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‘10 Things I Hate About Munson’
.☘︎ ݁˖ synopsis: Mike has a crush on Eleven, but she can't date him until her blunt, hardheaded, spit fire sister gets a boyfriend. So, why doesn't he help her out?
A hate to love to hate to love again story where Mike gets Steve to pay Eddie "the freak" Munson to date
pairing: best man!bucky barnes x maid of honor!reader | 4.8k
warnings: wedding shenanigans, lots of fluff, meddling!steve, one clipboard-induced stress spiral, mentions of alcohol, cheesy flirting, one suggestive line or two, absolutely zero chill on the dance floor
summary: you’re hell-bent on running your best friend’s wedding like a military operation. no distractions, no drama, and absolutely no falling for the groom’s best man. bucky barnes takes one look at the stressed maid of honor, hijacks the mic to ask the dj to “play a song for this pretty little lady,” and spends the night smooth-talking you out of your clipboard and into falling for him on the dance floor.
authors note: i don't know what to say about this fic. it came to me one day while listening to this song and i thought it would be so adorable to play out. i love it and i hope you do too!
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You realize the centerpieces are crooked at exactly 12:28 p.m.
Which is ridiculous, because you personally measured the distance from each vase to the edge of every single table last night. But there it is anyway—table eight, an inch off, leaning just enough that you can feel it from across the reception hall.
“I’m going to die,” you mutter, more to the universe than anyone else.
“Not before I get married, you’re not.”
You glance up to find Steve standing there in his dress shirt and slacks, tie hanging open around his neck, hair still damp from his shower. He’s supposed to be upstairs getting ready for photos. Instead, he’s wandered down to watch you spiral.
“Why are you here?” You hiss, flapping your clipboard at him. “You’re not allowed to see the chairs before the ceremony, it’s bad luck—”
“That’s not a thing,” he laughs, stepping around a folding ladder. “You made that up yesterday.”
“I stand by it,” you say, already speed-walking toward table eight. “Go away, groom. I have crooked hydrangeas.”
“Yes, and I have a best man you still haven’t met.”
You freeze for a fraction of a second before forcing your eyes to stay glued to the vase you’re rotating by—yep—one stupid inch.
“We’re not doing this,” you say, a little too fast.
“We are absolutely doing this,” Steve counters. “You like charming idiots with big hearts. That’s literally my entire personality and you adopted me in college.”
You squint at him over the flowers. “You were a stray in need of coffee and lecture notes. Don’t romanticize it.”
He grins, wide and hopelessly in love with the world this week. “He’s funny. And hot. And he thinks I’m a moron for trying to set him up at my own wedding, which, okay, fair. But it would break my heart if you spent the entire night running around instead of dancing with somebody who looks at you like you hung the damn moon.”
“I have to make sure this goes perfectly,” you say, markering a tiny check next to centerpieces on your color-coded list. “I promised Nat. She’s already stressed. If I’m not on top of it, who will be?”
“I hired staff,” Steve reminds you, gesturing toward the catering team. “They will be. That’s literally their whole thing.”
You ignore him and flip to the next page of your checklist. Lighting. Cake delivery. DJ arrival. Emergency sewing kit—
“Are you at least going to let him say hi?” Steve asks, softer now. “You’ve been dodging my texts about him for weeks.”
“I have not.”
He lifts his phone, scrolls, and starts reading. “And I quote: ‘lol no I’m busy.’ ‘Men are a scam.’ And my personal favorite, ‘if your best man is anything like you, I’m going to lose it and we’ll all die alone, thank you, next—’”
“Okay,” you cut in, cheeks heating. “First of all, that was clearly a reference. Second of all, you’re supposed to be getting married in”—you check your watch—“two hours and you’re harassing the maid of honor instead of… warming up? Meditating? Writing your vows?”
He pats his breast pocket. “Vows are done. I wrote them last week because unlike someone, I am not a chaos goblin.”
You glare at him.
He grins wider. “Just meet him. That’s all I’m asking. I want my two favorite people in one room.”
“We’re in one room right now.”
“I want my two favorite people who aren’t marrying me in one room,” he amends.
“That’s a suspiciously romantic thing to say on your wedding day.”
“Shut up and let me live.”
You sigh, knowing you’re losing this battle. You always do. Steve weaponizes his puppy eyes and you crumble like day-old cake.
“Fine,” you grumble. “You can introduce us. Briefly. But if he distracts me and the cake collapses, that’s on you.”
“Deal.” Steve leans over, presses a quick kiss to your temple, and starts backing away. “You’re gonna love him.”
“I didn’t say I’d like him,” you call after him. “I said I’d meet him.”
“Same thing!” he yells, already halfway out the door.
You roll your eyes so hard it gives you a minor headache, then turn back to your list.
You have a ceremony to run. You do not have time for some guy with nice eyes and a stupid smile just because your best friend thinks you’ll hit it off.
You definitely don’t have time to fall in love on the dance floor.
Bucky is late, which is not his fault.
Technically.
He blames the traffic, the parking situation, and the fact that Sam insisted on stopping for coffee and then took one sip and decided it “tasted like sorrow” and sent Bucky back to get him another one.
By the time he makes it into the side entrance of the hall, Steve is waiting with his arms crossed and his “I’m trying not to be mad because I love you” face on full display.
“You’re late,” Steve says, unnecessarily.
“I brought coffee,” Bucky offers, holding up the cardboard tray like a peace offering.
“That doesn’t—actually, give me one.” Steve snatches a cup. “Nat will kill us if we’re sluggish in the photos.”
“She’ll kill you,” Bucky says. “I’m a guest.”
“You’re the best man,” Steve protests. “And speaking of. I tried to introduce you earlier, but she escaped.”
“Who?” Bucky asks, distracted by the way the reception hall looks like a Pinterest board exploded in here. Fairy lights twinkle from every beam. The tables are set with blush linens and white hydrangeas. There are tiny handwritten name cards at each seat, each one in the same neat script.
Someone has been working their ass off.
“My maid of honor,” Steve says. “Well. Nat’s maid of honor. My best friend. The one I’ve been telling you about for, like, months? The one whose texts you keep asking me to screenshot?”
“I do not—”
Steve arches a brow.
Bucky sighs. “Okay, I asked once.”
“You asked three times and sent a heart emoji.”
“Those are lies.”
Steve pats his shoulder. “Look, just… don’t let her stay glued to a clipboard all night, okay? She’s been planning this thing like it’s a UN summit. If anyone can distract her long enough to have fun, it’s you.”
Bucky smirks. “Is that your way of saying I’m charming?”
“It’s my way of saying you won’t shut up,” Steve says. “Use your powers for good.”
“Okay, okay.” Bucky holds up his hands. “Point me in the direction of our overworked maid of honor and I’ll work my magic.”
“She’s probably backstage threatening the florist,” Steve says fondly. “You’ll know her when you see her.”
He’s right.
Bucky follows the soft hum of chaos to the far side of the hall, and there you are—commanding the staff like a tiny general in a pastel dress.
You’re juggling a headset and a clipboard and a roll of tape, your brows furrowed in concentration as you direct a pair of servers toward the cake table.
“No, not there, that’s for the toasts,” you say. “We need the sweetheart table visible from the door so they don’t miss the grand entrance. Yes. Perfect. Thank you. No one touches the cake without telling me, okay? If it leans even a little, I will cry.”
Your voice wobbles just enough on the last word that Bucky feels it in his chest.
You look… frazzled. Gorgeous, obviously—your dress hugs you in all the right places, and there’s a tiny streak of flour or maybe dust across your forearm from hauling something earlier. Loose strands of hair frame your face, escaping whatever style you tried for this morning.
You look like you care so much it hurts.
Bucky’s screwed.
He waits until the servers are out of earshot before stepping up beside you.
“Ma’am,” he says, pitching his voice smooth, “I’m gonna have to ask you to step away from the cake.”
You jump so violently you nearly drop your clipboard. “Oh my God—”
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he adds quickly, hands up. “Though, for the record, if anyone’s going to make it lean, it won’t be the cake.”
You blink up at him, eyes wide, taking him in. You do a quick scan—suit, tie in the wedding colors, boutonniere—before your gaze flicks to his face.
He can’t help it; he smiles.
You swallow. “I know you?”
“James Barnes,” he says, offering a hand. “Bucky. Best man, chronic menace, occasional savior. You must be the legendary maid of honor.”
There’s a flash of recognition in your eyes. “Steve’s Bucky?”
“I’d like to think I’m my own person,” he says, “but yeah. That’s me.”
You take his hand and shake, your grip firm despite the tremble in your fingers. “I’m… yeah. I’m me.”
He laughs. “You have a name, me?”
You exhale, cheeks flushing. “Sorry,” you tell him your name, and it clicks into place like it was always supposed to sit on his tongue.
“Nice to finally meet you,” he says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Your eyes narrow. “If he told you about the incident with the chocolate fountain, it was an accident.”
“I feel like I need more context,” Bucky says. “But we can circle back. I was sent here with a mission.”
You glance warily at his empty hands. “Does it involve a fire extinguisher?”
“It involves you,” he corrects. “And dancing. And the promise that if I don’t get you on that dance floor tonight, Steve will never forgive me.”
You snort. “He’s supposed to be thinking about his bride, not my social life.”
“He says he wants you to have fun,” Bucky replies. “Apparently you’ve turned wedding planning into a full-contact sport.”
Your gaze slides down to your list. “Someone has to keep things moving.”
“Sure,” he says lightly. “But maybe that someone could also move to the beat later. Just a little. For morale.”
You look at him like he’s slightly insane.
“Do you have any idea how many things can go wrong at a wedding?” you ask. “The florist could be late. The officiant could mispronounce their names. The DJ could forget the playlist. The ring bearer could swallow a ring. The cake—”
“—could lean,” he supplies, gesturing toward it. “I’ve been fully briefed on the cake situation.”
You shake your head. “If I don’t stay on top of it, Nat will worry. If Nat worries, Steve worries. If Steve worries, he’ll make that face—”
Bucky mimics Steve’s concerned eyebrows and you huff out a laugh despite yourself.
“Exactly,” you say. “So no. No dancing for me. I’ll be over there making sure the bartender doesn’t serve tequila to the flower girl’s dad before the ceremony.”
“That sounds like a terrible time,” he comments. “For you, anyway. The flower girl’s dad is probably thrilled.”
“Welcome to weddings,” you say, already turning away. “Nice to meet you, Bucky.”
He watches you march off, headset crackling as you switch it on.
“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “You too.”
The ceremony goes off without a hitch.
You watch from the side of the gazebo, heart swelling as Nat walks down the aisle, radiant in lace and soft tulle. Steve’s eyes are suspiciously shiny; Bucky claps him on the back, whispering something that makes him laugh through his nerves.
You don’t cry.
Much.
Once the last of the guests files back toward the hall, the real chaos begins.
You’re everywhere at once—coordinating the transition from cocktail hour to reception, cueing the DJ, wrangling the bridal party for photos, smoothing down Nat’s veil when it catches on a shrub. Your feet ache in your heels by the time the guests start filtering into the reception hall, dazzled by the lights and the flicker of candles.
The playlist starts up soft and romantic. You hover near the DJ booth, triple-checking the order of songs, the timing of the first dance, the father-daughter dance, the bouquet toss—
“You know, most people only do one job at a time,” a familiar voice says behind you.
You turn to find Bucky leaning against a support beam, tie slightly loosened now, jacket off, dress shirt sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms. His boutonniere is still hanging on for dear life.
You try very hard not to stare.
“Most people don’t give me a free pass to micromanage,” you say. “I’m making the most of it.”
“And how many items have you checked off that list so far?” he asks, nodding toward your clipboard.
You glance down. Half the page is already covered in little triumphant checkmarks, but there are still more lines below.
“Some,” you say evasively.
He tuts. “That’s not a number I recognize.”
“Are you a math teacher now?”
“I’m flexible,” he says. “I can be whatever you need. Best man, dance partner, human distraction from your stress spiral—”
“I’m not spiraling,” you protest.
“You’re vibrating,” he counters.
You open your mouth to argue, but at that moment the DJ calls everyone’s attention for the grand entrance. You’re swept up in the choreography of it—lining the bridal party up, whispering last-second instructions, cueing the music. When Steve and Nat finally burst through the doors to applause and cheers, your chest fills like someone opened a window.
This is why you do it. The joy. The love. The moment everything works.
The first dance follows, then the parents’ dances, then dinner. You weave through the room, checking on guests, troubleshooting minor crises (someone’s zipper broke, a centerpiece holder wobbled, a cousin got teary and needed extra napkins).
Every time you glance toward the head table, Bucky is already looking at you.
He winks once. It throws you off enough that you nearly walk into a waiter.
Later, during the toasts, you finally stand still.
You squeeze Nat’s hand before taking the mic, your speech folded and refolded in your palm. Your voice wavers at first, but it gains strength as you talk about late-night study sessions that became friendship, about the way Nat lit up when she talked about Steve, about how she deserves the world and somehow found a man determined to give it to her.
“And lastly,” you say, blinking away tears, “I promise to stop calling you at two a.m. to stress about napkin colors. You’re married now. You’re free.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
You blow them a kiss and hand the mic off to Bucky.
He’s a smooth talker, Steve had said.
You believe it the second he opens his mouth.
Bucky’s speech is equal parts chaotic and heartfelt. He tells stories about Steve’s terrible haircut phase, about the time he broke his nose trying to impress Nat with a skateboard trick, about how he’d never seen his best friend look more terrified and more sure than when he’d bought the ring.
“And as for Nat,” Bucky says, glancing your way just long enough to make your stomach flip, “I knew she was a keeper when she dragged Steve into a craft store and somehow walked out with a full-scale mood board and a color palette in under twenty minutes. Anyone who can wrangle him and plan all this?” He gestures around. “She’s a superhero. And her maid of honor…” His gaze lingers. “Well. Let’s just say she’s a miracle worker.”
You pretend you’re very interested in the tablecloth to hide the way your cheeks burn.
“To Nat and Steve,” Bucky finishes, raising his glass. “May your lives be as full of love as your Pinterest boards. Cheers.”
He’s funny. Charming. Completely at ease with a microphone in his hand and a hundred eyes on him.
It’s… a problem.
You’re still trying to get your heart rate back under control when the DJ announces the dance floor is open.
You instinctively check your list.
Everything necessary is done. Dinner served. Speeches given. Cake-cutting scheduled. Only the fun stuff remains.
Your pen hovers over the last unchecked line.
Dance.
You hesitate.
A warm presence at your elbow startles you.
“Moment of truth,” Bucky says.
You look up. He’s holding out a hand, his expression soft but determined.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “You’ve earned at least one dance.”
You shake your head, the old anxiety flaring. “I should stay available. In case something goes wrong. The DJ might mess up the next song or the—”
“I think he’s got it,” Bucky says.
You glance toward the booth. The DJ flashes you a thumbs-up.
Traitor.
“I really—”
“Tell you what,” Bucky interrupts. “Give me five minutes. If you hate it, I’ll help you patrol the rest of the night. I’ll be your co-commander-in-chief of wedding security. I’ll even confiscate suspicious champagne flutes.”
You chew your lip, torn.
On the dance floor, Nat catches your eye and makes an exaggerated go motion with both hands, her grin wicked.
Of course she’s in on this.
“Fine,” you sigh, more to yourself than to him. “Five minutes.”
Bucky’s smile could light the fairy lights all on its own.
He takes your clipboard gently from your hands, sets it on the DJ’s table, then twines his fingers with yours and leads you onto the dance floor.
You feel exposed. Untethered without your checklist. The music thumps through the speakers, a bright, upbeat track that has guests spilling onto the floor in couples and groups. Bucky pulls you into the edge of the crowd, close enough that you can smell his cologne—warm and clean, with a hint of something you can’t name.
“Relax,” he says softly, one hand settling at your waist. “No one’s watching you.”
You snort. “That’s objectively untrue. Nat is absolutely watching me.”
“Nat is busy making heart eyes at her husband,” he counters. “Trust me. I’ve known Steve since we were kids. When he looks at someone like that, the rest of the world disappears.”
You follow his gaze and see it—Steve and Nat wrapped up in each other, swaying in a bubble of their own making.
Your chest aches.
“See?” Bucky murmurs. “They’re good. You did good. The whole night is beautiful because of you.”
“Because of them,” you correct weakly.
“Because of you too,” he insists.
His hand squeezes your waist, guiding you into the rhythm. At first your steps are stiff, your brain still half on the logistics of cake-cutting and sparkler send-offs.
But Bucky is… easy.
He jokes about the guy at table four who’s already loosened his tie and is attempting to moonwalk. He spins you clumsily at one point and almost gets elbowed in the ribs by a toddler, laughing it off in a way that makes you laugh too. Little by little, the knot in your stomach starts to unwind.
“You’re good at this,” you admit over the music.
“Dancing?” He shrugs. “I’ve been known to bust a move.”
“Distracting people,” you say. “I haven’t thought about the cake in five minutes. That’s unprecedented.”
He beams. “High praise.”
A slower song fades out, replaced by something with a bright, familiar beat. The DJ starts to segue into another generic wedding track, but Bucky suddenly squeezes your hand.
“Be right back,” he says. “Don’t move.”
He disappears into the crowd before you can question it, weaving through the dancers like he was born on a dance floor. You watch him head straight for the DJ booth, lean in to say something. The DJ nods, scrolls through his system, and then—
A new song starts.
The opening groove hits, funky and smooth, and your heart does a silly little flip because you know this one. Of course you do. It’s Bruno. It’s bright and cocky and joyful, the kind of song that drags even the shyest person out of their seat.
You blink as Bucky takes the spare mic from the DJ with an ease that should not be allowed.
He turns back toward the crowd, eyes finding you immediately.
“Hey, Mr. DJ,” he says, voice echoing through the speakers, “play something for this pretty lady right here.”
Your jaw drops.
Heads turn. People start cheering and whistling, looking between you and Bucky like they’ve stumbled into the climax of a rom-com.
Your face goes nuclear.
“Oh my God,” you mumble, covering it with your hands.
“Too much, maybe?” the DJ asks Bucky with a grin.
“Just enough,” Bucky replies, handing the mic back. He drops off the little platform and cuts through the crowd again, all confidence and swagger and barely-contained excitement.
You’re torn between tackling him and fleeing the building.
He stops in front of you, slightly breathless, and bows at the waist like you’re royalty.
“May I have this dance?” he asks, eyes dancing.
“You are ridiculous,” you tell him, even as you slide your hands up to his shoulders.
“Ridiculously charming,” he says. “Ridiculously handsome. Ridiculously into the maid of honor who hasn’t taken a break all day—”
“You’ve known me for five minutes.”
“Longest five minutes of my life,” he deadpans. “I’m already in too deep.”
You laugh, the sound bubbling out of you without permission. The last of your resistance cracks.
“Fine,” you say. “But if I trip, you’re going down with me.”
“Deal.”
He pulls you closer as the song kicks in properly, the beat infectious. You let it take over, letting your hips move, letting your body loosen. Bucky matches you step for step, not crowding you but not holding back either.
It feels easy.
You spin under his arm, your dress flaring. He steadies you with a hand at the small of your back, his touch gentle but firm. Heat flares under your skin in a way that has nothing to do with the packed dance floor.
He leans in, his lips close to your ear.
“You look happier when you’re not clutching a clipboard,” he murmurs.
“You’re very obsessed with my clipboard,” you mutter back.
“I’m obsessed with the girl hiding behind it,” he corrects softly.
Your breath catches.
“That’s a strong word, Barnes,” you manage.
“Yeah, well,” he says, spinning you again, catching you easily as you come back to him. “I’m thinking big tonight.”
You look up at him, really look. At the laugh lines near his eyes. At the easy curve of his mouth. At the way he watches you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room, like he’s trying to memorize every expression you make.
Your heart does that weird, traitorous squeeze.
You just might be in trouble.
The song shifts into another, just as upbeat. You don’t notice the transition. Time blurs into a loop of laughter and motion and warmth.
At some point, Steve and Nat join in, dancing near you. Nat bumps your hip, eyebrows raised halfway to her hairline.
“Having fun?” she mouths.
You roll your eyes and nod, unable to stop smiling.
“Thank you,” Steve says quietly when he spins past, his eyes flicking between you and Bucky.
You don’t have to ask what he means.
You’ll thank him later. Probably. If you survive this night without combusting.
Bucky keeps you out there for song after song, give and take. When you start to flag, he guides you to the edge of the floor, snagging a couple of waters from a passing server.
“Hydrate, boss,” he says, pressing a bottle into your hand.
“Are you mocking my leadership style?” you ask, bumping his shoulder with yours.
“Never,” he says. “I’m fully prepared to follow your every order. Within reason.”
“Within reason,” you repeat, amused. “Can I order you to stop flirting?”
“No,” he says. “That’s against my religion.”
You snort water up your nose.
He looks absurdly pleased with himself.
You glance back toward the hall. Everything is still running smoothly. Guests are dancing or laughing at their tables. The cake is intact. The DJ is in his element. Nat and Steve are wrapped up in each other, lost in their own orbit.
No disasters. No fires to put out.
For the first time since this whole thing started, you let yourself believe that maybe… you did it.
Maybe it’s okay to let go.
“Hey,” Bucky says suddenly, more serious. “Can I ask you something?”
You turn back to him, curious. “Sure.”
“Is this why you don’t dance at weddings?” he asks. “Because you’re busy taking care of everyone else?”
You open your mouth to answer with a joke, but the words get stuck somewhere behind your teeth.
You look down at the bottle in your hands, twisting the cap.
“I like control,” you admit after a moment. “I like knowing everything’s going to go the way it’s supposed to. Dancing is… the opposite of that. It’s messy. Unstructured.”
“Fun,” he adds gently.
“Terrifying,” you correct.
He’s quiet for a beat.
“Can I make a confession?” he says.
“Is it about how you hijacked the microphone?” you ask. “We’re absolutely talking about that.”
He chuckles. “That too. But, uh. I had this picture in my head before I even met you.”
You look up, startled. “What?”
“Steve talks about you like you hung the stars,” Bucky says, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ve seen photos, sure, but it’s not the same. I started imagining it, I guess. What it would be like to see you at this wedding. In some ridiculous dress, frowning over a clipboard. What it would take to get you to look at me instead of your list.”
Your chest tightens.
“And?” you ask softly.
“And the second I walked in and saw you bossing people around with tape on your arm, I thought… yeah. That’s her. That’s the girl I just might fall for if I’m not careful.”
Your heart stutters.
“Bucky,” you say, barely a whisper.
He holds up both hands, half-grin, half-plea. “I know, I know. It’s fast. It’s insane. We’ve known each other for, what, six hours? But I can’t remember the last time someone made me want to risk getting in trouble with the DJ just to see them smile.”
You stare at him, the edges of the world going soft and blurry. The music, the chatter, the clink of glasses—it all fades into the background.
“I don’t do this,” you tell him honestly. “I don’t meet guys at weddings and… I don’t know. Just might fall for them on the dance floor.”
He leans in, close enough that you can count his eyelashes.
“Then we’re both brand new at this,” he murmurs. “Kinda exciting, don’t you think?”
You exhale, a shaky little laugh. “Terrifying,” you repeat.
“Maybe both,” he says. “We could figure it out. Slowly. After tonight. Coffee. Dinner. Screaming into the void together when someone uses Comic Sans on an invitation—”
“I would never—”
“I know,” he says quickly. “That’s why I like you.”
You bite your lip, fighting a losing battle.
You think of all the times you’ve stayed on the sidelines, safe and in control, watching other people dance. Other people fall. Other people risk looking stupid and getting hurt and being happy.
You think of Steve, eyes shining at Nat at the end of the aisle. Of the way your heart swelled and ached all at once.
You think of the way Bucky looked at you when he said that’s the girl I just might fall for.
Maybe tonight is the night you leave your clipboard on the table.
“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds. “Ask me again.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You heard me,” you say, nudging him toward the dance floor. “Ask me again, properly. No microphones. No theatrics.”
His eyes soften. He steps closer, one hand finding yours, fingers threading together.
“Can I have this dance?” he asks.
You smile.
“Yes,” you say. “You just might.”
He grins like you handed him the moon.
He pulls you back onto the dance floor, into the crush of bodies and music and light. This time, when his hand settles at your waist, you don’t think about the cake or the playlist or the potential for disaster.
You think about the way his thumb strokes absent-minded circles against your dress.
You think about tomorrow, and next week, and the electric possibility of more.
You let the music carry you, let your body sway against his, let your brain go blessedly quiet.
You let yourself fall—not all the way, not yet. Just a little.
Just enough.
Later, when the night winds down and the guests drift away, when the last sparkler fizzles out and Nat and Steve disappear into their getaway car, you’ll find your clipboard waiting on the DJ’s table, untouched.
A new line will be scribbled at the bottom in unfamiliar handwriting.
Dance with Bucky again.
You’ll glance up to find him leaning in the doorway, tie gone, shirt sleeves rolled, hair a little mussed from hours on the dance floor.
“So,” he’ll say, pushing off the frame. “How about an after party? There’s this little diner down the road. I hear their milkshakes are life-changing.”
You’ll look at the list, then at him.
And you’ll realize you don’t need a checkmark for this one.
Just re read chapter one and two of ‘10 Things I Hate About Munson’… and i’m not gonna lie the first chapter was ass!!
So, the first thing I’m gonna do when I get motivation is re write it! because compared to the second chapter (probably my favorite) it seems like straight SHIT
Sorry for not posting as much as I did I was on a cruise and had no access to internet sooo…
I don’t know if this counts as a hiatus but recently I’ve haven’t gotten ANY ideas for the new chapter. And i know Im gonna have to worry about school work for a while so I honestly don’t know when I’m gonna get back to writing.
hopefully I get ideas for the next chapter soon, I have to re read my stuff (ew) and I’ll try to get back to writing as soon as possible !! (once I attempt to fix my grades)
Unpopular opinion, but Bucky would not call you "doll."
The petname is cute and all, but I firmly believe Bucky, especially Bucky now, would not call you "doll." 40's Bucky, maybe, but post Winter Soldier Bucky? Not a chance.
No, no, current Bucky, he'd pull out rare, but sweet and gentle petnames. He would normally call you by your name, or a different version of it that only you allow him to call you- but no, never "doll."
Not "doll," but you could be ranting about an interest of yours, maybe you slowed your talking, thinking no one was really listening. And Bucky would tap your cheek just once, mumbling, "and what else, sweetheart?"
Not "doll," but you could call his name, just to get his attention for something you may need help with- or even just asking him a question. And Bucky will immediately respond with, "yes, my love?"
Not "doll," but he'll occasionally replace your name with "baby" just to get your immediate attention. Sometimes you zone out, and even your own name falls deaf upon your ears, no matter who may be calling your name. But when you hear the soft, yet gruff, "hey, baby?" he knows he has your attention.
Bucky wont call you "doll," it feels foreign on his tongue. He cycled through many different petnames, trying to figure out which felt best out of his mouth, and figuring out which ones he felt suited your face.
But, by far, the one Bucky rarely ever calls you, but his absolute favorite, because it just fits you so well in his mind. Its one he only really uses when he knows you need a verbal reassurance, one he only uses when he knows you've had a rough day, one he knows you melt upon hearing. You'll hear something like; "You okay, Angel?"
.☘︎ ݁˖ Synopsis: Mike has a crush on Eleven, but she can't date him until her blunt, hardheaded, spit fire sister gets a boyfriend. So, why doesn't he help her out?
A hate to love to hate to love again story where Mike gets Steve to pay Eddie "the freak" Munson to date
Hopper! reader. What could go wrong?
‧₊˚♪𝄞₊˚⊹
A/N: Woah 3,225 words?! That's crazy to me! Also I did try to sneak in the fact you still think about Hoppers first child aka your first sisters death. In the future I do want to explore more into that tbh, hope I improve enough to do that plot some justice when it comes to it. Also sorry for the slow updates I've just been getting so off track I'm really sorry I made yall wait this long🙁 Anyways, I hope you Like it!!!
Also follow me on @SantiTheGooner on Wattpad and Tiktok
(also @Santithegooner_ on insta!!)
Word Count: 3.2k
Series Master List
Mike felt his whole heart shatter.
When Jane broke the news to him he felt like she locked him out of heaven and threw away the keys. And all because of what? A stupid rule her crazy father made up to keep her from growing up and exploring adolescence? I mean, who would date that psychopath Jane calls her sister?
The group ate lunch outside this time. Dustin and Lucas tried to cheer him up while they sat on a bench by the soccer field, but he wasn’t listening.
“Come on man, I’m sure there are lots of guys who would be willing to date your girlfriend's sister!" Lucas smiles resting his hand on Mike’s shoulder. “I mean, if people jump from airplanes or eat bugs then I’m sure someone would date your girlfriend’s sister.”
Dustin nods, “Yeah! Think of it as, uh, extreme dating!” Mike straightened his slouched back, the two boys noticed a little spark of hope in his eyes.
“You think so?” Mike mutters, looking at both his friends.
“Yeah man, I’m sure if we ask around we’ll find someone who at least would date her for her looks, come on!” Dustin says, standing up, “I have a plan”.
The trio first asked the hippie kids, they said she’s too aggressive. Then they asked the choir kids, they said her voice was too annoying. Then they asked the nerd boys, they said she’s not nerdy enough. As a last resort, they asked the jocks. But, before the boys could finish saying your name they laughed straight to their.
Defeated, Dustin goes to his third period class, science.
𝄞⨾💿✮˚.⋆
“So, you’re telling me you’re trying to convince someone to go out with Jane’s sister? And it's because their dad won’t allow Jane to date Mike until her sister gets a date?” Will questions as the duo sit down in their assigned lab chairs, “but no one will date them because they’re ‘crazy’?” Will adds making imaginary quotes with his fingers.
“Yes!” Dustin nods, putting on his lab coat and goggles
“Well, what about Munson?” Will asked. Eddie Munson, known as the ‘freak’ of Hawkins was the opposite of a regular student. His wild hair, love for D&D, and the fact he's a not so secret drug dealer does not help him fit in. Especially in the standards of an average student that attends Hawkins high.
Dustin raises a brow, “Eddie? No way! look man, he’s my friend in all but I heard he bit a live bat’s head clean off, like Ozzy Osbourne style. I don’t think girls would be into that,” Will scoffs. “I'm being serious! He may be my friend, but even I can’t tell if the rumors are fake or not, when I asked, he sat there and smiled! He smiled!” Will sighs, standing up Will starts to make his way towards Eddie. Who was trying to light up a cigarette using the fire from a Bunsen burner the science teacher let them use.
“Hey, Eddie-" Will greets, fidgeting with his fingers out of nervousness. Eddie raises a brow, his brown eyes boring into Will’s hazel one’s. “Never mind” more embarrassed than scared, Will sat back down head hung low.
“So, you’re telling me you’re going to try to set up Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson with the most stuck-up girl in school?” Mike says in disbelief as he grabs his things out of his locker, “How would we even get them to be in the same room as each other? Let alone date.”
“We could always pay him,” Dustin shrugs
Will sighs, “Yeah? With what money?”
Lucas snaps his eyebrows raised in excitement, “What we need is a backer.” The trio of boys looks at Lucas with a raised brow, the dark-skinned boy rolls his eyes, “someone with money. It means someone dumb with lots of money.”
Dustin smirks, “I know the perfect guy.” The group glances at a familiar Farrah Fawcett hairspray-wearing boy. Who was talking to his good friend Robin a few feet away.
“Hey Steve! Can you do us a big favor? I mean, like a huge favor!” Dustin grins, walking up to Steve. The boy rolls his eyes as Robin giggles.
“Steve, I didn’t know you had kids!” she teases. Steve rolls his eyes at the girl’s comment, “What do you want, Henderson?”
Dustin chuckles as he leans against Steve’s locker. Dustin was hoping to seem less nervous and more 'cool', “Well, what if I told you that I need you to pay my friend Eddie around..." Dustin trails off trying to think of a reasonable price. "Let’s say around, $25 so he can date Jane’s sister so Jane can date Mike would you be willing to do it?”
A moment of silence passes.
“No,” Steve shrugs.
“No?! Come on Steve, this is for a good cause! I mean, aren’t you rich!” Dustin throws his hands in the air in disbelief.
“Hey, come on, don’t you love playing matchmaker! We have nothing else to do anyways!” Robin butts in, nudging Steve’s shoulder.
Steve crosses his arms, “First, I never said I loved- or even liked playing matchmaker. Second, I have better things to do with my time. And third, good cause my ass!” Robin scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I mean, this ‘cause’ only benefits Mike! And if he wants to date someone so bad, then why doesn’t he date some other desperate chick!”
Mike crosses his arms. He knew this plan was bullshit. “She’s not some desperate chick!” Before he could protest more his eyes light up, almost like a light bulb that had turned on.
Mike had an idea.
“You know her dad is Chief Jim Hopper, right?” Steve raises a brow and nods, telling the boy to continue, “well that man is a huge drinker, and a smoker too! I will ask Jane to smuggle her daddy’s little supply, and boom!” Mike exclaims making dramatic gestures with his hands.
“Free smokes and alcohol for life! Jane wanted her dad to quit, anyway. So it's a win win situation!" Robin looks at Steve a smirk threatening to show on her face.
Rolling his eyes, “ok fine, do I have to pay him now?” All four boys nod in unison.
𝄞⨾💿✮˚.⋆
Steve and Eddie weren’t friends. If you asked Steve, he’d say he disliked the boy. But beer is beer, and he could go for a free cigarette.
Steve spots Eddie sitting on the hood of his car in the school’s parking lot, smoking what Steve can assume is a blunt.
“Hey, Eddie,” Steve says, placing himself right next to Eddie. Eddie glances at Steve, eyes full of confusion.
“Well! Didn’t think I’d see the day the great King Steve would be buying from a druggie like me! What do you want, princess?” The wild-haired boy exclaims, throwing his arms around Steve. Usually, Steve would call him a idiot and push his arms off him, but today he was craving some free cigs.
“Yeah, and you will never- and don’t call me that. I’m here because I have a proposition for you.” Eddie’s eyebrow raises.
“proposition?” Eddie repeats, “What is it?”
“Y’know Jane’s sister, the crazy one, daughter of Chief Jim Hopper, right?” Eddie nods, taking a puff of his blunt. “Well, I need you to go out with her,” Eddie scoffs, “In your dreams, Harrington.”
Steve sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Look man, this kid I babysit. Mike- he- he loves this girl, and she can’t date unless her sister does. I guess it’s some stupid rule their whacked out dad made up-, kinda like a Romeo and Juliet kind of situation. But, I don’t wanna deal with him moping and-“
Eddie puts out his blunt, a stupid smirk plastered on his face. “Such a touching story, Harrington!” the wild-haired boy leans in, “But, how is that my problem?”
Steve pauses for a moment before he smirks, “What if I make it your problem?” the fluffy haired boy pulls out a crisp $20 bill. Eddie looks up at him, unimpressed.
“Only $20?” Eddie says, standing up and placing himself right in front of Harrington. “Let’s think about this, we go to the movies, that’s about what- 15 bucks? Then She asks for popcorn, that’s 53, and she’d want a drink, right?” Eddie looks at Steve, “So, 75 bucks and we have a deal, sound good to you, princess?”
Steve stares at Eddie in sheer disbelief, god he hates this guy “hell no! 25 or no deal” he states now chest to chest with Eddie.
“75.”
“20.”
“80.”
"25."
"85."
“30!”
“50 or no deal.”
Steve’s patients were running thin, he sighs in defeat “fine deal, take your stupid 50 dollars bill!” he exclaims showing the money into Eddies chest.
Eddie smirks, happy he got a 50 dollar bill from Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. “Thank you sweetheart! I won’t let you down!” he says placing a dramatic kiss on the 50 and hopping into his old rundown van. The dark brown haired boy leans out the window, “I'll start my mission first thing tomorrow! Don't worry that pretty little head off!”
It wasn’t until after Eddie’s van disappeared down the street did Steve noticed his jaw clenched. He lets out a slow and steady breath as his shoulders relaxed “god, Mike owes me so many cigarettes.”
𝄞⨾💿✮˚.⋆
Laying on his back Eddie stares at his ceiling, the $50 Steve gave him sitting heavy in his pocket.
As much as he tried he couldn't get Steve's 'proposal' out of his mind, I mean, how is he supposed to swoon you? Has he ever talked to you? Has he ever seen you smile before? Hell, he didn't even know your favorite color! Eddie groans resting his forearm over his eyes.
"I need a distraction" Eddie mutters to no one in particular, "I need some weed".
chuckling at how ridiculous he's acting the boy continues to spiral. "why do I care so much anyways, It's not like I'd actually date her".
The wild haired boy glances at the guitar hanging in his bedroom wall. It looked almost sad, over the years the strings and paint had changed in color. A once bright, beautiful, lively guitar had now turned into a dust collector. The poor thing seemed to be rotting away on his bedroom wall. All he needs to get supplies to fix his dear 'Miss Metallica' is some money. Thanks to Harrington he's now $50 short of, what he assumes, is a $100 repair.
All he needs to do is hold up his end of the deal, it cant be that hard. right?
𝄞⨾💿✮˚.⋆
Eddie never knew you share two classes together. Thanks to Steve who had gotten this information from Dustin. he was now hyper aware of the fact you even go to the same school as him.
One class you shared was math, which was actually his first period of the day. Eddie had never been on time when coming to class. Usually he'd skip and smoke in the football field, but today he had an adjective.
"Oh, Eddie, look who finally decided to be present!" Mrs. Kate said, her voice a little too sweet. She'd never liked him and he knew it.
"Felt like learning" Eddie nods taking a seat next to you.
"Well I hope you feel like having a test!" Mrs. Kate smiles.
A chorus of groans fill the class, but Eddie wasn't paying attention he was too busy looking at you. You didn't seem nervous or annoyed at all. Yes, you did look mad, but when didn't you?
After Mrs. Kate passed out the packets the whole class went quiet. Eddie was pretty sure if he dropped a pin the whole class would be able to hear it. God, he hated quiet. Quiet left room for thought, and right now the boy had a lot going on in his head.
The curly haired boy glances at you for what had felt like the tenth time this period. You were laser focused on your test, he knew you'd most likely get an A even if you didn't try. You've always been smart.
Eddie didn't believe in a higher power.
If anyone asked him before he'd say the only thing he believed in is heavy metal. But as he sneaks glances at you he finds himself praying whatever dumb plan his brain came up with would work. Taking a deep breath Eddie made his 'move'.
"Psst."
You ignored him.
"Psst."
Your eyebrows furrow.
"Psst!"
You sigh in annoyance, stopping all movements to turn and glare at him.
"What? What do you want!" You whisper trying to stop yourself from yelling.
"Woah! no need to be hostile, I'm wondering if you're interested in going out with me?" the boy smirks trying to hide his nervousness.
You roll your eyes at Eddie's sad attempt at 'flirting', "and go where? The 7/11 near your rat infested trailer park? No thank you, shouldn't you be paying attention to the test? Do you even know my name druggie?"
"I could get to know you."
You stare at Eddie. Fist clenched so tight around your pencil he thought you were going to jump out your seat and stab him.
But, for a moment Eddie thought he saw a smirk forming on your lips. Instead of stabbing the boy you shoot your hand up catching the attention of Mrs. Kate. The older lady glances up from her computer to look at you, "Yes?" You place your hangs in your lap, "Eddie keeps trying to cheat off me" you say glancing at the boy next to you.
Mrs. Kate looks at Eddie with furrowed eyebrows, "I know, I know" Eddie sighs throwing his hands up in defeat. He already knows Mrs. Kate wouldn't believe any attempt at defending himself. So, he gets up and walks out of the class without a sound. Before he leaves he steals one last glance at you.
You were grinning at him, you almost seemed like you were holding back a laugh.
After he left Eddie realized that was the first time you ever smiled at him.
𝄞⨾💿✮˚.⋆
"we're screwed." Mike says in a defeatist tone.
The young boy decided to meet Eddie in the cafeteria so he could ask how 'Beauty and the Bitch' was going. His friends decided to stay in the outdoor soccer field. Something about not 'wanting to deal with his relationship issues on their time off'. The laughs of friends filled the lunch room, Mike felt almost envious of how happy everyone seemed to be. Eddie slings his arm around Mike pulling him out of thought, "Hey! I don't wanna hear that depressing attitude I wanna hear you upbeat!"
Mike turns to the older boy forcing an exaggerated fake smile, "we are screwed!" Mike exclaims with false cheer.
"There we go!" Eddie smiles patting Mike's back harder than needed. "That was my first attempt anyways, I have plenty of time! She'll come around, no woman can resist my charm" Eddie attempts to comfort. But as always his words of encouragement went through one ear and out the other.
In reality Eddie was nervous, more nervous than he needed to be. He had never flirted with any girl ever since he was in the 8th grade, and to be honest you did intrigue him a little. But, he knew your 'don't care' attitude was a wall you built to hide something. He knew if he pushed and poked hard enough you'd let him in.
𝄞⨾💿✮˚.⋆
You sigh splashing your face with sink water. Even though your bathroom is small you still have to share it with your dad and sister. You don't mind as long as Jane doesn't hog it. Usually when you bang on the door and tell her to hurry up you hear a muffled excuse of 'needing to look pretty for school'. You never cared about how others think you look, as long as you think you look good that's all that matters. You couldn't blame her though, because you were that age once. And unfortunately you were the exact same.
God, you couldn't get that stupid curly haired boy out your head. Seeing the image of his stupid smirk that was for some reason burned into your brain makes your blood boil. You were getting ready to 'retreat to your brain fortress' as Jane called it. Jane named it that because anytime you zone out she said it 'looked like you're trapped in your own head'. Jane reminds you so much of her it sometimes makes you sick.
The old bathroom door creaks open.
Jane walks in looking at herself in the mirror, fixing her hair before bed. It wasn't long before she decided she wanted to talk you ear off.
"Maybe you need a new look" she says in thought. You glance at Jane raising a brow in confusion, "I see potential under all your meanness." the younger girl adds earning your signature eye roll. You turn the sink water off, "I'm not mean, it's not my fault people act like idiots all the time." Jane giggles moving behind you to play with your hair, "why don't you try being nice, people like nice people." You shrug, "I don't care if people like me or not, I especially don't care what people think of me." For a moment you feel her hand stop fidgeting with your hair.
"Yes you do."
A beat of silence passes, "No I don't. Y'know you don't have to be what everyone wants you to be."
Jane peaks over your shoulders, because of the height difference she has to stand on her toes. "Well, I like who I am. Do you like who you are?"
The room goes silent. It's so quiet all you could hear is your heart beating. Because if you were being honest, you didn't know how to answer that question. Did you like being 'mean'? Did you like having no friends? Did you actually not care about your reputation around the school?
You stare at yourself in the mirror. The heat of embarrassment makes your whole body tingle. All you wanna do is sleep and never see the light of day again.
With a huff in response you stomp out the bathroom. You don't care what people think, you never will. You never did then so why do you now? Why did your chest feel so tight? Why are you so mad?
You weren't actually angry at Jane for asking the question but more at yourself for not being able to answer it. For acting the way you do. For being so quick to respond with anger. For being a bad sister both back then and now. For not knowing how to be nice. The thing that angered you the most wasn't the actual question. Or how your brain kept spewing a stream of thoughts and questions you wanted to avoid.
No, what angered you the most was even though you try so hard to distract yourself. Your brain still has Eddie's stupid smirk engraved into your head.
Instead of writing the next chapter for my fanfic I wrote a whole character analysis for Paul Dano’s Riddler because someone said he’d support Charlie Kirk, I don’t play about my dada man.
