🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Oh, I missed reading about Bucky.

Poor Bucky, he's lost. But that's okay, she got confidence enough for both of them. Loved the story. Super cute 🥺

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐬 — 𝐛.𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. bucky barnes x fem!reader

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. fluff, social anxiety, bucky being a nervous mess

SYNOPSIS. bucky falls head over heels for a girl at the market selling plums. after coming home, he tries to get any piece of advice on how to talk to a girl from his fellow teammates.

LENGTH. 1.940 words

MASTERLIST

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Agatha: “My husband looks better in the dark”

the husband in question: 

if you use music to cope with anxiety, depression or to help with your ADHD (like me) reblog, I'm trying to prove a point to my teacher

I like to think that I got over the Lee Scoresby's death... I COULDN'T BE MORE WRONG!

I saw a post talking about his death like he didn't deserve it and I broke down.

I confess that I knew that Lee was gonna die. Lin's dad gave me spoiler of this, but it did hurt so much when I got to watch, I cried so much!

That was really necessary? To kill Lee, I mean

Absolutely amazing! I don't have words to describe how great this was! ❤️🤌

the barber predicament— s. harrington

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k

synopsis: when steve complains that he can’t find a new barber after his old one retired, eddie recommends you; an old friend of his that’s a stylist. and you seem to know the way right to steve’s heart-through his hair. based on this request.

warnings: reader and eddie are besties, brief mention of eddie and max’s shitty childhoods, probably incorrect depictions on what it’s like to be a hair stylist, FLUFF to the max and terrible writing

a/n: I really really don’t like how this came out but I loved to request so much that I forced myself to finish it. everything I know I about being a hair stylist is from getting my hair done so much and from tiktok, so I tried to keep the details I wasn’t sure of vague. I apologize if anything is wrong, please let me know if it is. also I completely guessed on how much hairciuts were in the 80's so sorry if thats wrong too. otherwise, like always, i’d love any feedback you guys give me

masterlist

“Steve, I sympathize with you, I really do, but if I have to listen to you complain that you can’t find a barber for another second, I will tell Keith that you’ve been letting pretty girls get away with their late return fees.”

Steve’s jaw fell open, staring dumbfounded at Robin. “W-well, excuse me,” He stuttered, offended. “For wanting to confide in my best friend about my troubles. Truly, Robin, I don’t know why I assumed you’d be supportive.”

The blonde rolled her eyes, shaking her head lightly at her friends dramatics. “I was supportive up until the fourth time you talked about it. What’s the big deal, anyways?” She asked. “There’s like 3 different barbers in town. Go to one of them.”

Steve stared at her incredulously, as if she’d just told him to shave his head. “Are you being serious? Do you know me at all?”

Robin sighed, pulling the bin of returned movies out from under the counter. “Yes, Steve, in fact I do. I know that your hair is weirdly important to you. But what do you expect me to do about the fact that you won’t trust any of the barbers in town?” She asked, organizing the movies by genre on the rolling cart next to her.

“You looking for a barber, Harrington?” The additional voice caused the two Family Video employees to jump, looking over to see Eddie leaning on the counter casually.

Recovering from the startle, Steve nodded skeptically. “Yeah, I am. Why, you have someone you know?”

Eddie nodded with a grin. “Indeed I do. This girl that graduated the first time I was supposed to. She was in Hellfire. Went to school for hair and everything. Even does mine on occasion for a discount.”

Steve’s eyes shot up to his hairline, head nodding slowly. “Right.” He said, drawing out the vowel. “Well, listen, Munson. I mean no offense when I say this, but I don’t know if I trust someone with my hair that leaves you looking like that.” He explained, gesturing to the other boys head.

Eddie looked at him blankly. “Offense taken.” He deadpanned. “You think I want my hair like this simply for convenience?”

Both Steve and Robin stayed silent, giving Eddie knowing looks instead. He sighed in defeat. “Okay, fine, that’s partially why. But, I also have to give credit to my ultimate role model, Kirk Hammett.” He grinned.

He received blank looks from his friends and the metal head threw his arms up in exasperation. “Really? Kirk Hammett? Lead guitarist of Metallica? Nothing? Why am I friends with you guys?”

Before either of them could respond with a witty remark, Max came skipping up to the counter with two movies in her hands, throwing them down onto the counter. “I’m ready.”

“2 movies?” Eddie glared at the redhead. “Really, Maxine?”

Eddie and Max had a very odd brother sister relationship that was built almost entirely on a consistent basis of bickering and shoving each other around. Still, they looked out for one another, and Eddie felt responsible for making sure the little bit of Max’s childhood that was left was positive. Which he did so in different ways, including bringing her to rent movies for their movie nights.

“Yes, 2. Because you still owe me for the last movie night you forgot about.” She spit back. Eddie gritted his teeth, sliding over the correct amount of money to Steve for the movies.

“As I was saying,” He sent the redhead one last glare. “Even though my hair is convenient for my lifestyle, I ask for it to look a certain way to resemble someone I look up to. She’s the only one who’s ever gotten it to how I want.” Eddie told Steve, snatching a pad of sticky notes and a pen from behind the register.

He scribbled down a series of numbers before sliding it back. “That’s the number for the salon she works at. Give her a call. If you want.”

-

You were on your lunch break when the call came in. On a Wednesday, there was no need to have many stylists in the salon at once. Most appointments and walk ins would happen in the afternoon and as a younger stylist you were more often than not told to come in during the day for walk ins. The other women in the salon were older, more experienced stylists that didn’t need the extra cash you normally got for the services.

The food on your fork was midway to your mouth when the phone rang and you let it fall back onto your plate with a sigh.

“Thanks for calling Hawkins #1 hair salon, how can I help you?” The slogan spewed from your lips like a broken record.

“Uh..hi.” You straightened at the deep voice that came from the phone. Of course, you had men in the salon, usually though just to wait for their wives or kids to get their hair cut. There was the occasional male client, but most went to the local barbers and wouldn’t be caught dead getting their hair done in your salon. As if getting a haircut from a woman made them more feminine.

“Hello!” You chirped. “How can I help you today?”

The man on the other line hesitated for a second. “I’d like to book a haircut? With, um…Y/N.”

You perked up at the sound of your own name, a bashful smile appearing on your lips. Someone had recommended you?

“That would be me.” You chuckled. “Can I ask who referred you?”

The nameless man gave you a polite laugh, the deep timbre of the sound sending a warmth to your cheeks. “Uh, yeah. Eddie? Eddie Munson? He said you guys were friends in high school. Said you were good at what you do.”

The kind words certainly did nothing to quell the heat in your skin, but you still beamed at the mention of your friend. “Yeah, Eddie, of course. I’ll have to give him a discount the next time he comes in.” You joked. In all seriousness, you already didn’t charge Eddie the normal amount that you did for haircuts, fully aware of his financial situation. “But, yeah, I can put you in for a haircut. What day were you hoping to come in?”

“Is tomorrow okay? It’s my only day off.”

You opened up the binder that kept track of all appointments, making sure there were openings for the next day. “Yeah, it says here I have an opening at 10am and another at 1. Either of those sound good?”

The line went silent for a second too long, and you have a feeling the man nodded before remembering he was on the phone. “1pm would be great, thanks.”

You grabbed a pen and crossed out the 1pm slot. “Awesome. What’s the name I can put down for you?”

“Steve. Steve Harrington.”

-

Steve was irrationally nervous for his haircut. Never mind the fact that he was risking, in his opinion, his best feature, but the thought of meeting you was annoyingly nerve wracking. The way your voice sounded over the phone was borderline angelic, and he could only imagine what kind of beauty you radiated in real life. Not to mention, you and him briefly walked the halls of Hawkins High at the same time, and he wondered if you were aware of his reputation back then. He couldn’t recall your presence, but then again, he had his head so far up his own ass that he didn’t recognize most people from high school.

He was so antsy that morning that he was ready to go by 11, leaving him to pace and try to find little things to keep himself busy. The second it hit 12:50, Steve was sprinting out the door, making it to the salon in a record 5 minutes.

The bell above the door rang as soon as he stepped in, alerting the few stylists and customers that were there of his presence. One of the stylists, an older, heavier set woman took a glance at him as she blow dried her client.

“Y/N!” She called towards the back of the salon. “Your 1 o’clock is here!”

A second later, a woman stepped out, who he could only assume was you. You emerged from a beaded curtain, a sight to behold. Steve felt his breath hitch and he tried to wipe the sweat from his hands on his jeans.

You weren’t doing much better. Of course you knew who Steve Harrington was. He’d been a year younger than you, but he’d quickly climbed the social ladder in school. Every party was a big deal when it was held at Steve’s house and if you were friends with him, you were automatically cool.

You hadn’t cared much about the social aspect of school, focusing only on passing your classes and playing DnD. It’s where you met Eddie, who had easily become your best friend. It had been upsetting when you found out he wouldn’t be walking the stage with you, but you’d been supportive of him ever since.

And like every girl, you’d had a crush on Steve Harrington. How could you not? He was a total dreamboat and you’d be crazy not to find him attractive. You’d always been able to push that desire to the back burner, considering your best friend was continuously labeled as The Freak and you certainly didn’t gain any popularity by being associated with him.

When Eddie told you that he’d befriended the former King of Hawkins High, you truly believed he was fucking with you. But he claimed that the man had changed; matured. He told you that Steve’s best friends were a senior girl who Eddie knew band from marching band and a freshman that was in Hellfire. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about this new man Steve Harrington had apparently become.

Oh, and that crush you had? Definitely still there. That much was evident by the dryness of your mouth that occurred the moment you laid eyes on Steve.

He was even more handsome than you remembered. Long legs clad in light blue Levi’s, polo shirt fitted nicely to his toned chest and big brown eyes looking back at you with an expression you couldn’t read.

Steve wished he remembered you. He couldn’t help but wonder if things had been different, would he have noticed you? He wanted to kick himself for not having. You were probably the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and he realized now that describing you as angelic didn’t do you justice. You were ethereal–otherworldly.

He could see why you and Eddie were friends. Your outfit was mainly made up of black articles with a few splashes of color here and there. Your makeup was dark, creating a contract between the black eyeliner and the color of your iris’s. You were stunning, to say the least.

“Hi!” You exclaimed breathlessly. The sound of your voice broke Steve from his jumble of thoughts, only making his brain fizzle further. Your voice was even sweeter in person. “Steve, right?” You asked, though you knew the answer.

Steve cleared his throat, nodding. “Yeah, that’s me. You’re Y/N?”

You grinned so brightly it nearly made Steve’s heart stop in his chest. “That would be me. You can come sit at my station.” You said, patting the chair you’d stopped at.

He obeyed silently, taking a seat in the chair. You had to crank the lever a few times, lowering the height of the chair to accommodate for his large stature. You tried not to focus on the intoxicating smell of his cologne and he tried not to focus on your hands taking through his hair.

“So, what were we thinking of doing to your hair?” You asked, leaning your arms on the back of the chair.

Steve made eye contact with you through the mirror and hoped you couldn’t tell how red his cheeks were, because he definitely could. “Um, I was hoping to keep most of the length. Shorter on the sides, longer in the front?” He was really just spitting out words, hoping they made sense. Honestly, he was finding it difficult to focus on your question when he felt your fingertips on his scalp.

“So..we’re thinking Swayze but longer?” Steve’s jaw fell slack, staring at you in awe as you put his thoughts into words with incredible ease. You really did know what you were doing.

“Yeah, exactly.” He responded quietly, a little stunned.

You sent him that brilliant smile once again. “Cool.” You stared thoughtfully at his reflection, head tilted to the side. “Can I-could I suggest something? And you can totally say no, but I personally think it would look really good.”

Steve thought that you could ask him to commit arson and he’d say yes. “‘Course. What is it?”

You pulled a couple of strands around his face, trying to visualize your idea. “How would you feel about getting a little bit of highlights?”

His eyebrow cocked in questioning. “Highlights? Don’t only chicks get those?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a bit, and Steve’s stomach immediately dropped. He fucked up, he offended you, he–

“No, silly. There’s actually a lot of actors recently that have been getting them. It wouldn’t be any drastic, just a few streaks that would be a shade or two lighter than your natural color. I think it would compliment your skin tone, bring out your eyes.”

The boy found himself nodding before he really considered what you were telling him. “Yeah,” He blurted, realizing he had yet to give you a verbal response. “If you think so. I trust you.”

“Great.” You laughed. “I’ll get you mixed up.”

Steve didn’t know what that meant, but he did know that his haircut had now upgraded to a lengthier process, and he was just happy to have a reason to be around you longer.

As promised, you came back out a couple minutes later, using a brush that looked like a big fork and mixing up a gooey mixture in a bowl. You were quick to start slathering the light purple substance in his hair, carefully applying it to chunks that you had placed over a piece of foil. Each section was enclosed and folded into a little square.

“So what brings you to me? I know you said Eddie referred you, but guys aren’t usually very willing to go to a stylist rather than a barber.” You said.

Steve shrugged a little. “I had a barber before, but he retired and moved out of Hawkins. He’s the only one that’s ever gotten my hair exactly how I want it.” He blushed, reluctant to reveal the reason he’d agreed to be there. “My hair is kinda important to me, I didn’t wanna go to just any barber and risk them fucking it up. Eddie said you were great and I really just needed a haircut.” He explained.

You nodded understandingly, finishing up the last couple sections of his highlights. “I get that. Hair has always been really important to me too. Obviously.” You gestured around you. Steve laughed and you felt the sound bring a warmth to your chest. “It’s always been the easiest way besides my clothes to express myself. And it’s nice to have control over something as an adult when so much is out of your control.”

Your eyes met in the mirror once again, his big doe eyes staring deep into your soul with an understanding that only came from shared experiences. You didn’t know much about Steve’s home life, only what you’d heard during school. His parents were loaded but were often never home. As a teenager, that’s the best thing that could happen to you, but as an adult, you saw how that could get pretty lonely.

The time passed by far too quickly for either of your tastes. You and Steve hadn’t even noticed the time flying so quickly as you talked about anything and everything. It was crazy to think that this man, this sweet, charismatic, beautiful man, used to be a douchebag in high school.

Steve was in heaven as you washed his hair, not even bothering to hide his bliss as your fingers massaged the hair products into his scalp. He could die happy right now, he was sure of it. You held back a giggle as his eyes closed and a convent hum came from his throat. Not wanting to embarrass him, you refrained from commenting and continued your routine.

After a few cycles of shampooing and rinsing and conditioning and rinsing until Steve’s hair was clean and silky smooth, you shut the water off and gathered his hair in a little towel.

“Okay, all done. I’m just gonna blow dry your hair, style it a bit and you’ll be all set.” Steve couldn’t help the frown that appeared, not wanting your time together to end.

It seemed like you read his mind, commenting as you dragged a hairbrush through his brunette locks. “If you’re happy with how your hair came out, you can always come back for trims, o-or touch ups on your highlights.” You stuttered, smiling sheepishly and silently praying that he couldn’t tell how desperate you were to see him again.

“Yeah?” He asked. You nodded, biting your lip shyly as you refocused on his hair. You sat in a forced but comfortable silence as you blowdried his hair. Once it was all nice and fluffy, he watched as you poured a series of liquids into your palm, raking them through his hair. You messed with the strands for another few minutes, doing stuff he didn’t understand but somehow styling his hair exactly how he likes it.

He had to admit, you were definitely right about the highlights. They brought a brightness to his complexion that hadn’t been there before. He felt like he looked younger somehow, which was surprising, considering the kids he always hung around with made him feel like he was pushing 80 sometimes. He told you as such, reveling in the sweet sound of your laughter.

“Well, that’s my job. Just glad you trusted little ol’ me with your most prized possession.” The words came out teasingly. Steve grinned back at you through the mirror, shrugging slightly.

“Guess I owe Munson, huh?”

You agreed, guiding him back to the front to check him out. You typed something into the register at the counter. “Your total is gonna be $10.”

Steve’s eyebrows almost touched his forehead. “That’s it? For the haircut and the highlights?”

“Yeah, it’s with a discount. You are Eddie’s friend after all.” You were almost charging him just for the haircut, and Steve was not having it.

He frantically shook his head in protest. “No, no, Y/N. You don’t have to do that. I can pay you the full price, trust me.”

“Steve,” You chuckled, “It’s okay. I don’t give out many friends and family discounts, it’s not like I’m losing all that much money.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you challengingly. “Oh yeah? How much is the full price for highlights.”

You poked the inside of your cheek with your tongue, reluctantly mumbling out the price, which was much larger than what you were asking. “Absolutely not. Charge me the right amount.” Steve was not about to leave and let you basically have a free service. Not when you worked so hard.

“I’ll just tip you the rest if you don’t.” He smirked, eyes peering at you fondly when you sighed in exasperation.

“It’s seriously fine. I offered the extra service, you don’t have to pay for it.”

A lightbulb lit up in Steve’s head, eyes shining at the obvious opportunity. He’d be an idiot not to take it.

“Fine.” He sighed dramatically. “At least let me do something to pay you back for it. A service for a service, huh? What do you say?”

The corners of your mouth tilted up, betraying your efforts to keep a serious face. Steve was clearly not backing down. “Okay. What’d you have in mind?”

A pink rose to Steve’s freckled cheeks. “Let me take you on a date?”

Your breath hitched. You certainly felt the tension between the two of you ever since he walked in, but you really weren’t expecting anything to come from it.

Steve took your silence as a negative reaction. “Or-I could do anything else. Doesn’t have to be a date, really. I could buy you lunch one day or-“

“I’d love to.” His big brown eyes snapped up to meet your in surprise.

“Really?”

You nodded gleefully, unable to keep your grin from growing. You could feel your cheeks beginning to ache with how much you were smiling.

“Okay.” He whispered, ducking his head bashfully. Steve quickly pulled his wallet out, handing you the 10 dollar bill.

It took less than a minute for you to input his money in, ripping the receipt that printed it. Before you could hand it to him, you grabbed a pen and scribbled something on it.

“My house number. Give me a call?” You asked in a hopeful tone.

“Definitely.” Steve grinned and you repressed the urge to swoon. He sent you a cute little wave, leaving you in the salon smiling like an fool. As soon as he was out the door, your fellow stylists squealed, crowding around you and demanding details.

Steve faintly heard the high pitched noise, smirking to himself. Sliding into the drivers seat of his BMW, he sighed happily. “Yeah, I definitely owe Munson.”

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Okay, I just watched a documentary on Netflix about a crime and for some reason decided to go in the true crime community in here.

Various posts are absolutely disgusting! Don't you guys know nothing about limits?! Romanticize crimes, murderers, omg just stop! It's so disrespectful to families and victims!

One thing is to be curious about crimes, reasons why did that person murdered someone, how the brain of these people works, another thing is to make a tattoo of the bite that Bundy did in one of his victims, is to say that someone was "lucky" for being victim of Ramirez.

Please just stop. If you really think that these things are "cool" you really need help.

This poor girl doesn't have a day of peace in her life

do not chastise the dove (7) ✧ steven grant, marc spector, jake lockley

do not chastise the dove ✧ a royal moon knight au | ao3 | pinterest board

pairing: knight!steven grant x fem!princess!reader x knight!marc spector x knight!jake lockley

series summary: you were a princess who would rather be anything but a royal; he was the knight her father forced her to marry—a true match made in hell if there ever was one. but, as the wedding inches closer and closer, it seems that, perhaps, your father had finally done something right by you. 

chapter summary: steven wants to make things right with you, but his chance is stolen from him. 

word count: 2,464

warnings?: kidnapping, not proofread

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THE. CUTEST. THING. EVER. WRITTEN!

Absolutely perfect. Poor Eddie is so in love and so desperate 🥺🥰

Head Over Heels / Code Lime Green (Eddie Munson x F!Reader)

Summary: Dustin’s code red — the one that disrupted your perfectly good night — turned out to be a false alarm. But maybe racing across town wasn’t so bad after all.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: curse words, self indulgent fluff

(Note: this fic does not follow any timeline that is canonically possible.)

I do not consent to my work being uploaded on any other platforms, translated, nor copied.

A/N: I’m 90% sure this trope has been written before, if not already overdone. But I wanted to try my hand at fluff, so I hope that’s okay ;)

Wether it be through comments, shares, asks, or anything, all feedback is appreciated!

check out my masterlist!

You ran through the halls, your shoes screeching loudly on the grimy tiles that were usually being trampled on by you and your classmates.

Except now the school was eerily quiet, only your laboring breaths disrupting the silence.

Ignoring the snarls from teachers who stayed after hours and cutting every corner, you finally burst into the drama room, exactly where Dustin told you to meet him. He was incredibly specific, his voice urgent and blaring from the walkie he had given you last summer:

“CODE RED. I repeat, CODE RED! Meet me in the drama room NOW.”

A rush of cold flooded your veins at the message. You grabbed the device and you were in your car not a minute later. You sped down the streets like a madman - running stop signs and steering so erratically that you almost hit a squirrel.

As Dustin’s frantic words echoed in your mind, the most horrific scenarios conjured:

Is there another gate open?

Have any monsters gotten into the school?

Is Will okay?

You held your breath as if it were your last the entire way to the drama room.

Now, exactly where Dustin needed you, you find that there is. . . absolutely nothing wrong.

No danger. No demogorgons. No commotion.

It was just the Hellfire Club.

Actually, it was just two members of the Hellfire Club: Dustin and Eddie, folding DnD game boards and collecting stray figurines.

What the hell is going on?

An unworried, completely normal Dustin looks at you and smiles. It’s the same smile he wore when he finally beat Max’s score in Frogger. The expression quickly devolves into something more confused, however.

“Why are you breathing so hard?” he asks.

“You. . . You said ‘code red.’”

“Yeah? So?”

You throw your hands up with a dry laugh. “Have I gone mental? Code red is worst case case scenario. Just last week you were complaining that I’m always late to code reds and to rush.”

He tsks. “Yeah, because you are always late. But now you’re here, right on time, and I need a ride home.”

You gape at him, your fists clenched so tightly you think you might break your fingers.

“. . .Your code red was needing a ride home from Hellfire?”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Yeah.”

Eddie - a presence you had completely forgot about until this moment - snickers from the corner. Your gaze shoots to him, eyes filled with rage daring him to laugh again. He puts his hands up in a surrender and quickly ducks his head.

He hopes you didn’t see him blush.

“Dustin,” you continue with a sigh, “that’s, like, a code, I don’t know. Lime green or something.”

“That’s not a thing. Lime green means nothing.”

“You are deliberately missing the point here.” You groan. “Why couldn’t Eddie have taken you home?”

Holy shit.

You know his name.

You didn’t call him “freak” or anything, either. You called him by his name.

And, damn, did it sound good from your lips.

As you continued fighting with Dustin, Eddie watches, somewhat entertained but mostly freaking the fuck out because you’re in the drama room after a Hellfire session.

Embarrassingly, Eddie has imagined this scene often. You, coming to Hellfire. Maybe to go on a date or just to see him.

He’s imagined a lot of things, admittedly. You drinking coffee he made for you, you in his arms as you watch a movie together, you next to him in the school cafeteria.

You laughing at one of his jokes. You kissing him. Even you simply standing next to him.

You, you, you.

A few short weeks ago, as he watched you through not-so-discrete glances in English class, biting your lips in concentration as you took notes, Eddie decided he’s had enough of imagining.

He decided that he was going to talk to you, ask you out, and hopefully go on a date with you. If you don’t burst into laughter the second he starts asking, that is.

Either way, the girl of his dreams or the worst heartbreak known to man, he vowed to talk to you.

The first time he tried went very poorly.

He waltzed up to your locker, an entire speech prepared.

But he’s pretty sure he just ended up staring at you for three minutes straight.

“What?” You asked, looking confused and a bit terrified.

Eddie realized that he came over, leaned on the locker next to your’s, and did nothing.

Absolutely

fucking

nothing.

“Shit,” he blurted. You jumped. He hated himself. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to— um.”

As you looked up at him expectantly, realization crashed over him like a tidal wave.

You were too good. Too sweet, too beautiful, too kind.

And Eddie was Eddie. The Freak of the school. The Cult Leader. The Outcast.

You, a gentle wind carrying fallen leaves and stars through the sky, could only ever be a dream.

“I just wanted to know if you had notes I could borrow from last period?” he asked.

You frowned and turned to rummage in your locker. You handed him a page from your notebook. He took it and practically ran.

When he got home that night, to a trailer that would never smell like you or be warmed with you or echo with your laughter, he couldn’t do anything but sulk.

Wayne got over that very quickly.

“Son,” he said, “if this girl has you wrapped around her finger this tight already, then there’s no harm in tellin’ her how you feel.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“But what if she does?”

It was two weeks after that endeavor that he saw you again, your nose in a book and your eyes lighting up and your smile making his heart ache.

He thought of his vow and Wayne’s words and you — always you. And he was again resolved that he would talk to you. He just needed a little help.

He almost thought that he would never hear the end of it after he asked Dustin about you during lunch.

“How do you, Dustin Henderson, the boy who wears Weird Al t-shirts and thinks it’s cool, know her?”

“Weird Al is cool, and she used to be my babysitter.”

Gareth was the first to joke: “You wish she was your babysitter, huh?”

Then Jeff: “He wishes she was his anything.”

“Very clever,” Eddie said.

“The rebel and the babysitter,” Gareth joked, again. “You guys could be a John Hughes movie.”

Wheeler tried to have his fun, but Eddie promptly cut that off, “Shut up!”

But he thinks all of that may have been worth it because shit, you know his name.

Dustin was eager to help Eddie get to this point. To you. (“She’ll be yours in no time, Eddie. Just let me pull a few strings.”

“Okay, well. That makes it sound like you’re going to kidnap her.”

“If that’s what it comes to.”

“Ah. How comforting.”)

And you’re here, just like Dustin promised and how Eddie imagined. Dreamt. Fantasized.

The kid actually did it.

Eddie is definitely getting him a new D20 die for this.

Dustin shakes his head in disbelief. “You are especially grumpy tonight.”

“I am not.”

“Eddie, don’t you think she’s being grumpy?”

Dustin looks to him expectantly, his eyes widening as if to say, “Here’s your chance, man. I’m serving it to you on a silver platter. Take it!”

Take it!, Eddie thinks, nodding. Take it! What are you waiting for?

“I-I think the lady is being very reasonable,” he blurts, his voice shaking in and out of an embarrassingly terrible British accent.

He can’t believe he opened his mouth at all.

Why did he just say ‘the lady?’ Why did he put on an accent? Why did he think he was prepared for this? Why—

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say. “See? He gets it.”

A better question, he realizes, is why hasn’t he mustered the guts to speak to you before?

He’s opening his mouth again, bolder with your receptiveness, and he doesn’t know what comes over him when he says, much shakier than he intended, “Your pajamas are cute.”

You freeze, eyes boring into his. Your angry expression softens as you become flustered. Your lips twitch into a smile, your cheeks flush.

“O-Oh.” You look down at your outfit - your baggiest pants on with ‘Tears for Fears’ plastered across them. “Ha. Thanks.”

“I love them.”

“You do?”

No, Eddie does not love Tears for Fears. But he thinks he might be in love with you, so he will buy their album on his way home and try to love Tears for Fears.

“Hell yeah,” he lies, for now. “They rock.”

You smile and Eddie thinks his knees might give out.

You have gone over this moment a million times in your mind. How you would greet Eddie, talk to him, laugh at every one of his jokes. In your wildest dreams he would get down on one knee the minute you smiled at him, but that seemed a bit hasty.

Point is, you had this moment all planned out since your big fat crush on him started. Right down to the little details.

Clearly, as you stumble over every word and wring your fingers together, your planning was no use whatsoever.

“How was the, um, campaign?” You ask, so timid that you bite your tongue after in shame.

But he smiles so wide that his eyes crinkle and his dimples show, and suddenly you don’t think this is going too poorly.

“Really great,” he answers. “Better now,” he adds, and he wants to die because of it until you giggle at the corniness and now he wants to live just to make it happen again.

Dustin, on the other hand, wants to hurl.

“Okay,” Dustin interjects. “I’m glad my plan is going well, but I have a curfew and my mom will be irate if I don’t get home soon.”

“Plan? What plan—”

“Okay, let’s go!” Eddie jumps over a chair to get to you and ushers you out of the door. “Wouldn’t want Dustin to suffer the wrath of his mother. Or mine, really,” he muttered.

All of your questions fade away as Eddie’s hand rests on your lower back, guiding you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you to your car?” he says.

You nod. You try not to seem too disappointed when his hand falls from you.

You ask, “How’s your band coming along?”

“You know about Corroded Coffin?”

You giggle, again. “Of course I do. You guys rock as harder than Tears for Fears.”

Eddie can feel his heart beat all over his body.

“It’s going, um, fine. We only play for a few drunks, but it’s something.” His hands start trembling. “You should come see us, if you haven’t already. Tuesdays at—”

“At the Hideout,” you finish for him.

He huffs something akin to a laugh. He pushes open the door at the end of the hallway and you step outside.

“Make yourself known next time you come,” he says. “It would be nice to know there’s a pretty girl in the crowd cheering us on.”

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed. You smile at him, unable to form words much less string together a sentence.

He smiles widely back at you. You can feel his warmth from how close you’re standing. You can feel the toe of his shoe pressed to yours. You can hear the hitch in his breath and see the determination in his eyes.

He’s is about to say something when Dustin interjects,

“This is taking way longer than I thought it would. Can we please—”

“Dustin,” you bite, strident, cold, and suddenly sobered from your lovesick haze. “Remember that campaign when I Iured a demogorgan out of your estate, nearly jeopardizing my character?”

“You can’t use that every time—”

“How about that one when I fought evil Russians?”

“I don’t see the relevance of either of those—”

“Or when you made me race down here from the other side of town to give you a stupid ride?”

“Okay! Okay! I’m going. Jeez.”

“Henderson.” Eddie stops him. “You put evil Russians in a campaign?”

Dustin glares at you. “Yeah.” He lies through barred teeth.

You smirk, your skin heating with your smugness. Or maybe it’s because you can feel Eddie’s breath on your cheeks as he speaks.

“I thought I taught you better than that, young warrior.”

“I—”

“The car!” You urge.

“Fine!”

“More importantly,” Eddie continues, eyes flitting from Dustin’s retreating figure to you, “you play DnD?”

“I used to, but they don’t let me anymore.” You snort. “They didn’t love having to hold my hand through every step of the game, you know?”

“Not really,” he says. “I’d hold your hand every step of the way.”

You freeze, staring at him wide eyed. He stares back equally surprised at his words.

He knew he would say something to fuck this up eventually. That was too over the line.

He stands in front of you motionless, all of the blood drained from his face. This might be more embarrassing than any moment he’s had tonight, but he just can’t think. Especially not with you looking at him like you are.

“I should probably get home, too,” you say eventually. You stand there for a few moments, hoping he might say something else. When he doesn’t, you bid, “Well, goodnight, Eddie.”

There his name is again, making his stomach flutter and all the courage he has swell in his chest.

“Would you like to go out sometime?” The question escapes lips almost breathlessly as you’re turning away.

Your steps falter. Your breath catches in your throat.

“What?”

“I. . . Christ.” He laughs uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I want to take you out on a date.”

Eddie feels like he can breathe with the question off his chest. Now it’s all up to if you’re going to hate his guts after this or the impossible — you liking him back.

You smile, you actually fucking smile, and ask, “Do you actually want to take me out on a date or do you still claim Tears for Fears rocks?”

With a small groan, he drags his hands down his face. “Saw through that, did you?”

“Like glass.”

He shakes his head disparagingly and, with another breath of courage, steps closer to you. “I can dig Tears for Fears.”

“You can?”

“Sweetheart, I’d listen to nails on a chalkboard if it meant you’d give me a chance.”

He’s once again so close that if you leaned in just slightly, you could press your lips to his. You could pull him in by the collar and taste him. Feel him. Have him feel you.

But instead, you kiss him on the cheek. “Have their album memorized by Friday and I’ll consider it,” you say, sarcasm coating your words like honey.

He chuckles, a boyish delight bright in his eyes.

As you turn on your heel and walk toward your car, you hear him call, “I’ll pick you up Friday at 7!”

“6!” You call back as you climb behind the wheel. Dustin lets out a small, “Finally.”

Dustin is almost bouncing in the passenger seat when he asks, “Did he ask you out?”

A strangled sound of surprise escapes your lips. “Why would you ask that?”

“That was the whole reason I called you down here.”

A beat.

Then, “Your code red was Eddie?”

“Seriously, do I have to connect all of the dots for you?”

He rolls his eyes as you continue to stare at him, utterly perplexed.

“Eddie has had a crush on you since forever but he never had the guts to talk to you. Thus, my genius plan to get you to come to the drama room. Thus, your date.” He sighs. “Must I continue?”

You let his words sink in, your breaths shallow and your teeth worrying your bottom lip.

Holy shit.

“I’m like Cupid,” he says cheerily.

“I don’t think Cupid ever reveals his master plan, Dustin.” You laugh. “He also doesn’t make me run around school when I could be home watching TV.”

“Well, he just got you a date, which is much better than any Family Ties rerun.”

Eddie waves at you as you drive out of the parking lot, a smile brighter than the moon igniting one of your own.

“Yeah,” you say dreamily. “I guess so.”

You are so getting Dustin a milkshake on the way home.

Eddie Munson taglist: @chickpeadumpsterfire @luvslogan (having a taglist is insane!! I feel so cool. Thank you for reading 💗!)

[ YOU ARE A HERO ]

•Tony Stark would want you to become your own legacy.

•Peter Parker would want you to be better. There’s a hero in all of us that keeps us honest, gives us strength, and makes us noble.

•Steve Rogers would want you to stand up for what you believe in. Your opinions matter. Don’t let anyone tell you other wise. 

•Logan would want you to write your own story. You don’t have to be what they made you. You have the power to make your own choices.

•Wade Wilson would want you to be happy. It is okay to laugh. It is okay to smile. Don’t let the world take away your happiness. 

•Bucky Barnes would want you to move forward. Your past does not define you. Your decisions do not determine who you are; your actions do.

•Matt Murdock would want you to know that the important things in life cannot be seen. What is essential is invisible to the eye.

•Jessica Jones would want you to be strong. Never doubt your strength or power.

•Frank Castle would want you to seek out the truth. The truth cannot be long hidden; you must reach out for it.

•Clint Barton would want you to protect the ones you love. The people you care about make life worth living.

•Bruce Banner would want you to learn from your mistakes. It is our mistakes that shape who we are.

•Bruce Wayne would want you to fight for justice. You have the power to make an impact.

•Barry Allen would want you to face your problems; not run away from them.

•Diana Prince would want you to be resilient and empowering. You are the love that will change the world.

the concept of how sir arthur conan doyle was as a person always sends me into fits. imagine making the most famous literary character of all time but you hate the character so much you try to kill him off. but everyone is so horny for this asshole detective they make you bring him back. even your own mother gets mad when he’s dead because she likes him. raising your prices to ridiculous rates to avoid writing holmes stories backfired and now you’re rich. it’s absolutely a pain because it’s keeping you from your true passion which is spiritualism despite how one of your good friends harry houdini keeps telling you it’s bullshit. you consider your best novels to be historical ones but they’re well over shadowed by the nemesis of your own creation sherlock fucking holmes. some fake photographs from some kids convinced you faeries were real and you wrote a whole book about it. you started writing stories in medical school. and yes, also you are a doctor. after you’re dead, they erect a statue of sherlock holmes across the street from your birthplace, causing you to probably roll over one hundred eighty degrees in your grave and scream into your casket pillow.