. I already wrote mine. It would be no problem.”

Ned was watching this back and forth conversation for a while until it clicked it in head. He gasped and slapped the table, making you and Peter look at him.

“Oh my God.” Ned said. “That’s why you’re sitting here. You have a-“

“Can I talk to you for a second, Ned?” You quickly cut him off when you realized where that sentence was going. Before Ned could even answer, you grabbed his arm and pulled him outside the cafeteria to talk in private.

“You like Peter!” Ned whispered harshly. You clamped your hand over his mouth and pushed him up against the wall.

“You need to keep your mouth shut.” You hissed. “Yes, I like Peter, okay? I’ve had a crush on Peter since middle school. He never noticed me when Liz was around but now that she’s in Oregon, I might finally have my chance. I don’t want to scare him off so just keep your mouth shut and let me handle this.”

You took your hand off Ned’s mouth and he started to gasp for air.

“Oh, please. Your nose wasn’t covered. You could breathe just fine.” You said with a roll of your eyes. Ned stopped pretended and straightened up.

“So you actually like Peter? For his personality?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Ned admitted.

“I like everything about him. And I’m gonna tell him that. Just please, don’t say anything before I do. I’ll tell him when I’m ready.”

“Are you going to cast a love spell on him using a lock of his hair?” Ned whispered to you.

“What? No. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because you’re a witch.” Ned said like it was obvious.

“I’m not a witch.” You groaned. “I just accidentally cackled that one time but it was only because I had phlegm in my throat.”

“Then about that time on the bus?”

“We’ve been over this. It was just a coincidence that that biker fell off his bike after I gestured with my hand. I didn’t move him with my mind.”

“And that one time in physics?” Ned narrowed his eyes.

“I still don’t know how that guys shirt caught on fire.” You shrugged. “It’s a mystery to me.”

“It caught on fire after he made fun of you for being a witch.” Ned pointed out.

“Maybe he was just standing too close to the flame.” You shrugged.

“He was standing in the doorway. There was no flame.” Ned reminded you.

“The magic of science.” You shrugged again.

“But what about that time-“

“Don’t bring up the nosebleed.” You whined.

“I am gonna bring up the nosebleed.” Ned hissed. “In sixth grade, our Spanish teacher got a nosebleed right after he told you to stop staring out the window and made everyone laugh at you. How do you explain that?”

“You’ve made your point, okay? Now are you gonna tell Peter or not?”

“Look, I’m not gonna expose your gross secret feelings, as gross and secret as they may be.” Ned sighed. “But Peter is still my best friend so I have to look out for him. I don’t want any spells cast on him.”

“That’s fine. There will not be any spells.” You held your your hands in defense. Just then, Flash walked by and laughed when he saw the two of you talking.

“Woah. What is this, the friendless loser convention?” Flash snorted.

“Shut up.” You snapped. Flash immediately tripped over his feet and fell to the ground, making Ned look at you with wide eyes.

“Witch!” He whispered harshly as he pointed a finger at you.

“Shut up. Let’s go back inside.” You rolled your eyes and pulled Ned back into the cafeteria.

Later that day, you met up with Peter in the library to go over your assignments. You started with his English essay and finished that within an hour before moving on to your chemistry homework.

“You can plug the numbers into your formula now using the method I taught you. And then you just solve for x.” Peter explained as you worked out a problem together.

“Hm. You make it sound so simple.” You sighed and leaned on your hand. Peter saw the way you were staring at him in his peripheral vision and felt his face heat up.

“It’s, uh, it’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. I never liked the way Mr. Eddie taught it. I figured this out myself and it’s worked much better for me.”

“Thanks for helping me. You’re a good teacher.” You said and put your hand on his arm. Peter laughed shyly at the contact and cleared his throat.

“Thanks. And so are you. That was the best essay I’ve ever produced. I honestly worry she won’t believe I wrote it.”

“Well if she says anything, I can vouch for you. You put in good work on this essay. You deserve the credit.” You assured him, making Peter blush all over again. It occurred to Peter that he never realized how pretty you were. You’d been classmates since 3rd grade so he always looked at you as just another girl in his class. Now that you had his full attention, he didn’t feel like looking away.

“Thanks. I appreciate you helping me write it. I know it can be frustrating to work with me because of my dyslexia.”

“It’s no problem. And it wasn’t frustrating at all.” You shrugged. Peter smiled at felt better about how long it took him to write the essay.

“Thanks.” He said. You had successfully gotten him to spend time with you one on one but now you needed to commence the next phase in your plan which was to hang out in a non school related setting.

“Would you ever want to hang out socially?” You blurted.

“Like, and not do homework?” He asked. You nodded your head and he smiled before nodding as well.

“Yeah. Sure. I’d love to.”

“Cool. Me too.” You smiled. You hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that but it worked nonetheless.

“Does this weekend work?” He asked you.

“Yeah. What do you want to do?”

Hard cut to that weekend. You were on the subway with Peter and he had his phone out to record himself.

“Firts social hang out with a girl. A film by Peter Parker.” He said in a low voice before flipping the camera to face you.

“Staring me.” You smiled and waved to the camera.

“Are you sure you’re cool with me filming this?” Peter asked as he flipped the camera back to himself.

“Yeah, of course. The other ones you showed me were so cute. But why did it seem like there were so many missing parts? You were always talking about something cool that I didn’t get to see.”

“Uhhh, no reason.” Peter said and looked to the side. He had skillfully edited out any incriminating superhero activity that you were not ready to see yet.

“Well I like it. I feel like I’m on Modern Family.” You said and posed for the camera.

“Which family member would you be?” Peter laughed and zoomed in on you. With his phone blocking his face, he could shamelessly admire your face on his screen.

“Duh. Lily.”

“I can so see that.” He chuckled. The subway lurched suddenly and you both grabbed onto the pole, coincidentally putting your hands in top of each others.

“Oh, sorry. Our hands touched.” You laughed shyly.

“Oh my God. So romantic.” Peter joked, making you blush and look into his camera.

“Stop it.” You laughed and covered his phone with your hand. He laughed as well and put his phone away.

After learn you had never been, Peter decided to the Lego Store. He’d been hyping it up to you all week over text and now that it was finally happening, he hoped it impressed you. You walked in together and Peter heard you gasp.

“Big Lego Aladdin.” You gasped and ran to stand under the giant magic carpet and Aladdin made of Legos.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that string of words come out of someone’s mouth.” Peter laughed and went to stand under it with you. You looked over at him and were surprised to see he was already looking at you.

“This is even better than you described it. You need to show me everything.” You said and excitedly shook his arm.

“I can do that.” He blushed and nodded his head towards some of the sets.

Peter took out his phone to film you as you looked at everything in the store. The way you were looking around like a little kid brought a smile to Peter’s face. He zoomed in on you and caught himself staring at you fondly through the camera.

“Come on. I haven’t even showed you the coolest part yet.” Peter said and brought you over to the build your figure own station. He laughed when you gasped again and started to excitedly rummage through all the pieces. Peter didn’t bring his phone out again until you had built each other.

“Show me what you made.” He laughed from the other side of the phone.

“Looks! It’s a little Peter. He has a backpack and a beaker.” You said as you proudly showed the camera the little Peter figure you had made.

“This is Y/n. I can’t believe I found the shoes you always wear.” He said as he filmed the figure he had made of you.

“You notice my shoes?” You asked with a smile. Peter didn’t catch it because he was too busy fitting the hands of your Lego figures together.

“Look. They’re holding hands.” Peter gasped.

“Aw.” You laughed. “Us on the subway.”

“We should give them some privacy. They might not want us to hard launch their relationship.” Peter said and put his phone away.

“You’re so cute.” You laughed without thinking about it. Peter looked up at you with rosy cheeks and you gulped when you realized what you said.

“I mean-“

“Come on. I wanna take you somewhere else.” He cut you off before you could explain. He brought you to Delmar’s and ordered his usual for you to split. You sat together inside and you tried your best to remain calm. You always wondered what Peter got up to when he wasn’t at school and now you were in one of his favorite places and eating with him.

“Okay, this is Y/n’s first time eating at Delmars since he reopened. Let’s get her reaction.” Peter said as he filmed you unwrapping the sandwich.

“Wait, why is it so flat?” You laughed and held the sandwich up.

“Oh, sorry.” He chuckled. “I forgot to warn you that he always squishes it for me. But you’ll like it. Trust me. It’s much better when it’s squished down real flat.”

“Well I’m glad I now know you like your sandwiches to be squished. I would not have expected that about you.” You said and took a bite of your half before giving him a thumbs up.

“Yeah? You like it?” He asked hopefully.

“I do. Your squishy sandwich was surprisingly good.” You admitted.

“Well, I’m very pleased to hear that.” Peter smiled and phone away. “So to make it even, you have to show me one of your favorite places next time we hang out.”

“Oh.” You smiled coyly. “I didn’t realize there would be a next time.”

“There better be. I had a lot of fun with you today. How come we’ve never hung out before?”

“I don’t know. I always wanted to but you were busy running around with Ned or staring at…” You trailed off and chose not to mention Liz in case he was still hung up on her.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad we’re friends now.” You said instead.

“Me too. I’ve never had a girl friend.”

“What was that?” You said and started choking on your saliva.

“All my friends in my life were guys. It’ll be nice to have a female influence in my life.”

“Oh. Girl friend.” You smiled tightly.

You hung out another hour before taking the subway back to your respective apartments. Peter walked to you the front doors of you building and you had an awkward moment where you didn’t know if you should hug or not.

“We uh, we should probably get an ending for your film.” You said with a timid smile.

“Oh, right. Thats a great idea.” Peter smiled and pulled out his phone. He pressed record and you waved to the camera with both hands.

“So, can you give our first time hanging out a rating?” He asked you.

“9/10.” You grinned and held up two thumbs.

“What? Why’d I only get a 9?” Peter scoffed and pretended to be offended.

“I had a 10/10 time but I have to deduct a point because we saw that guy cutting his hair on the subway and I was scared he was gonna throw the scissors at us.”

“Well I would’ve just protected you with my lightning fast reflexes.” Peter said simply. You smiled at him through the phone and he smiled back. He put the camera down and looked at you with a content smile on his face.

“Seriously, though. When’s the next time we’re hanging out?”

It ended up being just a few days later. And then again a few days after that.

“Peter’s first time!” You cheered as you filmed him during one of your hang outs.

“Trying boba.” He clarified. “I don’t understand this drink. Do I eat the balls?”

“Yes. Sip it slowly so they don’t all go down your throat.” You instructed. Peter took a big sip and immediately started choking.

“Peter! I said slowly!” You said as you slapped his back until he stopped choking. You quickly put the camera down to help him recover.

Your hangouts started getting more and more frequent and Peter soon considered you a best friend. Your weekends became each others and school days were often spent together in the library or at one of your apartments. You were quickly moving up the ranks in Peter’s life, just as you hoped. And the closer you got, the more Peter could not believe he had never noticed you before.

Little did you know, Peter often found himself watching the footage he had taken of you during your hang outs with a big smile on his face. He’d rewatch the videos he had taken and realize that they were slowly becoming less of a documentary and more of a highlight reel for you. He never imagined a girl as cool as you would for him so when he realized he was starting to fall for you, he quickly repressed his feelings. Little did he know, the feelings were mutual.

“Did you always make these little videos?” You asked Peter one day as he filmed you trying to balance on the curb of the sidewalk.

“I used too make them all the time but I hadn’t for awhile. I only started them again when we started hanging out.”

“Really? Why?” You wondered and stumbled off the curb.

“I don’t know. You remind me of the time before my life got crazy. It made me want to do these again.” He shrugged. You couldn’t help but smile at that information and turned around to look at him.

“So I could be the star?” You asked and posed for the camera.

“Exactly. You’re my muse.” He played along, making you laughed shyly. When he watched the video back later that night, he knew he had meant every word of that.

Peter sat in his bedroom one day and filmed himself wearing your glasses while you did homework at his desk. He looked over you every now and then just to admire the back of your head.

“Don’t break those.” You called without looking up. All you needed to hear was the sound of your glasses case opening to know what he was doing.

“I’m not even wearing your glasses.” He lied and admired himself in the camera.

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not. But yes, I am.”

“Knew it.” You snorted.

“Hey, how come girls always smell so good?” Peter wondered. “Your hair hit me in the face when you turned too fast before it smelled like a baby in a damn meadow.”

“It’s just my womanly essence. Now can you stop looking at yourself long enough to help me with my chemistry homework?”

“It’ll be hard but I can try.” Peter dramatically sighed and set his phone down. You got yo from the desk and went over to the bed with a cheeky smile on your face.

“Incoming.” You announced and patted your elbow twice like a wrestler.

“No, don’t.” He pleaded. You ignored his pleas and jumped on top of him. He groaned and pushed you off, leaving you laying in the bed beside him.

“Ow. My ribs.”

“You’ll heal.” You rolled your eyes. “Now can you help me with number 7?”

“Oh, yeah. No problem. Can you check this email before I send it?” He asked and handed over his laptop. You handed him your worksheet before reading over his email draft.

“Oh, honey.” You grimaced just a few words into the email.

“Is it bad?”

“Good evening, Mrs. Howard. I hope this email finds you well. I’m so sorry for bothering you. I was just wondering if I could possibly have an extension on my midterm paper? No worries at all if an extension is not possible. I apologize for any inconvenience this email may have caused. Thank you for reading, Peter Parker.” You read out loud.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“After your name, you included the name of the class, the time you have it, and a description of yourself. She knows who you are!” You laughed and turned the laptop around to show him his mistakes.

“She may have forgotten.” He pointed out. “I can’t take any chances.”

“Peter, this email is way too submissive. You sound like such a bottom.”

“Well excuse me, genius.” He said sarcastically. “How would you write it?”

“Here.” You said and handed the laptop back after retyping his email.

“Oh, wow. That’s actually really good.” He said once he read your updated version.

“This is why we are such good friends. You have all the math and science knowledge in this little, beautiful head of yours-“

“Little?” He interrupted.

“You’re right. Sorry, I was just being nice. What I meant to say is that your head is huge.” You corrected. “Anyways, you have the math brain and I have the literary brain. It’s like you’re Einstein and I’m Victor Hugo.”

“Who the hell is that?” He laughed as he peaked at your mirror to see if his head was actually huge.

“The guy who wrote Les Mis.” You said like it was obvious.

“Never heard of it.”

“What? You’ve never seen Les Misérables?” You asked in a thick French accent.

“Huh?”

“We have to watch it. It’s so good.” You said and snatched his laptop back. You pulled up the movie and handed it back to him.

“Oh my God. It’s two hours and 38 minutes long? And a musical? Hell no.” Peter shook his head and pushed the laptop away.

“But it’s so good.” You urged. “We can just leave it on in the background while we work. It’s super light and easy to watch.”

“Really? What’s it about?”

“Oh, you know. Just war torn France.” You mumbled.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“But you’ll like it! There’s prostitution and con men and um…oh! And orphans! You can watch it and feel represented.” You said and shook his arm.

“I hate you.” He laughed but nearly gave in to your request just to see you happy.

“Fine.” You huffed. “I finished editing your midterm paper, by the way. You don’t actually have to send that email.”

“And here is your completed chemistry homework.” Peter smiled and handed your worksheet back.

“Aw.” You gushed. “Look at us. I love cheating with you.”

“So do I. We make a great pairing.” He chuckled as he looked over at you. You looked back at him and gulped. You hadn’t realized how close you were with your arms and legs pressed against each other as you sat together in your bed. Peter knew his sheets would smell like your perfume that night and smiled at the thought.

“Now that we’re all done with our work, you know what we should do?” He asked as he moved in closer.

“W-what should we do?” You stuttered now that he was right there.

“You know what I’ve been dying to do with you for a long, long time?” He asked.

“No. I mean, I don’t know. What?” You laughed nervously. Peter moved in even closer and right when you thought he was gonna kiss you, he reached over and grabbed his laptop back.

“I wanted to show you a real musical. Not this French miserable bull crap. Have you ever seen a little movie called Hair-“

“No. I’m not watching Hairspray with you again. You scream-sang every lyric last time and I couldn’t even hear it.” You cut him off and reached over home to take the laptop back. He pulled it away at the last second and you ended up on top of him. You looked into each others eyes and both froze in the positions you were in. Your faces were almost touching but neither of you tried to pull away. Your eyes were going back and forth between his lips and eyes and he was doing the same. Like magnets, you two started to lean towards each other but before your lips could connect, May opened the door.

“What did you guys want- oh! Sorry! I didn’t realize I would be interrupting something. My bad.” May smiled sheepishly and pretended to cover her eyes. Peter burned bright red as you quickly climbed off of him.

“May.” He said warningly.

“Sorry. But maybe lock the door next time. And use protection.”She whispered the last part before shutting the door.

“May!” He groaned and threw a pillow at the door. There was a long, awkward silence before you were even able to look at each other. When you finally did, you smiled awkwardly and kept your distance.

“That was so weird. What did she think we were doing?” You laughed nervously to break the silence.

“Psh. I know.” Peter scoffed. “She said she was interrupting but we weren’t even doing anything.”

“Yeah. What did she think? That we were gonna kiss or something?” You asked and laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing you could ever suggest.

“Us? Kissing? How silly. Imagine that.” Peter forced a laugh as well and looked to the side. The awkward silence returned and you struggled to look at each other.

“Do you think she made dinner?” Peter asked after a beat of silence.

“Let’s check.” You said and quickly got off the bed.

You didn’t discuss the almost kiss and went home shortly after. You couldn’t sleep that night because you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your mind. No matter how much you wanted him to like you back, if Peter reciprocated your feelings, he would have kissed you.

Your pity party didn’t last long because on the subway the next day, you felt Peter put his earbud in your ear. You heard the Les Mis soundtrack playing in your ear and looked up in surprise. Peter was already filming you with a huge smile on his face.

“This guy 24601 should stop stealing bread and stick to singing. He has serious pipes.” Peter said.

“You listened to it?” You melted into a smile and held your hand over your heart.

“Yep. I stayed up all night watching lyric videos because I couldn’t understand what they were saying with their accents. It’s actually really good. I love Eponine. I just wish Marious wasn’t such an idiot. How does he not see that his best friend is clearly in love with him?” Peter asked with exasperation. You looked directly at the camera and hoped it picked up the irony before looking at Peter again.

“He’s not an idiot. He’s a romantic.” You sighed. “He doesn’t notice Eponine because he’s in love with Cosette. And course he is. She’s prettier and richer and has perfect hair. He doesn’t even see Eponine.”

“Good hair isn’t everything. Eponine is way better than Cosette.” Peter scoffed. “I’m team Eponine all the way.”

“Are you really?” You asked hopefully.

“Oh, for sure. I see why you like this stuff. These songs are awesome.” Peter said and put the other earbud in his ear. He then flipped the camera around to film the two of you sharing earbuds. As Heart Full Of Love played in your ears, you couldn’t help but longingly staring at Peter. The fact that he had stayed up late just to listen to something you suggested made you overcome with fondness for him. If he had done something like that, maybe he actually did feel the same.

“I forgot how good this album is. I haven’t listened in a while. I used to listen to it all the time back when you…” You stopped short when you realized you were about to say too much.

“When I what?” Peter wondered. You looked him in the eyes and decided that it was time to be honest. The song ended and a new, much louder one began to play in your ears.

“Back when you liked Liz. She was Cosette. I was Eponine. I was the one pining after a guy who never noticed me because he was in love with another girl. You were never mine to lose.” You admitted. Peter stared at you for a minute before pulling his earbud out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear a word you just said. Master of the House is such a banger. What did you say?” He asked you.

“Never mind.” You smiled. “It wasn’t important.”

He smiled back before getting a text on his phone. You looked at his phone when you heard it buzz and realized he was still recording. In other words, he had just recorded you saying you liked him. Your eyes went wide but you only had a second to panic when you read the text he had gotten.

“Did Liz just text you?” You asked in a quiet voice. You felt like you were about to throw up. Years of crushing on a boy who liked another girl turned into months of pinning for your best friend and now turned into a rock in your stomach. Peter stopped recording the two of you to answer her text, which felt a little like a slap in the face.

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been talking lately.” He absentmindedly replied to you as he laughed at whatever she had written.

“You have?” You asked with a dry mouth.

“Yeah. She says Oregon is pretty cool. But she wants to come back and visit this summer to see everyone.” He told you.

“And see you?” You asked with a sad smile.

“I guess so.” He shrugged. “It would be nice to see her.”

“Yeah. Totally.” You said weakly. “So how long have you guys been talking?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks? She texted me a little while ago and we’ve been catching up.”

“That’s awesome.” You lied.

“I know. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from her again after she moved.”

“Neither did I.” You said through a forced smile. You needed to get off the subway and away from Peter before you started crying. So as soon as the subway doors opened, you bolted out.

“I gotta go. See you later.” You called to him before running through the subway station. You wiped tears as you went up the stairs and didn’t stop moving until you were in a bathroom stall at school. You gave yourself five minutes to be upset before drying your face and leaving the bathroom. It sucked, but it could have been worse. Now, Peter never had to know how you felt about it.

Peter was beyond confused by your exit on the subway but he wasn’t about to get any answers from you. You dodged his texts throughout the day and didn’t dare go into the lunchroom where you knew he and Ned would be.

“Y/n isn’t here yet?” Peter’s huffed as he sat down at your usual lunch table.

“Not yet. Actually, I haven’t seen your girlfriend all day.” Ned realized.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Peter blushed. “And I’m pretty sure she’s avoiding me. She’s been so weird ever since this morning. Everything was fine on the subway until we got to school.”

“Well did anything happen on the subway that would weird her out? Oh no. Did you graze her boob with your hand again?”

“No. That was one time. And it was her boobs fault, not mine.” Peter whispered harshly. “We were just listening to music together and I was filming her like normal. But she could not get away from me faster once the doors opened. It was so weird.”

“Did you say anything weird to her? Girls don’t like it when you say weird things to them.”

“I know that. I didn’t say anything weird.” Peter replied as he pulled out his phone. He watched the video he had taken on the subway with no sound to see where he had gone wrong. All he saw was you looking at him with heart eyes which made his face heat up. But still, no evidence of where he messed up.

“I knew it. We were having a normal conversation about Les Mis and then I got a text from and then she ran. It makes no sense.”

“What was the text? Was it May saying something weird?”

“No. And stop saying weird. It doesn’t sound like a real word anymore.” Peter ordered. “And the text was just from Liz.”

“Oh shit.” Ned said when he heard this.

“What?” Peter wondered.

“Oh, Peter.” Ned sighed. “Peter, Peter, Peter.”

“What?” He asked again, annoyed now.

“Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter.”

“Are you gonna tell me what happened or just keep saying my name?”

“I can’t tell you. I’m sworn to secrecy. And I don’t want Y/n to put a hex on my family.” Ned said and held up his hands.

“Y/n swore you to secrecy? About what?”

“Can’t say.” Ned shrugged and zipped his lips.

“Does she not like Liz? And doesn’t want me to know?”

“Dude. Dude, dude, dude, dude. You are so close but so far.”

“So she does like Liz? Oh my God. Does she a crush on Liz? And she’s jealous that Liz texted me and not her?” Peter whispered with wide eyes.

“You’re getting colder.” Ned waved his hand. “I don’t even know how you got there.”

“That was all my guesses. Just tell me.” Peter whined.

“Hell no. I don’t want Y/n to curse my crops and make not grow for all of eternity.”

“You don’t have crops.” Peter pointed out.

“I could develop some.” Ned snapped.

“I just don’t understand what she would tell you something but not tell me. We’re best friends. She usually tells me everything.” Peter said right as his thumb accidentally hit the volume button on the video. Your confession to Peter on the subway was heard loud and clear by the two boys. Both of their jaws dropped as the video ended with you asked if Liz had just texted Peter.

“Well I wouldn’t have beaten around the bush like that if I knew you had video evidence of her saying she liked you right in your hands.” Ned sighed dramatically.

“I need to find her.” Peter said and ran out of the lunchroom. He looked around the school until he found you under the bleachers in the gym. You were sitting with your back against the wall and your knees drawn to your chest with your earbuds in your ears. When you saw Peter coming up to you, you quickly pulled them out.

“Hey.” He said and waved cautiously.

“Hey.” You smiled sadly as he sat beside you. You sat in silence for a minute as neither of you knew what to say.

“What’s going on with you? I haven’t seen you all day.” He started off. You looked at your hands to avoid making eye contact and sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been talking to Liz?” You asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t hiding it. I just didn’t think it would interest you.”

“Well you have no idea how interesting I found it.” You laughed dryly. “What do you guys talk about anyway?”

“Well, she originally texted me to ask me to confirm I had an internship at Stark Industries because her boyfriend didn’t believe her when she told him she knew a guy who worked there. Apparently he’s been trying to get an internship there for years and he wanted to know how I landed mine. Then we just started catching up. I only talk to her here and there, though. And it’s only ever about school or work.”

“Oh. I thought you guys were talking talking.” You couldn’t help but smile a little when you heard the word “boyfriend.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Just regular talking. When you saw her text on my phone, she was telling me about her cat getting spaded. And I didn’t know what that meant so she had to tell me. I should’ve just googled it.”

You laughed softly at that and he did too. The tension was let out of the conversation and you could finally breathe again. When you stopped laughing, you finally looked in his eyes.

“Do you still have feelings for her?” You asked quietly.

“For her? No.” He laughed. “Those are long gone. I have feelings for someone else now.”

“Oh God. Don’t even tell me. I don’t want to know.” You groaned and buried your face in your hands. Peter looked at you for a minute until an idea came to him.

“Actually, uh, I came looking for you because I was just making another video. Wanna be in it?” Peter asked and took out his phone. You looked at him like he was crazy and could not believe he had just asked that during that moment.

“I’m not really in the mood right now, P.”

“Come on. I can’t make it without my muse.” He said and nudged you slightly. You couldn’t help but to smile at that and reluctantly nodded. He propped up his phone against the bleachers and pressed record.

“In a world where two best friends have no idea how to communicate despite spending way too much time together.” Peter said in a fake deep, gravely voice.

“Okay. Shade. That’s fine.”

“What will it take for them to admit they have feelings for each other?” He kept the voice as he looked at you.

“Wait, what?” You asked and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. Peter smiled softly at you and shrugged a little.

“What’s it gonna take?” He asked again in his normal voice.

“I don’t understand.” You laughed nervously.

“I watched the video from before. From the subway. I heard what you said.” He admitted.

“Oh shit. You watched it?” You grimaced.

“Uh huh. So if you’re Eponine, I guess that makes me the idiot who didn’t realize his best friend was in love with him?”

“I guess so.” You said with a tight smile and still didn’t understand why he wanted to film this incredibly awkward conversation.

“You know, if I didn’t have a video of it, I never would have believed that you liked me.” Peter told you.

“You wouldn’t? Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t seem possible that the coolest girl I’ve ever met liked me.” He replied.

“You think I’m cool?” You asked skeptically.

“I think you’re the coolest. And you know, I watch the videos I take of you all the time. And half of them are just clips of you existing. So I do notice you. It just took me a second to catch up.” He told you. A smile tugged at your lips as you stared into his big brown eyes.

“You’re my best friend.” You told him. “I’m sorry I want more.”

“I’m not sorry.” He shrugged.

“You’re not?”

“I’m just sorry it took me so long to wake up and find that what I’ve been looking for has been here the whole time.” He said as he hooked his pinky under your chin and brought your face close to his.

“Wait, why does that sound so familiar?” You wondered.

“Don’t think about it too hard.” Peter whispered right before your lips touched. You kissed for the first time under the bleachers but it could have been in a palace for all you knew. The world disappeared around you as Peter slipped a hand behind your head to deepen the kiss. When you pulled away, you rested your foreheads together and laughed nervously together. It was a good nervous, a happy feeling of anticipation.

“Was that Taylor Swift?” You realized when you finally placed where you knew that like from.

“Shh. No.” He shook his head. “But yes, it was. You’re not the only one with good music taste.”

Tag List 🏷️

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #Peter Parker mutual pining #peter parker x best friend!reader #spiderman homecoming #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x y/n #peter parker x y/n

[lovelybarnes]

Flirting and Football- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: past assault of reader, as slow burn as i can, au so bucky is different although i tried to not make him so ooc, sort of enemies to lovers?, genuinely can’t remember anymore, crappy writing in the beginning because i started writing this a year ago but i swear it gets better i promise About: request!! Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically

The end of your pen rests between your lips, unused as you scan the textbook page in front of you, your eyes thinning occasionally as you read. Your study partner’s book lays open in front of her, ten pages behind, and notebook adorned with two sole words.

She’s reciting the events of a date she went on yesterday or the day before, although admittedly, you’d only caught detached words for the past double-digit minutes. Your careful attention had dwindled down to nods as you subtly tapped at your notebook, then not-so-subtly and finally disappeared altogether as you made miscellaneous noises. 

You hum along now, eyes flickering from your notes to the material as you annotate pages with bright sticky notes.

She doesn’t seem to notice your disinterest, gushing about arms and hair, and the kiss that changed her life. The words don’t last too long in your mind, too cluttered with equations and vocabulary to make space for them.

“The girls told me he goes on a lot of dates but I can just tell I’m the one.”

You glance at your open computer, frowning at the slimming battery life, and purse your lips at the time. Sighing softly, you meet Quinn’s glazed eyes, offering her a tight smile you hope is somewhat believable.

“Is he in psychology too?” you ask, tapping on the notes the both of you were supposed to start when she began talking.

“Bucky? Oh no,” she laughs, the finger twirling her red hair pulling away to wave her hand dismissively. “He’s in sports or something. He's on the soccer team, you know.”

You nod. “Wow.”

“I know, oh my god.” She fans herself. “Did I tell you he basically won the last game?”

Probably. You duck your chin, highlighting a sentence. “Isn’t it a group effort?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah, but he scored the winning goal.”

“Okay then,” you agree, deciding that you can finish your notes at your dorm. “I didn’t go to the last game, so what do I know?”

Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t go?” she exclaims, and you shush her, confirming. “Why?”

You shrug. “I had to do something.”

“You have to go to the next one tomorrow and see him in action. But don’t fall in love,” she warns with a giggle. “He’s mine.”

“Promise,” you reply hollowly, shutting your laptop. “Well, I have to go. This was helpful, though,” you lie.

“Oh, yeah, totally. I have to go too, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Gotta be there early to support Bucky,” Quinn informs. You stack your books to carry them back to your dorm.

“Right,” you respond, standing. “I hope everything goes well with him,” you say as you walk out.

She shoots you a big grin and a nod, her face bright as she agrees.

It’s cold when you step through the doors, bouncing on your feet and hugging your things closer to your chest as you begin to walk toward your dorm. You move to pull out your phone from your back pocket, quickly unlocking it to get to your contacts list. You press on Bruce’s contact and listen to the two beeps until he picks up.

“I hate you so much right now,” you greet, cutting his cheery hello off.

“What? What did I do?”

“‘I’ll be there!’ ‘How could I miss studying physics?’” you mock, imitating his voice. “You left me there, and I was stuck listening to Quinn's monologue about how the quarterback or whatever is the love of her life!”

“What quarterback?” Bruce asks.

“Does it matter? Honestly?” you rebut, taking care to watch your surroundings as you bully your friend. “Your quarterback wouldn’t cheat on you so I’m assuming it’s one that’s not Thor.”

“Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry about ditching you. Thor and I just finished, we can come by and pick you up at the library. And Thor is a defender. Different sport entirely.”

“Whatever and ew,” you complain. “And I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“What? I told you to not walk home alone. Just wait for me.”

“Don’t worry. The dorm isn’t that far and you’re not exactly the most threatening anyway,” you remind. “I’ll be fine. ”

“Fine. Keep me on the line and be careful,” Bruce tells you.

“Of course,” you quip. A pause drapes over the two of you, the silence only interrupted by the steady sound of your footsteps on the concrete. You turn, leaves crunching underneath your shoes and you can practically hear Bruce relax somewhat, knowing that you’re nearby. You put him on speaker to hear better. “How’d it go with Thor today?”

“Really good.” The golden thread of happiness threaded through Bruce’s words comes through clear and clean. You can imagine him as he talks into the phone, glancing at Thor to make sure he can’t hear as he plays with his fingers. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there.”

“You’re not,” you amend. “But it’s fine. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Bruce confirms.

“I don’t know how you find the time to juggle everything. It’s kind of terrifying,” you laugh, expecting him to tease you back, but his answer comes back honest.

“I know you think of boyfriends and whatever as distractions, but it’s the opposite. It’s not juggling if I have help carrying everything.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, listening to the rustling of the trees. You grab your keys as you arrive at your dorm door. “I’m here.”

“Finally.” You roll your eyes, opening the door to see your roommate and her brother inside.

“Hey Wanda, Piet.”

Wanda smiles at you and Pietro winks before greeting Bruce through your phone.

“Okay, Bruce, are we studying tomorrow?” you ask him, balancing your things in your arms. When Pietro notices, he stands, taking your books from you and setting them down on your table. You thank him and pat his arm.

“Before the game? Sure,” he replies. You take him off speaker, pulling your phone to your ear, not noticing that the mention of the game has caught Pietro and Wanda's attention.

“You’re going?” you question. “I thought Thor was benched.”

“He’s off!” There’s a whoop you recognize as Thor’s that makes you smile. “Which is why it’s an important game we need to go to.”

“We?” you echo.

“We as in you and I,” Bruce verifies.

“Wait, I have to go too? Why?” you whine.

Pietro cuts in, “You have to go! How will we win without our lucky charm?”

You purse your lips and squint at him. “Didn’t you guys win last game?”

“Still! Come on, please,” he insists. Wanda joins in, offering to bake you cookies.

You search your brain for excuses. “I have things to do.”

“If it’s not ‘stay home and binge a series,’ I'll let you skip,” Bruce chimes.

You frown as the siblings grin.

“Yeah, you’re going,” Bruce declares. “They’re not that bad and you know it. Besides, Thor wants you to braid his hair. You know my fingers always get tangled.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I want it noted that it’s only because I really like cookies.” You focus on Wanda, who nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce repeats your words before you hang up, and at the click, you let yourself fall on your couch.

Wanda kisses your head and pats your shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Standing in the middle of students I don’t know as they yell at a ball does not sound fun to me,” you disagree, but she ignores you.

“Even Vis is going,” she argues. “And you know how excited Thor gets when you braid his hair.”

You mutter incoherently.

“We’ll leave at three,” she instructs with a smile.

-

“I could be doing so many useful things right now,” you hiss at Bruce, remembering the half-written essay you have saved on your laptop, a string of frustratedly typed letters highlighted and waiting to be replaced with something coherent typed just beneath it.

Bruce had made you leave just as you began to taste the word you were looking for, assuring you that going out to see a game would somehow give your fried mind the jolt it needed. With little argument and the promise you’d committed to with a hook of your pinkie, you’d sighed and shut your laptop, leaving your apartment early to see the team before the game.

You could recognize some faces thanks to Pietro forcing you out to a few team celebrations and the occasional game you never paid much attention to. Although he’d laid off a while ago when Bruce and Thor started dating, your best friend had dragged you to every soccer-related event he didn’t want to go to alone. Pietro never minded your absence as much as Bruce did, always satisfied as long as you celebrated or consoled him afterward.

The word you’d been wracking your brain for suddenly comes to mind when you sit next to Bruce on a bench, pulling your phone out of your pocket to note it down, not noticing when the entire soccer team begins to leave the locker room, spilling into the hall where you’re slumped with your best friend.

Thor bellows your name excitedly when he spots you both, heading over. You glance up to give him a smile, quickly continuing to type the stray thoughts you’d been trying to catch when he turns, an extravagant arm extending as if to present you to the few guys with him. “This is the lovely lady I told you all about. She is very smart.”

You laugh at his introduction, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Thank you, Thor.”

“Of course! And you all know Bruce, of course.”

There are chimes of agreement and greetings for your friend, a few of the players coming up to you. Pietro arrives first, as always, and pecks your forehead. “I, for one, am very glad you came to cheer us on.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” another says, huge and blonde, but his features are softened by an open grin. “I’m Steve.” He juts a finger at the brunet next to him, his hair tied up into a neat little bun at the nape of his neck, blue eyes shining as they observe you. “That’s Bucky.”

You smile at them, nodding. “Nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

You stare at him blankly, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. “I meant Steve.” Steve looks startled. “I saw his work when I was volunteering at the art show last month. It was great, I actually bought the piece with the lilies!”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks blankly, tongue poking into his cheek before he clears his throat and manages a lift of the left edge of his lips. “‘Makes sense someone so pretty would have good taste.”

You stare silently at him for a second, relieved when Steve’s surprise takes a second to process.

“Wait, me?” Steve points stupidly at himself. “My art?”

“It was amazing, I couldn’t let it slip by!”

“I told you,” Bucky tells him, elbowing his arm. He, unlike the other players, wears a dark sleeve over the entirety of his left arm, all the way up to his fingers. His fingertips, jagged pink, peek out. “I wish you woulda let me go. I could’ve seen the art and met her sooner.”

His friend sends him a furtive glance. “Is this your first time coming to a game?” Steve wonders as he turns back to you. 

You shake your head. “Pietro is my roommate’s brother and Thor’s my best friend’s boyfriend. They drag me here when they feel like it, but it’s my first time being back here.” You gesture to the hall. “I’m usually a little late because Bruce drives like a grandmother.”

Bruce sighs, sending you a short glance that you respond to with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

Blue eyes nods, careful to give you his full attention. “Well, I think you should come around more often.”

You scan him for a second. “Why?” you ask genuinely.

He pauses as he begins to explain, eyes pinched in confusion before Thor’s booming voice cuts him off, reminding you that you need to braid his hair. You give them a final smile before standing. “Duty calls, I guess.”

“So you’ll come around?” He calls after you, frowning when you respond with a transparent smile and ingenuine thumbs up. “Huh,” he says.

“What?” Steve responds, a little slowly, knowingly. He knows well what is making Bucky’s features crease in that way, but he’d prefer hearing it from his friend’s mouth.

“Just… wondering why I’d never seen her before. Pretty.”

“Uh huh.” Steve nods disbelievingly. Knowing he isn’t going to be able to push it out of his friend, he begins to walk toward the field, not waiting up for Bucky, the man caught up in his thoughts. “‘Thought it was because the line didn’t work,” he finally tells him, catching Bucky’s attention.

“What’re you talkin’ about, punk? What line?”

Steve snickers. “Any of ‘em.”

-

The next time Bucky sees you is across the courtyard, arms wrapped around books, your fingers curved protectively around the edges of your laptop. You struggle as you talk to someone he recognizes, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet as you reach to brush strands of hair away from your eyes.

Why you don’t have a backpack like every other person is beyond him, but it’s the last thing on his mind when your eyes meet his and you smile and wave. Yeah, he knows how to handle this—the attention, the blushing, the flattery.

The hand he raises to wave back freezes awkwardly when he realizes your attention isn’t on him, but rather following something behind his shoulder. His hand lowers as he feels Pietro brush past him and over to you, Wanda following close by. She catches Bucky’s actions and sends him an amused look.

You accept the kiss Pietro drops on your forehead and greet Wanda excitedly, too busy chatting with her to notice the two pens that slip from your pile.

Bucky sniffs, tugging his varsity jacket tighter and deciding to embrace his mistake, walks over to you.

“Hey,” he greets, your name coming out like silk, shooting you a smile. He bends down to pick up your pens, handing them to you with a cajoling rise of his lips.

You return it a pause later. “Hey, um—thanks…” you struggle for a second before you’re cut off.

“Bucky!” the classmate that you were talking to exclaims, and Bucky realizes it’s Quinn, the girl he’d gone out on a date with a while ago. “I saw you on the field yesterday,” she tells him, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You were amazing.”

“I appreciate it,” he thanks her, his eyes flickering back to you for a second, spotting you beginning to step away with a short wave and an elbow to Wanda's side. “I should go, I needed to talk to her,” he starts, acting quickly. “But it was nice to see you again. You look great, I like your necklace.”

Quinn’s fingers reach to pinch at the pendant on her chain, tilting her head at Bucky as she beams. “Thank you!”

Bucky nods, turning to find you gone. He looks around, surprised, but finally catches sight of you turning a corner with your friends. Before he can head toward you, Quinn catches his arm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?” She smiles at him, eyes wide and shiny.

He winces, forcing himself to not glance back at you. “You’re a really great girl, Quinn, but I don’t think we’d work out. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, not returning the apologetic smile he sends her. He twists his lips and apologizes again before jogging over to you, slowing to match your pace when he finally catches up.

“Hey again,” he quips, offering you a smile. You return it kindly, twirling your pens between your fingers.

“Hey, Bucky.” Probably accidentally, you enunciate his name in a way that makes him realize you didn’t remember it when he came up to you earlier, and he bites back an embarrassed blush. “It was a good game yesterday.”

“Thank you,” he replies easily. “How was I?”

You cock your head at him. “Fine? You… were a soccer player.”

Pietro laughs, pulling you closer. “He’s asking if he lived up to the stories,” he clarifies, shooting Bucky a look. “‘Does another pretty girl think I’m great too?’” he mocks, the imitation edged in his accent.

You hum in understanding, turning back to Bucky. “Stories?” you echo. Your features bear no likeness to the pull Bucky is used to with girls, nothing implying the agreement or validation he’s usually welcomed with.

“Oh, you know,” Bucky starts with a nonchalant shrug, “of the ‘insane stamina’ and ‘could totally carry a bus’ variety. You know, the ‘Winter Soldier’ name.”

Your eyebrows raise. “‘Winter Soldier?’” you repeat, words bolded in an unconscious drama.

“’S my nickname,” Bucky explains sheepishly. You continue to stare at him for a second before cracking a smile.

“Bucky Barnes, right?” you ask him. He pushes his tongue against his cheek at the blow to his ego and nods. “Which one were you again? All the uniforms are the same, I can only recognize Thor and Piet.”

Pietro hoots. “Fifteen, baby!”

Bucky eyes you, his cheeks pulling with an amused lilt. “You wound me, doll.”

“I wound you?” you giggle, unable to help it. “This is our first conversation and I have the power to wound you. I don’t know how I feel about having this power over a stranger.”

Bucky gasps, reaching out to grab your hand with his ungloved hand and wrap it around an invisible knife to plunge it into his chest. He chokes as he mimes nursing his wound. “Just digging it in deeper, aren’t you? Vixen.”

“Oh, come on, you expect me to have learned your number after knowing you for five minutes?” you exclaim with mild indignance, a whisper of amusement betraying it. You click your tongue. “You were fine, I’m sure,” you respond finally. Wanda jabs an elbow into your arm and whispers something to you. Your eyes light up. “Oh, you’re seventeen! The ball hogger! You do realize you’re in a team, right?”

Pietro claps, nodding approvingly at you. “And me, little flower?”

You roll your eyes. “You were fast. Like always.”

“That’s code for ‘the best out there,’” Pietro tells Bucky.

“I think the code for that is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky retorts, turning back to you. “‘Got a favorite player yet?” He asks you.

You tilt a brow at him. “On the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms.

“Based off of what?” You counter.

“Anything.”

“Oh.” You think. “Then no.”

Pietro clears his throat loudly.

“What if I get you the best seat possible next game?” Bucky offers.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m good where I am.”

“She barely pays attention anyway,” Wanda informs. “All she does is complain.”

You nod. “And I can do that in any seat.”

“Alright… what if you wear my jersey at the next game?” Bucky continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re convincing me, right?”

“You should be swooning right now,” Bucky argues accusingly, but his words are tinged with a grin.

“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan, placing a hand on your chest and rocking on your heels. You flutter your lashes at him and melt your lips into a watery smile. “Oh my, golly! Benson’s sweaty jersey!”

“Bucky,” Bucky grumbles. “Bucky’s sweaty jersey.”

“Right,” you reply with an attentive nod, laughing quietly. Your attention is drawn by another building and you turn. “I gotta go, but please keep the jersey far away from me.” You point at Bucky and then wave at Wanda and Pietro. “I’ll see you guys around.”

“Me too!” Bucky shouts after you. You only reply with a thumbs up Bucky can tell is sarcastic even if he can’t see your face, slipping past a closing door. Bucky purses his lips, looking after you. “Huh.”

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, and Pietro's laughter bubbles from behind him. “Nice work,” he lies.

-

Entirely suddenly, your mind feels vignetted with inky stress. You suppose it was predictable, having ignored the weight your responsibilities had lain on your shoulders for as long as you had, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. You blink slowly at your document in a lousy attempt to soothe yourself, feeling as though you were staring at it through a tunnel.

You yawn as you splay yourself out on your bed, stretching your legs out as far as you can. Your fingertips brush your pillows as you let your eyelids fall closed for just a second, thoughts and reminders of the rest of the things you need to do lining your entrance to sleep, but the door is so inviting, the red tape of your to-do list blurring.

Your ringtone cuts in when you begin to reason with yourself, back straightening fast enough to give you whiplash when you open your eyes again. Your hand slams around your phone, blinking fast as you read Bruce’s contact name.

“The thing,” you mumble, remembering Bruce’s insistence that you went to something. You answer his call and fight to not let yourself fall back on your bed, free fingers moving to rub at your temple.

“Hey, are you ready?” Bruce asks, the sounds of conversation in the background.

“Sure,” you answer tiredly, looking down at yourself. Whoever it is you’re going out with can’t be too picky. “Ready for what again?”

“The team’s win? We’re going out to eat at an actual restaurant and everything.”

You purse your lips. “Are we going to a bar?”

There’s a moment of silence on his end, only highlighted by the muffled voices that converse. “...No.”

Nodding earnestly, you stand, stretching and shaking your limbs out in an attempt to wake yourself up, but the attempt is mocked when you yawn once again. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and wince, tilting your chin up to get another angle. “Then, yes, I’m ready. I guess.”

“That's great!” Bruce praises. “Because we are outside.”

You frown, grabbing a hair tie from your dresser before walking out of your room, surprised to see your apartment empty. “We?” you repeat as you look around, confused. “Are Wan and Pietro with you?”

“They’re probably already there. And ‘we’ as in I picked up Thor, Steve, and Bucky.”

You grunt in response, shutting off the lights and plucking your keys from the counter before locking up.

“You know Bucky. He’s not that bad.”

There are sounds of protest and you catch an offended ‘that bad?’ before you hang up, waving to Bruce’s car. The door to the back opens before you can touch the handle, a grinning face and shiny blue eyes welcoming you. “Hey, doll, you look great.”

“Bunny,” you greet, ducking your chin in a nod. Bucky gets out of the car, extending a hand to invite you inside.

“I don’t mind that one.” Bucky winks.

You shake your head, crawling inside and saying hi to Steve, nose wrinkling when you realize you’ll be sandwiched between the two guys, and turning when you notice Bucky getting in again. You tug on your seatbelt with a polite smile to Steve, bumping into hard muscle when you aim for the buckle.

“You tryna cop a feel? Could’ve just asked,” Bucky tells you, bumping you gently.

“Oh please,” you scoff, poking him with the metal thing. “Excuse me, seatbelt. Bruce isn’t that great of a driver. He’s in his twenties and gets night blindness.”

Bucky pats your hand gently and takes the belt from you, clicking it into place for you.

“Nice and safe, don’t worry, doll.”

You set your lips into a thin line and look straight ahead, pushing your phone into the space between your thighs so you don’t lose it. “How’d you do on your Norse mythology exam, Thor?” you ask, recalling the nerves with which he’d told you about it a couple of days ago.

“Wonderful! I really enjoy the subject. Thank you for helping me study,” Thor replies cheerily.

“You didn’t even need to,” you assure, stifling a yawn. Bucky frowns.

“Did you get some sleep?” Bruce wonders, eyeing you at a red light.

“Yeah, I drank some coffee,” you respond.

“Not the same thing. Not even close.”

You laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you promise. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m always worried,” Bruce grumbles.

“Hey, how was art today?” you ask Steve, nudging his arm gently. Bucky’s brows furrow, urging Steve to look at him and read his mind with an intense stare. Steve does not.

“You were right. I was being too judgemental,” Steve sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Listened to who?” Bucky buts in. “How did you know Stevie had art today?” he continues, trying to keep his tone light.

“We talk.” You shrug. 

“Oh,” Bucky starts, glaring at Steve. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You nod before actually yawning that time. “I’m sorry.”

“You should sleep more,” Bucky comments, watching you shake your head wearily.

“I have things to do,” you defend. “I sleep enough, it’s the stupid car ride, I always fall asleep in cars,” you defend. “But if it pleases you, I’ll sleep the entirety of tomorrow.” Your voice lacks the thick sleeve of satire you tend to use with him, more vulnerable in your exhaustion. Although your request is still sarcastic, Bucky can tell you know you need it.

“It will,” Bucky says.

For the most part, the conversation ends there, the group splitting into their own things during the car ride. After a few minutes, Bucky feels your head fall softly on his shoulder.

He stops paying attention to what Thor is saying, instead focusing on the way you edge toward him in your sleep, nudging your nose into his shoulder. He can see the way your lashes lay on your cheeks when you’re so close and the pretty bridge of your nose.

You’re more open than he’s ever seen you, eyes shut and lips parted with gentle breaths, and he can’t stop staring at you.

Then the car goes over a harsh bump, and Bucky wants to do everything he can to hold you still, but your eyes flutter open and you sit up, meeting his eyes for a second. “Sorry.”

“It's no problem,” Bucky assures, wanting to keep examining the lines of your face, but you clear your throat, looking forward, and Bucky has no choice but to do so too.

-

The surprise Bucky feels when he spots you at the celebration party is no match for the sweet excitement at the bottom of his stomach, immediately pulling his sleeve further down over his arm and brushing away loose strands of his hair. It would be embarrassing how much he cares about what you think of him if it weren’t so ridiculously important to him.

He busies himself with getting a drink for you, finding himself wondering if you’d come before, only to go unnoticed by him. There’s a startling burst of anger at himself with the thought, and Bucky blinks, eyes continuing to drift to you. Resolute, he moves toward you but pauses as he observes you.

The look on your face is one Bucky has never seen before—though he hasn’t seen many looks on your face before—but it settles so naturally on your features that it is difficult to argue that it’s unfamiliar. You look intense, but the way your eyes scan Wanda's boyfriend—who’s been dubbed Vision—is dangerous. Cocky.

You say something and your entire face relaxes resolutely, but your eyes remain expectant and arrogant, unamused with your companion’s reply.

Vision—who Bucky has heard is never wrong—sure seems wrong in whatever argument he’s just lost against you, and you know it.

“How’re my favorite geniuses?” Wanda pipes up suddenly, forcing Bucky’s daze away, appearing from an unknown place to sling an arm around you. You snap out of the look, your face softening, but the pleasure of being right dances across your features. Bucky clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer, stepping toward you.

“Oh, you know, out-geniusing the other,” you reply, glancing at Bucky as he walks up behind Vision.

“Hey Dolly,” he smiles. “I thought you had too many books to read to go out.”

“I finished them all,” you respond. “And ‘Dolly’? How old are you?”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “What would you prefer, sweetheart?”

“My name,” you state, then squint at him, cocking your head. “Do you remember it? I imagine it’s hard to keep track.”

“Of course I remember.” Bucky scoffs. “I don’t think I could forget.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Right, I’d imagine asking her out to swing dance without it would be pretty hard.”

“Are you asking me to swing dance with you?” Bucky retorts.

You snort. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky holds out his hand expectantly, covered arm at his side.

Your eyes thin resolutely at him, scrutinizing the details of his face before you shake your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you criticise.

His hand drops and he pouts. “C’mon, pretty please.”

“Do you know what music you swing dance to?” you ask him, wagging a finger to refer to the booming music drowning most sounds inside the house. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I need to take advantage of the fact that you’re here, doll. You said so yourself you don’t go out much,” he complains. 

“Yeah, this is why!” you reply, your last words getting louder as the music impossibly gains volume.

“What?!” Bucky shouts, moving closer to hear you better, but you laugh and shake your head, telling him something he can’t make out. When you realize he can’t hear you, you give him a pout.

“And I was just about to say yes,” you say sadly.

“Wha—” Bucky’s cut off by the sharp shattering of glass. With a cringe, your eyes widen as you look behind him, eyes flickering back to him expectantly. He turns and groans. “I have to check that out. I’ll be right back!” he pledges, walking away to see a deadly amount of broken alcohol bottles on the floor, the stench of their contents burning his nose.

When he comes back, you’re gone.

The disappointment that blankets over his shoulders at the fact is just as surprising to him.

-

You’re in your bubble at the library, a little clueless to everything going on around you as you thumb the corner of a page, your pinky hovering below your book’s cover. You’re a few pages away from something exciting, teeth digging in with anticipation for it, when someone enters your field of vision, a large figure plopping down on a seat in front of you.

You spare them a glance and are surprised to find Bucky, sporting a large grin and his varsity jacket. You observe him suspiciously for a few moments, having never seen him even near the library, before returning your attention to what you’re reading.

“So, you’re actually here, huh?” he asks, and you shush him, shooting him a look to lower his voice. “Sorry.”

“Why are you here?” you question lowly instead, still not putting down your book.

“Anyone can come to the library.” Bucky points out, your name playfully scornful. You level a look at him.

“Yes. Why are you here? With me? You didn’t know my name until, like, two days ago.” You’re careful to keep your voice down.

“First of all,” Bucky starts, beginning to list off his fingers. “We met two weeks and three days ago.”

“Did we?” you drone, attempting to concentrate on the lines of your book once more.

“And, how do you know we don’t just have alternating study days?” Bucky points out.

“I am here every day,” you inform. “And if that were the case, why would you be here right now?” you rebut. “What would you be studying for? Coaching?”

“Maybe I wanted to switch things up,” Bucky defends. “And I’m not studying coaching. I’m studying biomedical engineering.”

You meet his eyes at the revelation, unable to keep the surprise off your face. You fold down the edge of the last page you read offhandedly and let your book flutter closed. “What? Quinn said you were in… sports.”

“Well,” Bucky sucks in a breath as if what he’s about to tell you is a revelation. “Soccer is a sport.”

“I know,” you affirm blandly. “But are you actually in biomedical?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “What, do you not believe me?” he asks, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you perpetuating harmful stereotypes.”

“I’m just surprised. You’ve never talked about it before.”

“We’ve talked four times,” Bucky points out. “Although I want it clear that I have tried to make it more.”

“Yeah, what’s that about, by the wayt?” you wonder, setting your elbows on the table and dropping your face into your hands, cocking your head at him. “From what I’ve seen, you have your fair pick of girls and guys.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

You laugh quietly. “Sure.”

“But I like you,” Bucky explains, shrugging. “You’re smart and pretty and you interest me.”

You scan his face, squinting. Astonishment tints your chuckle. “You are so much better at this than I thought you were.”

“Sorry?”

“At first, I was like ‘this guy? This is the Becky people won’t shut up about?’”

“Bucky,” he corrects swiftly.

“But I see it now. The charm. I’m not falling for it, but I see it.” You nod appreciatively and open your book once again to continue reading.

Bucky frowns in front of you, reaching over to insert an abrupt hand in between the pages. “What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you peel his fingers off the pages and meet his eyes, startled to see their intensity, crinkles at their edges, his lips pinched in a pout. You gasp. “Oh my god, you’re doing it now.”

“Sweetheart, it’s something that just happens naturally, I’m not doing anything.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, turning back to your book. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Go out with me, c’mon,” Bucky urges, smiling now. It’s stupidly sweet.

You click your tongue. “Dates are a waste of time.”

“I’ll make it worth it. Promise.”

“I don’t have time to go out with guys I’ve talked to four times,” you explain.

“Alright, so if I talk to you more, you’ll go out with me?”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t… I’m not liking where this is going.”

“I will talk to you every single day from now on,” Bucky vows.

“Oh, I was right,” you groan. “I just mean you don’t know me. My favorite color, my favorite book, my order at my favorite restaurant, things like that.”

“I will know all of that,” he pledges.

You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay, Borky.”

A cocky little smirk plays on his lips as he winks. “Bucky,” he says archly.

-

You learn his name. Completely. Totally. Unmistakably. 

It’s hard not to, not when he becomes a constant in your life and not with a name like that.

James Buchanan Barnes. It rolls off your tongue too nicely all of a sudden.

He talks to you every day. Just like he said he would, even if it’s a two-minute conversation over text where he makes sure you get home safe and asks about your day. It would be overwhelming if it didn’t make you smile so much.

He doesn’t get upset when you answer two hours later because you were distracted with work, asking you how Linda the librarian was and if she liked the cookie he got her three days ago.

You relay her enthusiastic message, deciding to brush over the wink and coy smile she sent you at his mention. Then maybe, because you’re finished with your work for the day, you shove aside your notebook and bite back a small smile when he tells you how pretty he thought you looked in the glimpses he had of you today.

Organizing your books into a neat little pile, you message him and Bruce that you’re heading home. And you intend to, you really do, but then Bucky insists you call him the next time so he can walk you home, and you’ve suddenly been sitting at your table, uselessly leaning against your things for ten minutes.

You shoot up when you realize, lightly bewildered with yourself, gathering everything into your arms as quickly as possible, and shoving your phone into your back pocket. You hope Bruce isn’t getting too worried as you push open the library doors, hurrying down the steps and onto the path you usually take. You’re alert as always, careful to listen past the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and watch for shadows that edge past yours, digging your keys out of your pocket to hold them in the spaces between your fingers.

It’s three minutes in when you begin to feel unsettled. Your phone has vibrated three times in your back pocket in the past two minutes, but the darker section of your path is coming up, and chills rush up your neck as you imagine what the distraction could cost.

A shadow follows nearby, inching closer and closer until your hands are shaking and you’re on the verge of running.

Fingers wrap around your arm and you shriek, books slipping from your arms when they wane. Stumbling back, you tug yourself away from the intrusion, breaths coming out in big, wet gasps when you turn. Bucky’s wide blue eyes meet your glossy ones, hands up in surrender when he catches the tremble of your bottom lip.

A tear streaks down your cheek in profusing relief that it’s only him, the anger indistinguishable beneath it as you stumble into Bucky on wobbly knees, his name braided in a whimper. His arms settle around you hesitantly, guiltily.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”

“I'm sorry,” he replies sincerely. “I didn’t think—”

“I'm just relieved it’s you,” you interrupt, fingers fisting his shirt. You’re far away, stuck in a memory very far away, and yet it feels enough like you’re standing in it. Your grip is a vice, forcing him closer still until the pads of your fingers can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. 

Bucky murmurs your name, a large palm stroking up and down your back in comfort. His voice is mournful. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You snap out of it at the nickname, pulling away from his embrace as if you’d awoken. He doesn’t startle, only stares at the furrow of your brow and the light that reflects off of your cheeks. Swallowing hard, you blink away the rest of your daze, eyes falling on your things scattered on the ground.

“My computer,” you remember, frantically dropping to your knees to search for it.

Bucky doesn’t pry, kneeling next to you to help pick up your books, taking the ones you’d stacked up sloppily into his arms. You carry your laptop with a careful grip, relatively unharmed.

“I should get going,” you tell him, motioning to take your things from him but he refuses, ushering you into his car.

It’s silent for a while after you halfheartedly agree, obviously still embarrassed. Bucky’s hesitant to probe, but the guilt at what he could’ve reminded you of gnaws at his gut.

You can feel his stare each time he glances at you curiously; cautiously, as if you’ll burst into tears spontaneously. 

“I was attacked once.” Your voice is quiet, soft for the obvious teeth the words pierce you with. “Walking home from the library,” you explain. “It’s why Bruce doesn’t like me walking home alone.”

“You… someone…” Bucky pinches his lips into a tense line, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Why?” It’s painfully incredulous.

You look down at your lap, the left edge of your lips pulling into your cheek. “I was alone. It was easy.” What’s left to say seems painful for you to push out. “He didn’t like me very much.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky offers after a tense second, unsure of what else to say and how angry he can be for you.

“For what? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” you retort, offering him a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“For scaring you,” Bucky insists sincerely. “For the fact that it happened in the first place.” You don’t respond, watching as trees and lights flash past the window.

“It really wasn’t as bad as you think. The label makes it seem worse,” you palliate. “He hit me once and pushed me against a wall. A bruise was the worst of it. Both physically and to my bank account.”

Bucky’s frown stays, quiet blanketing the both of you.

“So, why’d you come get me? How’d you know I was only on my way?” you chime suddenly.

“I wanted to check up on you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

You pause, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive pinch to your features. “So you drove to find me?”

“Technically, I just wanted to drop by your apartment to make sure you got home safe, but that sounds better, so let’s go with it.” Bucky shoots you a grin. An olive branch.

You accept it as you mimic the sweet curve of his lips. “Ah, yes, and that’s how Barnacle gets ‘em. Being charming and funny and sweet—”

He lets a light chuckle slip past his lips, sparing you a delicate glance. You’re already looking at him, softer in your gaze than he’s ever seen you.

He hums inquisitively. “You think I'm charming and funny and sweet?”

You laugh openly, shaking your head but not negating his words. You hug your laptop closer to your chest, constellations reflected in your shadowed eyes as you look through the window. “I think—” you inhale in relief. “We’re here.”

Bucky slows to a stop when he reaches your dorm, shutting off the car and stepping out as you pack up. You only notice his actions when your fingers slip past the handle once you move to open your own door, huffing air out of your nose when he smirks wantonly at you.

“Thank you,” you grunt, climbing out and clutching your things.

You walk ahead, listening to the door slam and the subsequent sound of shoes quick against the pavement until he walks steadily beside you. “So, you wanna do that again soon?”

You laugh, motioning to grab your keys. “Do what again?”

He steals the jingling set from your fingers, moving hurriedly to the door when you make a noise hald surprise half indignation. He jams a silver one in, cringing when it doesn’t fit. You glower as you reach him, eyeing his hands as they continue to shove the wrong key in the lock. “It's the bronze one—no, the other one. How do you not—”

The door swings open, a satisfied smile parting Bucky’s face.

“Thanks,” you sigh, taking back your keys as you step inside. He stands outside awkwardly, kicking a pebble around with his foot. You squint doubtfully at him after you’ve set your things down and he’s not following behind you like you thought he would be. “What’re you doing?”

“You have to invite me in,” he explains.

“What, like a vampire?”

He blinks. “Yeah, like a vampire.”

You grin toothily. “Vucky…” It drips in an exaggerated accent.

“It's cold out here,” he reminds.

“Maybe you should go home then,” you suggest.

His face drops for a second and you find yourself feeling a tug of something sickening at your stomach. Like a reflex, the offer leaves your throat before you can help it.

“Or. Come inside.” At his hesitant posture, you suck in a bubble of air. “Do you want to come in? You’re welcome to.” I want you to.

He stares at you long enough for you to squirm before a smile breaks through his face. “Really?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, flimsy regret already churning in your gut. “Yeah. Just come on in already. It’s cold outside, dummy.”

-

It’s startling the first time you miss Bucky's ever-constant presence.

You’d rather not admit it, but it’s hard not to—not when he finds you between classes to carry your books, teasing you about your lack of a backpack but always leaving you with only your laptop and a pen in hand. You can’t help the smiles when he “coincidentally” bumps into you at your favorite coffee shop enough times to have your order ready when you arrive on your tea day.

His goofy jokes while you study at the library get less annoying and, annoyingly, more endearing. You suddenly know a whole lot about biomedical engineering and Bucky. You know his sister’s favorite color and can spout stories about Steve before he grew five times his size like you were there yourself.

It's infuriating, you think, but you don’t mind as much when Bucky's making you laugh with lovely crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“I like the ocean,” you say sometime at the library, books spread on the table, ignored. He looks up from his notebook in surprise, putting down the pen you’d lent him two weeks ago. “It’s the reason why my favorite color is blue.”

His own blue glitters as he nods, listening. “‘Thought it was because of my eyes.”

You reward him a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I really wanted Atlantis to be real when I was little,” you tell him. “And mermaids. Even if they were the ugly ones that murder you,” You confess in a rare moment of transparency, meeting his eyes before you clear your throat, bringing your attention back to your laptop.

“I like space,” Bucky offers. “It's endless.”

You nod in acceptance, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of what you’ve given him.

“You collect those squished pennies, right?” Bucky asks. 

You’re startled that he remembers, and it takes a second for your brain to catch up. “Uh—yeah. Why?” 

Bucky turns to dig around in his bag, pulling out something small and bronze and shiny with a brilliant smile. ”I went to this little souvenir shop the other day and found one of those machines.” He extends it to you and flips it slowly between his index and middle. “It has a little fuzzy monster thing on it. I don’t get it, to be honest.”

It never crossed your mind that he would do that for you. A startling line of electricity runs up your arm when your fingers meet his, quick to take the penny from him. “Thank you,” you mutter, observing the coin in the light. The large eyes of the embossed little monster stare back at you. “This is really nice of you.”

“It’s not big deal,” Bucky shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Honey fills your throat. Gulping, you glance at the clock, nearly relieved to see it’s time for you to leave. “I gotta go,” you tell him, gathering your things. The smooth edges of the penny dig into your palm. He stands in tandem, rolling his shoulders.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” you begin.

“I want to. Besides, it would kind of feel weird not to after so long.”

You nod along. “Right.” 

He ducks his chin in affirmation, picking up his stuff too. Furtively, he lightens your own load.

You notice but know better than point it out and argue, remembering how you ended up bedrudgingly carrying only a pen last time.

“Does Sam still have your car?” you ask as you leave the library.

“Yup. One more week, he says.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Well, he’s been saying that for two, so…”

You laugh, staring up at a big tree vignetted orange.

Bucky nudges you lightly as you begin to drift away, preventing you from walking into the street. He guides you past a fissure in the sidewalk as you gasp at something in a boutique’s window. “There’s a sale at the bookstore!”

“Wanna go tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

You nod. “Can we?”

“Sure, we’ll just leave the library a little earlier,” Bucky suggests, balancing the books in his arms.

“Someone’s sure of themselves,” you tease. “You’re walking me home tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. I have been for months,” Bucky points out with a shrug.

Your jests die on your tongue as you realize he’s right, the discovery shocking when the memories of your solitary walks are further away than you had thought; suddenly, you remember that the dog you’d pointed out two weeks ago was more for his benefit than yours.

“Weeks,” you argue weakly, throat suddenly dry.

“Weeks could definitely be months,” Bucky reasons. 

You ignore him, stopping in your tracks. “Why?”

A frown tugs at his lips as he pauses as well. “Because weeks add up to months?”

“Why have you been walking me home every day for months?”

“‘Thought it was weeks?”

“Bucky,” you say, a little urgent.

He shrugs boyishly, near flippant but your things in his arms don’t let you believe that. “I don't want you to walk alone.” Then, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Shocked pupils dart around wildly and it’s difficult to swallow before you steady yourself, clearing your throat. Your features are pinched in a sort of raw determination—open, honest. “Thank you.”

He smiles and it’s soft as he shrugs lightly, nearly nonchalant.

Before you let yourself get too caught up in the curve of his lips and realize you’ve imitated it unconsciously, you look away, clearing your throat in relief when you spot your door.

“Right. Um, thanks again.” You take your things from him before he can think twice about it, speed walking to your door.

“Wait—” he stammers out, confused and too late when you give him a wave and a quick goodbye before slamming the door shut.

You swallow hard on the other side of the door, wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness. In the dreaded stillness, you can feel the heat that creeps up your neck and floods stickily into your face, the prickling static that needles into your palms. Shakily and illicitly, a hand drifts up to your chest, pressing to feel the thundering beating of your heart.

You curse to the silence, letting your eyes flutter shut in candied disappointment.

-

Bucky thinks you’re acting weird.

No—he’s sure you’re acting weird.

He knows you now, can recognize the sarcastic lines of your cheeks when you wrinkle your nose and poke fun at him. He’s memorized the genuine curve of your lips when he’s said something so cheesy it circles around to sweet. He knows you at your angry and at your happy, but he doesn’t know this.

You’re being nice to him. Sticky nice. Not you-nice.

He tries teasing first, poking a pencil into the flesh of your arm and asking if you’d fallen in love or something. You’d scoffed, blinked fast, and swatted him away. But you didn’t say no.

He’s aware he’s a fool to think so large of a lack of something, but he can’t pretend like it doesn’t inspire something in him, something like hope, like nectar, sticky in his throat.

He wonders if it clogs words up in yours—if it’s the reason you’re so quiet.

You stare through your computer, steam from your tea disappearing into the air as you blink. There’s a sweet indent in between your eyebrows, similar to the one you get when you study something you don’t completely understand, usually accompanied by the nail of your thumb between your teeth. But this one is lighter, more unintentional. You’re struggling with something but he can’t figure out what.

Your eyes flicker up to his, glinting in the light when you catch them on you.

“What?” you blurt. It’s louder than you intend, and you purse your lips in that embarrassed way that you do, shrinking down into your seat. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” he says honestly.

He waits for your usual flustered reaction and you give it to him, but it’s vignetted with something, different in the quick blinks of your eyes and the thumb you brush over your nose. 

“I'm hungry,” you complain, ignoring his compliment.

“I'll buy you something,” Bucky responds immediately, already pulling out his wallet.

“You don’t have to,” you remind. “I wasn’t asking, I was just—”

“I know, it’s fine,” Bucky insists.

“I can pay. It’s my food.”

“It’s just a meal.” He squints at you. “You never pass up a chance of food on me.” He presses the back of his palm against your forehead and leans in closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

You heat up beneath his touch, shaking him off with a scowl. “You make me sound awful. Fine. Buy me my food then.”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender, wallet between his index and middle finger rising with his shoulders. “I will.” He squeezes your shoulder before he walks away, dipping down to your ear to whisper, “And you’re not awful.”

You huff, pinching your lips together as you watch him get in line, nudging his fingers into his wallet to take out money.

Arbitrarily, you’re annoyed. Bucky Barnes is infuriating, with his long charcoal lashes and lilting chuckle and nonchalance in giving things you want without your asking.

Your laptop screen darkens with your lack of attention, and you’re left staring at yourself, scrutinizing the thin lines around your eyes as you squint. You’re being ridiculous; you can’t be angry over Bucky being a sweet guy.

“They musta’ known you were coming,” Bucky whistles, balancing a bowl and a small bag already darkened with grease spots in his arms. You take the bowl from him, warmth seeping into your fingertips.

You furrow your brows at him when you pop the lid off, barely realizing you’d never told him what to get. “You got me cavatappi pasta,” you realize. You look upset.

“Yeah?”

Distressed, you snatch the bag from him, shoving your fingers inside to pull out two large chocolate chip cookies. “And chocolate chip cookies.” Your voice rises and falls with a slightly unhinged twinge, features pulling as you examine what Bucky got for you. Your comfort food; the token you’d never explained to him.

“Yeah. It’s what you always get. And I know you always want two cookies but only get one because you’re afraid you won’t finish it, but we can split it or you can save it, or—what are you doing?”

You sweep everything into your arms, holding the food tightly behind your books.

“I have to go.”

“What? We just got here.”

“I have an appointment.”

“For what?”

“For—things—it’s—” you huff. “I have to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I have my car back, you know,” Bucky offers, already beginning to get up, but you shake your head, his actions hitting something in your chest.

“I'll be fine, thanks for the…” you exhale sharply. “I'll see you later.”

You run off, ignoring his confused call of your name as you slam the door behind you.

Hot soup dribbles down your fingers as you speed walk back home, but you barely notice, struggling to remember why you’d rejected him before.

“I hate him,” you mumble, fully dishonest as you struggle with your keys. “I hate him so much.”

“Hate who?” Bruce asks from the table, sparing you a glance from his computer. His eyebrows join as he takes you in, every panting and crazed inch of you, mouth parting and head tilting. “Uh.”

“Bucky,” you reply, setting the a la carte box down hastily. You drop the cookies next to it.

Bruce stares at you.

You make a big gesture with your hands toward it, pursing your lips. “He bought me that. Just—insisted. He's so—” you sigh frustratedly. “I didn't even—he bought me cookies.”

“Okay.” It's long and hesitant. “And that’s bad because…” he begins to shake his head. “You don’t like cookies?”

Your shoulders drop.

“You hate cookies and pasta. You think they’re awful,” Bruce tries.

“No! I love soup and cavatappi and—he’s ruining everything! He's such an idiot!” you rub your face, nuzzling your nose into the crevice between your joined hands.

Bruce examines you for another second before: “Oh.”

“What?” you snap, meeting amused brown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce muses, but his lips are set in a careful smile, amusement poorly hidden. “Just that you finally learned his name.”

His thoughts are pathetically obvious in his tone, lips in a thin line and eyes crinkled.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Bruce Banner—”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Do not think what you’re thinking,” you demand. “He’s a player and a distraction and—”

“Okay.” Bruce has never been one to argue, but his one word answer makes you more frustrated than anything else he could’ve said.

You puff and gather your food, striding to your room with a glare at your best friend. 

-

For the first time since you met Bucky, you follow through on an excuse to miss the game. It’s not a majorly important one—although Bucky pouts when you tell him either way, insisting that he needs you there for good luck—but you still feel a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach when the game begins and you’re too far away to cheer for him.

The edges of your lips are downturned, brows pinched as you stare at your phone before you realize what you’re doing and snap your attention away.

Scoffing, you shake away thoughts about soccer and the memory of Bucky's sweet blue eyes when he’d teased you, a strange tone of real sadness beneath his playful jests.

You pause, lifting your hands from your computer to eye the time once again. Furtively scanning the work you’re nearly done with, you allow yourself the distraction and grab your phone, fingers dancing in anticipation when your lock screen is littered with icons of messaging apps.

You click Bucky’s name first, smiling softly as you read a quickly typed summary of the game he probably sent after the first half was over. He sounds hopeful and excited, like he always does when he talks abouts soccer, but he signs off with a mispelled reminder that he misses you and a red heart. You check Wanda and Bruce's messages next, your face falling when you learn the second half hadn’t gone as well.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance at your work again and then at the clock, taking a quick breath before you force yourself to write a quick conclusion you promise yourself you’ll revise when you get home.

The game is over by the time you arrive, easily finding a parking spot in the midst of everyone’s departure. You hear disappointed grumbling as you make your way inside the stadium and cringe, striding toward the locker room.

Your name in Bruce’s voice makes you pause, turning to meet his pulled, bushy eyebrows and pinched lips. “What’re you doing here?”

“I finished early,” you explain. “And you said the game wasn’t going great so I thought I'd come and make sure the team’s okay.”

Bruce's features morph into something like realization and then into his poor poker face, lips pursed so tightly they’re edged white. “Right. The team.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, since it’s the whole team, I should let you know most of them are in the locker room moping, but Bucky wanted to leave early.” Bruce looks pointedly to the right.

“What? Why?”

Bruce shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe he said something about seeing you, but since you’re here for the team—”

“Shut up, Bruce.” You squint meanly at him, making him swallow a laugh as you spin around and continue on your path. 

You bump into Bucky when you turn a corner, familiar hands coming to rest on your arms distractedly before his eyes brighten in recognition. He says your name in surprise, shaking you gently as if to check that you’re real. His hair is damp from the quick shower he’d just taken, dark spots from water droplets around the collar of his gray shirt. He smells like soap and Bucky and it makes you a little dizzy.

“Hey, I heard about the game,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh. I was just coming to see you. I told you that you were our lucky charm.” Bucky laughs but it’s not completely honest, his disappointment about the loss shining through.

You frown, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you shove your hands into your coat pockets, pulling out a crinkled baggie in each one. “I brought you something.”

Bucky steps back, eyebrows furrowed as he notices what you’re holding. “Are those orange slices?”

Nervous now, you let your arms drop. “Yeah. I, uh—figured they’d maybe give you a boost and—” You cut yourself off, laughing awkwardly. “It was dumb.”

“My mom used to bring me orange slices after soccer practice,” Bucky mumbles.

You perk up. “Yeah. You told me about that and I thought maybe you’d like them.” The end of your sentence lilts like a question, answered by the quick movements of Bucky's fingers when he takes a baggie from you and pulls it open, taking a slice out to grin happily at it.

He dips his fingers in again and hands another to you, bumping his own small slice against yours. “Cheers.”

As soon as he bites into it, the juice from the fruit runs down his fingers, eyelids falling closed in a delighted hum. You barely realize the sap has streaked sticky orange down your arm, too.

He breathes out your name as he opens his eyes, a dazzling blue in the fluorescent lights of the locker room hall. “I forgot how…” He shakes his head, drifting off, and takes the other bag from you, pulling you to him. He sighs big and warm, rumbling through his chest.

You rub your nose against his sweatshirt, breathing in deeply. There's the fresh scent of citrus and then the lavender body wash you’d bought for him faint beneath his own distinct smell. He thanks you blithely, a lot lighter.

You shrug it off and force yourself to pull away, shivering at the loss even if you initiated it. “Do you want to get something to eat and watch that new episode of The Great British Bake-Off we missed last week?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, hand drifting down to pull yours along. His skin is sticky and sweet against yours, orange juice smearing on your palm, but you can’t find it in you to care.

-

You feel sick when you step outside; a sticky, prickly rush that coats your throat in sap. It’s cold enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, dark enough for the stars to drown in ink. Any appetite you had disappears, replaced with something clammier and painful, a twisting anxiety as a result of a bad day and a completely avoidable situation.

The bags with your food bump warmly against your knee, plastic handles pulling against the skin of your wrist. If you stay as you are, there will be indents of them once you finally put the bag down. 

Something like dumb, chest-puffed stubbornness tugs incessantly at you when you contemplate calling Bruce to come pick you up, a biting voice snapping pathetic for even thinking about it convincing you to shut the door behind you, locking away the choice of warmth and safety and shame.

It’s very silent when you begin to walk, the crinkling of your bag loud and in tandem with your steps. You let it slide down and hook on your fingers, carefully aware of shadows that might peek out behind yours and off-space footsteps.

Lonely fingers curl in on themselves, missing the comforting frigidity of the keys you’d forgotten at home. Your dying phone vibrates in the tight grip of your hand, spurring your steps faster. A dark lump appears on your shadow’s shoulder, and you freeze, spinning around violently to face the street, empty behind you.

You turn back around hesitantly, breath trembling. You could’ve sworn you felt someone else behind you.

Eyes rounded and wet, you begin to walk again, feeling an uncomfortable heat in the space where your ribs meet. Your required cognizance turns frantic, making your fingers shake and oxygen difficult to get into your lungs. There’s an echo to your footsteps. When you blink, there’s the ghost of an unforgiving hand on the back of your neck, the sharp slam of your jaw against brick. You gasp when you open your eyes again, a hand flying to the aching skin of your neck as you spin.

Your eyes promise that there’s no threat lurking behind darkness, but your mind blares with an assurance that there is. Ducking behind a wall, you scramble for your phone, cheeks cold with air-slapped tears as you press the call button for the first contact your fingers find.

Bucky’s voice is confused and comforting when he answers.

“I think—I think someone is following me,” you whimper, pulling your legs to your chest. Your food warms the side of your thigh. 

“What? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I should, it’s just—I was walking home from the restaurant and I heard something and I can’t concentrate, I can’t breathe—”

“Okay, it’s okay. Try to breathe, okay? Can you tell me what restaurant it was?”

You can picture the glowing sign, the faded wallpaper, the flowered curtains, but you can’t think, barrelling you deeper into panic. “I can’t remember—I—”

You can hear Bucky open his door. “Hey, it’s okay. Were you eating there or picking up to go?”

“To-go,” you answer tearfully, concentrating on the box pressing into your flesh.

“Okay. For you and Bruce or just you?”

“B-both of us.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Try to take deep breaths, I think I—”

There’s a hollow click before it’s silent, the calm you’d been grasping at completely gone. “Bucky?” you plead. “Bucky?”

You pull your phone away from your ear, vision going blurry when you tap desperately at the screen and it doesn’t respond. Dead.

There’s a tremendous weight on your chest, your elbow knocking against the wall behind you with your attempts to draw in a breath. You shove your head in between your knees and try to remember Bucky’s voice, forget the cold fear that another clammy hand will reach for your hair and tug you up.

You need to get home. You can’t move.

You stifle your sobs with your leg, clawing at your shins and trying to think of anything else. You shove your hand in between your stomach and your legs, letting your phone fall to your thighs as the tips of your fingers reach the round hills of your collarbone. Your palm digs into your flesh until the beating of your heart pulses against your thumb, aching when you force it to stay put.

Thump, thump. “O-one,” you force, restraining your fingers from curling. Thump, thump. “Two.” A deep, shuddering breath that makes your mouth snap closed and your eyes flutter into darkness. Thump, thump. “Three…”

It’s how Bucky finds you, your nose deep between your knees, counting watery and muffled. He’s frantic when he sees you, panic like needles against his chest prickling to a pounding ache. He should be more cautious, stand still a few feet away for a few seconds, step slowly. If he were a little less in love, maybe he would; but he’s not, and the relief that you’re solid and no longer a tenuous voice on his phone is too much a relief.

He calls out your name and rushes forward, lowering himself down to his knees before he touches your arm. You flinch, shoving a strong hand against him, a horrible mix of anger and fear contorting your voice.

“It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You still push yourself back against the wall, but your eyes finally meet his. “Bucky,” you test. “Bucky.”

It’s a silent, cold beat before you blink clearly, irises looking back a little less hazy. You murmur his name once more and promptly burst into tears, launching yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you in tandem, pleasing the closeness your fisted fingers crave. He takes in your tears, steadily smoothing a hand over your back, desperation in the way he hooks his chin over the crown of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks too soon.

You make a noise of which answer he can’t be sure of, so he gathers you up in his arms to push you away, only a little, only for a second to stare at you.

You grip at his shirt, cheeks shiny. And then, “I thought I was really gonna die this time.” Hearing your admittance causes a shift on your face, still crumpled and unready to deal with this. “Just for a second and—” Your lips twist to keep words back. 

Bucky pulls you back in.

“Will you take me home?”

His compliance is wordless and patient, hooking a finger through your takeout and grasping your hand with his free one, guiding you to his car. He helps you inside, setting the bag at your feet before he buckles your seatbelt and pushes strands of hair away from your sticky face.

Your breathing steadies while he drives, concentrating on the cool puffs of air hitting your collarbone, the lingering warmth from the food you’re suddenly starving for. But the wash of panic has left a shameful residue and a subsequent otiose apology on your tongue, making the once comforting silence expectant.

Your chest weighs when you finally spot your door, fighting to pull words from your mouth at the dimmed lights, but Bucky beats you to it, clearing his throat without unlocking the door. His left hand lays clothed on his lap, face stormed with uncertainty, but there’s a resolute edge that makes him look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you start, misunderstanding.

“Why?”

You aren’t sure, only certain of how guilty you feel. “For… bothering you. For making you comfort me. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that."

“Don’t apologize.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want you to…”

He shoves his sleeve up, taking a deep breath as he pinches the fingertips of the glove. “I know that wasn’t something you were ready to share with me. I understand, I…”

His gaze is heavy, flickering between your face and the fingers peeling away his glove. He swallows hard when it’s pulled off completely, looking away from the sight of his skin.

You can’t help the way your eyes track down his arm. It’s scarred with angry raised lines, ending at his fingertips and disappearing into his shirt sleeve. 

“I was in a fire once,” he says. “‘Got some scars too.”

“Is that why you wear—” You trail off at his nod. “Why are you… why are you telling me?” you ask, wincing at how the question sounds, but Bucky seems to understand what you mean.

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies.

You blink at him, slipping a sure hand into his and squeezing. “Thank you.”

His eyes stay startled on your interlocked fingers, stubborn even beneath his gaze. He laughs hollowly then, squeezing back before he finally meets your eyes. “You, too.”

-

Your fingers are wound tightly around Wanda’s arm, the nails digging into her sweater giving away what your face is trying to hide. You’re zeroed in on Bucky's figure as he runs across green after blurry white.

The energy from the others who cheer in the stands makes you buzz, a rush of confidence urging you to jump to your feet when Bucky passes the ball to Pietro and then has it once again, close enough to the other team’s goal to make you clench a hand in anticipation.

With the flesh of your thumb between your teeth, you can’t help but lose your breath when it looks like Bucky's going to try to make it, only for it to be knocked out from your lungs when he crashes to the ground from the impact of another player.

Your mouth parts in a surprised o, tongue playing his name before you can stop it.

It's eerily silent in the stadium for a second as Bucky lies on the field, before it disappears into a fold of angry screams.

You’re not worried.

Bucky has never gotten hurt on the field before—”I’m too good,” he had promised you with an uneven grin, annoying in the way that he’s right—and the only times it’s seemed otherwise have been lies, a mere play he put on for the free kick. He had shaken his head disappointedly at you when you’d gotten worried, condemning you for not trusting him. He’s playful when he’s flustered.

So you’re not worried, because you know Bucky is fine.

Except he hasn’t moved in a little while too long and you don’t think it’s ever taken him this long to fake it. Although, maybe it feels longer because you can’t take your eyes off his figure.

You’re not worried.

Your fingers say otherwise, thumb tapping against your alternating fingers so frantically they get jumbled together, clumsily bumping into the crevices between them.

“Is he hurt?” Wanda asks.

“No,” you say automatically, stretching your fingers out like a starfish as if to rid evidence of your anxiety. “No, he’s fine.”

It's another moment that seems too long and the lines of Wanda’s worried face deepen, breaths a little faster. “He's not… he’s not getting up.”

“He’s fine,” you insist. “He has to milk it.” Glancing up at the timer, you nod definitively. “Yes, he has to milk it to get the penalty kick.”

“What?” Wanda asks, meeting your eyes in confusion.

“The hit didn’t seem that bad,” you lie unsteadily. “He has to milk it. He’s fine.”

Your panic escapes in the highs of your voice, something translucent hiding it when you clear your throat. He's still not getting up and it makes your breath comes out quickly. “He has to be,” you admit.

Wanda’s brows furrow, eyes searching your face once Bucky finally limps weakly to his feet, giving the ref a short nod. A sigh large enough to make you bend slips past your lips, caught in a relieved laugh as you gesture to him.

“I told you,” you tell her.

“He’s limping,” she points out.

“It’s fake,” you assure, fingers digging round shadows into your temples. “He’s doing his hero face, he’s completely fine.” It comes out more relieved than you thought it would.

He gets his penalty kick, makes it, of course, and it’s another few, a lot slower minutes before the game is over, but you’re making your way down thirty seconds before, too much attention on the game rather than your footing on the stairs.

You stumble over your feet, barely caring when the whistle blows to indicate the game is over, and turn in the direction of the hall to the locker room. Your anxiety nearly seems silly now, not as oppressive now that the soaked towel you’d been waterboarded with was dry. Yet, it still prickles at your fingertips, faint but enough to ache.

It's only a couple minutes before you can hear the pattering of feet, the stress that the outliers are Bucky, limping like he did on that field, nudging at your mind. The players wave at you, surprised, and your heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing team shirt that does not have “BARNES” on the back.

Then he’s there, completely fine and near the end of the line. He's grinning at the apparent win, letting Steve shove him proudly. His eyes widen in surprise when they catch sight of your own, saying something to his teammates without looking at them as he steps toward you.

“Hey, what’re you—”

Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck, the prickling disappearing the moment you touch him. He is hot and solid in your arms, but most importantly completely fine.

“Hey,” he coos, hugging you back.

You allow him a moment before you pull back abruptly and smack his arm.

“Ow!” he complains, grabbing your hand.

“You asshole! What’s up with the drama?”

“What, did I scare you?” Bucky teases, smirk dropping when your deadpan doesn’t glitter with playfulness. “Doll?”

“You took your sweet time getting back up,” you continue, ignoring his words. “You’ve never taken that long.” You’re alone in the hall now, eyes frenetic over his figure.

He softens then, chin pulling closer to his neck so his eyes can give you a reassuring smile. “Hey,” he says softly, tapping your wrist with his index, “‘m fine.”

“I know,” you contend, but it comes out a little relieved at hearing it in his voice. “I told Wanda that.”

His cheeks apple at your statement, amusement twinkling back in his eyes. “Of course. My girl knows I can't get hurt.”

You scoff at the term of endearment, nervous energy dissolving. “I'm not your girl.”

“Not yet!” he proclaims.

You wrinkle your nose, stepping away from him. “You stink. Go shower.” You pat his shoulder as a goodbye, beginning to head back out.

“Sure know how to charm a guy,” he mumbles, watching you walk away with a dopey smile.

-

You’re in your room, laying on your stomach with your computer in front of you and a drink Bucky had bought for you sitting on your bedside table.

He's sitting against your bed, scanning over a document. You should be doing something like it, but you can’t help but be distracted. He's quiet for once, features set in something not playful and not serious, a small knot between his brows indicating his concentration.

He looks pretty. You can’t be blamed.

If he notices your gaze, he’s kind enough to not point it out, although it’s unlikely. It’s undoubtedly heavy.

He’s staring down at his hand when he speaks up for what seems like the first time since hes arrived. His fingers dance nervously before he shoves them away from his view, edges of thick tissue peeking out as a bracelet on his wrist. “Do I make you uncomfortable when I flirt?”

You blink owlishly at him, unsure how to answer. He sounds so serious, guilty. “No.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop.”

“I know you would. But it doesn’t. Is something wrong?”

Bucky cringes. “You don’t really flirt back. I just want to make sure it’s not because I make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t! I just… don’t really flirt. I don’t really think there’s a point if I’m not dating.”

“You don’t date?” He’s known this. To a point, which he thinks is not completely accurate now that he hears the way you say it.

“No.”

“Not even guys you like?”

“Especially guys I like, ” you clarify, cringing with the difficulty of putting so many feelings into so insignificant words. “Things get messy. It’s just… distractions and it’s never worth it.”

“You think love isn’t worth it? That it’s a distraction?”

You shoot him a look, huffing a little disappointedly, as if you’d expected him to understand something and he didn’t. “Why do people always twist my words into something so cynical?

I didn’t say that. Not love. I never said love, I just—it never ends well. It’s always something you pour so much into and get so little back.”

Bukcy shifts. “That’s not true. A relationship is fair, or at least, it’s supposed to be.”

“Ah, but see, ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things. I’d rather just skip the entire thing.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t think you should.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“I don’t… I’m not telling you what to do, but I really think you should try. Love can be really great. And you deserve that.”

Your nails pinch at your fingers. “But what if it isn’t?”

“Then it isn’t.” You move to rebut, but Bucky continues. “But what if it is?”

You refuse to answer, chewing on your bottom lip.

Bucky gazes at you, waiting for a response before he realizes he won’t get one. He doesn’t push, turning back to his work.

“Why do you care so much?” you ask.

He sucks in a breath before admitting, “Mainly because I think you would really enjoy being loved. And very partially because I’m selfish.”

You hum. “You’re a really good guy, Bucky.”

“I try.”

You scowl lightly. “Incorrigible. Annoying. But really good.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t forget—what was it you said about me? Charming? Sweet? Hand-to-heart hilarious?”

You launch a pillow at his head. “Nuisance is what I should’ve said.”

“Mm, a little contradictory but what’s life without some juxtaposition? Maybe I’m a man of many talents.”

The tip of your index finger shoves into his arm.

You fall into a peaceful silence once again when the laughter dissolves, your fingers busy away at your keyboard. There's a moment where you’re thinking, staring intently just past your computer and Bucky is staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, stony and all.

“Will you?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. “Will I what?”

“Give it a chance.”

You want a moment to ponder it, because you know the right answer but you aren’t sure if you want to pick it. “Give what a chance?” you play dumb, but he doesn’t buy it.

You look to your side, unfocused eyes lazy on an ugly painting.

“Yeah, maybe.” You want to tell him it depends who it is, that you have very strict rules mentioning annoying brunets with blue eyes who walk you home from the library and never shut up, but you don’t, eyes travelling back to him slowly. His silence when they finally meet his own tell you he knows anyway.

Quickly looking back down, you avoid his gaze and continue to work.

-

You melt into his side, delightfully prickling when you lean in a little closer to take a sip of your drink. Eyes shimmering in the lame lights of the bar, you’ve never looked so openly bright, hardly containing your delight and everything you can spilling past anyway.

There are enough people in the place for it to feel rightfully uncomfortable, sweat-sticky skin bumping into the arm he has around your chair and making the heat rise, but Bucky can’t seem to notice.

It would feel plain ignorant to do so—to not focus completely on the stitched pride in the dips of your smile or the warmth of your palms as they splay flat on his arm.

It’s not enough to just have your fingers tug at him during conversations with strangers, he feels he should imprint the feeling of your touch like a branding.

You say his name in conversation, cruelly dragging your hand down to bracelet around his wrist and squeezing. You make a little shimmy with your shoulders that can’t help but make him laugh. He zeroes in on your lips, trying to make sense of what you’re saying.

You’re cute. You’re too sweet to be in this stuffy bar with him.

You turn to him brightly in the midst of another exclamation and he feels himself transported.

He can feel the end buzzer vibrating up to his fingertips, the breeze on the heat of his skin when he’d looked up, eyes searching for you like a habit. 

Your features are shrunken into the memory, suddenly far away but still pulled into the biggest beam you could muster, hands clapping ecstatically.

“Bucky,” memory-you says liltingly, too clearly.

When he blinks, he’s back in the present, the tip of your index dimpling his bicep, your face close enough for him to count each individual eyelash. He grins without really thinking about it. “Bucky,” you repeat, a little harsher but still teasing.

“Yeah?” he responds finally.

“We’re complimenting you and you aren’t paying attention? Are you feeling okay?” you frown, lips downturned but the edges of your eyes still crinkled with happy lines. The back of your hand meets his forehead.

“Fantastic,” he says, his left hand vining up to hook around your fingers and lay them on his lap. “Just won a game, didn’t you hear? All by myself, too.”

You shake your head at him, turning back to who Bucky realizes is one of your friends. Carol, you’d said.

“See?” You say accusatorily. 

Carol grins. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to when you describe it so thoroughly.”

That catches Bucky’s fluttering attention, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly in your direction. Your lips part in betrayal at Carol, and you begin to take your hand back from Bucky, but he hooks your wrist before you can. 

“I think Maria is calling you,” you tell her. “You should go see what that’s about.”

“Now, now,” Bucky starts. “Actually, I think I want to know how thoroughly you talk about me, sweeheart.”

“That's my cue,” Carol laughs, dipping a beer at you both. “I'll see you guys later. Congrats on the game.”

She bounces to her feet and takes off, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky nudges a finger in between your ribs, making you jump and swat at him. “Hey!”

“You talk about me to your friends?”

You stare at him, bottom lip pushing out defensively in your tipsiness. “Well, the star football player is one of my best friends, shouldn’t I be allowed to brag?”

“Best friend, huh? Bruce gonna be jealous?”

You wave him off, making a small, stubborn sound. “He ought to get over it with how much he ditches me.”

“See, I would never.” Bucky presses his free hand to his heart in oath. “Star football players are very reliable. Scoring goals, keeping plans, etcetera.”

You grin at the reminder, something sparkling beneath your skin like static, jolting your fingers when it begins to brim. You splay an excited palm on his shoulder out of pure excitement, seeming to relive the night.

“I am so proud of you,” you say. Saccharine, words stout with a smile and pride. “You did so well today.”

You’re startlingly genuine, entirely proud. Bucky can’t bring himself to tease or flirt.

“Thank you.”

You smile prettily, the light in your irises shifting at his authenticity. “I am,” you insist.

You just want to tell him, for him to hear you and understand how much you mean it. Your pupils flicker to a spot above his shoulder, distant for a second as your face brightens more. You laugh disbelievingly.

“I don't know all that much about football but from what I do, you’re certifiably extraordinary.” You sound out the word, unwilling to mess it up when you mean it so much. You try again. “You made a really great play.”

“Impossible,” Bucky corrects completely unsubtly, but it’s soft, blurred by yellow light from above and buzz from you.

You observe him for a second. “I think you’re amazing,” you say thoughtfully, not in an effort to compliment but in a sort of realization. “What… type of person…” you start but don’t continue, tongue unable to keep up with everything running through your mind. The walks home, the paid lunches, the attention, the ability. 

You inhale sharply, as if realizing you’re drifting off and trying to pull yourself back in.

Bucky knows what you expect—what he expects of himself—but he can’t bring himself to tease you, reiterate your words with an artful curve of his lips. He can’t concentrate enough to ignore the prickly warmth at the bottom of his stomach. He glances down at his watch.

“Should we go?” he says instead, casual but urgent. “It's late.”

He stands before you can process his offer, still a little drunk from stolen sips but only enough to make contrasts lighter. You blink up at him from your seat for a second before nodding, two short, stressed lines between your brows. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt.

Kinder, he helps you from your seat and guides you toward the door, keeping you away from stray elbows with benevolent redirection.

Your breath curls visibly in the air when you step outside, white and dissolving until it is replaced by another, longer exhale. You wrap your arms around your torso.

“C'mon,” he urges, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”

“Should you be driving?” you ask as he searches his pockets for the keys, standing at the car door, watching him. “And what about the others?”

“Didn’t drink,” he answers, patting his coat pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

You frown, slowly running through the night and realizing he’s right, recalling the sparkling water dripping moisture next to his jacket sleeve. The cold and the ennui knock a lot into focus.

He clicks open the car. “And this’ll force ‘em to call an uber. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drop by later to force them home. I just want to get you home first. No drunk footballers to puke on your feet.”

He rounds around to meet you, opening the door, and waiting patiently.

“Why didn’t you drink?” you ask. You’ve seen him drink before, tipsy in that breezy way where he’s a little flirtier with a little less filter. “You won a game. If you ever deserved it, it’s now.”

“I had to be able to drive you back.” He shrugs, cocking his head in the direction of the open car door. “Speak of the devil,” he starts pointedly, reminding you of your frigidity.

Still contemplating, you climb inside with furrowed brows, following Bucky's figure as he shuts your door, jogs back to his side, and settles into the driver’s seat. Rubbing his hands together, he turns to look at you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Look at that. I think you’re a little drunker than I thought.”

“I am not,” you argue, looking down at yourself and seeing nothing wrong until Bucky reaches over to pull your seatbelt over you. “Oh.”

Bucky breathes out a little laugh, amused.

“I'm just…” You contemplate for a second, sinking into the rumbling of the engine when Bucky turns the car on. Immediately, heat slaps your nose. The glass meets your temple bitingly, jolting your sentence back on track. You turn to see Bucky's attention already on you. “Happy.”

“You’re happy?” Bucky repeats pleasantly, shifting the gear into drive.

“Yes. It was a good day today.” 

You feel clearer now, the edges of reality crisper as you look out the window. “I know I already said it, but I'm really proud, Bucky. You win games and ace tests and don’t celebrate with a drink to drive me home. You’re kind of great.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing at you.

You hum an affirmation, inhaling deeply. At some point, Your few-sip buzz dissipated into something different.

Sober, but influenced on the darkness of the sky and the roundness of the moon. It feels safe suddenly, a rush of energy jolting you straight. You stare at Bucky's profile. “Yeah,” you confirm clearly. “It's kind of disappointing, you know.”

Bucky is caught off guard, sparing you a look when he stops at a stoplight. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be different.”

“How?” His brows are furrowed.

You take a moment to ponder. “Not so… you. More of the unforgivably arrogant and ignorant jock variety.”

“So you were expecting me to be one of those cartoon stereotypes?” he teases, looking back at the road with an easier smile.

“Kind of,” you laugh. “But you’re not and that’s really great.”

The red light from outside drapes over his features, pulled as he searches the crevices of your face. In response, it slackens slowly, from thoughtful to a little dazed as you stare back. Without meaning to, you’re leaning in at the same time he is.

His skin flips green.

You fall away from him with a surprised exhale, blinking in confusion.

It takes a second for Bucky to look away after you have, and you consider yourself lucky there’s no one else on the road during the long moment it takes for his attention to switch back to driving.

He doesn’t want to just forget what happened. He doesn’t want to move on from this yet. “What does that mean?” he asks, your compliment playing on repeat in his mind.

You stay silent, trying to figure it out yourself. “I don't… I don’t know.”

He tries to remain unbothered, glancing at you once more to catch your focus unmovingly on him. He pulls into your driveway and turns off the car.

“What about going on a date with me?” he requests, a little more serious that usual but glazed in his usual tone. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he continues.  “I'll dress up in that shade of blue you think I look so good in and we’ll go out to eat at that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I'm still impressed you found. You’ll order that same thing you always do, and we can talk about that novel you’re reading—”

He doesn’t wait for the answer you’ve given before, stepping out of the car and striding over to your side.

You gaze up at him when he opens your door, your buckle unclasped in your hand. He's kind as he always is as he helps you out, hands settling on your shoulders to steady you when you nearly trip over a ridge in the sidewalk.

“Or… or we could go take a walk around the park. Or go to the movies, or the amusement park, or do laundry or taxes or—anything as long as it’s with you.”

And maybe it’s the easy smile, with the glitter of gold pride still sewn into his lips, or the genuine kindness he’s never failed to show you under the mask of the moon. Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe you just can’t help yourself anymore. You kiss him.

He’s frozen for a solid moment, thick enough for you to start doubting yourself, beginning to pull away when he finally reacts, practically melting into you as his hands frantically pull you closer.

He pulls away hesitantly, torturously, a second later, eyes scrutinizing. “Wait, wait, wait, are you drunk?”

You shake your head, laughing gently at the thumb that pulls gently at the skin beneath your eye to make sure, urgently tugging you back into the kiss when he’s satisfied.

“‘Had to make sure,” he mumbles against your lips. “This can’t happen when you aren’t you.”

“It’s me,” you promise, pulling back. Before you can delve into your mind too deeply, you nod suddenly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay what?” he repeats, chasing after you to kiss you a few more times.

“I'll go out with you.”

His smile drops, fingers tightening around your hips. “Wait, really?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You grasp his arms tightly. “I should at least try, right?”ey

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader idiots in love #bucky barnes x reader mutual pining #bucky barnes x reader fluffy #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes college au #college!bucky barnes #college!bucky barnes x reader #best friend!bucky barnes x reader #best friend!bucky barnes #best friend!bucky #best friends to lovers #bucky barnes best friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader best friends to lovers #friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes request

[hairmetal666]

Steve

Asking Eddie to move to Indy with him and Robin is the most natural thing in the world. After Vecna they became SteveandRobinandEddie, so it just made sense to live together.

Everything is perfect.

It changes one night, at their favorite gay bar. He and Eddie nurse a couple of beers at a hightop, while Robin dances with a cute blonde. Steve half-heartedly shimmies along to the Madonna song pumping through the speakers. Eddie watches him vamp to Material Girl with a look in his dark eyes that Steve can't quite read. It's not the usual fondness he's used to from his friend; too dark and too serious. It makes him nervous.

Eddie drains his drink, mouths the word "bathroom," at Steve, then disappears in the crowd.

Steve sips his own beer, letting his attention drift until he finds Robin, still dancing with the blonde, looking like she's having the time of her life. He expects Eddie back at any time, only--ten, fifteen minutes pass with no sign of him.

His eyes start scanning the crowd in earnest, desperately seeking familiar leather and denim and long dark hair. Anxiety builds in his chest, a dull sizzle beneath his skin.

He finally spots a set of leather-clad broad shoulders towards the back of the room. Eddie has one hand braced against the brick wall, pressed up nice and close to someone Steve can't quite make out.

There's bile in Steve's throat, nausea clenching at his stomach. He shouldn't look; he can't tear his eyes away.

The person is revealed in a flash of light from the dance floor. He has an All-American jaw, swoopy dark blond hair, and is wearing a grass green sweater. The closest thing to Indiana golden boy in the place, second only to Steve.

Room suddenly spinning, Steve struggles to catch his breath, but gives up entirely as Eddie closes the remaining distance between himself and the mystery man, sealing their lips in a searing kiss.

Steve watches, feels himself breaking apart piece by piece. He thought--he thought they were something. Becoming something. All their late night talks and casual touches. He'd been working up the courage to make a move for weeks, and now--

Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe Eddie breaks the embrace and gives an embarrassed chuckle before he comes back to Steve, only he doesn't. The kiss ends, sure, but then Eddie is taking the guy's hand, leading him down the hall towards the bathrooms.

Hands clutched in his hair, Steve sinks into a crouch. He pants, huffing like he just ran sprints, can't catch his breath. Tears dance at his lash line, threatening to fall. He can't have a panic attack now, here. Doesn't want Robin to see; doesn't want Eddie--

It's all too small, too tight, too loud, and Steve shoves his way outside. He rounds the building before sinking to the ground, hands shaking.

He waits outside until Robin and Eddie emerge from the club, both flushed and sweaty. He doesn't speak to either of them and they spend the drive in silence.

When they get home, he goes straight to his bedroom.

"Ste--" Robin calls, but he lets the door shut behind him. He doesn't think it slams.

Eddie

Steve hasn't spoken to him in weeks. Not since that night at the bar. When Eddie hooked up with a guy and he's pretty sure Steve knows; pretty sure it's why they're no longer on speaking terms. Eddie keeps meaning to confront him. He really does. It's just--it'll change everything, and his life was finally going okay for once.

He reaches his limit when he joins Steve in the kitchen before work, and the guy literally, visibly flinches away from him. It hits Eddie like being punched in the dick.

"What the fuck, Harrington." Eddie's voice is too loud in the small space.

"S-sorry, I'll just get out of your way." Steve's eyes don't stray from his own hands.

"I hook up with one guy and now can't even bear to touch me?"

"What? Eds that's not--"

"Don't lie to my fucking face."

"I wouldn't. Eddie, please--"

"I can't believe that this is the last vestige of King Steve. Can say you're cool with me, but when you see me do gay shit, you can't hang? Fuck you. I'm done. I'll be gone by the weekend." His voice stays remarkably steady, even though he's pretty sure not even the bat bites hurt this much.

"Christ, Munson, I'm not freaked out cause I saw you do 'gay shit.' I don't care." Steve's looking at him now; his little mouth held tight and mad.

"Like hell you don't. You haven't spoken to me since it happened."

"Not because I'm homophobic, asshole."

That makes Eddie laugh, shrill and mean. "Oh yeah? Then why."

"It doesn't matter." Steve yanks his hand through his hair.

"It does to me."

"Just drop it. You don't have to move out. I don't care who you fuck."

"You can barely stand to look at me!" Eddie shouts; doesn't mean to. "What if I bring someone home, huh? How are you gonna cope with that, knowing I'm fucking a guy in the next room?"

"It should have been me," Steve screams.

Neither of them move in the ringing silence that follows. Eddie's throat is tight.

"Wh-what?" He manages.

"Forget it." Steve turns to go. "Just--forget I said anything."

"Steve." Eddie follows him into their living room. His heart's beating all funny. "What do you mean?"

"It's nothing," Steve's face is leached of color; his eyes too bright.

"Please? I want to understand."

Steve laughs a little, looks absolutely miserable. "I saw you. With the guy. And he...he looked like me, right? And I don't understand why I'm not good enough."

Eddie swallows hard. "You don't--you're not--I didn't think you were a choice. For me."

Steve's chin drops, anywhere but on Eddie. "Yeah. Well. Surprise." He doe a pathetic flourish with his hands that clenches at Eddie's heart.

"Ah," is all Eddie can manage. The world is shifting under his feet, tectonic plates realigning as he processes Steve's words.

"It's--it's fine that you don't feel the same way. Just because you're gay doesn't mean you have to like me, and I--I was trying to get over it. I didn't want to--"

Eddie can't stand to listen to another word. He crosses the distance to Steve. "Shh, sweetheart. It's--just. Stop okay?"

Steve is looking up at him now, doe eyes wide.

He laughs, genuine this time. "Stevie. I've had a crush on you for years. Years. I used to make the guys go with me to Starcourt. I told them it was because I liked seeing King Steve laid low. Really I just liked how you looked in those little shorts." Steve giggles, face blushing such a pretty pink Eddie almost forgets what he's saying.

"It only got worse when I met the kids, with how much they talked about you. And then I met you for real? Pssh," Eddie waves his hand in the air. "Gone. No hope for Eddie Munson when you're--you're so pretty and bitchy and brave and hot, Steve, and I'm the weakest man in Indiana.

"That night. That guy. It was--I'd just overheard you and Robin talking about a cute girl, and I realized that I had to stop doing that to myself, pining over a straight guy who could never see me like I wanted. I decided that I'd try to pick someone up, force myself to see you just as a best friend."

Steve's face falls impassive. "Did it work?" He almost whispers.

"Not even close, baby," Eddie whispers back. "I'm hopeless for you."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #robin buckley #oneshot #roomates #best friends to lovers #angst #mutual pining #angst with a happy ending #jealousy #feelings confession #misunderstanding #miscommunication #steve and robin and eddie are best friends #eddie hooksup with a guy at a bar #steve spirals #don't worry they figure it out #steve harrington is a material girl

[munsster]

girl’s night

A/N: blatantly contributing to the babygirl steve agenda with this one. i will die on this hill again and again even after the war is over

Pairing: Babygirl!Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Summary: You and Steve have a platonic girl’s night. Just you and Steve. Platonically. 1.6k words

Warnings: fluff, mutual (unresolved) pining, best friends to……, head-butting (literal), cursing, pet names (beefcake), both you and steve are bimbos low key, mutual pining again because it’s so aggressive, idiots (secretly) in love, cuddling, domesticity

If you were seated outside the door, if you were eaves dropping by the window, if you were crammed in the small space between you and Steve, you'd think you two were completely insane. Smacking each other's knees and cackling into the silence of your bedroom, collapsing against each other and gasping for air. And doing it all wearing Steve's dad's white satin pajamas Steve dragged out of storage.

Because you had a pajama exchange when he arrived with a knock at your door. You figured he could squeeze into one of your silky blue sets. And as much as he repulsed the idea of the camisole-shorts combination, baby blue is definitely one of his colors. His hair's pushed back by a bubblegum pink headband, a teensy braid sprouting from his hairline, salmon-colored face mask caked on, and Dr Pepper flavored chapstick swiped thick against his baby pink lips.

"Tastes like Dr Pepper."

"It also doesn't really work if you keep licking it all off," you sass.

It's not even as if this is a rare occurrence. Steve comes over almost every Sunday to detox just like this. One of the many excuses he keeps in his back pocket to have you less than a foot away from him. Better yet, an excuse to let you hold his chin like he's something to be cradled just to massage cold strawberry cream over his cheeks and forehead then wipe it all off after ten minutes.

"Gimme your hand, Stevie, let's get this show on the road." You scoot closer so your knees are flush with his, and as he spreads one hand along your thigh, you grab the other and smile when his arm goes limp.

He thinks your hands are the softest thing he has ever held; even softer than lamb's-ear and cashmere and petting zoo bunnies. And he could spend the rest of his life letting you take his hand into yours. Letting you fold your fingers beneath his and curl his knuckles sweetly over yours and trace the lines with your fingertip. Jesus Christ, he's head over heels and hand over heart. He just hopes you never notice how clammy his palms get.

You brush a bead of pink polish against the side of the tiny bottle before dragging it down his thumbnail, covering half of the surface before peeking up at him through your lashes. He wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't already been staring at you, almost willing you to flash him a glance. Even in brief passing, those doe eyes would be a blessing. The eighth wonder and seventh heaven of your demure face.

Steve's pretty sure he's lost control of his motor reflexes, and it's all your fault. His hand is shaking or twitching or something and then you giggle because there's a stripe of nail polish on the fleshy tip of his finger and his hand shakes or twitches some more because you've got the most beautiful laugh he's ever heard. And each time you tug his hand closer to maximize precision, he catches a sweet waft of the perfume spritzed against your collarbone. You smell like a candy store or a bakery; he can't quite place it, but it makes him feel longingly small and cloying. Then to top it all off, he's focusing so hard, sweat beads at his brow. You have to pat his wrist and tell him to calm down. But you didn't have to call him Stevie like that.

"Need a break, beefcake?"

"I hate that that rhymed."

"C'mon, let's go make popcorn," you chirp, grabbing his untainted hand and dragging him to the kitchen. He shivers in the cold, goosebumps flaring up over his skin as you leave him behind to shut the window by the sink. "Plain or butter?"

"Who do you think I am?"

"Butter it is!" you say, eyes bright and blinking in the deep dark of the cold-tiled room. Steve leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest while you bang around to find the cabinet with the snacks like you've never been in this kitchen before.

The light of the microwave makes him wince, but the way it bathes your torso in a soft marigold light makes him seep back against the ceramic digging into his spine. You turn to face him, and his chest tightens though he's still only hinting at a smile. You must realize how silly he looks right now: spaghetti straps leaning over the curve of his shoulders, polka-dotted scrunchie hugging his wrist, boxers peeking out from beneath the blue silk shorts. Picturesque and chaotic all in one. He can't place that look you get when your eyes scan down from his neck to the length of his upper arms. How his hand curls over his smooth bicep.

He barks out a laugh when the wail of the microwave makes you jump.

"Shut up," you grumble, snatching the inflated bag from the hot glass tray inside.

"Careful, that stuff is molten," he coos. You don’t realize how close he gets when he rushes over close behind you, catching the bag out of your hands and opening it. Steam puffs out from the fissure, and you cough, sending your head crashing back against his cheek.

"Oh, fuck—are you okay?" he huffs, letting go of the bag and grabbing his jaw.

"I—Wha—? Are you okay? I just head-butted you!"

"Yeah, and I just suffocated you with popcorn smoke."

You both laugh, leaning into each other, his gloss-slathered hand subconsciously curling into your side. You shake the popcorn into a glass bowl and plant both hands on the rim, glancing at Steve with a 'ready?' only to find he's already looking at you. And for the second time, you shy away, shuffling to the living room and flicking off the lights. He plops onto a cushion, and accepts the bowl when you place it in his lap.

"Be right back, the tapes are… never mind. You know." And just like that, you flit back to your room, and he's sitting in the static of the TV, tossing pieces of popcorn into his mouth like its a game. He sinks back into the couch after tucking European Vacation into the slot, and only a minute later, you throw something at his head, swaddling him in a knit cloth.

"What's this?" Steve says, holding it out in front of himself. It's a sweater.

"It's a sweater. You looked cold." You shrug and collapse onto the couch next to him, hogging the bowl of popcorn in your own lap.

And he gets this glazed over, thousand-yard stare as his thumbs roll over the shoulder seam of the knitted, ivory sweater. It used to be his. And he was pretty sure he lost it. But you had it the whole time. You had it the whole time but you never told him and you never wore it around him. And at the same time, you remembered it was his like you were saving it for this exact moment. Like you noticed the ripple of a shiver up his spine and like you cared enough to fish his sweater back out again. To return it. Oh, but as he slips it over his head, he thinks he’d prefer leaving it with you for as long as you’ll cherish it.

You wipe your bent wrist at the corner of your mouth as the movie flickers on the screen, but you just miss the glistening butter smattered on your cheek. He looks over at you. God, he’s crazy for being sweet on you, but he also knows it’s never been easier than this. Not for him. Not lately.

“You missed… c’mere, lemme just—” His tongue pokes at his upper lip when he curls his hand into the cuff of the sweater. His other hand nudges under your chin, and you tilt your head up a little, just barely glancing down at him through your bottom lashes.

“There ya go.” His brows knit tight as he wipes the smudge away, then he pulls away at the realization of the innocent domesticity of it all and how he never wants to feel any different than he does right now.

You’re just sitting there with your hands sprawled out on your folded knees, and every time he reaches for a handful of popcorn, you glance down at his knuckles and he glances over at the slope of your nose.

Fifteen minutes in, the bowl is empty, so you set it on the floor.

Thirty minutes in, Steve’s head rolls heavily onto your shoulder. Neither of you realized how close he’d gotten. And neither of you were about to complain.

Forty-five minutes slip by, and your chin is propped in your hand, elbow hard on the arm rest of the couch. Steve’s temple is warm against your thigh, and each of his soft breaths puff out cool over your skin. Your free hand scratches slowly, steadily through his hair. He swallows hard, eyes wide at the urge to hum and buzz and purr like some chattering critter. Like it’s early spring and everything is thawing back to life. Like you’re the sun and the breeze and the darling buds all at once. And he’ll be the poet.

As the credits roll, his quiet snores filter through the silent ebb and flow of the living room, and your face is smushed taut on your forearm, lashes kissing the apples of your cheeks. The two of you lay there in the contented background noise. And in the morning, you’ll both laugh it off, pressed closer than just a few hours before, hair shaggy and nearly matted, and still as furtively lovesick over each other as always.

masterlist

#the babygirlification of steve harrington #his babygirlism is showing #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x gn!reader #best friends to lovers #mutual pining #fluff #stranger things fluff #stranger things #babygirl!steve harrington #x reader #x gn!reader

[miakate-writes]

Can you please do mutual pining/obviously-in-love-but-both-are-too-shy-to-say-it? Literally the blood in my veins 😭

Mutual pining romance prompts! 🌸🎀

spending ALL their time together

physical contact whenever possible

like they will literal start blushing and stuttering over the brush of a hand

never seen apart

people are always asking them things like “where is A?” “why aren’t you with B?”

and they never get sick of it

if the other person’s name is bought up in a conversation, you best believe they are listening STRAIGHT AWAY

what did they do? what did they say? who were they with? did they have fun?

they wanna know it all because this is half of the information they can get about them due to being to shy to pester for info ALL the time so they have to depend on other ppl 🥺

[a/n: tysm for this request, i’m getting to requests as soon as i can, still getting out of burnout and i’ve got exams this week so bear with me 🫶🏻 if you have any requests then pop them in my asks! you’re always welcome here 🎀]

#mutual pining #pining #pining prompts #romance prompts #writing prompts #book tumblr #writing #dialogue prompts #friends to lovers #bookblr #writer #writerblr #friends to lovers prompts #best friends to lovers dialogue prompts #love prompts #unrequited pining

[afewproblems]

For the writing prompts - steddie, 3. “I’m not jealous” or 31. “You weren’t supposed to laugh!”? Pls & Ty

-steddierthings

Thank you so much @steddierthings for your lovely prompt! I chose number 3, "I'm not Jealous" (I was trying to get both prompts but just couldn't come up with a solid enough idea for the two of them)

This is partly inspired by this post that I read recently but I really like this idea and I do hope that you enjoy!

This was the last straw, Gareth thinks to himself, his face in his hands, fingers dangerously close to plunging themselves into his eyes. 

“I can’t take it anymore man,” Gareth groans as Jeff takes a seat at their favorite table. It’s tucked away into the far corner of the Hideaway, the thick shiny veneer has been dulled over the years and the honey wood beneath is covered in thick layers of graffiti and carved initials. Jeff is particularly proud of the Metallica logo he painstakingly free-drew out on one of the corners while the bartender wasn’t looking. 

Jeff snorts as his gaze travels to Eddie at the bar before falling back to Gareth, who has dropped his hands in favour of glaring at the back of their friend. 

"If I have to hear him fuckin' harp about Harringtons perfect lips one more time I swear I'm going to lose it," he mutters before taking one last pull on the nearly empty bottle in front of him. Gareth winces at the taste of warm beer as he swallows the dregs and puts the bottle down a tad harsher than he means to. 

Jeff rolls his eyes and smirks, "I don't think it's going to stop anytime soon dude, he's too much of a chicken-shit to actually do anything about it," he shrugs and takes a swig of his own beer, "besides, you remember him after the senior swim meet?" 

"Oh my Goood," Gareth groans and drops his head to the sticky table surface, "he didn't shut up about that swim suit, or his moles, for a fucking month". 

Now admittedly, Gareth could appreciate that Steve Harrington was hot, he had eyes in his head after all. 

But he just couldn't understand this sudden resurgence of Eddie's very vocal pining from afar. 

After the whole business with poor Chrissy, the man-hunt that left Gareth and Jeff incredibly spooked, and the sudden earthquakes that swallowed much of their small town, Eddie had come back to their band with a gaggle mismatched party members that trailed after him like lost puppies -including Steve Harrington. 

Now, Robin Buckley and Nancy Wheeler made sense. Robin was one of their own -a band geek, sheep adjacent in her own right and Nancy was Mike's sister, whip-smart and twice as scary. 

But Steve, former jock and King of the hallways of Hawkins high? 

It made no sense. 

But, he had been there for Eddie through it all apparently. Steve had sat at his bedside in the hospital, trading off with Wayne and Dustin to let them go home for a rest while they waited for Eddie to wake up. He had brought over food to the Munson's new trailer to help while Eddie was still recovering, and even offered to host their renewed Hellfire nights at the Harrington House rather than the school. 

As much as Gareth hated to admit it, Steve Harrington actually seemed to have turned into a decent dude. 

Which brings him back to the issue at hand. 

"I just don't get why he won't shut up about him man," Gareth says with a sigh, he looks over at Jeff who is busy rolling his eyes and looking for an empty spot on their table to tag with his pen.

"I mean, you would if you've ever been hopelessly in love with someone before," Jeff says with a shrug before elbowing Gareth sharply as Eddie makes his way back to the table with three beers.

Oh…well shit.

"Maybe he just needs a little push," Gareth hums under his breath to Jeff as Eddie plunks the bottles down and slides them across the table toward them.

"What are we talking about?" Eddie asks as he takes a seat on one of the mismatched chairs on the far side of the table, he looks between Jeff and Gareth expectantly with a crooked grin. 

Gareth takes the new bottle in front of him and tears at the slightly damp paper label with his nail, as a new thought blooms, he turns to meet Jeff's eyes with a grin and lets the thought travel through their gaze.

I have a plan.

No.

Dude, trust me!

Jeff shakes his head and hides a smile behind his beer as he takes another swig.

"We were just talking about the next Hellfire meeting, maybe we can sweet talk Harrington into hosting again for us," Gareth says, trying to keep his voice level, he leans forward on his elbows and ignores the sigh that escapes Jeff beside him. 

Eddie brightens slightly and smiles for a moment before it disappears as his eyes narrow suspiciously, "probably," he says after a beat, "why?" 

"No reason," Gareth hums again as innocently as he can manage, "Steve's great, it'll be cool to catch up on how the Hoosiers are doing, that's all". 

Eddie freezes across the table and Jeff kicks Gareth's leg, hard, he fights off a wince at the impact and kicks back. 

"I uh," Eddie stutters out as he slowly seems to gain his movement back, "I didn't know you liked Basketball". 

Gareth waves his left hand and drops his gaze back to the bottle in his right, trap set. 

"I don't follow it that closely, that's why it's nice to talk to Steve about it," he lies.

Gareth has no interest in Basketball and has not in fact spoken to Steve much, outside of thanking him for hosting their last session. He can feel Jeff's gaze boring into the side of his face, it's one lie, one little white lie and it's for a good purpose, right? For love!

He tries not to let Eddie's somber face eat away at him for the rest of the night.

It's at the next Hellfire night that Gareth decides to kick things up a notch despite Jeff's warnings. 

"Just don't do anything really stupid man," Jeff tells him over the phone before the game. It wasn't like it was malicious, Eddie just needed a little push in the right direction. 

Maybe a big push.

Gareth takes a deep breath as he walks into the kitchen of the Harrington house, he'd never been here himself during the wild party phase King Steve had been infamous for and he can see why it was the central hub for the popular crowd. 

The kitchen itself is massive and the in-ground pool outside the window seems like it would be fun in the summer without the chill of April winds and the tarp covering it. 

Steve is in the kitchen talking with Eddie, he's wearing a slightly oversized forest green sweater and tight blue-jeans which --even Gareth catches himself staring a little too long at. Focus.

He's bent over the oven and putting something on a cookie sheet onto the middle rack before standing back up and closing the door. Steve takes off the floral oven mitts and sweeps his wild hair away from his heat-flushed face. Eddie seems to be listening but his eyes are just slightly glazed over and lingered far too long on the swell of Steve's jean-clad ass as he bent over.

"Hey man," Gareth calls out from the kitchen entrance, he ignores the way Eddie freezes again before slumping into a pout.

"Oh hey," Steve says, his voice tinged with slight surprise, "you excited for the session tonight?" 

Gareth nods and siddles up closer to the pair, he leans around to take a peek at the oven behind them and sniffs the air exaggeratedly, "oh what did you make for us this time Harrington? I swear, if you cooked for me like that every day I'd die a happy man". 

A pretty pink blush blooms over Steve's cheeks and ears as he fumbles with one of the oven mitts, and Okay, if Eddie doesn't make a move soon maybe….

No. Focus up man.

Steve's large hazel eyes flick from Gareth to Eddie so fast he almost misses it. 

"Uh, I mean, it's just some pizza rolls, I didn't actually have time today," Steve mumbles with a shrug, he doesn't seem to notice the furious glare that Eddie shoots Gareth's way, too busy turning around to set the timer on the little plastic egg on the counter. 

"Next time, I'm sure," Gareth says with a smile, knocking his shoulder into Steves and leaning into his space, a startled high pitched laugh bubbles out of Steve who shrugs again. 

Eddie reaches out and slings an arm around Steve's shoulders, tugging him slightly away from Gareth and into Eddie's space. He watches, fascinated as Steve relaxes slightly into Eddie's hold. 

"Stevie here does such a good job taking care of us," Eddie says sweetly into Steve's ear, he may as well have pissed in a circle around the kitchen and told Gareth to back off and eat glass, it doesn't go unnoticed the way Steve seems to bask in the attention -to Gareth anyway.

Ah well, in for a penny.

"How is it that someone hasn't snatched you up yet Harrington? He cooks, he cleans, he hosts game nights? Like a regular Carol Brady or something," Gareth asks, his voice almost wavers as Eddie's hackles rise. Eddie's normally soft brown eyes have hardened and he's looking at Gareth as though trying to figure out if he could actually get away with kicking him in the shin, or somewhere slightly higher.

But then all at once Eddie sags, he abruptly drops his arm from Steve's shoulder and stomps out of the kitchen leaving Steve and Gareth alone as the back door slams shut. 

Well shit.

Steve's eyebrows crinkle together worriedly as he bites his bottom lip, his eyes trained on the back door, "that was mean," he says softly before finally shifting his gaze to meet Gareth's surprised face, "I know what you were trying to do, but I don't think he was really ready to talk about it yet man," Steve continues with a shake of his head before seemingly steeling himself.

Steve breathes out a long sigh and hands Gareth the oven mitt in his hand without looking at him, "that timer is going to go off in about eight more minutes, just flip them when it goes off and then put them back for another ten".

And with that Steve steps around him to follow Eddie out the door. 

"I told you not to do anything stupid man," Jeff's voice floats into the kitchen from the hall, Gareth resists the urge to knock his head into the wall beside him.

"I know, I know," he mumbles as Jeff takes the spot that Eddie and Steve had vacated, "I should probably go apologize, can you watch these?" Gareth gestures towards the oven as he hands over the mitts.

Jeff's nods and rolls his eyes again as he leans back against the counter, "I better hear groveling dude," he calls out as Gareth makes his way towards the back door, "don't think Eddie wouldn't kill your character just to spite you!"

Gareth walks a little faster at the thought.

Without a porch light the yard is dark but for the pale moonlight that stretches over the lawn and patio. He makes his way down the stairs but pauses as soft voices reach his ears. 

"I'm not, I'm not jealous man," Eddie scoffs, his voice comes out in a sharp growl.

"No, Eds, that's not what I'm saying--" 

"Why would I be jealous, I don't own you, you can date or screw whoever you want Harrington," Eddie says again, his voice now bitter and soft.

There's silence for a moment before Steve speaks slowly, "whoever I want huh?" 

"Be my guest," Eddie scoffs again.

Gareth tip toes over, closer to the corner of the house and crouches down beside the bushes before peeking around the corner, just in time to see Steve step forward and slowly cup Eddie's face before leaning in to kiss him. 

Gareth resists the urge to cheer in relief, but it's a near thing. 

Eddie is frozen for a moment before he seems to come back to himself, his hands rise up to thread into Steve's hair and around the small of his back as Eddie walks them backwards into the side of the house, he presses Steve against it drawing out a surprised gasp which Eddie swallows with a please hum.

Gareth takes this as his queue to back away slowly and tip toe back up the stairs, no need to add voyeurism to his list of crimes for the day. 

When Steve and Eddie do finally return to the kitchen, Steve's hair is in complete disarray and his lips are nearly as red as his flushed cheeks. Eddie grins widely, radiating happiness, and saunters in with his arm loosely draped around Steve's waist. 

Eddie spots Gareth hovering awkwardly near the oven, Jeff pays neither of them any mind as he takes out their treats from the oven and asks Steve for a hand plating everything for the kids in the living room. Steve smiles knowingly at Jeff, his eyes trail over to Eddie and Gareth once before he snags a platter from the cupboard and leads Jeff to the farthest side of the kitchen. 

"I suppose I have you to thank for that?" Eddie says quietly, the rising volume in the living room teases the arrival of the kids at any moment. 

"Yeah, look I'm sorry man--" 

Eddie waves him off and claps him on the back with a small smile, "eh, it's fine, I needed a little push, wasted a lot of time thinking I didn't deserve everything I wanted," he says softly. 

Eddie snorts suddenly and a playful grin blooms over his face as he brings up his hand to poke Gareths chest, "Besides, I'm your DM remember? I can throw an ancient red dragon at you guys next time and tell the kids it's your fault". 

Eddie cackles as he leaves Gareth in stunned silence to join Steve and Jeff on their way into the hallway. He slips his hand into Steve's back pocket as he joins them. 

Gareth groans quietly, and starts mentally writing out a new character backstory, he has a feeling his current Elf Ranger wasn't going to last that much longer. 

#steddie #afewproblems answers #afewproblems writes #steddie prompts #steve harrington #eddie munson #mutual pining #eddie munson is a lil possesive and we love that for him #steve harrington is a sweetheart #gareth tries his best #gareth and jeff are supportive friends #gareth had good intensions and shit execution #hellfire club #steve x eddie #getting together

[nerdestiwrites]

call to the devil and the devil will come

The rest of the hotel had gone to sleep hours prior, the last to return to their rooms having been Charlie and Vaggie, strictly because Vaggie had practically forced the Princess to bed. Charlie had tried to argue, to say that she wasn’t tired, that she could stay up, that if her father was staying up then so could she. Vaggie had none of it, picking up the blonde and carrying her up to the bed as the exhausted princess half struggled against her girlfriend. All the while Lucifer watched from the bar, shouting a goodnight to his little girl and her girlfriend.

The bartender, Rusk, Busk, Nusk, something of that sort, had gone to bed just twenty minutes earlier after the King had assured the demon that his assistance was no longer needed. The cat seemed hesitant about leaving the bar unattended, about leaving his job when clearly Lucifer had no intentions of going to bed, but didn’t argue much past a few grunts and small mutters about how it wasn’t his problem now he was off the clock.

He sat at the bar, two fingers holding onto a thin straw as they stirred around the contents of the nearly empty drink. He hadn’t meant to drink, he was a sloppy drunk and knew that much, but Charlie wanted to celebrate now that the hotel had been rebuilt. She wanted everyone to celebrate, and so he agreed because now that he was back with his daughter, he wouldn’t do anything to disappoint her again. He couldn’t let himself drift back into the haze of never knowing what day it was, letting information just pass by him rather than taking it in and understanding it, of letting himself drift away from her again. He wouldn’t let that happen.

The look on Charlie's face when she realized that Alastor wouldn’t be joining the celebrations, was an excuse, Lucifer knew it was an excuse, about needing to prepare for one of his radio shows, or maybe he had said something about a meeting with someone, or something, it didn’t matter in the end. What had mattered was the disappointment on Charlie's face. Lucifer would absolutely not let that disappointment last on his daughter's face.

So he immediately did what he did best. Distraction. He kicked Husk out from behind the bar, having told him that even the bartender deserved a drink sometimes, and began making everyone a specialized drink. A cotton candy martini for Angel Dust, a muddled blackberry old fashioned for Husk, a cherry flavored Vegas bomb for Cherri, a simple spiked strawberry lemonade for Vaggie, and a rubber duckie-themed drink for Charlie. 

A handful of drinks later, and soon Charlie begged for him to drink with them. He tried to argue, even tried to make a mocktail for himself, but that damned cat bartender saw right through it. And so he had a few cocktails as well, and his mixing became less structured, no longer measured, and more of a free pour, which led to way too strong of drinks. The rest was a blurry mess he struggled to keep straight in his head, and now he sat alone, an empty glass with ice melting and a straw stirring it around.

As he stared into the empty glass, the devil let his head rest in his free hand, eyes closing momentarily as he took in a deep breath. Sleep wasn’t something that found him often, and he’d rather do anything besides lay in bed and stare at the wall or ceiling while his mind spun in the fuzzy state it was in currently. That would definitely be a one-way street to spiraling and he had been doing so well at staying focused and keeping his head on straight. If he spiraled now he might leave the hotel, and if he left, he knew he wouldn’t have the energy to return again. 

So Lucifer stood, stumbled, grabbed onto the edge of the bar, and groaned for a moment as the room spun around him. Sitting on the floor sounded like a good idea but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get up and what a state to find the King of Hell. No, he couldn’t do that either. It would be at least somewhat respectable if he passed out on the couch inside the parlor of the hotel rather than the floor. 

He forced himself to stand straight, focused his eyes on the couch in the near distance, and moved his legs. He kicked his apple cane, sending it to the floor and rolling away but he couldn’t have cared less about the item. No, he had a goal in mind. Couch. Make it to the couch. His hand moved, his angelic power working without his mind helping, and a small plain rubber duck appeared clutched in his hand. 

He squeaked the duck once, then twice, focus. It helped him focus as much as he hated to admit it, even in the drunken state, and he made it to the couch. Lucifer allowed himself to practically fall face-first into the couch, his entire body fitting along the length of it and he groaned. Perhaps he should’ve eaten before drinking so much, perhaps he should’ve been a bit more firm in his no.

The king really should’ve been better. Better than this, better for his daughter. He shouldn’t have just locked himself away, isolating himself from everyone. That did nothing but hurt Charlie, even if he had thought it was the best thing to do. Now there was a strain between him and her and he wasn’t sure he could ever fix it. He needed to fix it. He needed to. Needed to. 

He needed to have something in the background. Music, a show, a podcast, something to keep his mind focused and not spiraling. A squeak of his duck and he sat up on the couch, eyes searching for a remote or a TV or something. Instead, they found an old radio, one of Alastors radios, and a low grumble escaped his lips. Spiraling might be better than using that demon's radio for anything. 

A squeak of his duck told him otherwise and he sighed. Damn, his mind. Damnit it.

A wave of his hand and the radio turned on. Static filled the room and Lucifer the empty hand over his face before reaching over to fiddle with the knobs on the damned ancient relic, not like he had a lot of room to actually say those words out loud. He wasn’t one to usually want to watch TV, it scrambled the brain, and he was much older than the old radio was.

Turning the dial a few times to the left, and then to the right, the devil settled on a frequency that had been playing soft jazz. The music filled the air and he allowed his head to fall back against the couch as he listened, focusing on the different instruments that he could pick out and recognize. Perhaps if he could sit here long enough, he could get past the drunkenness and skip right past the hangover. Wishful thinking, drunk wishful thinking, but still. The king might not have many hopes left, let this be one that he knew was silly.

The radio started to glitch, or rather, it sounded like someone had turned the dial, interrupting the jazz and filling the room with static. An annoyed look crossed Lucifer's face and he looked up at the small radio. The dial was still pointed at the direction he had left it, but the static continued to get louder and more intense. He frowned, eyebrows furrowed, and he reached forward, turned the dial, and nothing. It remained the same. He groaned audibly now and sat up once more, the duck dropping from his hand and rolling underneath the couch. The radio suddenly shut off.

“Hahaha! What a sight to see! Truly!” The voice with the radio filter over it filled the silence and Lucifer's head snapped in its direction.

There stood Alastor, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned forward over the couch, staring down at the King. The fallen angel growled and went to grab onto the demon, however in his drunken state he had been too slow, or perhaps he overestimated how far he needed to grab, or maybe it was a mixture of both, and he ended up tumbling over the back of the couch onto the floor. A laugh track filled the air and Lucifer could feel the anger and embarrassment flowing through him more. The alcohol inside his system fueled his emotions. 

“You-” The King started as he pulled himself up off the floor, using the couch for support before whipping to face the demon once more. “You are so fucking lucky that Charlie cares for you. I would-would fuck you so hard.” His words slurred and he stumbled to find the words he wanted to say, and even when he wasn’t drunk he had a difficult time saying what he actually meant.

The Radio demon, who now stood a few feet away from the devil, raised an eyebrow, his smile tightening slightly as his head turned to the side slightly, mockingly. He stood there staring at Lucifer with that stupid face, mocking him. Oh, how he would love to wipe that smile off of the other's face.

Alastor stepped to the side as Lucifer rushed at him and watched the smaller man nearly trip and fall once more to the floor. He hummed, and laughed again, loud with the laugh track behind his voice. He was clearly entertained by the devil's inebriated state, which pissed Lucifer off even more. “Do you need help, sire?” He asked.

“Fuck you!” Lucifer snapped as he held his head, feeling a wave of nausea start to wash over him. 

“I would rather not.” Alastor mused, a taunt, and he snickered quietly. “Be careful with saying those words too loud, you might wake a certain resident who wouldn’t be so averse to spending a night with royalty.” 

That hadn’t been what he meant, the Radio demon knew that, he just wanted to get underneath the fallen angels' skin it seemed, and it was working. Lucifer's jaw clenched and he balled his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands before he took in a deep breath. Then he snapped his fingers, causing Alastors feet to become literally attached to the floor he was standing on.

Lucifer stalked toward him now that the other couldn’t move away and he saw Alastors eyes narrow as his smile tightened, the radio frequencies filling the air erratically. He moved the couch slightly with a wave of his hand so it was right behind the demon and then looked up at his face. The way Alastor stared down at him caused the anger to boil inside his chest more and it gave him the strength he needed. 

The apple cane suddenly appeared inside his hand and the king used it to shove Alastor, shoving him hard with the cane right in his torso, causing the other to fall over the side of the couch onto the cushions as the power holding his feet disappeared completely. 

Lucifer saw a flash of pain across the demon's face, the smile remaining couldn’t hide the pain inside the others' eyes, and for a moment he felt guilty. Then, as Lucifer stood there, stared at the demon as he laid on the couch, catching his breath, a hand over his torso, he could feel it. The fallen angel could feel the angelic energy radiating off of Alastors chest, he could feel it pulsating with every heartbeat and could feel it seeping further into the demon.

He sighed. A deep and long sigh as he realized what he had to do. The image of the disappointed face of Charlie flashing in his mind turned to one of grief and sadness. No, he wouldn’t let that happen to his little girl, he wouldn’t let that look ever cross her face again if there was anything he could do about it. 

And so, even in his drunken state, the anger had completely dissipated and had been replaced. He leaned over the side of the couch, fighting off the next wave of nausea that came rushing forth, and he stared at the demon who glared up at him. Alastor went to get off the couch, wanting to get out from under the King and get away from feeling like he was cornered, however, when he went to move, Lucifer's hand came down and touched his chest. 

A sharp radio noise came from Alastor at the touch, and Lucifer grunted. He undid the buttons on the demon's shirt and pulled away the soaked bandages, staring at the wound intently. “That looks like it-it hurts.” He commented offhandedly as he shook his head. Again, the cane was disregarded, no longer needing it and drunkenly not caring where it ended up at the moment. The fallen angel then hovered his hand over the wound, he knew in his current state he wouldn’t be able to heal it completely, he wouldn’t be able to get rid of the angelic radiation inside the wound that would continue to fester, but he could fight it off some and provide some pain relief. 

The Radio demon had his concerns, that much was evident as his entire body tensed at the light emanating from the king's hand, and he gripped the edge of the couch as he felt the warmth on his torso, but his body relaxed on its own as the intense pain he had been feeling subsided to almost nothing. Alastor blinked twice as he looked down at the wound, watching bright light, and Lucifer smiled confidently, smugly, as he pulled his hand back. That would be all he could feasibly do for the night unless he wanted to pass out and fall on top of the demon. Which would be worse than the floor. 

“I’m going… I’m going to… Fuck.” Lucifer moved away from the demon and shook his head a few times, grunting at his own slurring of his words. He needed to get to bed, even if he wasn’t going to sleep. If he was in his room at least then he wouldn’t embarrass himself so much. 

Alastor, always one to keep a smile on his face, to keep the show going, smirked at the perfect opportunity to spin the scenario back around. “You’re not going to do that with me, sire.”

Lucifer growled and glared at Alastor, immediately regretting what he had done for the demon. “That wasn’t what-what I was fucking saying and-nd you know it.” He snapped. “Going to bed.” Short and to the point, no chance of messing it up that time. 

Normally he would teleport himself to his room, it was easier and he wouldn’t have to walk as he wasn’t sure he could walk, but the risk of teleporting somewhere besides his room was a big enough fear that he decided he’d risk walking and falling on his face. So Lucifer turned away from the Radio demon and made his way carefully up the steps. He walked down the hallway, using the wall for support, and stopping every few feet to make sure he wasn’t going to be sick. Then he’d continue. And once he made it to his room, he congratulated himself before falling face first on the bed, burying his face into the pillows with a loud groan. He’d be regretting every single one of his life choices tomorrow, he knew that. He could already feel the regret with every passing wave of nausea threatening to win and take over. He’d have to tell Charlie, no more drinking nights for this old man, he couldn’t do it anymore.

#alastor #hazbin fanfic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #charlie morningstar #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #radio demon #radioapple #duckiedeer #slow burn #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #best enemies #side chaggie #side huskerdust #besties gonna hate one another so much #mutual pining #mutual hatred #slow romance #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #swearing cw #no beta we die like sir pentious #hazbin hotel rosie #eventual romance

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Hi hello yes for the event jahdjsjd. Jamil with the prompt 6 carnival fun?? Please?? With (🌄🍓☄️)?

Do with this request what you will,, I'll love the writing anyway <33333333333

Carnival Fun; Jamil Viper

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, mutual pining

Word Count; 650+

AN; I hope you enjoy your Jamil and the direction I took this in! Jamil deserves to have some fun, and so do you! As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

To say that you weren’t a bit surprised that Jamil had agreed to join you to the local summer carnival would be a lie. But much to your surprise, and his own, he had agreed to your invitation… well also was basically forced to take a day off work and he had “nothing better to do”, his words, not yours.

Yes, he was clutching onto the railing of every single ride, he protested a little but still went on them. And you could have sworn that besides the hissed curse words and snippets of praying, you could hear the tiniest bit of laughter over the sound of children and adults screaming. He didn’t leave the park even after he was chased around by a hornet that wanted some of his food. Jamil had even won you the 'so ugly it's cute' snake plush from that basketball game. He even reluctantly shared some of that overpriced snow cone with the strawberry syrup; it was a tad too sweet for him, you seemed to enjoy it so he decided to give it a shot.

“I’m surprised that you came,” you hummed, shovelling a spoon of the sweet treat into your mouth. 

Jamil took his spoon and got a small scoop of the shaved ice. “Why wouldn’t I? You invited me.” I like spending time with you. “Today was… enjoyable I guess.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Aw, come on, Jamil, admit that you had a little bit of fun, it won’t hurt ya.” Even when you were waiting in line for over an hour, he stuck with you. “You deserve to have some fun, to let loose. You work yourself too hard.”

Jamil raised a brow and looked at you. The setting sun cast warm light on your face, and he quickly looked away. “Fine, I had fun today,” he relented. “And thank you for thinking of me. Despite the screaming children, it was fun. And I suppose I will try to let loose.”

“Don’t forget about the hornet that chased you arou-” You stopped talking and stifled a coughed-out laugh at the face he was giving you for bringing up that incident again. He had to rip your phone out of your hands to delete the video you took, he didn’t need Kalim to see that or everyone else working at the Al-Asim estate for that matter. “I mean, I’m glad that you had fun. I like spending time with you.”

Jamil looked back to your face, and he saw the orange sun reflected in your eyes. “I like spending time with you too,” he offered you a small smile.

The way the setting sun backlit Jamil made him look ethereal, glowing even, and you paused and just looked at him in silence for a few moments before snapping out of it. “If you want we can come back another time, maybe I’ll even be able to beat you at that basketball game!”

He let out a single chuckle, he was being a lot more relaxed with you and he couldn’t place when he had started doing so. He felt like he could be himself, and not the Jamil that everyone expected him to be. “I doubt it, you missed every single shot, no wonder you didn’t join the Basketball Club. If you want to come back, there’s a festival happening in August at the estate for the meteor shower if you wanted to go again-”

“Are you asking me on a date?” You asked, looking at him with wonder and teasing.

Jamil hummed, “If I were to do so, would you accept?”

“Yeah, if you were asking, I would always say yes,” you said.

He gave you a smile, a genuine smile, a window into the true Jamil. “Well then, would you like to go on a date… with me?”

You reached your hand across the table, palm facing up, “I’d love to.”

Jamil looked down at your hand and then back up to your face, placing his hand in yours. “Then it’s a date.”

#dove does events #100 follower event #twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper x gn reader #dove answers #twst fluff #inky! #decided to make it mutual pining because yes #also jamil deserves to have some fun #even if he did get chased by a hornet <- hornets are assholes #also you get an ugly-cute snake plushie #you can decide their name #tried my best to fit in those emojis to the best of my abilities so i hope you enjoy sharing a strawberry snow cone and a sun-kissed jamil

[corvase]

Heeey 💞💞 i love your prompts 💝 can you please do childhood best friends to lovers with mutual pining prompts<3 3 pls thx <3

thank u!!! <3 😭😭

mutual pining childhood best friends to lovers prompts

feel free to use <3

“i thought you stopped dating x.” “well i thought you stopped dating y.”

the understanding from everyone around them that they’re 100% in love and are the only ones who don’t see it

the #argument that triggers the confession because their friendship is at stake

scene cuts between them playing in the sand or at e/os houses versus hanging out in each other’s rooms or going out when they’re older

childhood best friends to strangers to best friends to lovers !?!?!?!?!?!?!!

^^ like the ‘new kid’ at school but not new because i have known them for like years and just lost touch!!!!!!

“you can talk to me, whatever it is.” “i don’t think i can.”

^^ but that convo means even more because the character saying “you can talk to me” likes them and is praying to GOD that they’re about to confess

if/when they ever have feelings of “maybe we’ve outgrown this friendship bc i don’t think we’re friends anymore” but they just feel like it’s more (romantically)

the argument of “maybe we don’t know each other like we did before” but it translates to “maybe we just don’t feel the same way we did before”

“what’s with you lately?” “there’s nothing ‘with’ me, okay? i just…”

“i like you and i have since we were younger.” “i’m calling bull.”

“i don’t… feel the same way i did before.” “what, do you don’t want to be friends anymore??????” “can you just listen for five freaking minutes.”

#mutual pining prompts #friends to lovers #i’m so sorry this trope isn’t my favorite so it took forever to finish this list even tho it’s like three prompts #friends to lovers prompts #writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing romance #writing prompts #romance prompts #dialogue prompts #romance writing prompts #friends to enemies to lovers ? #imagine your ship #imagine your otp #best friends to lovers #childhood best friends to lovers #childhood best friends to lovers prompts

[pinkdaiisies]

Falling (in love) Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie is tired of hiding his feelings for you, but when you mention another guy asking you out he gets jealous. you’re mad at eddie until he taps on your window later that night.

warnings: language, mutual pining, bestfriends to lovers, jealous eddie

word count: 1,662

notes: the guy that asks you out is chance, one of the background friends in the basketball scenes! look him up before you read… he is so cute lmao. also i’m really proud of this so i hope you enjoy!

in eddies mind, you were the most beautiful girl to ever walk the face of the planet. he would do anything to show that he loves you… well except tell you.

you have been eddie’s best friend since 7th grade. around freshman year is when eddie first started to realize he liked you much more than just friends. but eddie was too afraid of rejection to ever tell you. i mean why would you want eddie when almost every guy that saw you did a double take? eddie thought you deserved someone better than him.

little did he know that you have been crushing on him since the summer before freshman year. seeing him and his buzz cut at that awkward stage of growing out made your heart flutter. you’ve always tried to flirt with him that summer, but you thought that he didn’t feel the same and he didn’t want to make it awkward so he just ignored it. in reality, eddie was quite oblivious to your flirting that summer.

eddie was getting tired of seeing other guys look at you in the hallway and you smiling back at them. he wanted you to look at him that way. his only solution was to finally express his feelings for you. he found out it’s easier said then done.

“well when i told suzie i liked her she took it very well! it wasn’t awkward at all!” eddie was so desperate for help he went to dustin.

“yeah well suzie is a 14 year old girl and you guys haven’t known eachother SINCE MIDDLE SCHOOL!” dustin did not understand why it was so hard for eddie to just tell you how he felt. it was so obvious that you liked him too!

dustin, lucas, and mike actually thought you two were dating when they first joined hellfire club. they had to ask gareth and jeff if you two were a thing. your guys constant flirting did not go unmisssd by the club.

“listen im like 99% sure she’s in love with you too, so please stop worrying!” dustin tried to reassure the metalhead.

“ok but the one percent! we don’t know for sure!”

“you are the most oblivious man in the world eddie munson.” dustin argued.

-

eddie could not reel his head around the fact that you could possibly have romantic feelings for him. sure you guys were always together, and you let him call you all sorts of names like sweetheart and m’lady, and you guys always went out to the diner on friday evenings, but that’s just what good friends do… right?

eddie was overthinking. he was pacing around his room like a madman thinking about you. so he did what he always did to calm him down. he reached in his bedside drawer and took out the note you gave him sophomore year.

hey dork,

after class do you wanna go eat at the diner? it’s friday and i’m extremely bored

♡

that note started the tradition of going out to eat every friday. eddie felt so silly that he kept that note for so long. you probably didn’t even remember writing it! but still eddie looks at the heart on the bottom of the note, convincing himself that you meant something more.

he kept everything you gave him. whether it be a note you passed him during class, a pen you lent him, or a cd you recommended him. eddie was just so smitten with you. reading the note and looking through his polaroids of you two, calmed his nerves.

his mind was set on confessing to you tomorrow.

-

eddie was not so sure about confessing to you the next day.

“hi eds!” you said climbing into his van.

“hello y/n, how are you this fine morning?” eddie said with a smirk.

“pretty good actually! you’ll never guess who called this morning!”

“who?” eddie said curiously.

“chance! the one from the basketball team.”

eddie’s heart stopped beating for a second. what the hell could he want with you? eddie thought.

“he asked if i wanted to watch a movie with him tonight. and before you say anything i said no. friday’s are strictly reserved for us.”

the color returned to eddie’s face. he felt reassured. you did seem unusually happy about chance though… maybe you felt obligated to be with eddie, like he was a burden? eddie’s insecure thoughts returned.

“how do you even know him?” eddie asked.

“he’s in my chem class. we actually kinda talk sometimes. he’s not as bad as the other basketball freaks…” you said defending chance.

sure chance was cute and all, but he wasn’t eddie. no highschool boy could ever compare to eddie. when sharing about the call to him, he almost seemed… nervous. but when you said that you had declined his date offer he suddenly seemed more relaxed.

“your seriously not defending him y/n, are you? he’s literally bestfriends with jason carver!”

“i know! i know! but trust me he’s not like jason at all.”

“god y/n if you really wanna go out with him that bad just say it, and we don’t have to go to the diner tonight!”

you’ve never seen eddie this mad before. yea sure, chance hung around with a bad crowd, but it’s not like you two were besties, you would have the occasional conversation in class!

“okay now you’re just putting words into my mouth eddie! i never said that. if i wanted to go on a date with him i would’ve. but i’m not. i told him no so i could hang out with you and now you’re mad at me!?” you really liked eddie, but man was he acting like a jerk right now.

eddie sighed, and stayed silent the rest of the drive knowing that if he said anything else he would just make the situation worse. man, did he feel guilty. he let his jealousy out, and now you’re mad at him.

once the car was parked, you got out as fast as you could and slammed the door. rushing to find robin. eddie stayed in the silence of his car for a minute before he got out.

at lunch, the first thing eddie did was try to look for you, because he noticed you weren’t in your usual seat right next to him. but instead you were sat with robin buckley at a table in the corner of the cafeteria.

he did the same thing once the final bell rang, and he saw you get into the back of steve harringtons car with robin in the passenger seat.

eddie, sadly, got into his car and drove to his home. he should be driving you to the diner right now. but no! you have to be such a fucking dick, don’t you! eddie mentally cursed himself.

-

later that evening you sat on your bed listening to a record. i should be at eddie’s trailer right now watching a movie… it was odd how upset eddie had gotten. you had the right to talk to who ever you wanted. it was almost as if he was jealous.

suddenly you heard a tapping noise on your window. you picked up your head and noticed a messy head of brown hair. eddie. you opened your window to let him in.

“hi.” eddie said not making eye contact.

“hey…”

“listen i’m sorry about this morning. i was being a dick, and i had literally no reason to be.” he looked down at you. “does the princess forgive my foolish actions?” you giggled at his words.

“i guess the princess accepts your apology. i just don’t understand why you got so mad eddie.” you said, hoping he’d elaborate on his dumb emotions.

you looked into eddie’s eyes, as he looked into yours. god, you could get lost in his eyes forever.

“it doesn’t matter… it’s dumb.” eddie looked down, fidgeting with his rings. you could tell he was nervous whenever he did that.

“eddie if it got you this upset, then it’s not dumb. you can tell me anything.” you assured him.

“i love you.” he said it so quietly under his breath. you wouldn’t have been able to hear it if you two weren’t standing so close to each other.

oh my god, why did i say that? i couldnt just make up a stupid lie to tell her? now our friendship is ruined. she’s never gonna be able to look me in the eye ag- eddie’s inner monologue was interrupted when he heard you giggle. eddie’s eyes shot back to your face and saw you smiling at him.

“eddie, do you remember the summer before freshman year?” he nodded. “do you remember when we went to the fair, and i held your hand?” he nodded again. “eddie that whole entire summer i was flirting with you like crazy, but you never flirted back. not once! i assumed you didn’t like me. but i’ve loved you ever since.” confessing made you feel lighter. a secret you’ve kept from him for years was finally out in the open.

eddie looked at you with the cutest lovesick smile on his face. it was contagious.

“can i kiss you y/n?” eddie asked.

instead of answering, you leaned your face towards his. you felt a hand rest along your cheek as he pulled you closer to him. your lips met, it felt like all the miscommunication throughout the years was being made up for in this moment. eddie kissed you like his life depended on it, but eventually you both pulled apart.

“well i know it’s late but we better get to the diner before it closes.” eddie said. “but this time i’m making it an official date!” he looked at you with a smile.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to hear those words eddie.”

~~

omg thank you so much for reading! my requests are open so feel free to leave one!! xoxo

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie x fem!reader #jealous!eddie munson #best friends to lovers #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #i love eddie munson #eddie munson mutual pining #pinkdaiisies #pinkdaiisies works

[maelialuv]

Fire Side - Eddie Munson

*NOT MY GIF*

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a campfire with friends, you look at your best friend Eddie in a brand new light. Good thing he brought his van.

Warnings: SMUT! MINORS DNI! mature language, alcohol, jealous!eddie, smut, virgin!reader, reader is 18, The Van.

Word count: 4.3K

"To no more tests, no more shitty cafeteria food and NO MORE SCHOOL!"

As Steve bellowed from on top of a log, you and your friends cheered in excitement, each with a red solo cup in hand. The graduating class of 1985 - well, you and your friends- had gathered by Lover's Lake to set up a bonfire to celebrate the end of senior year. And while he wasn't able to graduate this year, Eddie Munson , as per your incessant pestering, had tagged along with you.

Eddie had been your best friend since your junior, his first senior, year. You'd been nose deep in your schedule when you'd collided with the long haired dungeon master. You'd been knocked right to the floor, the wind smacked right out of you, whilst Eddie stood tall.

"Wow, okay, you're alright, there you go" he'd said, hoisting you up and brushing the dust from your back. "Ouch, Click's history. Rough."

"Had them before?" you asked , taking your books from him as he grabbed them from the floor.

"Let's just say our relationship has not been one of love."

You'd been close with Eddie ever since, but it was your senior year - Eddie's second- that you became best friends. You had nearly every class together, ate lunch together, and hung out almost every day after school at your place or his. You were practically attached at the hip. So when Eddie said he was gonna skip out on the bonfire, you simply wouldn't put up with it. After nagging him for a good twenty minutes straight, he'd said yes to shut you up.

But he was secretly glad he'd come. He loved spending time with you, no matter the setting or reason. He would sit with you and watch paint dry if it meant that you two were hanging out.

The bonfire party consisted of you, Eddie, Steve and Robin, Nancy and a few others. As the night went on and the sky darkened, and the booze ran low, people started to file on to their bikes and head for home until it was just you five left. You five and a bottle of vodka.

"And who hid this from the rest of us?"

"Always gotta bring a spare for the after party, Y/n. Have I taught you nothing?" Steve said, ruffling your hair playfully as he sat down next to you on the logs. He cracked the cap on the bottle. "Ladies first?"

"Straight?" you said, hoping for at least a soda to relieve yourself from the alcohol.

"Why, are you coming on to me?" Steve said with a suggestive wink.

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

"It'll be fine , watch." Steve took a tiny swig from the bottle, grimacing lightly as he swallowed. "See." You could see him fighting back a cough.

"Was that meant to impress me, Harrington?"

"Are you impressed?"

You chuckled at your friends antics, ducking down as Harrington ruffled your hair again, this time harder.

Beside you, Eddie was not laughing. Far from it. A simmering anger was spluttering inside of his chest, much like the sparks from the embers of the fire. The way Steve was talking to you - flirting with you- made his blood boil. He was so flippant about it! In front of your friends too! Eddie clenched his hands by his sides, trying his best to shove this anger- or was it discomfort?- down and just enjoy the night. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, however, when you grabbed the bottle from Steve and took a large sip with a straight face, not breaking eye contact with your friend.

Jesus Christ, Eddie thought.

Why not just make out in front of us all?

The bottle got passed around a few times, and soon a happy buzz had worked its way on to all five of you. The fire was dying down, only a light glow now, casting orange light on to everyone's faces. Robin's head rested gently on Nancy's shoulder, eyes closed and murmuring to keep up with the conversation. Moments later, Nancy took on the same tired exterior, resting her head on top of Robin's.

"You guys had enough?" You asked, putting your hand on Nancy's shoulder. She yawned loudly in response. "I think it's time to get them home, Harrington." you said, tossing Steve his keys.

"Yeah, even when the kids aren't around I'm still playing baby sitter." He leaned forward to whisper in your ear. "Don't tell anyone, but I've been having soda all night."

"Wow, party animal. You gonna be okay to drive?" you joked, smiling at Steve's gracious role of designated driver even on graduation night.

"Oh yeah, yeah, I'm good. I'll leave you a message when we're all home." He wrapped his arms over your shoulder in a friendly hug. "Night, squirt. See ya, Eddie!" he called to your best friend, who simply waved in response.

After helping Steve get the girls into his car, you plopped down next to Eddie on the logs, the glow from the moon making his pale skin look ivory in the dark. He was staring into the embers of the fire, twisting his rings round his fingers.

With a tired, but happy, sigh, you rested your head on his shoulder. "I'm sad you didn't graduate with us, Eds, 's gonna be weird not getting to see you every day." Beneath your head, you could feel Eddie tense up.

"Well, you've got Harrington for that now." He laughed humourlessly as he said it, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

"What's that supposed to mean?" lifting your head abruptly when Eddie stood, shifting his feet with his hands in his jean pockets.

"Just that, clearly, Harrington can make you happy. So you won't need to miss me too much. Steve's gotcha covered from here , it seems." He laughed to himself again. "I mean, god, could it be more obvious that he's hot for you? Guy is shameless."

"What?" you gawked at your best friend, a mix of confused and slightly angry at his sudden outburst. "What are you talking about he's hot for me?" In any other situation, Eddie's phrasing would have made you laugh. Now it just made you mad.

"Oh come on, Y/n, he was practically rubbing it in my- our faces all night. Touching your hair all the time? He's gone textbook, which is the first time I think anyone has ever said that for Steve."

"Hey, leave him alone man." You were fully angry now, pissed off at Eddie's change in demeanour. "There's nothing going on with Steve and I. And even if there was - if he wasn't still obviously in love with Nance- why would it be anything to do with you?"

"Because!"

"Because what?"

"Because you're my best friend, and I should know these things, and not have it shoved in my face. God, he was practically eye fucking you all night!" Eddie ran his hands through his hair to try and calm his nerves, but he was on fire right now. He was shaking he was so distraught at the thought of Harrington getting to you.

Before he could tell you, or show you, how he felt about you.

Your mouth was agape in shock at Eddie's words. Shocked both at his sense of entitlement to know which boys you were or were not getting with, and at his vulgarity. Steve had been his normal friendly self all night. He made sure you were having fun, he took care of Robin and Nancy. He was just normal Steve.

What had made Eddie so...off?

"What the hell is your problem, Eddie?" you took a step closer to your friend. You were about arms length apart now. "You're being an asshole right now."

"You wanna know my problem?"

"Uh, yeah, that's why I asked."

Eddie paused for a second, rocking on the balls of his feet. Then, in one smooth stride, he walked to you, grabbed your face in his hands.

And kissed you.

Eddie was kissing you.

It was intense, and hard. He grasped your face so gently in his hands, the force of his lips seeming that much bigger. When the initial shock wore off, you pulled away breathlessly.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your hands on his forearms. You were so, so confused. So why were you enjoying it? In those ten short seconds, you'd had a better kiss than in your whole high school experience. Eddie pulled back with a deep sigh.

"That's my problem. Harrington getting to touch you, not a big fan." His hands still rested on your face, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. When you didn't pull away, he touched his forehead to yours gently. "I've liked you for so long, Y/n. So long. And you know I'm not a big feelings guy, but, God, seeing Steve with you tonight just made me wanna scream." You laughed slightly at him. "Oh, that's funny to you , is it?"

"You were jealous, of Steve?"

Eddie looked down at his feet, smiling to himself gently. "Of course that's the bit you listen to." You moved your hands to smooth out his wild hair. You felt like the wind had been kicked from your lungs. Eddie liked you, Eddie was jealous of Steve touching you? As much as you were confused, the small flicker of warmth in your stomach was fanned into a flame as Eddie let out a deep chuckle. "Anything else you picked up on there?"

He was looking so deeply, so intently, into your eyes you felt as though he was seeing your very soul. His hands crept their way up to the back of your head, twining his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck. "Well," you said, taking on a teasing tone despite your heart thrumming in your chest, "I don't get the jealousy thing." Eddie furrowed his brows. Had he not been clear before? "I don't get being jealous. It's not like Steve and I," you leaned in, hovering your lips over the shell of his ear, "touch here." You lightly kissed the skin below his lobe, grinning when Eddie sucked in a sharp breath.

Lowering your head, you dragged your lips down Eddie's neck. "It's not like he touches me," you kissed his adam's apple, dragging your teeth down to where his shoulders met his neck, "here." You ran your hands up Eddie's arms, lingering around his face and tracing his lips with the tip of your finger. "Wouldn't let him touch me there."

Eddie felt like he was going to implode. Your touches were driving him crazy, and if you didn't just kiss him again, he was gonna go out of his mind. You ceased your movements. "You've got no reason to be jealous of anything, Eds."

"Does Harrington know that?"

"Steve's not here, Eddie." You dropped your hands to your sides. "And even if he was, I wouldn't dream of kissing anyone else but you-"

Eddie's lips cut you off in another searing kiss, this time you reciprocated. It was all teeth and lips, hands in hair, and hands roaming anywhere they could reach. Eddie's lips felt like magic against your own, better than any kiss you'd ever had. When Eddie tugged against your hair, lowering his lips down to nip and kiss the skin of your neck, you groaned aloud. Eddie's head whipped to face you.

"Well, what do we have here?" he smirked, nipping the spot again and taking another groan as encouragement. You yanked his jaw, desperate to kiss him again. "C'mre, Munson." Eddie gladly obliged, crashing your lips together.

You felt overwhelmingly hot in your sweater now, tugging frantically at the hem to get it off without breaking the kiss. "Eds," you said, resting your hands on his cheeks. "can we sit down?"

His eyes lit up, excitement and desire evident in his now black eyes, blown wide and darkened with lust. "We could sit in the van?"

Doors thrown open, you clambered into the back of Eddie's van. You threw your sweater over your head, leaving you in a Van Halen tshirt. "You stealing my clothes now, Y/n?" You had borrowed the shirt last time you stayed at Eddie's place. The sight made Eddie just about burst. Seeing you in his clothes, he felt like he was marking you as his. The attention on the shirt - and your chest- made you suddenly self conscious, as you crossed your arms over your chest.

The pause in activity had made you nervous. What did this make you and Eddie? What would happen to your relationship now? You obviously had feelings for Eddie too, revealed by your feverish desire to kiss him, touch him, have him touch you. You head whirled with anxieties, broken when Eddie's hand wove its way into yours.

"Hey," he said softly, "we can stop if you're uncomfortable. We don't have to do anything, okay?" His thumb rubbed gently against your skin, leaving a blazing trail in its wake. Your whole body thrummed with an electric desire for Eddie. When you didn't respond right away, he scooted on the floor of the van next to you. "What's going on up here, hmm?" He tapped his fingers to your temple lightly.

"Can I tell you something?" you said, gaze on the rug Eddie had laid in the back of the van.

Eddie turned his body completely towards you. "Of course."

"I haven't... been with someone before." you grimaced in embarrassment at yourself. "So, if we do this" you finally met his gaze. "it would be my...first."

Eddie was quiet for a few heartbeats, before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss to your lips. It was slow and gentle, and conveyed his love and all his care for you without saying a word. When he pulled back, he smiled at you. You felt like your heart was in your mouth. He looked at you as if you were the moon. "Are you sure?"

You nodded your head. "I'm sure."

Eddie leaned in to kiss you again, and his tongue made its way into your mouth. You moaned lightly at the sensation. He cupped your jaw, shifting your head to deepen the kiss. Wrapping his arms around you, he lightly laid you down on the bed of the van, moving on top of you. Raising your arms above your head, he intertwined your fingers before peppering kisses down your neck, the hollow of your throat before kissing down your clothed torso. "Can I take this off?"

"Do you want me to take mine off first?" he asked , noting your nervous look. When you nodded, grateful for his patience, he reached to his back and swiped his signature Hellfire shirt off in one swift movement. You'd seen Eddie shirtless before. You'd swam together, and you'd showered at each others houses a million times. But in the white light of the moon, accentuating his light abs and tattoos, it was like the first time. Subconsciously, you reached up to trace the tattoo on Eddie's hip, mindlessly moving across his stomach. He tensed under the touch, sucking in a raged breath.

"Jesus, Y/n, you don't know what you're doing to me."

You sat up slightly, lifting your hand from his stomach to pepper small kisses along the tattoos by Eddie's collar bones. "You're so handsome, Eddie." you whispered against his skin. You lifted your head to meet his lips again, graciously welcoming his tongue back into your mouth as he slid your - his- shirt over your head. "Christ," he breathed as your skin glowed in the light of the moon made you look silver, accentuating your boobs against the stark black of your bra. "You're beautiful."

Eddie pressed wet, open mouthed kisses along your chest, lowering down across your stomach until his lips reached the hem of your jeans. You sucked in a ragged breath, the heat of where the moment was leading finally catching up with you. Without realising it, your hands had begun to tremble lightly with excited nerves. One of Eddie's own large, ringed hands came to grasp you own. "How we doing up there?" he asked, eyes meeting your own as his finger toyed with a stray thread near the button of your jeans.

"Good." you said, flushing dark red at the sight before your eyes. Eddie was sprawled on the bed of the van, body between your opened legs, hair messy and curling round his face. Unable to stop yourself, you pushed a stray curl from his eye. He leaned into your touch, kissing your wrist as he caught it. "Do you want to keep going?"

You'd be insane to stop now. The heat in your stomach was a full on wild fire by now, centred between your legs where Eddie's head was. "Yes," you said breathlessly, "yes, please."

"Okay," Eddie began to unbutton your jeans at a purposefully, painfully slow pace. The coolness of his rings against your bare thighs made you gasp, resulting in a smirk from the metal head between your legs. With your jeans off, Eddie took his own off too. If you'd been staring before, now you were gawking at him. Through his boxers, Eddie was hard enough that you could see the outline of his cock clear as day, despite the limited light. He was big, bigger than you thought you could manage. If you went all the way tonight, it would be painful. Somehow, the thought turned you on even more.

Out of his jeans, Eddie crawled up your chest to reattach his lips to yours in a heated kiss. Feeling a surge of confidence, you ran your tongue along his bottom lip, moaning as he allowed you entrance and his tongue met yours. Subconsciously, you started to grind your hips against Eddie's , shocked at the volume of the gasp that was swallowed by his mouth. Matching your eagerness, Eddie ground his hips down to meet yours. "Fuck," he groaned right in your ear, turning you on even more than before. Something about bringing Eddie pleasure made your own start to pool between your legs.

"Eddie," you sighed, hands woven in his hair as you rutted against him, desperate for any friction you could find.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart." he sucked on the skin of your neck, surely leaving marks that you would have to cover later. He nipped a particularly sweet spot that made you whine. "Tell me, and I'll give to you." Eddie would give you the moon if you asked. “You,” you breathed in a sigh as his tongue swiped over the bruising skin, “just want you, Eddie.”

Inside his chest, Eddie felt his heart surge. For months, he had been letting guilt eat him up inside. He never meant to fall for you, and he felt terrible for it. But the pain of losing you as a friend would be a thousand times worse than being rejected by you, so he bottled it up. So in the dark of the night, laid down in his van with yourself on display to him, professing your desire for him, Eddie felt confident.

”Well, I'm not going anywhere babe."

Babe

Eddie's delicate fingers wound themselves over the hem of your panties, shimmying them down your legs with heavy eyelids. "Gonna make you feel good , okay?" He threw your underwear over his shoulder blindly. His hands settled fondly on your hips, thumbs rubbing small circles . You felt like you weren't a person anymore, but merely a heap of ash from the sweltering heat you felt in your stomach. Every touch of Eddie's cool skin on the sizzling heat of your own felt like a fire hose on a burning house.

Then you exploded.

Eddie nestled his face between your thighs, wrapping your legs around his head and keeping them there with his arms. He flattened his tongue against you, and you felt like the floor was going to swallow you up. You were instantly melting underneath him, uttering breathless praise as he wrapped his lips around your clit and hummed. You hands clutched and palmed at his hair, desperate for him to be all the more close to you.

"Oh, shit."

"How's it feel, s'good? Tell me how good it feels, Y/n." When you didn't reply right away, he nipped at your inner thigh, leaving a bruise.

"So good, Eds, so so good." So good you could hardly form words, as your mouth seemed able to only form a silent oh as you back arched and your hands flailed around Eddie's hair, messing it up. "So- fuck- good."

Between your legs, Eddie groaned at the praise. The vibrations against you had your eyes rolling back into your skull. Eddie's hand travelled up your stomach before resting against your boobs, kneading and palming them. The coil in the pit of your stomach was close to snapping.

"E-Eddie, I'm gonna-" you cut yourself off as a loud, borderline pornographic moan escaped your mouth as Eddie began to rapidly shake his head bath and forth, tongue a vice on your clit. Your back arched from the floor of the van, almost sitting up, as you came. Eddie's face remained between your legs, licking up the remains of your climax as your chest heaved.

He kissed his way up your stomach to your face, and you crashed your lips to his. You tasted yourself on his mouth, groaning in reaction. "That was so hot," Eddie breathed against you, "almost got off on it."

"Almost?" you pouted your lips lightly at him, the thought of Eddie getting off to you made you ravenous. You reached for the hem of his boxers, completely ready to try your best to return the favour, when Eddie stopped you.

"As amazing as that would be," he said, laughing to himself, - the girl i'm crazy for wants to blow me and I'm saying no?-, "I just wanna make tonight easier for you. It's about you."

"Okay."

Eddie's hands cradled your face as he hovered over you, his hair fanning against your face and creating a cage around you. His eyes were black with lust. He guided your hand to the hem of his underwear. "We can stop now. Just say the word." You shook your head, maybe too quick, as Eddie chuckled.

"I want you, Eddie. All of you. Here." You stroked your knuckles against his cheek. "Now."

"Yes, ma'am."

Eddie moved with a speed that would be comical ,had you not been aching for him in that moment, as he took off his boxers. Reaching into his jean pocket, he pulled out a condom. Tearing it open with his teeth - an action you wished to see many more times- he rolled it down his shaft. "Okay, are you ready? It may hurt, but we'll take it slow and you can take as long as you need, alright?"

"I'm ready."

He took one hand in yours, holding them entwined firmly above your head as he inserted the tip. You gasped, the intrusion bringing a somewhat painful sting. Eddie kissed your neck as he slid in, stopping every inch or so to make sure you were okay. "You're so gorgeous," he sighed into your neck, moaning when he bottomed out and the two of you were entirely connected. "Are you okay?"

There was not a single word in the English language to describe the feeling you felt in that moment. So entirely full of Eddie, consumed by your need for him. When Eddie shifted slightly to get a look at your face, nudging a particularly sweet spot inside you, you whined aloud.

"Oh my God, Eddie please."

"What?"

"Move, please."

That was all Eddie needed. Seeing you fall apart beneath him as he ate you out had driven him nearly mad. And Eddie Munson was content with being insane if it meant he was making you feel the way you sounded when he set a slow, but deep, pace inside you on the floor of his van at Lover's Lake. The sound of skin slapping against skin, moans of ecstasy and high pitched whines echoed throughout the van. "Holy fuck, Y/n," Eddie moaned in your ear, the sound making you clench around him, "you feel so amazing." He kissed all along your collar bones, nipping and sucking as he went.

"So fucking good- shit, baby, I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that." He sighed as you pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck.

"Faster, Eddie, please," you cried. "Please, please."

Eddie wanted to make a mixtape of your moans and little sounds. "You don't need to beg, sweetheart." His hand came between your bodies, rubbing tight circles on your clit. "I've gotcha."

As soon as Eddie made contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves, it was over. A scream of a moan ripped through your throat, eyes clenched tightly shut as you came hard around his cock. "Oh fuck, Eddie, yes-yes-yes!"

"Shit, sweetheart, clenching me so-oh-tight, fuck!"

Eddie's hips stuttered as he came into the condom, arms buckling and chest meeting yours. You wrapped your arms around his back, holding him to you. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, panting and trying to collect yourselves. You felt completely content, blissed out. Eddie swiped your hair from your face as he pulled out. You whimpered at the loss of contact.

Reaching for the blanket at the foot of the van, Eddie wrapped it round the two of you and pulled you to his side. He paused for a second, thinking about his words very carefully. "That was-"

"Amazing." You said, snuggling into his chest and leaving small kisses over the tattoos there.

His heart swelled. "Yeah, pretty fucking great."

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, a hand cradling your head. Without saying the words, the I don't want to forget about this, I don't feel this way about anything or anyone else, the two of you had grown closer than ever before.

Eddie chuckled to himself as your eyes drifted closed, head nestled between his neck and shoulder. "Pretty fucking great."

#eddie munson #eddie munson fics #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson imagine #eddie the freak munson #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #stranger things #volume 2 never happened #eddie is alive #fluff #eddies van is the star #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson smut #friends to lovers #slow burn #mutual pining #best friends to lovers #semi public sex #stranger things smut

[missmeinyourbones]

NEW TEXT MESSAGE! FROM: ‘SAMU

in which osamu can’t help but notice how his contact is saved in your phone

Osamu feels warm, but he can’t decide if it's a good kind of warm or not. 

The two of you sit side by side on his grey couch, thighs casually smushing against one another as his arm cautiously lingers behind you. His air conditioner hasn't been turned on since august, but he’s suddenly thinking of opening a window with how hot his skin feels against yours.

His hand slightly shakes as it holds his phone (he prays to anyone listening that you don't notice the tremble), the same one that’s playing a clip you watch with eager eyes.

The video isn’t anything special. It was taken a few days ago when Osamu had decided to visit his brother at practice. The wobbly frame follows Atsumu running around what looks like a gym floor, as a hand (that you know to belong to Osamu) continuously squirts a squeezable water bottle at him. Atsumu’s whines are loud and childish as he squirms and attempts to dodge his brother’s offensive attacks. 

Osamu is a strong man, and he’s trying his very hardest to watch the video. Really, he is, but he can’t help but want to watch you instead. 

He notices your pupils grow in size as you laugh along with his own laughter through the screen. He hones in on how your nose slightly scrunches with your breathing, how your face is warm with the light remnants of a smile. 

“That’s so stupid,” you giggle, eyes on his screen as the video comes to an end, “send it to me.”

Removing his hand from the couch, Osamu forwards you the video without a second thought. 

So naturally, his attention is pulled to your phone that lights up on the coffee table. He can’t help but perk up at the notification. Though he knows it's from him and what the message consists of, something unexpected about the green bubble catches his eye. 

His tone is surprised, but clearly amused as he speaks up. 

“You have me saved as ‘Samu in your phone?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the odd question, clearly not following his realization. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

Osamu has to physically chew on his cheeks to prevent the grandest of smiles from etching across his face. 

“Technically, no,” he tries to point out casually, “my name is O-samu.”

Though his voice is decently steady, he hopes you can’t hear his heart comically thumping in his chest. 

He watches your face slowly contort into a knowing realization, but you quickly recover with a nonchalant shrug. 

“Close enough,” you attempt to reason, “didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

But it is a big deal to Osamu, as it’s making his palms unbelievably sweaty and his stomach flutter with childish nerves. He needs to know if you give all of your friends a personal contact nickname. If everyone has the privilege of being saved in your phone as something as special as ‘Samu. 

God, he hopes not.

It’s quiet for a moment before his curiosity gets the best of him. For once, Osamu allows himself to indulge. 

“Well, do you have Atsumu saved under ‘Tsumu?”

He’s grateful you don't question his sudden jealousy when you unlock your phone without any questions. You check his contact before shaking your head, “No, he’s just Atsumu.”

“Lemme see,” Osamu inquires, wanting to confirm it for himself. 

Your phone is shoved into his face with a sigh, and you’re right. Atsumu’s full name reads loud and clear above your texts—which, Osamu notes through a quick scan, consist of his brother begging you for your Netflix password and asking you to edit an Instagram picture of his. 

He’s pleased. A little too pleased for someone who’s supposed to be just your friend, but he digresses.

Still, it's not enough confirmation for him. “Well, what about Sunarin?”

Seconds later, you flip your phone back over so he can read the contact name. 

“Suna” reads in bold at the top of the screen, and again, Osamu can’t stop himself from raking his eyes over the text messages below. They consist of miscellaneous reaction memes and silly tweets with a few thumbs-up or down reactions scattered about. 

This time around, Osamu doesn’t stop himself from smiling ear to ear. 

He shows no shame as he blushes with pride at the realization that only he earns a particular name in your phone. He never thought one letter would make such a difference, but now, he’s dreaming of the moment you decided to type it into your phone—what kind of magnetic force pulled you to save his name so differently than everyone else’s.

Whatever it was, he’s sure it's the same force that's pulling him closer to you again.

His smug reaction flusters you, your face suddenly hot with embarrassment. Has it always been this hot in here? You pull your phone away from him and towards your chest for safekeeping. 

“What?” you whine, hiding your face in your hands at the intimacy of it all.  

He shakes his head with a slight smirk before merely shrugging his shoulders and keeping his eyes on you. 

His voice is quiet, knowing, when he mumbles softly. “M’the only one you got saved under a cute nickname, huh?”

You blush further into your hands, “Like I said, I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

You pull up his contact and he watches your finger hover over the edit button. “I can change it if it bothers you that much—”

“No,” Osamu abruptly interrupts your threat with a sudden desperation. Your face slowly grows a grin similar to his just a few moments ago.

He takes a moment to clear his throat before clarifying with a bit more conviction, “No, don’t change it. Keep it.”

A good warm, Osamu decides. Definitely a good kind of warm.

#osamu miya #osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu fic #osamu miya fic #osamu fluff #osamu miya fluff #osamu x you #osamu miya x you #osamu drabble #osamu miya drabble #best friends to lovers #mutual pining

[hairmetal666]

A continuation of the childhood sweethearts first kiss fic...

Eddie is 10 when he get his first kiss. A lot of people wouldn't consider it a real first, It's a dry press of chapped lips, chaste and sweet, but it remains the best kiss he's ever had, the one that means the most.

It's the summer before he moves to Hawkins--spending the school break with his Uncle Wayne--before he's known to the town as a loser weirdo freak, and he makes a friend. A boy golden bright as the sun, who steals Eddie's heart at first glance and keeps taking it again and again and again--not by force, but by his pure kindness, by his surprisingly wicked sense of humor, by the joyful way he experiences the world.

They run through the woods of Hawkins, ride bikes until the streetlights glow, swim until they fall asleep on a pool lounger, spend their nights in a tent in the wide Harrington backyard. He's not known around town yet, so the parents don't hate him, call him trash, fear for their child's reputation. He's just a boy still, his faded clothes and worn tennis shoes can be blamed on northing more than the consequences of a summer spent outdoors. Though, maybe it's just that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington aren't around enough to notice.

On his last night before he returns home to his parents, they make a fort in Steve's bedroom, find all the blankets and pillows in the house, create a cozy structure just big enough for two. They share all their secrets, their hopes and dreams, and as night becomes morning, Steve whispers, "Eddie...can I kiss you?"

Yes is the only possible answer he can give, and as Steve's mouth touches his, Eddie knows he will never love anyone else, not for as long as he lives, not if they never even see each other again.

He belongs to Steve Harrington, body and soul.

---

Eddie moves to Hawkins a year later. His first day of school, two months into the semester, he sees Steve in the hallway. Eddie's whole face lights up as he sees his friend, but--Steve's eyes slide right past him. He sees Eddie, no doubt about it, but there's no light of recognition, no excitement, no joyful reunion.

After a few years he accepts that Steve will never acknowledge him. He almost succeeds in not letting it bother him, and it's for that reason that it doesn't break his heart when Steve falls for Nancy Wheeler. It doesn't kill him to see Steve's beaten face after his fight with Jonathan Byers. It doesn't keep him up at night, watching Steve lose all his other friends. He doesn't hate jocks and rant on cafeteria tabletops just in the hope that Steve will look his way.

Everything changes after Nancy and Steve break-up and Hargrove beats the shit out of him. Whatever high school social cachet Steve still has disappears overnight, but dethroned King Steve still doesn't notice Eddie. He's made his peace with it. Moved on. He's an adult now, basically. He's going to graduate high school and move to the big city and he'll meet so many guys and never ever think about Steve Harrington ever again.

---

He's smoking a cigarette in the little-used bathroom up by the auditorium. His eyes are half-closed, imagining shapes in the tendrils of smoke.

The door bangs open, shocking him upright, the cigarette falling to the floor.

Steve Harrington stumbles inside, hands covering his face, blood pouring through his fingers.

"Steve!" Eddie yelps, can't help it when there's blood, when Steve is hurt.

Like always, he doesn't even bother to look at Eddie. It shouldn't shred his heart to pieces but Eddie's always been weak for Steve.

"What happened?" He asks, even though he knows he shouldn't care.

"Doesn't matter," Steve answers. He's standing at the sink, blood splattering the white porcelain red.

Acting against each one of his sharply honed instincts, Eddie rushes to the nearest paper towel dispenser, ripping half the roll off.

"Move your hands. Relax your head." He's surprised when Steve does as he says.

Eddie uses the paper towels to staunch the flow, pinches at the bridge of Steve's nose with his thumb and index finger. "How do you not know how to fix a bloody nose?" he mutters.

"I know how," Steve argues. "I just--" he pauses, swallows hard. "Why are you helping me?"

He doesn't know how to answer this question. He shouldn't be helping Steve.

"I don't know."

They don't talk again, not until the bleeding stops, and then Steve says, "It was Hagan, the motherfucker. He shoved me into a locker and I didn't have time to get my hands up."

"He's a dick," Eddie agrees. "It's not broken, though."

Steve shrugs. They fall silent again, neither moving. "Thanks," he says. He doesn't look at Eddie.

"Would have done it for anyone."

Those hazel eyes stay fixed to the linoleum as Steve nods. Eddie doesn't know what to do next. If he should leave or press for more that he shouldn't want.

But then Steve lets out a gulping kind of sob, is falling against Eddie's chest, and Eddie wraps his arms around him, holds him so tight even he can't breathe.

"Oh, Stevie," he whispers, and without really thinking, he pulls them into the nearest stall, shutting the door behind him.

Between his cries Steve repeats, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Eddie can't tell him that it's okay, so he combs his fingers through Steve's hair and holds him, fighting off his own tears.

Eventually the sobs stop and the tears dry up, but Steve doesn't break their embrace.

"I shouldn't have ignored you, Eddie," Steve says into the quiet. "You didn't deserve it."

"Why did you?" Thinks it's his right to an explanation, after everything.

"I wrote to you. After you left. Was gonna visit Wayne and get your address, but then my dad found them. He said, 'boys don't write letters,' and ripped them up. He told me if you ever showed up in Hawkins again we weren't allowed to be friends. The next week he'd signed me up for every available sports league in town.

"I was so excited when I saw you at school, Eds. I couldn't believe you were here. I panicked, though, and decided to pretend like I didn't recognize you. It was easy, not having to decide what to do, so I just...kept doing it. I wanted my dad to be proud of me."

"I'm sorry he did that to you, Stevie. For what it's worth, I would've loved to get those letters. I would've written back."

Steve laughs a little. "I know. I'm so sorry I hurt you. I've regretted it every day, but I had no idea how to make it right."

Eddie shouldn't want more. He knows that he's lucky they've even had this moment, but he always needs to push.

"You could try now," he says.

"Hmm?"

"To make it right. You could try now."

A smile illuminates Steve's perfect face. "You mean it?"

Steve's hand slips against Eddie's cheek, moving up to card through his hair. His thoughts scatter like fractures of light, as Steve touches him in a way he only imagined in the midnight depths of his wildest fantasies.

Their second kiss is just as soft and sweet as the first, their lips coming together in a gentle press.

They separate, and his fingers immediately go to his mouth. "You--did you--" He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a few deep breaths. "You can't kiss me like that unless you mean it, Steve. You can't just--"

"I meant it. I meant every second. I never stopped missing you. I hated that I made it impossible to be your friend. It's been eating me up for years. I want to make it right."

"I need time," he says. His voice trembles. " I want that too, Steve, but after everything, I need to know I can trust you."

Steve nods and gives him a small smile. "I'll do anything, Eds."

---

They hangout almost everyday, and Eddie finds that, underneath all that King Steve bullshit, he's still the boy Eddie fell head over heels for at 10, golden and bright and so lovely. Still mean, still funny, still owns Eddie's heart.

Steve doesn't kiss him again, and that's for the best no matter how much Eddie longs for it.

A little over a month later, Steve invites Eddie to his house again.

He follows Steve up to his bedroom--just as terribly plaid, just as empty of things that made it Steve's--except there's a pillow fort built against the bed.

"What's this?" Eddie raises an eyebrow and stifles a smile.

Steve rolls his eyes. "You know what. C'mon, get in."

They're a little too big for a fort now, but they squish inside, limbs tangling until they end up in a giggling heap.

"A fort, Stevie?" Eddie asks once he can talk again.

Steve's smile is soft. "These last few weeks have been the best of my life. You're my best friend. And I was just wondering--" he falters here for the first time, breath stuttering. "Can I kiss you?"

Sparks erupt in Eddie's chest, his smile so big that it hurts. What a fool he was, to think he would ever stop loving Steve Harrington.

"Please," he answers.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #ficlet #oneshot #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #childhood sweethearts #first kiss #alternate first meeting #childhood friends #mutual pining #making up #getting back together #second chance at love #best friends to strangers to lovers #high school au #apologies #steve harrington has bad parents #like seriously his dad is the worst #tommy hagan is also the worst

[estro-gem]

Jax x Ragatha: Eyes

The Amazing Digital Circus AU: Oasis

Author's Note:

When he looks at me... and I look at him... and he looks at me... aNd I lOoK aT hIm - I'll stop now I was meaning to write about the other characters, but these 2 were stuck in my head! Blasted!

I craved fluff, so I give fluff. This is a simple, short and sweet scenario. It might take a bit for me to write again, but we'll see how it goes. Let's hope there's no mistakes in the grammar! No warnings; other than the fact that the characters belong to Gooseworx~

Sorry if I disappear for a while, I'll try not to make it too long. Final year degree stuff...

SUMMARY:

Ragatha hand-embroiders something under Jax's merciless stare.

Please enjoy!

EYES

Watching someone repeatedly poking a needle through fabric shouldn’t be so interesting.

Ragatha decided to blame it on the obvious; Jax was stuck in a digital world where every day was a chaotic deadline with the pressure of your whole family coming for a visit this coming evening and your house was still a mess, because you didn’t have the time or energy to clean it this morning, since your cat decided to shred the last toilet paper you had in you house and you had nothing to wipe with, thus it cost you an early trip to the store, but you missed the bus and it was raining, so you ditched the store to just walk to work, only to realize that you haven’t changed out of your pajama’s yet and you had no spare clothes, forcing yourself to attend a meeting with water dripping down your legs and you clothes sticking to your body.

That was oddly specific…

The point is that everyone craved some form of normalcy. Jax was allowing himself to just exist her presence, who was caught in the slow, tedious process of embroidering a purple piece of fabric by hand. He didn’t make an effort to keep a conversation going, but the ragdoll wasn’t bothered by it. Her hands tingled where his big eyes were fixated, watching intently.

They were situated on a two-seater couch that they randomly found back stage. It's been a while since the group first carried it out to place it off to the side, near the main area. It was rarely used, unless it was a scenario such as this one; Jax watching Ragatha embroider quietly.

At first, she thought that he was looking for an error to point out, or even just to mess with her by trying to make her self-conscious with his unblinking staring. To counter whatever she thought he had planned, she would just discard the fabric and thread, while she wasn’t too far into her progress. In doing that, this would be a practice trail to complete her embroidery project away from prying eyes in the future and she would have the satisfaction of seeing Jax’s face when he saw how unbothered she was losing her progress or messing up.

But the snarky comments never came.

That’s alright, Ragatha could work with that! He was just being patient, until she had something to show for her time and effort. Until her work was something of value to lose. It was only a matter of time before the bunny brought up his old schemes again, so in the meantime, she would just have to continue. She was actually making great progress; it was starting to really look like something.

Oh no…

Ragatha didn’t think that she would make it this far. What started as two big dilated, black pupils, evolved into two large golden eyes staring up from the purple fabric. She was currently hyper-focused on the black rim surrounding the brilliant golden sclera of the second eye, almost completing the set. It was coming on so nicely.

The doll wasn’t nearly as brave as she was before. She wanted to curse her patience with herself, with this project, with Jax being Jax...

A mysterious flush of heat and tingles dragged itself up the red-head’s face. She couldn’t understand why – she was annoyed, but she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even human, so the sensations, though otherworldly, was not the strangest thing to happen to her – she could take and axe to the face without so much as a squeak – but it was still puzzling her. It was making her feel lightheaded, as she suddenly became very aware of her steady calm breathing and abruptly fumbled to consciously control it. It was like she was a flustered mess that suddenly forgot how to breathe. All her well-practiced hand motions briefly paused as there was a moment of deep contemplation.

The tingling heat instantly evaporated from her face, only to flare up onto her now frozen hands, hovering closely over the embroidery.

Ragatha almost twisted her neck with how quickly she whipped her sight to Jax sitting next to her.

She was probably hallucinating, but she almost believed that she saw him lean back slightly, as if reigning himself. The bunny was comfortably sitting back with his one arm hanging over the back of the couch they shared, bending his elbow to rest his cheek on his hand. If the doll shuffles closer, he would practically have his arm draped around her shoulders, and she would be able to rest her head in the crook of his neck.

His eyes were fixed on her hands that was now folded atop one another, covering the golden orbs she spent so long on. He didn’t look bored, per say, but he did sport his usual smug, unbothered expression. If anything, he looked content, but Ragatha knew Jax better than that. She could feel that the intensity of his gaze prickling over her now heated hands meant that he was deeply invested – interested. If she felt his eyes so prominently fixed on her hands…

Was he focused on her face before?

“Ya makin’ somethin’, Dollface?” Jax asked nonchalantly, lazily trailing his gaze up to her face. He was wearing that smug grin - and the poor dolly suffered the severe rush of heat bite into her cheeks again, desperately trying to focus. She missed the fierce flash in Jax’s eyes as she tried to keep her darn breathing steady; not quite able to just let it manifest naturally anymore – too slow, then too fast… then too slow…

“You tell me.” She bit back without thinking, “You’ve been staring this whole time.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes!” Ragatha huffed out, “What? Are you waiting for me to mess it up?”

“Only you could mess this one up.” Jax mused through his Cheshire grin, “I didn’t even touch you!”

“You didn’t have to touch me to make me- eh- nevermind!”

“To make ya what?” The sparkle in Jax’s eyes seemed to blaze into a raging fire. His eyes seemed to pin her down for a moment, before his tone suddenly shifted, "You give me too much credit, Doll."

Dangerous.

Jax felt dangerous when he was eyeing her like that. It’s a danger that Ragatha couldn’t help but get lost in, as she let out something between a huffy sigh and an incredulous cackle. Her hands were shaking. The tension was getting harder and harder to endure. When Jax was like this – when she was like this - they always ended up like gasoline on fire.

The doll would always somehow unintentionally, yet willingly tempt him by looking like his personal feast.

Jax would always somehow resist the urge to kiss her breathless.

“What exactly are ya makin, Raggs?” Jax strained his smile as he tore his gaze away from her siren-call she has for a face. Things must move along before the bunny does something he would instantly regret.

Ragatha took a few seconds to cool herself off, then followed the rabbit’s lead to look to the golden eyes she was embroidering.

“I wanted to make a plush.” She mindlessly trailed one finger along the rim of the eye, “I figured that I could embroider the face before cutting the fabric into the shapes I need. It's a bit upside down, since it'll probably by easier to stuff the plush first, but I didn't think this would turn out so well. It was meant to be a practice-run.”

“Those are my eyes.” Jax gave her a cheeky glance, “You miss me in bed or something?”

It was supposed to be a joke, but the doll decided, she had enough.

Screw it.

“I thought this would be a good alternative, yes.” Ragatha said plainly, effective shutting the rabbit up, as her voice seemed to wilt slightly, “I wouldn’t bother you as much. I know you don’t like me touching you.”

“Ragatha, I don’t like anyone touching me.” Jax turned to face her fully, tone shifted uncomfortably serious. He almost sounds upset.

Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. In attempt to save the situation, she kept het mouth shut. No more words.

Dolls are seen, not heard.

“Why me?” he asked, a simple question.

It only required a simple answer.

“I trust you.”

Ragatha wanted nothing more than to leave. She was embarrassed and uncomfortable; and she was convinced that Jax felt the same. She didn’t consider that she ripped his heart out of his chest by saying that.

She shouldn’t trust a snake...

Just when Ragatha got up to retreat to her room, she jolted upon feeling a desperate hand grab at the hem of her dress. She stood in place, but didn’t look at Jax. She wanted to forget that they had a conversation in the first place.

“Make me one when you are done with yours?” Jax spluttered out unplanned. There was a beat of silence, before the doll gave in to look at the bunny once again. At least he got her attention-

“Make you a plush… of yourself…?” Ragatha asked slowly, confused.

“Make me one of you.”

He had to be joking. There was no way that he would ask something like that and be serious about it, right? He would just wait for the moment she let her guard down to start laughing, right? Right?

The room just wailed in silence.

It weighed down his larger-than-life persona to dangle at his knees. Ragatha was dumbstruck as she searched his face for something wicked, only to find a troubled man stare back at her.

He was being sincere.

“Why me?” She asked, confused; a simple question.

It only required a simple answer.

“I trust you.”

Oasis: TADC AU list

Masterlist

#fanfiction #the amazing digital circus #tadc fanfiction #tadc oasis au #jax x ragatha #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #bad analogies #touch averse jax #ragatha is trying her best #fluff #awkward #eye contact #aggressive eye contact #they are all traumatized #hand embroidery #gooseworx #oneshot #short and sweet #mutual pining #oasis

[lovelybarnes]

you- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: mutual pining, a littleeee angst about: request by the sweetest @lovelyrdjr , best friends to lovers

“bucky,” you sing as you enter your best friend’s room. he says your name back with a glance before looking back down at the book he’s reading—one of the ones you recommended—and drones distractedly. “guess what?”

he hums again, resisting the urge to look back up at you and the little butterfly clips pulling strands of your hair back. he recognizes them as the ones he gave you for your birthday last year. 

“bucky,” you whine when he doesn’t pay attention to you, poking his shoulder repeatedly. he holds back a smile, continuing to pretend to ignore you even though he hasn’t been able to concentrate on his book since the moment your perfume filled up the space of his room. you drag out his name again, climbing on his bed and dramatically draping yourself over him.

“yeah, sweetheart?” he responds, not taking his eyes off of his book but letting a hand fall on your shoulder, rubbing circles into your skin.

“i have news,” you inform, propping your chin on his chest.

“what’s your news?” he asks, sparing you a glance that he forces not to last long.

“well, you have to be paying attention to me to tell you.” you pout, tugging at his shirt.

“‘m paying attention.”

“no, you’re not.” you sigh exaggeratedly, dropping your cheek on his shirt. “and, as a punishment, you won’t get cake and sam will be my fiancé.”

that catches his attention, and bucky puts down his book, dog-earing the page he was on even though he doesn’t like doing it. you’re a horrible influence. “what?”

he feels you grin against his shirt, nuzzling your face deeper as you shrug innocently. “guess what opened today?”

“what do you mean sam is going to be your fiance?” bucky questions instead.

“the answer to my question will answer all of yours,” you reply cryptically, meeting his eye. you bounce lightly in petulance. “guess!”

bucky sighs. “the bakery?”

“close.” you grin, biting your lip.

“the… cake store?”

you nod excitedly. “and guess what they sell?”

bucky shrugs. “cakes?”

“yes, but what specific cakes?”

“this is a lot more than that question you said would give me answers, and i still don’t have any,” bucky complains.

“wedding cakes! and they give free samples to couples that are ‘to be wed,’” you quote the words with a goofy accent, beginning to tug his arm. “they look really good and i want something sweet and i already told the woman working there i was about to get married and would bring my fiancé back so we could try some cakes.”

bucky nods slowly, watching you bite on a nail at your confession. “are you asking me to marry you?”

you roll your eyes, pushing at his shoulder. “you know what i’m asking.”

“i think i’ll need a proposal for this,” bucky declares. “it is the custom.”

you glare at him for a moment before exhaling softly. “will you marry me?”

“that’s how you’re gonna propose?” bucky accuses, making you laugh as your head drops to his chest. shaking your head, you get off of him and drop to your knee.

“james bucket barnacles,” you begin dramatically, offering him your hand. “will you marry me and be my fiancé for an hour so i can eat cake?”

bucky pretends to think for a moment before bursting into a grin, pulling you to him. “yes, a million times yes!” he presses sloppy kisses to your face, making you laugh as you try to push him away.

“save that for the cake shop,” you recommend.

-

bucky is not proud of his triumph when people think you and him are dating. he’s never minded, and you’ve never said anything to him or to the strangers that compliment on your nonexistent relationship, shrugging it away with the fact that you will never see them again and find it useless to explain to them the nature of your relationship.

when he falls asleep with his head laying on your lap, your fingers combing through his hair, or when you smile at him in that soft way you only do to him, he catches himself believing that you don’t correct anyone for the same reason he doesn’t—not because it does not matter what unknown others think, but because you’re in love with him too.

when you ask him to pretend to be your fiancé, he revels in the fact that he won’t have to bite back his pride or hold back the ridiculous urge to thread his fingers through yours and wrap an arm around your waist. maybe he goes a little overboard, but he’ll insist it was for the role if you question it—which you don’t—and he’d kick himself if he didn’t take full advantage of the opportunity.

he’s buzzing from your touch already as you enter the shop, warmed further when you lean your head against his shoulder nonchalantly, sending you an amused look when the woman behind the register asks you if he’s “the bucky.”

he can’t help the pleasant feeling at the bottom of his stomach when you agree easily, squeezing his hand. “yeah, he’s my bucky—my fiancé.”

the woman coos at the both of you, commenting on how great you look together.

“it’s thanks to her,” bucky shrugs, genty bumping you with his shoulder. “i mean, look at how pretty she is.”

your skin heats enough for him to feel it through his shirt, making him grin and press a kiss to your forehead just because he can.

“oh, you two remind me of my husband and i,” the woman reveals earnestly. “we’ve been in love for forty-eight years. since the moment we met.”

“i know the feeling,” bucky murmurs, glancing at you to see your eyes already on him, caught on the startling honesty of his features until you snap yourself out of it, settling a smile on your lips.

“me too,” you agree quietly, toeing on the edge of too convincing.

“i’m so glad you were honest about this. do you know how many people pretend to be together to try cake?” the woman asks incredulously, shaking her head as she collects cake. bucky and you exchange a look. “so much so that i can tell if the couple is actually in love the minute they walk in here.”

“wow, that must be a frequent problem, then,” you mumble, biting your lip.

“yes,” the woman says. “but, luckily, no one can fake love once i’ve seen it enough.”

“some—some might…” you begin, her words getting the better of you, but she stares straight at you and wags her finger.

“oh no. not the real one. the one that’ll last. like yours.”

“oh,” you whisper softly, allowing yourself just one moment of believing her as your eyes meet bucky’s.

-

bucky doesn’t like to think about love.

he doesn’t like to talk about it—his love for you or, really, any of his love at all—since, by some means, love always goes back to you, leaving him in a panic because the platonic way he is supposed to love you is not so platonic at all, and he is left remembering that he has fallen in love with his best friend.

as terrified as he is of you finding out and putting your friendship at risk, he aches to tell you, to read the confessions that play in his mind when he’s around you out loud and simply attach them to a blank face instead of you, but you know him too well. as trained as he is, you’ve always seemed to be able to read his mind—and he yours—and you would figure out he was lying about his faceless girl, so he chooses to push it away and ignore it.

he leaves questions he has for himself unanswered through the fear that he’ll figure them out in a realization that he can’t hold it in anymore, that he has to risk the friendship because he can’t live as if he hasn’t completely fallen for you.

if you’ve noticed, you don’t bring it up, and he isn’t sure if he’s glad or upset about it since he can do the exact same thing to you.

he’s trying not to think about it now as pretends to concentrate on the show you’ve put on. it’s one of the comedies you love so much, and you’re completely immersed in the scene, pulling at his arm excitedly. one of the main characters is rushing to tell one of the others she’s in love with him as he does the same, and he can’t help but think, turning to you. his eyes drag over your features, his teeth digging into his lip when they catch on the happy twinkle in your eyes.

you turn to him, startled to find him looking back. “watch!” you insist. “this is the best part.”

you’re bouncing lightly as the episode goes on, one of your hands patting the bed until it finds his and holds it to your chest as if it was a comfort.

you squeeze it absentmindedly, thumb brushing against his palm.

your anticipation gets higher as the seconds pass, and then natasha is opening your door and calling your name, inviting you to game night.

friday pauses the episode when nat starts talking, and bucky is ready to angrily refuse natasha’s offer for making your features drop at the halt, glittery excitement washing away.

“sure,” you reply instead, lowering bucky’s hand to your lap and disappointedly moving to turn the television off when bucky stops you with a hand on your arm.

“why don’t we finish watching and then we go?”

you shake your head. “we can watch it later,” you reason. “i don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

bucky isn’t happy about it, but agrees because you have. you drag him to the common room with you after brushing his hair away from his face with your fingers and straightening his shirt. as reluctant as he was at the prospect of leaving the comfort of your room—of the simplicity and comfort of you and him—the peck you give his nose when you’re satisfied with your work makes him a little dizzy and his reasons for not going a little blurry.

he sticks by your side for the entirety of the night, watching as your teammates get drunker while the sky bleeds black, the both of you remaining the more sober.

even after several of the bright drinks tony made, the knowing glint in natasha’s green eyes remains, her smirk growing as the night goes on until she sits next to you and throws an arm over your shoulders.

“let’s play a game,” she says to everyone, but her attention is on you. her words are eerily sober as she offers truth or dare, the others agreeing behind her. at the look she offers bucky, a pit grows in his stomach, suspecting she has a plan.

he doesn’t know how he did it, but he manages to avoid her for the entire game, until they’re a while in and the bottle’s neck points to him. a sinister grin curls natasha’s lips as she settles in, cocking her head at bucky. “alright barnes, dare—” she starts, choosing the order of her words obviously purposefully. he doesn’t miss the way her eyes flicker to you next to him, lips pursing. “or truth?”

he suspects she knows about the way he feels for you, and although it’s most probable that she won’t be as cruel as to force him to confess, he isn’t sure what else she could force him to do. spots of pink still splatter on his skin after the kiss you were dared to give your best friend; besides, he’d chosen dare far too many times when he was younger.

“truth.” he gulps.

“alright. i’ve noticed you’ve acted… differently lately,” nat begins. “nicer. although you barely come out here.”

“don’t hear the question, nat,” he points out, cocking a brow as she takes a sip of beer, avoiding your eyes.

“fine. i guess i’m just wondering if it’s due to an… interest,” she continues. “basically, are you interested in anyone, bucky?”

bucky swallows harshly, pressing his tongue against his cheek. his eyes tactfully flicker to you, unsurprised but startled to find you already looking back at him expectantly.

“uh,” he stammers, already knowing he’d answered the question by his actions. so he decides fuck it, they don’t know who it is and he’d rather just tell the truth. “yeah, i guess. i am—interested in someone.”

you blink, an indecipherable look going over your face for a second.

natasha, however, leans over with interest played on her features. “who?”

“‘think it’s only one question,” he mutters as a reminder, but then he hears your voice, intrigued.

“who is it?” you wonder. “is it the girl from the coffee shop? she’s so pretty.”

when he turns to you, he can’t tell you no, so he nods without thinking, “yeah, it’s her.”

something passes over your eyes; realization, he recognizes.

“my turn, right?” bucky asks, looking away from you with a blush and a clearing of his throat, but natasha shakes her head.

“actually, you’ve asked truth or dare the most out of everyone and wanda has one more question before she catches up to everyone,” she smiles. “so if it’s okay, i think she should turn.” she looks around innocently, the rest of the avengers unconcerned and shrugging sure, enjoying the show. wanda seems surprised at her words, but leans over to play anyway once everyone agrees.

she spins the bottle, and somehow—probably thanks to natasha’s fucking glare—it lands on you.

wanda claps keenly. “truth or dare, y/n?”

her face is inarguably more welcoming than natasha’s, and after kissing your best friend, giving total control over your social media to thor for the night, and making bruce blush after showing him the most… provocative photo on your phone, you pick truth. you realize it’s a mistake after catching natasha discreetly poke wanda’s arm.

“oh, uh, same question as bucky’s.”

you sigh through an awkward laugh, meeting bucky’s heavy stare. “yeah,” you admit, a strange pull curling your lips. bucky looks to his lap as he mourns in your truth. “this guy i met at that new antique store, it’s him. he’s really sweet.”

his heart would break at the words if he wasn’t paralyzed by the split-second confusion—the little time bucky’s subconscious leaves him in the dark while it ascertains something even bucky is unknown to until it isn’t.

you’re lying.

bucky’s neck snaps back up to look at you, not wanting to question you right now but later, when you’re alone. he suddenly can’t wait for this to be over.

-

he doesn’t have to wait long. natasha, for all her intrusions, recognizes when her plans have worked, and the game dissolves after a while, everyone dozing off of the couches or entertaining each other with their strange little antics.

it’s silent as you and bucky ride in the elevator, and then bucky has to get it out, the observation he can’t make sense of has been plaguing him for too long to make sense.

“you lied,” he blurts, meeting your wide eyes when your head snaps to him. your lips part in question, trying to seem nonchalant, but the speed at which you turned to look at him and the blur in your irises tells him you’re nervous. “in the game. about the guy, you lied.”

knowing well that if you try to lie you would probably get discovered again, you flounder. “you lied too!” you counteract instead. “when you sad it was the barista.”

bucky scans your face, and you realize what he’s doing too late. “it’s someone in the tower. someone who was there,” he realizes, his whole body pivoting to you.

covering your face in your hands, you complain, “stop doing that!”

the elevator doors open to an agent, making you lift your head from your hands, joining bucky when he tells them to wait for the next one, clicking to highest number on the tower as the doors close on the agent’s startled face.

you turn to him, “so what? you like someone in the tower too. that’s why you lied.”

“hypocrite,” bucky grumbles.

“it’s nat, isn’t it?” you press. “or wanda?”

“no,” bucky states, squinting at you. “it’s thor, right? either him or loki.”

“no. who is it, then? why won’t you tell me?”

“why won’t you tell me?”

“because!”

“ah, yes, thank you for that comprehensive explanation,” bucky deadpans. you glare at him.

“it’s nat,” you repeat, squinting at him even though you know it isn’t. you’re sure of it because you can hear the honesty in his voice when he negated it and you can hear it again now, because you can see it so plainly on his face in that easy way only you can do. yet you insist because there is no one else it could be.

“no it’s not.”

“it is! it has to be nat!” you exclaim.

“why does it have to be nat?”

“because there’s no one else!”

“well there is because it’s not her!”

“no—no, it’s her. i’ve seen you with wanda, you don’t like how intrusive her powers are. i don’t think you’ve even met gamora or carol and you don’t remember maria,” you list, scrounging for all the reasons you’re ashamed of having prepared. “it’s natasha. who else is there?”

“you, you idiot! there’s you!” bucky cries, stepping closer to you to take hold of your shoulders, shaking you lightly to get his point across.

“me what?” you ask dumbly.

bucky’s frustration at you bubbles over, and he growls an insult at your stupidity before pulling you to him, holding you steady as he kisses you.

you’re shocked for a second before you respond, melting against your best friend, the arms that were limp at your side looping around his neck to keep you upright. his hands are tight around your waist, tugging you as close as he can get you.

the kiss is desperate, teeth bumping as he guides you to the wall of the elevator. you pull away for a second to catch your breath, running a thumb over his cheekbone, admiring the color of his eyes. “it’s you too,” you say.

“yeah, i figured,” bucky teases, making you laugh and roll your eyes before you kiss him again.

the elevator doors part to natasha and wanda standing outside, natasha’s features colored with satisfaction.

“told you,” she whispers to wanda.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes best friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader best friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader idiots in love #bucky barnes x reader mutual pining #bucky barnes x reader fluffy #bucky barnes fanfiction fluff #bucky barnes fanfic fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fic fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes idiots in love

[heretherebedork]

Minwoo is going to break my entire heart into pieces alongside his own.

And then Maru talks about a prank and Minwoo comes apart at the very frayed scenes and runs.

There is so much that can and has happened between best friends and when there's a crush and drinking and pining and love happening and there's so much unspoken for the fear of losing each other, of changing what they have and what they had and maybe losing it.

#love class 2 #love class season 2 #maru x minwoo #minwoo x maru #korean bl #kbl #korean series #korean drama #kdrama #bl kdrama #bl series #bl drama #asianlgbtqdramas #asian lgbtq dramas #korean bl series #korean bl drama #kdrama bl #i love them so much #my beloved boys #mutual pining best friends are my favorite #and no one was surprised