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Summary: Bucky sees the same woman in his dreams, night after night. Is it possible to fall in love with someone who doesn’t exist? He wishes so much that you were by his side - until one day, you walk into his life for real.
Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader with psychic abilities
Genre: Angst, fluff
Word count: 5.4k
The invisible red thread of fate connects individuals destined to meet, regardless of time, distance, or circumstance. This thread may stretch and tangle, but it does not snap.
Cherry blossom petals fell, soft and soundless, blanketing the ground with pink. Bucky stood beneath a streetlamp on a wide road, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. Everything was quiet - too quiet. The kind of thick, heavy silence that only existed in dreams.
Of course, he knew it was a dream. He always did.
For the last three months, he had found a reprieve from the usual, HYDRA fueled nightmares that had plagued him for years. One night last winter, he simply found the landscape of his nightmares slowly starting to shift, until eventually he couldn’t call it a nightmare at all.
He used to dream of his past all the time. Of the torture he had endured, the endless kills he had committed, the screams of the lives he had ended.
Now, he dreams of you.
He had been here before. The script rarely changed - sometimes you met on this road, sometimes in a library, on one occasion in a coffee shop. This was the scene he recognized the most. Same blossom trees. Same road. Same ache in his chest that he couldn’t decipher. And then he saw you, and the ache vanished.
You were sat on a bench underneath one of the trees, staring up at the pink flowers in awe. You were barefoot, your toes shrouded in a puddle of petals beneath you.
Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. You didn’t notice him right away, eyes too full of wonder.
When you did finally notice him, the widest smile broke out across your face. It was contagious, and it made the corners of his lips twitch too.
"You're late," you said, turning to him with a look that was half amusement, half affection. You were happy to see him, he could tell. You were always happy. It was amazing to see someone light up just from the sight of him.
He blinked. “Late?” Was there any such concept in dreams?
“You’re always late,” you teased. “But that’s okay. You came.”
He walked towards you, desperate to close the gap, to be close.
“Where is this?” It was the first time he had thought to ask.
You tilted your head. “I’m not sure, actually. Kinda reminds me of Central Park.” You paused. “Does it matter?”
“S’pose not,” Bucky chuckled, looking down at your face in slight awe. How could his mind have concocted somebody so ethereal? He didn't know that he had the creativity for it.
He looked around again. There was no signage. The buildings in the distance faded into fog. This place was nowhere - and somehow, the safest place he’d ever known. And it was kind of familiar. Huh, it does remind me a little of Central Park, Bucky thought.
You stood from the bench, and automatically you began walking side by side, your footfalls in perfect unison. The backs of your hands brushed, and Bucky thought the sensation felt so real. He wanted to hold your hand, but he was somehow nervous, even though it was his dream.
“I missed you,” you said suddenly.
Bucky’s chest tightened. That was new.
He turned to face you, voice low. “Did you really?” What he really wanted to say was, I missed you, too.
You smiled again, with some sadness this time. “I think I love you.”
There was no warning whenever a dream ended. All it took was for some invisible switch to flip, and he was dragged out of his dream and into reality. One second he was staring at your face, trying to really commit it to memory, though it was a struggle sometimes to remember all the details from his dreams. The next second, he was waking up.
The sheets were twisted around him, pillow soaked with sweat. The early morning light was bleeding through the curtains, shining in his eyes. He sat up, hand on his chest, heart still beating too fast.
I think I love you, your voice echoed in his ears.
The dream hadn’t lasted long, and Bucky felt disappointed. At the same time, he was happy that he had seen you again, the same woman every consecutive night for months.
Always the same woman. Always at some strange, sacredly quiet place. Sometimes you walked. Sometimes you talked. Once, he held your hand and woken up with the ghost of your touch lingering on his palm. He could’ve sworn the touch felt so real.
It was never just a dream. He felt you. The calm you brought. The dull ache in his chest when he woke up and he realized you weren’t real.
You didn’t look like anyone he knew, but his brain knew you. Trusted you. Missed you.
Bucky swung his legs over the edge of the bed, hands on his thighs. He quickly grabbed the notebook and pen on his bedside table - a tip he had read online, to better remember his dreams. Always write them down within the first five minutes of waking up.
He didn't want to forget you. And so he wrote down his notes dutifully, morning after morning, jotting down whatever details he could remember.
His hand shook over the page, his forehead creasing. The only thing he could muster himself to write were six words.
I think I love you, too.
The dreams were getting worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide.
He wasn’t scared of them, and it was that knowledge that scared him.
He was falling in love - with a dream. With a ghost. With a figment of his imagination.
But every night, you spoke to him like you remembered him. Like you were waiting. Like you dreamed of him, too.
You thought you were going insane.
Night after night, you dreamed of him. The man with the dark brown hair, beautiful blue eyes and the metal arm. He was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on, and your dreams were beginning to make you lose grip on reality.
You decided to start going to therapy in an attempt to understand what was going on in your brain. These weren't just dreams - they were beginning to impact your day-to-day life, as you slowly began obsessing over this mystery person. Your therapist, Dr. Hartley, sat across from you, gently prompting you with a question after you found difficulty beginning to explain what was happening.
"So - you told me in our initial call that you've been having some dreams?"
"Yes," you said slowly. "More specifically, I've been dreaming of the same person. Every night for months."
"Every night?"
"Every night," you confirm.
"What happens in these dreams?" Dr. Hartley asked with a friendly, inquisitive smile.
"It's not always the same, but he's always there. Sometimes we're in a park. Once we were on a rooftop. Usually, we just sit and talk. Sometimes we don't talk at all. But he's always there."
"Does he have a name?" she asked, scrawling some notes down as you spoke.
"Bucky," you said. You realized with a jolt that it was the first time you had ever spoken his name out loud. "His name is Bucky."
Dr. Hartley leaned forward slightly, cocking her head.
"What's he like?"
You took a deep breath, hesitating. You knew this was therapy, and you should feel safe telling her everything, but this felt... vulnerable. Like you were divulging the most secretive part of yourself, the part of yourself that up until now existed just between yourself and him.
You cringed mentally at the thought. Pull yourself together. He does not exist.
"He's kind," you said to begin with. "Handsome." Dr. Hartley smiled. "And I think he really sees me. He understands who I am. I tell him things about myself that no one else knows.”
He tells me things about him, too. Strange, intimate details that your brain must’ve fabricated out of thin air. You’d always been told you had an overactive imagination.
Dr Hartley nodded.
"It sounds like you may be lonely," she said gently. "This could be a way of your subconsciousness trying to offer you a safe space. Someone to connect with."
Tears welled up in your eyes, catching you off guard, but Dr. Hartley did not seem fazed. She plucked a tissue from beside her and handed it over to you, sympathetic.
"But it doesn't feel safe anymore," you whispered. "It's getting painful. It hurts. Every morning when I wake up, I feel like I'm mourning someone I never even knew to begin with. I don't know how to make the dreams stop."
You blinked hard to will the tears back, biting hard down on your lower lip. Dr. Hartley must've thought you were insane, breaking down over a fictional man.
"You said he had a metal arm," Dr. Hartley said after you'd taken a few deep breaths to compose yourself.
"Yes. Sometimes, he's wearing a leather jacket or gloves so I can't see it. But I know it's always there."
"Do you think it's something you saw on a tv show? On the news, perhaps?"
"Uh, I don't know," you said. "Maybe?"
You didn't know why the question would help. What you really wanted to say was that Bucky was not simply a man you had concocted in your brain after reading some description in a novel, or seeing a character in a movie. He felt real. It felt like you were meeting a real person in a place you weren't supposed to be.
"I know how this sounds," you said slowly. "I'm losing my mind, aren't I? Getting so upset over my dreams?"
Dr. Hartley shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "You're overwhelmed by something you haven't yet made sense of, and that's perfectly normal. This session is just the first step."
You smiled back, eyes still watering.
But what if I’m not imagining him? Sometimes, just sometimes, you allowed yourself to entertain that thought. What if he is really out there, somewhere?
You sat, cross-legged on your couch, sketchpad open on your lap.
You held the pencil firmly in your fingers, the tip of it moving rapidly across the paper, the sound of graphite against paper soothing. You had gotten into a habit of sketching Bucky whenever you had the free time.
You knew it was an unhealthy habit, but you couldn't help it. You missed him whenever you were awake, and this was the only way to feel some sort of relief, by recreating him on paper.
And so you sketched. You sketched him, day after day, trying to recapture how you had seen him the night before. You wanted to remember and revisit those moments in any way you could. You sketched his beautiful eyes, the eyes that stared at you with adoration.
When you finished, your fingers traced over the sketchpad, forlorn. You sighed heavily, shaking your head as a wave of sadness rushed over you.
Dr. Hartley had advised you to go get some fresh air, go for a walk, whenever you felt like you were getting too caught up in your own head. You weren't sure if it would be effective, but there was no harm in trying, you supposed.
The sky was slowly turning a threatening shade of gray, the kind that promised that a storm was coming. You didn't care - it suited your mood. You stepped out of your apartment building into the polluted New York City air, jacket zipped to your throat and earbuds jammed in to keep the world out. Your bag was slung over your shoulder, sketchpad sitting inside safely.
You made it three steps down the block before you saw her.
A woman stood perfectly still near the curb - long red coat, long red hair, her back to you. She didn’t look like she belonged there, and it startled you when she suddenly turned to look at you.
You wanted to keep walking, but instead, you slowed and stopped in your tracks.
The beautiful woman tilted her head, smiling.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” the stranger said. Those were exactly the words to make someone feel afraid, you thought.
Her voice was calm, and somehow, it relaxed you. You pulled an earbud out, recognition dawning across your face.
“I know you,” you said suddenly. “I've seen you on the news." Your brain tried to remember exactly where you'd seen her, and finally recalled the news from a couple of years ago. Captain America... Lagos... some mission gone wrong that had resulted in a number of civilian deaths. "You’re Wanda Maximoff.”
“And I know you,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
"Excuse me?" you asked, perplexed.
“I’m not here to scare you,” Wanda said. “I’m here because I think you need help."
"Am I in danger?" you asked. What else would explain being accosted by an Avenger in the middle of the street?
"Not exactly," she said. "But I know you're suffering."
"How do you know that?" The confusion intensified, your voice a little too terse.
"I possess… psychic abilities," she said simply, "and you're a psychic, too. I could feel your mind calling out to me, looking for help, whether you knew it or not."
Your mouth opened and closed silently. Okay, this had to be a joke or some stupid misunderstanding.
“You’re not dreaming,” Wanda continued. “Not in the way you think. The things you see - the man you see - it’s not your imagination. It's a manifestation of your powers when you are asleep, when your mind is in its most vulnerable state. You have the ability, among others that you don't even understand, to reach across mental planes in a way you never thought possible."
You wanted to laugh, or walk away, but you were frozen at the feet. Her words made your chest tighten.
The man you see - it's not your imagination.
“I think you’ve got the wrong girl,” you said weakly.
Wanda’s eyes softened.
“I don’t,” she said. “And you know that too, deep down. You’ve touched someone who shouldn’t be reachable. Sometimes he's just halfway across the city, sometimes halfway across the word. That's not your imagination. That’s power.”
You shook your head. “No. I don't have powers."
"Bucky is real."
You froze.
"How do you know that name?" you whispered, beginning to feel frightened.
"Because I know him," Wanda said slowly. "Did you ever read about the Winter Soldier?"
Winter Soldier. The name rang a vague bell. Maybe something you had heard in the news.
"His name, is James Buchanan Barnes," Wanda said, the name rolling off her tongue slowly, deliberately. "Bucky, to his friends. He is real, and you are not going insane."
You wanted to believe her. You really did. Could this truly be happening? Could all she was saying really be the truth?
“What do you want from me?” you managed to say finally.
“Nothing,” Wanda said. “Except to help you. To help you figure out what you really are. What you can do.”
She held out a hand.
“I want you to come with me. To Avengers Tower. I want to help you get the answers and the help you deserve.”
For the longest moment, you just stared at her, unable to move a muscle. You were petrified, but underneath the fear, another emotion began to emerge.
Hope.
Bucky was real.
Your breath trembled. Then you nodded once, and took her hand.
The door hissed softly as it slid open.
You stepped through hesitantly, followed closely out of the elevator by Wanda. Avengers Tower was an architectural masterpiece, and you felt that you stood out like a sore thumb among the shiny corridors, the quiet hum of hidden tech in the walls, the very legacy that this place held.
“Wait here,” Wanda instructed gently, before disappearing through a side door.
Bucky was working out alone, sweat dripping from his forehead as he pushed himself to the furthest physical limit he could. The clang of metal echoed through the cavernous gym, a punching bag swinging violently on its chain. The pebbled leather was dented and straining at its seams.
Bucky's fists pounded into the bag with punishing precision, breath short and sharp. He had a lot of contained frustration that he needed to expel. He stopped when he noticed Wanda's entrance, frowning in confusion.
"What is it?" he asked, unsettled by the unreadable expression on her face.
"I need you to come with me," was all she said.
"Why?" He grabbed a towel, wiping his face with it.
"I want you to meet someone," she said mysteriously.
Bucky heaved a sigh, but decided to humor her. He followed her out of the room, footsteps slowing when he entered the corridor. The was a woman there, pacing back and forth.
The recognition hit Bucky like a shotgun wound to the chest.
You stopped in your tracks, gasping aloud when you finally saw him. Sweat shone from his collarbones, his hair damp from his workout. He came to a complete stop as you locked eyes.
The air stood still. Heavy and thick, like the air in your dreams.
Your lips parted, like you wanted to speak, but no sound came out. You watched Bucky, who stared back at you unblinkingly. His body had stiffened, like his brain had short circuited.
"Bucky," you gasped finally. You felt weak in the knees, your head spinning. You were not hallucinating. You were not dreaming. This was truly happening.
You felt a rush of euphoria, the happiness replacing any confusion or anxiety that had been in your mind seconds before. All you could focus on was the fact that Bucky was standing mere feet away from you, truly tangible and real.
A myriad of expressions ghosted across his face. There was happiness, his lips moving like he wanted to smile, before they twisted into a grimace. This was followed by shock, his eyes flashing with disbelief, eyebrows drawing together.
He took a step back, away from you, like he had been jolted by electricity.
The recognition in his face dissolved into alarm.
"It’s you,” he said, his voice sharp. His eyes flicked from you, to Wanda, then back to you.
"You remember me," you breathed with relief, moving towards him.
He took another step back, and you stopped abruptly.
“Don't," he said warningly. "Wanda, what the fuck is this?"
The words were ice to your heart, making your face fall.
"Bucky, it's me -"
“Don’t say my name," he snapped, his jaw clenching.
There was something dangerous in his posture now - a tightening in his shoulders, the tension rising in his upper body. His vibranium hand curled into a fist. His soldier instincts were kicking in, his defenses rising at this unexplained and impossible sight. The emotional onslaught that was brought on by the sight of you was too much and happening all at once. His brain was clicking frantically, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.
"Bucky, we can explain," Wanda began, but Bucky interrupted her.
“You've been inside my head," he said slowly.
You were trying to find the right words, to make him understand. "I didn't mean to. I can't control it -"
“Bullshit.” His voice echoed through the corridor.
He was breathing hard, his heart palpitating. His mind raced to recall all the times you had spent together in his dreams, all the things he had told you. You had been walking through his mind, uninvited with God knows what motive. How had this happened?
“You don’t just accidentally get into my mind,” he growls. “You don’t just show up, night after night, knowing things you shouldn’t know. That’s not dreaming - that’s infiltration.”
The accusations felt like cuts.
"It's not like that," you insisted. "I didn't know it was real. I didn't know you were real."
“Who are you, really?" Bucky asked through gritted teeth. "Do you know how long I've spent with people clawing their way through my brain?" His eyes narrowed, anger rising at the thought of HYDRA. He spat the words out in such rapid succession that you could barely keep up. "Do you know how long I've spent, purging unwelcome guests out of my mind? Are you with HYDRA?"
You shook your head, speechless and looking to Wanda for help. "I'm not with HYDRA. I don't even know -"
"Bucky, you need to let us explain," Wanda said patiently, but Bucky was not having any of it. “Whatever you think this is, it’s not.”
“You show up in my mind like some... ghost, and you expect me to believe that’s just coincidence?” His voice is low now, trembling. “I worked so hard to make sure no one could ever get in again." Then, he added in a poison-laced whisper, “And you just walked in.”
Tears stung in your eyes. "I would never try to hurt you," you protested, voice quivering.
“Don’t act like you know me,” he said sharply.
He backed away, the distance growing like a chasm between you. He didn't spare you a second glance before he disappeared through the door he came from.
This was not the introduction you had hoped for. It was far from it. You felt your heart strain at the feeling of meeting the man you loved, and being rejected at the same time.
"I’m sorry,” Wanda said immediately. “I knew it was going to be a lot to take in, but… I'll talk to him," she promised you. "He just needs time to understand and process it.
"I think I do too," you said faintly, feeling light-headed at the rush of emotions that had just battered you in the last couple of hours. Wanda guided you down the corridors to a more private space where you could be alone, a seating area filled with plants and artwork that adorned one wall, floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering an endless view of the city.
“I didn’t even know what I was doing,” you whispered, staring at the floor as Wanda sat beside you. “I didn’t know that I could do - whatever that is.”
“Dream phasing,” Wanda says softly. “It’s only the beginning of what you’re capable of. You have extreme physic abilities that just need to be unlocked. I have a friend - Stephen Strange - who can help with that, too."
You could barely process what she was saying, or perhaps you just didn’t care.
Wanda could tell that your so-called powers were the last thing on your mind right now. She trailed off.
"Don't take what he said to heart," Wanda said. "He's just scared."
"He looked at me with such hate," you said, forehead creasing. "He's never looked at me that way before. It just feels... horrible. All this time, I thought I was imagining him, and then when we actually meet, he looked at me like I was an enemy."
"He has a very difficult past," Wanda said, her words measured. You recalled what Bucky had told you before, in your dreams. The things he had shared with you had always been honest, but fragmented - parts of the truth. You didn't quite have the full story yet, but Wanda quickly filled you in. Once she finished speaking, you understood why Bucky had his defenses up.
"He's scared that this is another trick," you said quietly.
"Right."
"But I'm not." You smiled sadly. "Maybe coming here was a mistake. My mind is just so messed up. How could I ever help anyone?”
“No,” Wanda said firmly. Her eyes are soft. “I’m the only one in your life right now who can even begin to understand what you’re going through. I can help you. And with help, your ability - your gift,” she emphasized, “- can be used for the greater good.”
“How can you be sure of that?” you asked.
“I used to be a lot like you,” Wanda smiled. “I couldn’t even fathom how to wield my power, how to nurture it. The team helped me, trained me. I can do the same for you.”
The thought of Bucky’s eyes, accusatory and cold, was still burned inside your brain.
“I’ll take care of him,” Wanda promised, as if reading your mind. “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”
Bucky could never have imagined that you could be a real person. It seemed impossible, like - he wanted to scoff - a dream come true.
The woman in his dreams, this seemingly unattainable entity that he found comfort and solace in every day. His escape from the previous horrific nightmares that he suffered from. You were real.
He sat upright on the floor, back against the windows, his mind racing. He thought back to how he had spoken to you earlier that evening, and he winced. He felt guilty, disgusted even, at how he had spoken to you. But the fear lingered in the back of his mind.
He had been brainwashed before. His mind had been taken captive before. What if this was another ploy?
But then he thought back to the look in your eyes. On some level, he knew you were innocent. He knew he was being unreasonable. But this was entirely new territory, and it frightened him.
He rubbed his temples then stood abruptly, pacing like a cat. The more he turned the thought of you over in his mind, the more his mind seemed to unravel.
God, this was so overwhelming. Every night, he looked forward to falling asleep and talking to you. He thought it was so sad, that he was so lonely in life that the only person he could talk to was in his own mind. How could he have been so wrong?
He recalled the feeling he felt whenever he was around you. He felt comforted. He felt safe. It was exactly what he needed right now - to feel safe, in your presence.
He needed to see you.
He nearly collided with Wanda in the hallway as he raced through the Tower, desperation painting his face.
"I was just coming to talk to you," she began, though she could now see that would no longer be needed.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
"She left," she said.
His stomach dropped. "When?"
"Half an hour ago."
Shit, Bucky cursed inwardly.
Wanda rolled her eyes. "I'll give you her address. But before you go - just one more thing."
Bucky stepped into the room where you had waited earlier. You had left your bag behind in your rush to leave, and as he picked it up hastily, a small collection of items fell out onto the floor.
Keys. Chapstick. Your phone. One of those items landed with a dull thud. A book.
Bucky picked it up, curiosity getting the better of him. He hesitated for a moment before he flipped the book open.
His breath caught in his throat.
Pages and pages of him.
Laughing. Smiling. Sitting on benches. Looking out of windows. The corners of his eyes creased with happiness.
Bucky's hands were shaking as his fingers barely brushed the surface of the pages, like he was afraid to dirty it.
He was being portrayed in a way he had never seen himself be portrayed before. As someone... beautiful. Not a machine. Not an assassin. Not something to be feared.
He closed the sketchpad carefully, any doubts he had before completely dissipating. He now knew with absolute certainty just how wrong he had been.
You sat in the cold, dimly lit hallway of your apartment building, head banging back against your door. Like an idiot, you had forgotten your belongings in the Tower, and had no way of getting into your home. You could knock on a neighbor's door, ask them to call a locksmith - but for now, all you wanted to do was cry.
Your eyes were red-rimmed and sore, head in your hands as you pulled your knees up against your chest. You were shattered - emotionally and physically.
You were utterly alone. Your head was ringing, and you felt an emptiness in the pit of your stomach that made you feel nauseous.
Then - footsteps.
You cringed, anticipating the voice of a nosy neighbor asking you what had happened. The footsteps got closer, and you didn't move an inch, hoping they'd just walk past.
But then, you heard the whisper of your name in the voice you couldn't forget.
Your head jerked up, startled. Bucky was standing next to you, your bag clutched in his hands. His eyes were remorseful, guilt clearly written on his face as he appraised you. He could see that you had been crying, and his chest hurt when you wiped at your face with your sleeves hurriedly.
"You left this," was the first thing he said, crouching down slowly to be at eye-level with you.
You couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. He smelled like rain, cedar wood and the faintest hint of soap.
"Should we go inside?" he asked gently, his hand reaching out to cup your elbow. He took a deep breath, like the physical contact made him nervous. But as soon as he touched you, he seemed to gain some confidence. You allowed him to help you stand, your legs shaking.
You were wordless as he rummaged inside your bag and fished out your keys. He unlocked your front door and gently ushered you inside.
"I'm sorry," was the first thing he said as the door closed behind him. "Sorry doesn't even cover it. I'm just - I wish I could take back what I said."
"It's okay," you said, finally meeting his eyes. "I understand."
You walked over to sit at the kitchen table, out of necessity more than anything - you still felt like your legs might collapse from underneath you at any moment. He didn't hesitate to join you.
"I saw your sketches," he said eventually, drawing his chair closer. You blushed, eyes widening. "They were good," he added quickly. "Really good."
You looked at his face, and the only thing you could think was that no recreation of yours could ever come close to his good looks in real life. This man had a face that was crafted by the gods, his eyes your absolute favorite thing about him. Eyes that could not seem to leave your face.
"I saw how you see me," he said, letting out a quick exhale that sounded like a laugh. "And I liked it. It made me feel good."
He leaned in closer, his voice lowering. "I'm so sorry."
"I'm not," you said finally. "You're actually real. I thought I was going insane. But you're here, right in front of me."
Slowly, slow enough for him to move if he wanted to, you gathered the courage to reach up and touch his face with your fingertips for the first time. You traced the edge of his jawline, towards his lips. He shivered.
"I came here because I couldn't stand knowing that I hurt you," Bucky confessed. "I needed to see if you would still look at me like you do in our dreams."
"And?"
His response was to close the distance between you, head tilting as his lips finally slotted against yours. It was soft, tender, and it felt like the weighted air between the two of you finally cleared with a snap.
This felt so right. This was what you had been waiting for all along.
When you pulled apart for air, his hands were cupping your face, his eyes looking at you like he still couldn't believe this was happening.
"Last time, you told me you thought you might love me," he said, the tip of his tongue gliding across his lower lip nervously. "I didn't get a chance to tell you that I love you, too."
You smiled at him, leaning your forehead against his as you felt a sense of serenity fill your body. "I think you're going to change my life," you whispered.
And that night, as you fell asleep together for the first time, you knew you would never feel alone again.
Y’all already know I’m a sucker for angst! This was so amazing, it’s probably one of the best fics I’ve read in a long time!!! I loved it so so much 😭💖
summary: you’ve been receiving love letters from a secret admirer and you’re desperate to reveal his identity.
contains: benedict being fucking adorable, fluff n' angst!
a/n: third part of this multi-chapter fic. PART I, PART II
You hung your coat up on the rack, your cheeks flushed and your chest heaving. You made your way into the parlor, lifting a hand to dab the sheen of sweat on your forehead. Your mother and father’s muffled voices could be heard from one of the rooms, but you had no time to eavesdrop.
You scurried up the stairs to your bedroom, anxious to read your letter, to hold it close as if holding your admirer’s hand. He (whoever he was) was your comfort, a safe place. You swung the bedroom door open and rushed to your bureau, your eyes widening in disbelief. It was gone. You searched through the drawers, beneath your pillow, in the pockets of your coats, but it was nowhere to be found. But it wasn't until you heard your mother's displeased call for you downstairs that your heart sank entirely.
You fled down the stairs to meet her. There she stood, fire in her eyes and your letter crumpled in her fist. “Tell me, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded.
“I, I-”
“I tire of begging that you see suitors, that you find a suitable gentleman to marry. But no! You’d much rather waste your youth away on meaningless words scribbled across a parchment!” she cried. “Well, I’ll have you know that this nonsense will go on no longer!”
“Mama, please!” you begged, tears now streaming down your crimson cheeks.
“I won’t hear it, young lady! You will forget about this mystery man who delivers only false promises and pretty prose. You will go to the Bridgerton ball tomorrow night and you will dance with whichever gentleman will have you!” she yelled, and with that, she tore the letter in half before letting it fall to the floor. It was as if you had felt the tear straight down the middle of your heart, and you sank to your knees by the foot of the staircase.
After a moment, you both caught your breaths. Your mother placed a shaky hand upon your head and spoke with a more empathetic tone now. “I only wish the best for you, you must know that. You deserve a good man, something real and tangible that will give you peace of mind and a worriless life.” You nodded. You understood, but you couldn’t bear the thought of a life without love. It pained you so to envision one for yourself. “Breathe, child.” she cooed.
Your father’s voice boomed from the far end of the hall, calling for your mother. She gave the crown of your head a chaste kiss and ran off to your father. You were still on the floor, a creamy white pristine as your future if you could find someone to court you tomorrow night. Pristine and so incredibly dull.
You wiped the remainders of your tears away, your cheeks sticky from where they had poured like two waterfalls. How would you go on without your letters? Without the breathing, living proof that true love did exist. But your mother was right. It wasn’t proof. It was an illusion, a trick of the light; pretty prose and nothing more. You knew this, yet you couldn’t help collecting the two large scraps of parchment by you on the floor. You held them up, pieced them together.
My Dearest,
I wish I could find the words to express just how much I wish to be with you. I wish mine to be the last face you see before bed and the first you see in the morning when you arise. When I see you, a fire burns deep within me. A desire to reach out, stroke your cheek, to scream “‘Tis I who sends you these letters! ‘Tis I the fool who does not dare approach you!” Well, I’m done with that. Truly, I am. This is my last letter to you. I will not torment you any longer. I will be there, at the Bridgerton Ball. I will find you and reveal myself. If my feelings are unrequited, worry not, darling. One word from you and I shall leave you be. But, if the opposite is true, I would be the happiest man alive. Until then, my love.
Request: Have you considered Benedict falling for a friend of Daphne’s? Like if they’re as close as Pen and Eloise but maybe with a little less drama? I think it would be funny for Benedict to ask for advice on how to talk to her and Daph being done. Just “you’ve known her for as long as I have.”
Hi! Thank you again for the request, this is such a cute idea. I hope you don’t mind, but I made the reader a Featherington. I went a little off track too, it was easier for me to write that way. If this isn’t what you were looking for, I’m happy to take another request or alter this one. Sorry for the long wait on getting this out, but I hope you enjoy this :)
(Warnings: insecurity, middle child trauma, nothing else i think? idk, let me know if i missed anything)
summary | Benedict fell in love with a girl he adored so much
paring | Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
request | hii do you still take requests? i really love your writing! can you do a fic based on "Paper Rings" for our best boy Benedict <33
includes | sweet husband!Benedict, Taylor Swift lyrics, pall mall with the Bridgerton and fluff like a lot (italic means flashbacks)
word count | 1.7k +
a/n | here is some more Taylor Swift and Bridgerton boys for you lovely reader! hope you enjoy this one. I am still taking requests but I will warn you it takes me a while to write them which I apologize for but I am doing my best! hope you all are having a great day <3
The moon is high
Like your friends were the night that we first met
Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet
Now I've read all of the books beside your bed
She had met Benedict Brigerton unexpectedly. y/n had been trying to sneak away from the ball for a breath of air as her mama seemed to make every man in that house dance with y/n. If she had to dance one more time with another man who stepped on her foot, she was worried she would lash out on accident, giving the ton more gossip to talk about.
y/n had successfully gotten away, walking the halls of the large country home. She had spent a few minutes walking about trying to think back to what she had heard Eloise Bridgerton say which door was the library. y/n thought she could stay in there for a bit before heading back out to the ball. She reached the second door to the end but before she could pull it open, the door moaned open from the other side.
“Oh!” y/n looked up meeting the eyes of the voice.
She recognized him because everyone in the ton knew who the Bridgerton’s were, y/n had conversations with Colin too since becoming friends with Peneople. But y/n had never come face to face with any of the oldest Bridgertons, until now she had come face to face with the second eldest Bridgerton.
“I am sorry Mr Bridgerton,” y/n paused thinking of something else to say, she could see multiple other men behind him. “I seem to have lost my way back to the ball.”
“Is everything alright, Benedict?” Colin peaked over his shoulder, a drink in hand. “y/n? What are you doing here?”
Before she could tell her lie again, Benedict spoke up. “Lost her way back to the ballroom.”
y/n didn’t miss the smirk on his face as he eyed her again. “A house as large as this one is easy to get lost in Mr Bridgerton.”
Benedict laughed, y/n figured the men inside and him had been drinking. Colin opened the door wider stepping in between y/n and Benedict.
“Allow me to show you back,”
“Actually, brother, I would be happy to show Miss,” He trailed off looking directly at y/n.
“y/n y/l.”
“I will escort Miss y/l back to the ballroom, I was just on my way out anyway.” The last part he spoke directly to Colin who simply nodded and bid y/n a goodnight.
Benedict gently closed the door behind them, extending his arm towards y/n for her to take. She did without a second thought, the walk back down the hall was full of stolen glances between the two, but once they reached the inside of the ballroom y/n expected Benedict to tell her goodbye instead he stayed.
“Is there a space for me on your dance card Miss y/l?”
Her eyes widened. “I thought you were leaving Mr Bridgerton.”
“I’ve changed my mind, someone changed my mind and the other thing isn’t important.” He grinned pulling y/n along with him to the dance floor.
— — —
“Darling, have you seen my-?” Benedict's words died quickly when he saw y/n with the book he was looking for in her lap.
“Hmm?” She hummed, not looking up from the pages.
Benedict couldn’t help but smile, he bent down next to her. “What are you reading?’
“Oh, well you keep saying how this is your favorite poetry book so I thought I would read it and we could talk about it.”
His heart melted at her words. It was something so simple yet made his stomach erupt in butterflies and he had never felt so much love for one person.
With a lopsided grin he said, “Will you marry me?”
y/n dropped the book down looking at Benedict giggling. “Love, we’re already married.”
“Yes but if I could, I would marry you again and again. That is how much I love you.”
— — —
In the winter, in the icy outdoor pool
When you jumped in first, I went in too
I'm with you even if it makes me blue
The colder weather was quickly approaching London. After months of glances across rooms, quick dances and secret meetings to get away from society Benedict had started courting y/n. It was a game of cat and mouse they played for a while but everyone in the ton, especially Lady Whistledown, had expected it to be a love match. Though the couple didn’t pay much attention to what other people were saying about them.
Benedict had invited y/n out to Aubrey Hall to spend time with him and his family. Benedict was planning on proposing to y/n that trip. He had waited long enough to make her his official.
y/n arrived early that afternoon with a grin on her face. She had waited all season to come back to Aubrey Hall and this time it was just her and the Bridgerton’s which was exactly what she wanted. As soon as she walked in Daphne and Eloise had stated there would be a game of Pall Mall taking place right now.
They had been playing the game for almost an hour now. Benedict kept his ball close to y/n’s so he could stand next to her when everyone else took their turn. The pair stood close to each other, not caring of being too proper in front of his family as she had noticed Anthony and Kate had forgotten proper public affection during the game.
Just when it was y/n, Benedict placed a soft kiss on her temple. y/n pulled the mallet back and the ball straight on with so much power it plopped right into the pond. Without thinking y/n started to make her way to the pond not hearing the words from the Briderton family that they had lost another ball to that pond.
“y/n! What are you doing?” Eloise called just as Benedict was about to take his turn, he had not noticed y/n left his side.
y/n pulled her dress up so it wouldn't touch the water and tried using her mallet to reach the ball placed on top of rocks within the pond. “Getting my ball! If I get it, I’m still in the game.” She shouted back.
“Wait! Careful y/n,” Daphne tried calling out but just as y/n was turning to look at Daphne she slipped, falling into the pond with a squeal.
“y/n!” Benedict took off running down the hill, pulling off his coat and diving into the pond with her.
A fit of giggles erupted from y/n as Benedict reached her. Quickly he realized the pond was no more than four feet deep and y/n was standing perfectly fine leaning against his side to keep her from falling as more laughter rumbled from her. Benedict laughed with her
“Why did you do that?” She finally got out.
Benedict shook his head. “I panicked, I wanted to make sure you were okay and it’s freezing!”
He pulled y/n closer to him noticing just how cold it really was after being completely submerged in water. Benedict began to lead them both out of the pond seeing that the rest of his family had been watching the scene unfold. Daphne and Kate stood at the edge waiting for them with towels. Once they were out and wrapped in towels y/n turned to Benedict, a heart warming smile on her face.
“You jumped into a freezing pond for me.”
“And I would do it again even if it makes me blue.”
— — —
I want your complications too
I want your dreary Mondays
Wrap your arms around me, baby boy
Benedict and y/n had been married for a month now and both never felt happier or more in love. They spend most of their days at home lounging around together as Benedict sketched and y/n read or models for one of his sketches. It was pure bliss for both of them.
Never did Benedict think he would find someone he could love so much, someone who made his heart swell with every little glance and someone who made him feel like himself. He wanted everything that came with marriage and he wanted everything y/n had to offer him no matter how good or bad it was. That’s what Benedict Bridgerton wanted and that’s what he had.
Now as the pair sat on the couch together he took y/n’s left hand and rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand. He placed the sketch book down, taking a second to look at her, studying her features and just look at the women he loved.
“You’re staring at me, darling.” y/n said without looking up from her book, a grin forming on her lips.
“I am simply looking at the women I love, can a husband not do that?”
y/n blushed at his words leaning into his side, Benedict still playing with her hand twisting the ring on her finger. He studied the ring, it was a very simple ring but y/n loved it, however, Benedict didn’t know if she did or not. He was the one who picked it out from his mothers collection but never asked her if she liked it.
“Darling, would you like a better ring? Perhaps with a bigger jewel, I know I can get you one if you so wish.” Benedict continued to rant about buying her a different ring but y/n stopped him but a light squeezed of his hand to reassure him.
“Benedict I don't need a big ring or a new one for that matter. This one is special to both of us and I love it,”
“But you deserve more.” He sighed.
“All I want is you Benedict and you could have given me a ring made out of paper, and I would have still said yes. I don’t need anything new or shiny because you’re the one that I want.”
The biggest feeling of love washed over him in that moment, he pulled her in for a kiss. A kiss meant to say more words than he could ever utter.
---
bridgerton masterlist
tag list: @heyyitsreign @redgetawaycar @rexit-mo @hanster1998@livstilinski @diamondbitch116 @evqans (click here if you want to be on my tag list)
secrets are uncovered as you confront Benedict about avoiding you
word count: 848 words
reading time: about 4 minutes
warnings: none
It had been some time since you had seen or heard anything from Benedict. Considering you believed the pair of you were relatively close this sudden cold shoulder surprised you. What could cause this sudden change in demeanour? Had you done something? Said something? You could not stop the thousands of possibilities of what you might have done to flood your head.
You had given him space for some time, in the hopes whatever it was would pass and you both may return to normal. But it seemed time had not wavered the cold shoulder you received. Thus, in an attempt to find an answer to your burning question, you confronted the man. No longer would you wait for him to come to you.
"Benedict, wait."
Finding in the crowd of a ball you attempted to confront the man. You deserved an explanation for his actions. No longer being able to live in the dark. Yet, it seemed Benedict was not ready to talk to you. The man weaved through various people that danced or talked. In the word of people, you were determined not to lose him. Twisting through the small gaps between people you followed the man, keeping an eye on where he was walking.
It was not long until you followed him out into the night. The cool air nipped at your exposed skin, forming goose bumps on the skin. Though this cold air would not deter you from your mission. You had set your mind to this and you would not see yourself backing down.
"Benedict, please, just tell me what I can do to make this right."
Your voice was pleading as it carried in the wind as you remained a few paces behind him. Benedict simply strung you along to where ever he desired to go. It was deep in the gardens that Benedict finally decided to stop this little game of chase. Between large hedges, trees and flowers. The sound of the music inside was now fair behind you both, only the faint tune of the trumpet could be heard.
The large moon above you both was the only light that was provided for this meeting in the dark. For a moment you worried about what others would think if they were to stumble across you both. At night. Uncharpored. Alone. You would be ruined. There was so much on the line for you to simply try to get a few words from Benedict and it angered you.
"Tell me what I have done. Please. I can make this right, I swear it. Why have you been avoiding me?"
Your voice was louder than you expected. It shocked you when Benedict whipped around to face you, having half expected the man to simply pretend you were not here. He seemed conflicted. His eyes held an inner struggle. Reaching out like one would a wounded animal, you took Benedict's hand in your own. Carefully running your thumb over his knuckles.
"Speak to me, please"
"You have done no wrong. It is I that has wronged you."
His response shocked you. To your knowledge, he had not done anything that could grant you to be upset with him. Was this truly all about something he believed he had done to upset you? It seemed so stupid.
"You have not done anything. I do not understand. Stop being foolish, I-"
“Every time I see you, all I can think about is kissing you and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”
The words that came from Benedict were rushed and strung together. It took a moment for your brain to process what he said as words and then another moment to truly understand those words. Kissing? You? His face was flushed, eyes not daring to meet yours. He has had many flings in the past, all of which he had the confidence of a King. But it was different with you. He did not hold lust in his heart like he did them, but he held love. A pure unfiltered love, that he only carried for you.
"I do not understand? That is why you have been avoiding me? Leaving my letters unanswered? Because you desire to kiss me?"
There was a beat of silence as Benedict struggled to form the words in his mind. You allowed him time to think, and your hand gave him a gentle squeeze.
"It is more than that... I... My.... My mind is completely entrapped by you. Every waking moment I spend thinking of you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your eyes. You have consumed utterly consumed me."
"Oh, Benedict..."
Your voice trails up as you inch closer to him. A hand reached to caress his cheek as your soft lips connect with his. You felt his hand wrap around your waist, holding you as though you may slip away. He needed to know you were real and this was not all just a fantasy he had conjured up in his mind. But you were real, this was real, and he could not be more ecstatic.
Y/N is many things: Daphne’s best friend, gifted artist, new money, honorary Bridgerton – and hopelessly in love with Benedict. But when she finds herself suddenly engaged to a brutish army captain stationed in India, she is faced with the loss of everything she has grown to adore. With time running out, one last visit to Aubrey Hall will decide her fate.
Months ago I had a random phase of obsessing over Benedict Bridgerton (don’t we all at some point) and dove head-first into this – then somehow took an eternity to finish it. It’s angsty af, but don’t worry, there’s also plenty of Bridgerton shenanigans and tooth-rotting fluff because Benny is too adorable for this world
Warnings: angst and anxiety
Word Count: ~8400
A warm summer breeze caresses my heated skin as I finally emerge from the carriage and lay eyes on Aubrey Hall. Lush flowers and greenery adorn the inviting front and I am still taking in the sight when I notice Eloise and Penelope rounding the corner, the Bridgerton sister gesticulating in what must be one of her political rants. Behind them, Gregory and Hyacinth emerge, chasing each other and screaming in delight. My stomach swoops at the sight – how I have missed them all.
“Good morning!” I call over to them, waving with an excitement I would scarcely allow myself to display anywhere else. But here, everything is different. Has always been different.
Summary: Is there a handbook for what to do when your crush walks into your store to buy a gift for his girlfriend? There should be!
Word Count: 5,432 words
Warnings: Stancy, Steve being deeply in love and then getting his heart broken, brief mention of Steve's asshole dad, pining reader, hurt/comfort, Tommy & Carol, language, innuendo
Note: Inspired in part by Steve's rendition of Old Time Rock & Roll.
☟ Continue below the fold ☟
Nancy hadn't been herself, not since Barb disappeared, and her mood had only been getting worse every day. Steve could feel her retreating into herself, hiding from the world and from herself and from him. He could feel Tommy and Carol getting progressively more frustrated with her (and with him for putting up with it) with every passing day.
And it's not like Steve blamed Nancy. Her best friend had gone missing while Nancy hung out with people Barb wasn't the biggest fan of. And, to rub salt in an open wound, Nancy had been having sex with Steve while Barb disappeared.
Steve felt a little guilty, to say the least. He'd had the thought of If I hadn't wanted to sleep with Nancy so bad, she would have gone home with Barb and they'd both be safe. But after a while, he wasn't so sure about that. The longer he thought about it, the more he became convinced that if Nancy had gone with Barb, they both would have gone missing.
Whether it was through his own guilt or because he wanted to make Nancy feel better, he wasn't quite sure, Steve found himself driving to the record store just off Main Street after school got out. He'd blocked out the noise of Tommy and Carol bickering, Tommy in the passenger seat and Carol leaning forward from the back seat, too busy trying to remember which bands had played from the radio the night he was studying at Nancy's house, and whether or not Nancy had actually liked them. He didn't want to screw up his little surprise by getting her music she wouldn't listen to—or a vinyl she already owned. Maybe he should have discreetly snooped through her pile of records before he'd made up his mind to do this...
Tommy sharply elbowed Steve in the ribs. Before Steve could snap at him, he said, "You're overthinking this, man. She's either gonna pretend to love it and not actually care, or she's just gonna not care."
Behind them, Carol giggled. It sounded far more sinister than it should have.
Steve glared at him for a second before he made the turn into the store's parking lot. "You're no help, you realize that?" He parked the car and turned to the two of them. "You're gonna stay here and wait, got it? And don't do anything stupid, I'll make you clean the back seat this time."
Carol grinned. "What if it's the passenger seat?"
"Or the driver's," Tommy added, leaning back to kiss Carol, before Steve could snap that the passenger's seat was Nancy's seat. Steve felt his throat constrict.
"Do not get it on in my fucking car," he warned, "or I'm never driving you anywhere ever again."
He got out, slamming the door behind him, and sent a warning glare back over his shoulder. Tommy flipped him off through the windshield. Beside Steve, an elderly woman gasped in offense and Steve winced.
"Sorry about him," he muttered, but the woman was already scurrying off into her own vehicle. Steve sighed and pushed open the front door to the record shop.
A little bell above the door chimed once as he swung the door open, and then again as it closed behind him. Steve had only been in the store a handful of times, but he loved it more and more with every visit. The walls were plastered in old vinyls, displayed so that the name of each band was readable. No vinyl was the same color, some of them blue, some red, some multicolor, but all of them were different. A small gold plaque designated the oldest vinyl the store had on the walls, which was a reddish Vocalion from 1922 and was positioned directly above the door.
Rows and rows of alphabetized vinyls spread throughout the store, which was bigger than it looked from the storefront. In the lefthand corner nearest the door, a cashier's desk was set up, though there was no employee behind it. A plastic sign read I'm in the back! I'll be back soon!
Steve headed for the aisles of vinyls, then recognized what was playing over the speakers—Bob Seger's Night Moves.
Humming as he flipped through the stacks, Steve didn't notice the door to the back open, or you walk out of it and back to your desk.
"Mmm, sweet summertime, summertime," Steve sang, keeping his voice low, still embarrassed by his voice, an instinct his father made sure he would never shake.
But you heard it, even with the volume of the radio. You looked up from the desk, gaze scanning the rows. You spotted the back of Steve's head and recognized him immediately. That hair was unmistakable.
Heat burned in your belly. Suddenly, you really wished your coworker hadn't gone home just ten minutes earlier, complaining of nausea. If she'd just stuck around a few more minutes...you wouldn't have to face your long-time crush who was absolutely not available, happily dating Nancy Wheeler and unlikely to leave her any time soon.
You resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands. Sure, you'd liked him since middle school, long before he'd become part of the popular crowd and back when his hair was still a mess that hid his eyes from the world, and yes, you had two classes with him, but it's not like he'd know who you were, right? You'd keep relative anonymity and he would remain none the wiser of your long-standing admiration of him.
But then the song changed to The Fire Down Below and Steve was shimmying where he stood, singing the line "Here comes hot Nancy, she's steppin' right on time" with the hugest grin on his face.
You sighed. The school, your best friends, the entire senior year was right—Steve Harrington was down bad for Nancy Wheeler.
The tiniest bit of hope that he might one day notice you was dashed every time you heard that loving croon of his voice every time he sang Nancy's name.
This is why we don't get our hopes up, you told yourself, echoing a sentiment your best friend had drilled into you ever since Steve became the ladies' man that made him so popular in high school. Not that it erased the previous middle school years of drooling over Steve, back before anyone else had really considered him attractive.
You watched as Steve meticulously went through every record in the store, clearly searching for something specific. You normally would have gotten up and approached a customer taking this long, but it was Steve. You knew the instant you got up from your stool, your legs would give out underneath you. And if that didn't happen, you'd walk into a shelf on your way over to him. And if that didn't happen either, you'd start stuttering the moment you tried to talk to him. And if that didn't happen, you'd turn bright red and combust on the spot when he either asked for your help or turned you away.
Too stuck in your head, you didn't even realize the record had stopped playing until you heard Steve's singing stop. A pang went through you at the sound of silence—Steve's voice was almost more soothing than the music itself.
You turned around and dug through your pile of vinyls the store let you play until you found another Bob Seger—the album he'd released last year. Steve had been singing Bob Seger, and you desperately wanted him to keep singing.
You cleaned off the record before placing the needle down. A few bars into Even Now, you turned back around and squeaked, jumping in surprise.
Steve was standing at your desk, a pleasant but awkward smile on his face.
"Uh...hi," he said. "Sorry if I scared you."
You blinked at him and cleared your throat, hoping your voice didn't come out squeaky. "It's...it's fine. Can I help you with something?"
"Uh, please, I'm looking for—" He snapped his fingers. "You're in my chemistry class, aren't you?" You nodded, meekly adding that you were also in English together, and he beamed. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere!"
"Yeah, uh... Hi, Steve," you said. "You said you were looking for...?"
Steve shook himself out. "Oh, yeah, um... I'm trying to find a record for Nancy, my girlfriend, because I want to cheer her up after...everything. I'm sure you've heard about it."
The tiredness in his voice surprised you. But you nodded without bringing it up. "I have. How's she holding up?"
Steve sighed. "Not...fantastically. That's why I'm doing this, I want to get her something to take her mind off things."
You raised your brows. "So you decided on a record?"
Steve shrugged, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. "I thought it would be something we could dance to, and that that might make her feel better."
Your heart squeezed. How are you so sweet? "Alright, makes sense. What does she like to listen to usually?"
Steve shut his eyes as if thinking for a moment, then said, "She likes ABBA and Michael Jackson, she has a Fleetwood Mac tape but only ever listens to Rhiannon, but she sings under her breath every time Journey comes on the radio, doesn't matter what song it is. She's got Madonna, Bowie, Blondie, and The Beatles already as tapes and vinyls, so I don't want to get her those."
You blinked at him. "You really do pay attention to everything, don't you?"
Steve smiled shyly. "I...I guess so, when it comes to Nancy."
You left the back of the desk, hoping you weren't visibly shaking too much. "Let's go find you a Journey vinyl, okay? They just released a new album a few months ago, I'm pretty sure we've got it on vinyl..."
Steve followed you to the J section and the two of you started flipping through, both of you softly singing along to Love's The Last To Know as you did.
Halfway through the song and completely through the Js section, you interrupted the song with a gasp.
"I know where it is! Wait here," you told him, and hurried into the back room. You dug through the most recently delivered box of records until you saw the familiar blue album cover of Frontiers, letting out a victory cry as you grabbed it.
Steve was leaning on the shelf, still singing "We lost our way and our love's the last to know" so mournfully you wondered what heartbreak he'd been through before.
"I got it!" you said, grinning and holding the record aloft.
Steve beamed. "Thanks! I really appreciate it. I know I was kind of...out of my depth for a bit there."
You shrugged. "Eh, that's nothing. I've had people come in here demanding records we don't carry from bands that only just released music." You rolled your eyes. "'No, sir, we don't carry Metallica, and even if we did, the album came out last week, so we wouldn't have it yet anyway!'"
Steve snorted with laughter, handing you cash to pay for the vinyl. "Let me guess, it was the Munson kid."
"The Munson kid," you confirmed.
"Thanks again," Steve said, though he didn't seem inclined to head out the door.
"Any time," you said, instantly regretting the words because if you saw Steve at your workplace more than this, you were going to have a heart attack, but you paired the words with a kind smile anyway.
"See you in class tomorrow," he said, stepping out the door and waving goodbye. You watched him go, putting the record in the back seat, snapping at Tommy and Carol in his car, and pulling out of the parking lot.
You let go a tense, nervous breath. The pain in your chest eased. Well, at least Steve knew of you now. And even if his dedication to Nancy was unfailing, at least you might get to talk to him now, even if it only worsened the ache in your heart.
~❊~
Steve skipped third block.
The entire school seemed to be talking about why—or at least, his entire gym class, who had told a story about Billy Hargrove getting in his face the entire basketball game, and then Nancy dragging him out of the class to "talk" about something. At first, everyone had assumed they were banging in the locker rooms, until somebody reminded them Nancy hadn't been in first block, and she never skipped, and that Steve usually drove her to school—but he hadn't missed first block. Then when he'd come back, upset and angry, from his talk with Nancy, people started to put a story together.
You weren't sure you wanted to believe the story, or the many versions of the story, that were floating around you chemistry class. It didn't line up with what you knew of Steve, or what you knew of his relationship with Nancy, most of which you heard straight from him.
But then again...
You shook yourself out of your head, your gaze straying back toward Steve's empty seat. You sighed, pulling your notebook toward you and copying down the notes on the board as neat as you could—undoubtedly you'd need to give them to Steve when he decided to come back to class.
But when your best friend came into the class, handing your teacher a doctor's note, her wide eyes already told you Steve wasn't coming back today.
She sat down beside you, hissing your name. You looked at her. "What? What's wrong?"
"Is there a reason I just saw Steve Harrington crying in his car?" she whispered to you.
Your eyes went huge. Whatever had happened between him and Nancy, it wasn't good. "Keep your voice down and don't tell anyone else about that," you said.
She flipped her notebook to a blank page and started writing. "You better fill me in on everything I missed today," she said.
"Obviously, but only once I know exactly what happened," you said. "Which means only once Steve tells me what happened. However long that takes."
~❊~
It became painfully clear that Steve didn't want to talk—to anyone. He snapped at anyone who tried to bring it up with him, and his mood was waspish. The situation was made worse by the rumors spread by Tommy and Carol—that Nancy had only been with Steve for his money and the sex; that she left because Steve wasn't good enough for her; that she was cheating on him with Jonathan.
You knew that the jibes about Jonathan hit Steve a little too close to home. The same rumor had circulated last year when Will and Barb went missing, but this time, you were almost positive they were true.
Nancy was entirely unbothered by the whole thing. Seeing her prance around with Jonathan, not caring that doing so was hurting Steve more than anything, made your blood boil.
On your way to the record store for another one of your slow closing shifts, a week after Steve skipped chem class, you saw the two of them walking together along the sidewalk. You rolled your eyes at them. You had once thought Nancy to be the luckiest girl in the world: smart, pretty, and dating the hottest man Hawkins had to offer. Now you were certain she was the most careless, throwing it all away for a mediocre man.
Steve's car was in the store's parking lot when you arrived. You parked next to him, looking over to find him in the driver's seat, staring into his lap.
You got out and knocked on his window. "Steve? You okay?" He looked up, sporting red-rimmed eyes. You could hear Bob Seger's Comin' Home playing quietly on his radio. "Oh, Steve..."
Steve got out of his car. Voice quiet and rough, he asked, "Can I hang out for a while?"
"Yeah," you said. "Whatever you need."
His lip trembled. "A...a hug?" His voice as meek and barely there. But you heard it and the request made your heart break. You enveloped him in a tight hug, letting him soften into your hold. You remained that way until Steve decided he was done, not caring how many of your classmates walked by, staring in wonder at Steve clinging to you, new gossip already burning on their tongues.
~❊~
A good day meant boppier music at the record store as soon as you started your shift and shoved your coworker from the mid-afternoon shift out the door. So you swapped out all the mellow music in the stack of records beside your record player with music with a good beat that you could dance to while you restocked and reshelved.
Not even half an hour into your shift, the Naked Eyes record spun into Always Something There To Remind Me. You turned up the volume as high as you could without destroying the speakers and being chewed out by your managers, singing along and dancing by yourself while you worked.
"Well, how can I forget you, girl? When there is always something there to remind me!" You finished stacking your records in the aisle and turned back for a new pile. "Always something there to remind me. I was born to love her, and I'll never be free, you'll always be a part of— Steve!" You careened into his chest, grateful you weren't holding anything, because it all would have dropped to the floor. Steve's arms looped around you, stopping you from falling. "Don't sneak up on me, you scared me!"
"The doorbell rung!"
"Well, I didn't hear it!" You finally looked up at him, heart beating wildly out of your chest at the feeling of his chest against yours, his arms around your waist. You realized he looked downright miserable. "What happened?"
He sighed. "Remember how I said I was gonna try and patch things up with Nance?"
"Yeah..."
Steve's lower lip started to tremble. "It...it didn't go well."
Your heart dropped to your feet. "Oh, Steve, I'm...I'm so sorry."
He sniffled. "It's, uh, it's over. She...she doesn't love me, has never loved me, I'm still bullshit, and she's been sleeping with Jonathan. So..." He heaved a heavy sigh. "It's over. Completely, totally, officially over."
"Steve," you whispered. "I'm so sorry, honey. Is there anything I can do?"
He smiled, lips trembling and eyes watering. "Change the song?" The words came out with a little hiccup and a laugh.
You realized what the song was about. "Oh! Yeah, sure, right—sorry. It's such an upbeat song in the actual music, I didn't even think about the words!" You untangled yourself from his arms to change the record. "What are you in the mood for?"
"Nothing romantic, please," he said, sitting down on your stool. "And, after you're done..."
You looked at him, sensing his hesitation. "Yeah?"
"Can I have another hug?"
You smiled at him, looping your arms around his back where he sat. He fell into you, burying his head in your shirt. "Of course, Steve."
You held onto Steve as tightly as he held onto you, praying he wouldn't notice the fast beat of your heart while he wallowed in his grief. It was a strange feeling, for Steve to be hiding from the world, form Nancy, from his broken heart in your arms, all while you harbored a horribly deep crush on him and a secret, guilty delight that it was over with Nancy.
"I just..." Steve huffed, clearly trying his best not to sob into your shirt. "I don't know where I went wrong. I don't know why I wasn't good enough."
Without really meaning to, you put your hand in Steve's hair. "Does there need to be a reason? Some people just aren't meant for each other, Steve."
Steve looked up at you with his red rimmed eyes, tears on his lash line. He hesitated a moment and then said, "If I tell you something...promise me you won't just...laugh at me."
Your heart broke for him. How many times had he told Tommy or Carol or, what the hell, even Nancy something, only to be laughed at, for him to ask that of you? "Of course I won't laugh at you, Steve." You squeezed his shoulder. "Why would I laugh at you?"
He didn't answer your question. "I know it sounds...ridiculous, but...I just—" He sighed. "I thought Nancy was the one. I've never been happier with a girl before, and she was honest, she was smart, she was determined, she had goals, she was nothing like the girls I was with before, and she made me feel alive! I thought for sure that I was... That I was maybe gonna spend the rest of my life with her."
You bit your lip. "There was no maybe about it, was there, Steve?"
He sighed, letting his head fall back into you. You muffled your grunt as he hid his face in your stomach, his arms sliding up your back and hold you closer to him. "No," he mumbled into the fabric of your shirt.
You smoothed your hand through his perfect hair and kissed the top of his head. You froze, hearing his tiny intake of breath. "Oh, I'm...I'm sorry, that was kind of...automatic, I guess?"
Steve peeked up at you and tugged you closer to his body until your feet hit the legs of your stool he was perched on. "It's okay. Um... Can you...keep doing that? With my hair?" Pink tinged his skin. "If you don't mind."
"I don't mind," you whispered, rubbing your fingers across his scalp. He sighed, pushing into your touch. Heat bloomed across your body.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I know this is...weird. But, um, Nancy never... Never really touched me or— Or held me or anything, so..."
"You don't have to explain yourself," you whispered. "Not to me, not to anyone. Okay?"
"Okay," he agreed, slowly relaxing in your arms.
"I've got you, Steve," you assured him. "I've got you."
~❊~
Before he'd even pulled into the parking lot, Steve was mentally apologizing to you. You'd told him time and time again when he visited you while you were working that you enjoyed your slow closing shifts. It meant there was no one to bother you while you were in the middle of a restock, making you forget where you were; it meant there was no one to complain about the music you played, so you could listen to whatever you wanted; it meant your final hour was spent just closing up shop instead of shooing customers out the door—except for Steve, who had become a regular and always stayed until you left, sometimes to give you a ride home and other times just to have a friend around.
But today, he wasn't coming alone. His car was full to bursting with young children: Dustin, Max, Lucas, Mike, and Will, all of whom he'd been tasked with picking up from their after school activities for the day. He had tried to get them to go home quickly, but his attempts to rush them out of his car had led them to discover that he was seeing a girl, which they all took the wrong way, of course.
Sort of.
Now that Steve was prowling the world alone again, he'd realized his initial estimation of you—pretty, smiley, shy with new people but confident with your friends—was right, but it was a muted reality compared to how you really were. It was like he'd been looking at you with sunglasses covering his eyes this whole time. Now that those glasses were gone, the record shop girl had become more than just his best friend.
And he was really hoping the kids were not about to point that out.
As per usual, you were playing Bob Seger when Steve pushed the door open. He'd yet to figure out if you played Bob Seger so much when he came to visit because you loved Bob Seger, or if you had (correctly) pinned Steve as a fan.
(Not that Steve had ever told anyone he was a fan; he let them think the only reason he even knew about his music was because of Carol's obsession with Risky Business.)
You weren't at your desk like Steve had expected; you were carrying a huge stack of records in your arms, shelving them as you walked along the rows, singing along to Sunspot Baby without a care in the world.
"Sunspot baby," you sang. "She sure had a real good time."
"I looked in Miami, I looked in Negril," Steve joined in. You turned with a grin, heading back to your desk. "The closest I came was a month old bill."
You noticed the kids as you put down your stack. "You brought company today, I see."
Steve gave you a look while the kids were still behind him. You stifled a giggle. "Uh, yeah, these are the kids. Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Max Mayfield, Will Byers, and Mike Wheeler."
Dustin walked straight up to your desk. "So you're the girl Steve talks about all the time?"
"All the time, huh?" you said, smiling in a way that suggested you were sure Dustin was exaggerating.
"Every time we see him," Mike groaned. You stared at the younger Wheeler in surprise.
"Oh, really? Is that so, Steve?" you teased.
He rolled his eyes, unable to stop his blush. "Sorry to interrupt your quiet shift. They wanted to stop in and grab some records."
"No we didn't—we just wanted to meet you," Lucas said. Steve's calm expression became painfully forced.
The young redhead snorted. "Speak for yourself." She looked up at you expectantly. "Do you have any David Bowie?"
You grinned. "I like you, you have good taste. Back side of the first row."
Max grinned and dragged Lucas with her.
You looked back at Steve. "Do you have enough room in your car for one more?"
"Need a ride when you leave?"
You nodded.
"Yeah, I've got room. I'll just make the kids rearrange."
You laughed. "You don't have to do that," you insisted.
Steve leaned across the counter. "Don't worry about it—I want to. I'd feel terrible if I left you to get home on your own."
You smiled at him, noticing Dustin nudging Mike and Will and pointing in your direction out of the corner of your eye.
~❊~
Somehow, the kids' presence lightened up the rest of your shift. Time passed quickly with them there, adventuring through the store and asking you question after question about the vinyls lining the walls.
You waved off Steve as he tried to get the kids to leave you alone. "They're fine, Steve. It's okay. You wanna help me get everything packed up? I've gotta lock up soon."
"Oh, yeah, sure." Steve took the vinyl off the record player and slipped it back into its case. He glanced over his shoulder and called to the kids, "Hey, guys! We're gonna head out soon."
You ran through your closing tasks as quickly as you could, anxious to head home for the night.
"Alright, everybody out. Got everything?" you asked, ushering the kids to the door and taking out the key. You set the alarm system for the building and locked the door behind you.
Steve put a hand on your back. Warmth bloomed through you from where he touched you. "You're all ready to go?"
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.
The kids opened the doors of Steve's car, jumping in quickly. Dustin made his way to the passenger's seat. Steve stopped him, gently shoving him toward the back seat with everyone else.
"Hey—move it, Henderson, she's got the passenger's seat."
You stared at Steve. "No, no, it's okay, he can—"
Steve shook his head, holding open the door for you. "Come on, it's fine, just..." He gestured into the car. The kids whispered and giggled at him. He sent them a glare and Dustin's annoyed face shifted into a gleeful smirk.
You got in the front seat, unaware of the glances being exchanged in the back or the glare Steve was giving them.
"Seat belts!" Steve said as he got into the driver's seat. You giggled at him as the kids groaned. You caught the way his face lit up when he looked at you, and butterflies tickled your insides.
Once the kids had listened and all were buckled, Steve pulled out of the parking lot and started his way through Hawkins, dropping them off one-by-one: Will first, on the outskirts of town, his mother waiting at the door; Max, who was relieved the Camaro wasn't in the driveway; Dustin next, his new cat sitting on the front step; Lucas, who was immediately met with his snarky young sister; Mike last, Nancy already at the door—saying goodbye to Jonathan.
You glanced at Steve. "You alright?"
Steve looked at you, releasing a deep sigh. "I'm okay," he said. "I...I'm doing better now."
"Good," you said. "You deserve it."
Steve gave you a curious look before he said, "Let's get you home, right?"
"Right."
And if Steve drove slower the whole way back to yours compared to driving the kids home, you weren't going to say anything.
When he got back to your house, Steve pulled into the driveway and sighed. "Well. Home sweet home," he said.
You looked at Steve with a smile. "Thanks for the ride home." You picked up the bag you had put on the ground. You got out, then stopped yourself before you could close the door. You crouched to look at him in the car. "Hey, Steve?"
"Yeah?" Was it just your imagination, or did he sound nervous?
You took a deep breath. Now or never.
"I talk about you all the time, too."
For a moment, Steve processed your words. Then his eyes went wide. Hope bloomed on his slack-jawed face. "You..." He bit his lip, holding back a smile. "You mean that you..."
"Yes, Steve," you said, voice quiet. "Always have. Just ask my friends—they'll give away my secrets just as quickly as Dustin gave away yours." You drummed your fingers against the roof of his car. "Do with that what you will. It's up to you if...you want to even acknowledge it or not." You closed his door and started for your front door.
A door squeaked and then slammed shut moments later; running steps approached you.
"Wait!"
You turned as Steve's hand fell on your shoulder, pulling you close to him. He yanked your body close to his, his arms sliding around you, his hands gripping your shoulder blades. For a split second, you reveled in his hug, noticing the difference in it, relishing in the love in his arms instead of the misery.
Those few seconds became nothing as Steve pulled back. You gave a sound of protest, quickly squashed by Steve's lips.
Your heart had stopped beating, but was simultaneously pounding. You moved on instinct, looping your arms around his shoulders, yanking him down to you. Never once did your lips part from his as the two of you grappled to hold each other in the best way possible.
Thunder boomed overhead. You gasped, pulling apart.
"Was it supposed to storm?" you asked.
"I didn't think so," Steve said.
You kissed him again. Steve smiled into the kiss.
"You should get home before it pours," you whispered against his lips. But neither of you made any move to let go of each other.
Steve adjusted so that his head was against yours, his mouth at your temple. "See you tomorrow in class, then?"
You hummed. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I don't wanna leave."
You looked up at the sky, watching the already-grey skies grow darker as storm clouds rolled in. "We're going to get soaked if we stay out here, Steve."
Steve squeezed you tightly. "Tomorrow, then." He kissed your forehead again. "I'll see you tomorrow...sweetheart."
You beamed at the nickname while Steve blushed while he gave you the moniker.
"And to think," you whispered. "You'd known me all this time, but this? This happened all because you stopped in my store one day."
Steve hugged you tight to his chest. "I wish I'd noticed you before, sweetheart, really I do."
You kissed him. "Well, you've noticed me now." Light rain started, dusting Steve's hair until it sparkled. "Now go, before that pretty hair of yours gets ruined."
He grinned, brushing his hand through it. "I knew you liked my hair."
"Always have." You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "Always will."
☞ ❊ ☜
Stranger Things // Steve Harrington
part 2? lmk!
Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the S.H. taglist!} @ohatropa@nix-rose@live-the-fangirl-life
Summary : Eddie and reader crushing on each other.
Word Count : 1k
Warnings : Not Proofread, major fluff, use of Y/N, kinda rushed, I was in need of fluffy Eddie honestly, idiots in love, very ramble-ly, fem pronouns are used, but readers not described physically.
~ / / / * \ \ \ ~
He knew you because of Nancy, you were a childhood friend of hers, along with Barb. You were quiet and normally went unnoticed, but not by him. Never by him.
He remembers the first time you caught his eye. You were walking down the hall, waving goodbye to Nancy and didn’t realise he was next to you. Bumping into him, dropping all of your stuff, along with him dropping his.
“I’m so sorry!” You said quickly, picking up his things, along with yours. “I’m sorry too, seems like we were both in our own worlds huh?” He smiled at you, helping you.
Standing up, he handed you a book and you passed him his D20 dice. “I’m really sorry,” you said, meeting his eyes. He was taken aback, you were beautiful. “It’s okay Sweetheart, just mind you don’t hurt yourself okay?” He smiled crookedly.
“‘Kay,” you said, gently. That’s the first word that came to mind. You were so gentle. Not dainty, no weak, but gentle. Like you wouldn’t hurt anyone or anything, you’d do things with care.
Shaking his head slightly, he spoke once more, “Well it was nice to bump into you, you have a good day.”
“You too Eddie,” you smiled slightly. His mouth went slack, you knew him. You knew his name.
You turned from him and carried on to your locker. He stood there, watching you. Not in a creepy way - okay maybe it was slightly creepy. But he was in awe. “Munson!” A voice shouted.
“Let’s go,” Gareth called to him.
“Uh, yeah I’m coming.”
~ / / / * \ \ \ ~
That’s the first time he met you. He thought about it often. Since that day he’d had a sixth sense for you. He knew when you walked in a room, or saw you as soon as he entered one.
And then he met Mike Wheeler, which meant he met Nancy, which meant he met you. Properly this time. He saw you often, but you were so quiet, he didn’t want to scare you off.
Playing D&D in the Wheelers basement has become a regular thing this summer.
It was one of the spaces large enough for the boys to hang out, and as Wheeler parents didn’t mind it was perfect. Eddie pushed up from his seat, excusing himself to the bathroom.
Running up the stairs he waved to Mrs Wheeler and Holly. The pair smiled at him and he carried on up to the next floor. Walking to the bathroom, he hummed to himself, but when he went to open the door someone walked out and into him.
Looking down he saw a familiar face. “Y/N,” he breathed out. “Hey Eddie,” you smiled sheepishly, “Sorry for bumping into you, really need to stop doing that.”
He chuckled, “I’m sorry too. How are you? It’s been a while.”
“I’m doing good, college is kicking my ass but you know,” you shrugged, and he noticed how you played with the bottom of your shirt.
“How about you? How’s everything?”
“Well I finally graduated.”
“I heard! Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” his face warmed. “Oh and I’ve got a new job at Hawkins mechanics.”
“That’s so great, I’m so glad for you,” you said honestly. “That you, what is it you’re studying?”
“Oh forensic science.”
“Wow. I’m not surprised, you were always the smartest girl in school.”
“I dunno about that.”
“You were.”
“I think people would disagree, if they remembered me,” you laughed to yourself.
“Well I remember you. Never forgot.”
You looked up to meet his deep chocolate eyes. “You didn’t?”
“How could I? How could anyone forget you?” You face turned pink and warm, which made Eddies mouth lift in a smile.
“Never forgot you either.”
“Little old me?”
“Yeah you Eddie.”
“Well I’m hoping it was good impression I left.”
“Oh the best.” The pair of you smiled at each other, struggling not to grin.
A door opened down the hall, “Hey Y/N you okay?- Oh hi Eddie,” Nancy said, her head popping round the door. Eddie waved, “Wheeler.”
“Sorry Nance, me and Eddie were just catching up.”
“Oh yeah course take your time,” the girl gave you a knowing smile, and shut the door.
“Well I better let you get back to Nancy,” Eddie spoke. “Uh yeah of course.” Looking down at your shoes, you walked past each other. As he was about to enter you spoke, “Hey Eddie.”
“Yeah Sweetheart?” The nickname made your heart flutter. “I was um - I was just wondering,” you played with your fingers, twisting the rings that sat there. “If maybe, and feel free to say no, if maybe you’d wanna hang out sometime?”
Eddie paused, was this real? It couldn’t be, the girl he’d crushed on for so long was asking him out. “Like .. um like a date?” He asked.
“Y-yeah, like a date. If you want. Or as friends.”
“A date sounds good.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
“Gonna need a number to call,” you smiled.”
“Oh um right, I have no pen or paper, but Nancy has my number. You know cause of Mike and stuff. So ask her and call whenever you’d like,” he rambled on quickly.
“Okay, well I’ll call you then.”
“Can’t wait,” he smiled.
“See you.”
“See you.”
~ / / / * \ \ \ ~
You slipped into Nancy room shutting the door behind you. She sat up on her bed, wiggling in excitement. “So?” She said.
“I asked him out,” you spoke.
“And?”
“He said yeah!” You almost squealed, she ran from her bed and hugged you.
“Oh my gosh this is so exciting!”
“He um, he said to get my number from you,” you laughed, knowing Nancy had given it to you months ago, practically begging you to call the boy you’d fawned over for years.
~ / / / * \ \ \ ~
Eddie locked the bathroom door, unable to stop himself from grinning. Fist bumping the air a few times he was beaming.
He looked in the mirror and spoke to himself “Don’t mess this up Munson! She asked you out. She’s gonna call. You’re gonna go on a date.”
His smile was none stop, when he walked past the room you and Nancy were excitedly chatting in, past Mrs Wheeler and Holly, down to the basement.
The boys looked up at him, at his face. “Let me guess Y/Ns here,” Mike teased.
~ / / / * \ \ \ ~
Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any requests 🤍
Summary: Peter's on the verge of losing you after disappointing you yet again.
masterlist
He didn’t show, the night was over and Peter was nowhere to be found.
You tried your best to mask your disappointment with a tall face as all the attendees started to trickle out of your college’s art exhibit, a handful of them congratulating and complimenting you on your artwork as they passed you.
It wasn't until you saw May walking towards you with a sympathetic look on her face that you felt your facade falter, “I’m so sorry darling,” she said as she brought you into a hug squeezing you.
“It’s fine, May. Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it.” You give her a sad smile pulling away from her. You take a deep breath, “May…I hate to do this but do you think I could get a raincheck on dinner tonight? I just want to go home.”
There’s a visible look of sadness on her face but she nods, “Of course you can, it’s beautiful by the way,” she says, angling her body to face your painting.
Keep reading
You mimic her actions, giving your painting a one over, “Thanks, I wasn’t sure about letting them display it when my art professor–she's the director of the exhibit asked. But I’m glad I did, a lot of people seemed to like it.”
“I can see why!” She exclaims.
Just as you were about to speak, the voice of your professor cut through all the chatter, “Ladies and gentlemen the art exhibit is now closing! Please make your way to the exit!”
You motion for her to follow you as you head to the doors. “How are you getting home? I could give you a ride,” she questioned. You shake your head, "I don’t think I can be around a Parker right now, at least not without wanting to cry.”
She frowns upon hearing your words, “Oh.” You push and hold the door open for her, “I know this is an unfair thing to ask of you but can you tell Peter I don’t want to hear from him anymore?”
May freezes the second she makes it outside, fully processing what you just said, “I’m sure he’s sorry–” She’s trying to save him, you both know she is. “I’m sure he is but I’m not interested in hearing his poor excuse of an apology. He knew how important this was to me and he said he’d be here, but he’s not. There’s only so many times you can let a person disappoint you, May.” Your eyes well with tears as you think back to telling him about being a part of the exhibit and how he added opening night to the calendar on his phone as well as the one that hung in his room, even going as far as drawing a heart around the square.
Cars start to whizz by as the traffic light turns green and you let out a defeated sigh, opening your arms to hug her goodbye, “It’s getting late and I don’t want to miss the train, you should head home too.” This time she hugs you tightly, “Give me a call when you get home, alright?”
You nod your head in response, “Thank you for coming, it means a lot to me. Have a goodnight and drive safe, okay?” Her hold on you gets even tighter, mumbling a goodnight to you before releasing you.
She stands still and watches you disappear down the street before pulling her phone out, attempting to reach Peter herself and when she's unable to, she leaves him a devastating voicemail, a voicemail he wouldn't hear until thirty minutes later when he was stood in front of ESU’s now dark and empty art center.
“...She said doesn’t want to hear from you anymore and honestly? I don’t blame her. She watched the door all night for you. All night, Peter, all night! She looked so heartbroken. She was trying her best to hide it but that look on her face, it was soul-crushing. I think this is it for you, ‘there are only so many times you can let a person disappoint you’ those were her exact words. She’s disappointed in you and frankly so am I, I didn’t raise you to act like this. You fucked up big time, there’s no point in sugarcoating it. I adore that girl and I know you do too but you’re losing her…”
Peter could feel the panic rising in his chest as he listened, the thought of losing you made his stomach churn. There's a slight shake in his hand as he presses his phone to his ear, his breath is caught in his throat as he waits for the calls to start ringing, praying you hadn’t blocked him. A sigh of relief escapes his mouth when it does but when the rings halt and his phone buzzes with a text message from you, he could feel all the air leave his lungs.
Sorry, I can’t talk right now.
Peter rushes to text you back; I’m so sorry honey.
He can see that you read his message but when you don't respond, he sends you another, and another, and another.
May left me a voicemail
I know I fucked up
And that I keep fucking up
But I can fix it
Can we please talk?
A spark of hope ignites within him as he watches the three dots appear on the screen but the feeling dwindles once he reads your message; It’s late, I’m tired and I don't want to hear or see you, please just leave me alone.
Peter goes to respond but another message appears in the chat informing him that you had silenced your notifications. His eyes never leave the screen, reading and rereading all the texts you’d sent him throughout the night, heart getting heavier and heavier with every message. He knows he should just listen and let you be but he goes against your wishes and sends one last message, I love you, I’m sorry.
—————————————
The sound of your phone ringing slices through the noise of the hand mixer you were using and the crinkles of the paper bag your cat was playing with. You glance at the screen, eyes scanning the contact name before turning off the mixer, answering the call, and bringing it up to your ear, “Hello?”
“Hello sweetheart, how are you feeling today?” Your elderly neighbor’s voice comes through clearly on the other end. A sigh leaves your lips, “Better, better than yesterday at least, I’m trying to keep myself occupied…giving baking a shot.” She hums in response, “Listen dear…I hate to be the bearer of bad news but he’s here.”
Your eyebrows knit together, “What do you mean?”
“That boy of yours. I’ve been watching him, he’s been standing at the door for the past half an hour.” You walk into the living room and over to the window, peeking through the blinds and sure enough there he was standing in front of the door of the duplex with his head hung low. “Do you want me to shoo him away? My grandson left his toy gun here the other day, you know the one with the foam bullets…I’ll take him out for you, sweetheart.”
Despite being amused by her words, a frown forms on your face, “Stand down, Mrs. Temple. I’ll handle him.”
“Alright, but if he gives you any trouble just let me know. I’ll give him hell.” Her soft voice now stern, “I know you will, remember how you asked me for his number last night cause you wanted to cuss him out?” You can hear her let out a huff on the other end before exclaiming, “He made you cry! I should go out there and jam my knitting needle through his eye.”
“That won’t be necessary, I’ll just tell him to leave and everything will be fine. And oh! Before I forget, do you like funfetti cake? I’ll bring it up for you and Mr.Temple a few slices when it's done.”
“We’d love that!”
The two of you exchange goodbyes and end the call. You take a second to collect yourself, taking a deep breath before opening the window, “What are you doing here?”
His head darts up, “Honey,” the sound of his voice catches the attention of your cat, who jumps on the windowsill to see him. He turns his entire body in your direction, digging his hands further into the pockets of his jacket, “Can we talk, please?”
You shake your head, “I meant what I said, Peter, I don't want to see you. Just go home.”
He opens his mouth to protest but you’re quick to shut the window and draw the blinds close. You walk back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder expecting to see your cat following close behind but much to your surprise, he’s waiting by the door. The sight made your heart hurt, “Snaps… I’m sorry buddy but he’s not coming.”
—————————————
Disaster.
That’s exactly how you’d describe the state of your kitchen. Your sink was piled high with mixing bowls and baking pans but it was all worth it once you added the final dusting of rainbow sprinkles to the frosted cake.
“Okay, Snaps, the cake is done, emergency chocolate chip cookies are in the oven. How do we feel about Coming to America tonight?” You ask aloud as you slice into the cake.
You look up at him perched on the windowsill, head poking around the blinds to watch the rain pour outside.“I’m going to run upstairs, you stay he–” you’re cut off by your ringtone, “Hey Mrs. Temple, I was just about to bring some cake up for you guys.”
“He’s still here, dear.” Her words made you feel uneasy, “He came back?”
“I’m not sure he ever left….he’s just sitting there.” You rush over to the window, pulling the blinds back, squinting your eyes trying to catch a glimpse of him on the stoop. “Oh my god! Can I call you back?” You didn't wait for her reply before ending the call.
You can feel your chest tighten as you leave your apartment and make the short walk to the building’s entryway. You inhale sharply before opening the door, to reveal Peter scrabbling to his feet. The rain mercilessly beats against his already drenched skin, he looks completely exhausted. “Hi,” his voice comes out as a whisper.
“Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you have any idea of how sick you'll get?” You scold him, stepping aside and opening the door wider for him to enter.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks out as he follows closely behind into your apartment, you ignore his words and the way Snaps starts to nuzzle against Peter’s leg only to pull away when he feels the cold and wet fabric of Peter’s jeans, “Go warm up in the shower, I’ll bring you a towel and some clothes,” you say walking into your bedroom.
You search through your drawer for something warm, eventually settling on a pair of flannel pajamas bottoms he’d left at your place for the nights he slept over, the sweatshirt you’d slept in the night before, and a pair of your fuzzy socks he stole from you.
You use your knuckle to knock on the bathroom door, “Peter? I’m coming in,” you said, turning the handle. “No, wait!” Peter calls out but he’s too late, you’ve already seen it. His suit.
“What the fuck!” Your eyes go wide as you scan the spider symbol on his chest.
Peter freezes, paralyzed by fear, this was not how you were supposed to find out. “It’s not what it looks like!” he blurts out, voice laced with panic. He watches your shoulder slump back and your eyes well with tears, you’ve never felt worse.
“Please, don’t cry. I can explain–” the sound of the oven’s timer going off causes you to shift your focus, shoving the towel in his hands. “I laid some clothes out for you,” was all you said before hurrying towards the kitchen.
—————————————
You were sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling trying to make sense of it all. Every moment you spent with Peter replaying over and over again in your head, mentally berating yourself for not piecing everything together sooner. All the cuts and bruises you’ve cleaned and iced, the dates he missed ‘cause he ‘lost track of time’, every question he’d answer vaguely or just flat out avoid, every question you wanted to ask but held your tongue afraid you would come off as pushing or invasive and he’d leave.
The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing followed by Peter’s faint footsteps and a soft meow causes you to shut your eyes, bracing yourself for the impending conversation to be had. You listened intently as his steps got closer and closer until they stopped right in front of the couch, you had a feeling he was standing over you and your suspicions were confirmed when a droplet of water falling onto your forehead caused you to open your eyes.
The sight of Peter cradling Snaps like a baby immediately comes into view, “Sorry about that,” he says, shifting your cat to support him with just one arm, and using his now free hand to wipe your forehead.
“It’s fine,” you mumble, sitting up and scooting over, patting the spot next to you.
An awkward silence falls over the room, neither of you not knowing where to begin, “Thank you for doing this– for letting me in.” Your leg bounces as you try to work up the nerve to finally address the elephant in the room, opening your mouth to speak but shutting it when no words seem to come out until, “So…you’re Spider-Man?”
Peter swallows thickly, “I am.”
“Oh,” you say nervously fiddling with your fingers, “I guess it makes sense.”
“It does?”
You shrug your shoulders, “The longer I think about it…yeah. I’ve always assumed that whoever was under the mask was too smart and too courageous for their own good, no one fits that description better than you. And then there's every single injury you’ve ever had ever, no one trips and falls that many times, Pete.”
He was just about to say something until he hears you, whispering to yourself under your breath, “I can’t believe I dated a superhero.”
“Dated?” He repeats back your use of past tense only adds to the unsettling feeling in his chest, you were giving up on him and he deserves it.
You hum in response, “I know May told you what I said– about there only being a certain amount of times you can let someone disappoint you, and you are way past your limit. I think it’s better if we both just accept this is how things were meant to be. Look you can stay tonight but I think it’s best that in the morning all we are is strangers.” Your voice wavers at the end and it makes his heart plummet.
Tears pool in his eyes, “S-strangers?”
He shakes his head repeatedly, “No, no, no. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go–”
You furrow your brows at him, “And how exactly was this supposed to go?”
He hangs his head, glancing down at the cat looking back at him, Snaps stretches his paw out to touch his face, “We were supposed to talk it through, I went to the show- I bought flowers, they’re in my bag they're probably ruined now but I have them! I was going to tell you about being Spider-Man but then you weren’t there so I came here.”
“Me knowing about Spider-Man doesn’t really change anything.”
“It doesn’t?”
“I guess It does-” he picks his head up as the words leave your mouth but it is quick to drop it again when you finish your speaking, “-just not in the way it counts.”
“Oh,” he can feel his entire body deflate, “What does that mean?”
You let out a defeated sigh, “It means I understand why you were always running late or missing dates completely, and why you’ve shown up here sometimes looking as good as dead.”
“But…?”
“But it changes nothing about us, our relationship has never been a priority–”
He’s quick to cut you off, “That’s not true.”
“But it is, Peter. You’ve had a million chances to prove otherwise and you haven’t. I love you-”
“I love you too.”
“-but I can’t keep doing this, I don’t have it in me anymore,” you wipe away the tears that start to roll down your cheeks. “You just aren’t reliable, Peter.”
“What if I could be reliable? Give you stability?”
“Peter we’ve already been down this road before–”
“It’s different this time,” he insists, “I haven’t been able to balance being me and being Spider-Man, I’ve lost so much because being Spider-Man has completely dictated my life and I was fine with it because all heroes have to make sacrifices but none of it is worth it if it means I lose you too.”
Snaps wiggles out of Peter’s arms and onto the floor, giving Peter the chance to grab ahold of your hands, “I can be both and also give you stability, you deserve better and I’ll do everything I can to be better. I don’t want to lose you, Honey, I don’t. Please, let me show that I can be reliable–that our relationship is a priority.”
Your silence is deafening, you do your best to avoid Peter’s pleading eyes as you weigh options,
“Parker, I swear to fucking god you better pray your lucky number is a million and one because this is the last time I’m ever doing this with you.”
He perks up immediately, eyes glistening as he processes what you said. His mouth opens but you start to speak before he’s able to get a word out, “If we’re doing this then there's a few rules I’d like to set and they’re all non-negotiable.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Date night. Twice a month, no expectations. I don’t care if we go out or stay in, I just want a couple of nights off with my boyfriend. You flake, you’re out. Got it? ”
“Got it.”
“Wait, that made me feel like a bitch, to clarify that doesn’t apply to serious situations. I’m not going to stop you from helping or anything like that, I just want two nights out of the month reserved specifically for us.”
“I knew what you meant,” Peter reassures.
“Could you call or text me when you get home after you’re done with Spider-Man stuff? I’d like to know you’re safe.”
“Consider it done. Can I add a rule of my own?”
“Go for it.”
“Can you leave one of the windows in the bedroom unlocked for me? Since you know now I figured I could come over right after patrol and skip the whole ‘changing in an alley somewhere’ part.”
“I can do that.”
You stand up and start walking to the kitchen, “This isn’t a rule, it's a favor but could you run this up to Mrs.Temple? And before you ask, yes you can have some.”
Peter trails behind you, eyes sparkling when he finally sees the baked goods on your countertop. “God, I love you,” he says, giving you a wet kiss on the cheek.
—————————————
Peter’s knuckles knocked against the door, he could hear shuffling around the room before the door opened revealing Mrs. Temple with a big smile plastered on her face.
“Oh it’s you,” she says, her smile faltering.
He holds out the plastic cake dish for her to take, “Uh yeah, Y/n’s asked me to bring some cake up for you guys.”
“Mmmhm…I heard what happened,” she eyed him up and down, “and by the looks of you being here, I assume my sweet girl forgave your ass?”
Peter nods, “She did–”
“We’ll I’m glad things worked out,” she steps closer, poking him in the chest with her finger, “But if you ever make my baby cry again, it will be the last thing you ever do.” She takes the dish from his hand, her next words were lower than a whisper, “I know a guy.”
“Well, you and Y/n have a goodnight, tell her I’ll give her a call in the morning,” she adds before retreating back into her apartment.
“I don't think I’ve ever been more terrified of an elderly woman than I was just now,” were the first words to leave his mouth the second he returned to your apartment.
“Oh god, did she threaten to shoot you?”
His eyes bulged out of his head, “She has a gun?”
You wave his question off, “No it's just a Nerf gun.”
His mouth forms into an ‘O’, “so the implication that she could put out a hit on me was a bluff?”
“No, she really does know a guy, he’s nice.”
—————————————
Extra:
Your head rested against Peter’s chest, the soft thumping of his heart mixed with his hand rubbing your back made your eyelids feel heavier.
“Pete?”
He grunted in response.
“Why didn’t you go home? When I told you earlier?”
“Home is where the heart is.”
You pretend to gag at his statement, “That was too cheesy, even for you.”
“It’s not cheesy, it's the truth and it’s endearing.”
Ok it's headcanon time what do you think Peter's reaction would be when him and his friend who've been bffs for years and are very comfortable with physical touch suddenly starts to pull away from him cause she saw him flirting with another girl at thier college mixer and so she starts to pull away from his physical touches cause she feel like she should finally be able to move on from him and start her college life without pining after him all the time and slowly peter starts noticing that she always give him affection when he needs it on his tough days but refuses his touch even when he remotely comes near her
🌌
just so you know
tasm!peter x fem!reader
a/n: sorry this took ages, i forgot how to write (there was a more perfect gif but tumblr hates me)
*
“what’s going on?”
you look up again, meeting uncertain eyes with a fake sense of amusement. you know what you’re doing, and so does peter.
“what?” you tease, running your hand over plastic price tags and years of dust, staring down at ceramic mugs and tiny scentless candles.
peter puts his hand on your back, walking with you, and as a subtle and graceful friend, you quickly move away from him, pretending to kneel down and look at a set of plates.
“that. this—this thing that your doing.” peter points to you like it’s a psychical entity. some thing you’re holding just to hurt him. a handful of tricks.
“looking at cat mugs?” you ask, eyebrow raised.
“avoiding me. pretending like you haven’t been evading every question i’ve asked.”
you frown, but don’t look up. you finger a curved handle, swallow and let the lies slip from your mouth without any effort. if you’ve been distant from peter recently, it’s nothing but an accident. a practiced maneuver. “i’m not avoiding you.”
“you haven’t looked at me all day.”
“i’m looking at you right now, peter.” and so you do.
peter smiles, laughs a bit, his chest rising and falling, but it’s frustrated. he runs a hand through his hair, shakes his head. and then he bends down and wraps his hand around your arm, pulling you up before you get the chance to stop him.
and you would stop him, you know, if he hadn’t already pointed out that you’ve been doing it all day. for at least the past week.
his touch burns, like a singe on your already red wounds. and even though he’s smiling at you, being as gentle as peter always is, you can see your tension, can feel your own hesitation in his skin.
“did i hurt you, or something?” he asks, biting the inside of his cheek. “i know we—well, we’re not um, that hesitant with being close, touching and stuff, but if i did something accidentally—“
“you haven’t hurt me, peter.”
“okay… then what’s going on? do you need to discuss boundaries with me?”
“what?” you laugh.
“i’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” peter says, softly, like you’re some breakable thing. “i just want to make sure that you—that we’re okay.”
“of course we’re okay, peter.”
and then, that’s not quite true.
when you look into peters eyes, it’s not an auburn storm that you see. it’s not even yourself being reflected in his irises.
it’s flashing lights and music that made your head pound. there’s sticky floors and too many people—so much air, and too much breathing in such a small room. you see people laughing and singing, hands and bodies intertwined like it would hurt to be apart.
and it’s all sort of beautiful and disturbing, all sort of a lot—but then, there’s familiar hands, running up an unfamiliar body. peter had asked you to dance, but you knew it was only so he could laugh because he knew that you couldn’t.
when you look into peters eyes you see her. and there’s such a strong fire ignited in your chest, such a vehement jealousy that you have to look away.
you have to physically pull yourself away from him just so you don’t feel like that. just so you can tell yourself that it’s not fair.
“we’re fine,” you repeat, softly, and you look away from him. turn away, so you can block yourself away from his all too knowing stare.
you don’t pull away from his hands, but god do you want to. you want to take a break from him, a break from all of this until you can promise yourself that you just don’t care.
that you don’t crave his side stepping and hand holding and resting your head on his shoulder or leaning against his chest. that isn’t fair.
you clear your throat; you can’t lie to him, and it’s not like peter is going to let you. “it’s just…” you start, stepping towards him and then away. “i don’t know if lindsay would be comfortable with it.”
peters face flinched, he tilts his head at you. “lindsay?”
“i don’t want to get in the way of anything…”
“get in the way of what?”
you meet his eyes and laugh. “c’mon, peter. you’re not as discreet as you think you are. there was that night at the club and then the “study” dates you’ve been going on.”
“that wasn’t anything—“ peter is quick to get out, but you shove his shoulder, pretending your laughter isn’t painful.
“save it, loverboy. if you want to hold someone’s hand,” you tease, “it should be your girlfriends. i was surprised you even asked me to come gift hunting today.”
peter swallows. “she’s not my girlfriend.”
you nod, turning away from him. “yeah, okay.”
“i’m serious. we’ve been working on a project for bio-chem, that’s all.”
“i’m not blind, peter.”
he walks when you do, leaning his head down until he can see your face. “don’t you think i’d tell you if started dating someone and it was serious?”
“um, no, not really. we don’t ever talk about that stuff.”
“yeah, because you get weird whenever i bring it up.”
“i don’t get weird—“ you say, turning to glare at him. he’s closer than you expected though so whatever you were about to say falls into the air. it blows away with the feel of peters breath on your cheek.
“i would tell you,” he says, “if i had a girlfriend.”
you lean away from him, taking a deep breath in. “okay, peter. but the point still stands. you shouldn’t be holding hands with me while you’ve got a girl who’s waiting for you to get your head out of your ass. or stop lying. whatever.”
“i don’t want to hold her hand.”
peters voice is soft, and his hand is gentle as it lands on your waist. he pulls you to him, like he’s sure that you’re going to run away.
“well now i know why you don’t have a girlfriend.”
peter chuckles, staring down at you with burning eyes. and this time, when you look at him, you see only a secret catching fire. “i don’t have a girlfriend because i want to hold your hand,” he whispers, a finger brushing up against your jaw.
“o-oh.”
you stare at him, unsure what else to say.
what other announcements need to be made, what other proclamations you should probably get in writing.
peter smiles again, wider. he lets go of you and turns so his shoulder is to you. and then he grabs your hand.
~loooong requested hope you enjoy some brotherly competition~
- jason had no idea he wanted you until dick called "dibs" the first night he met jason's mysterious "friend" and newest bat-recruit
- at first, jason didn't care. like at all. but that never stopped him from being an asshole
- "my brother y/n really? what's there to like? i didn't see you as a musical theatre and dad-joke enjoyer" he'd scoff anytime dick tried to make a move
- that didn't stop richard fucking grayson.
- "hey! y/n! fancy seeing you here!" .. "it's the batcave dick i work here" .. "oh, well are you working all night? maybe we can grab some big belly burger after?" .. "we have patrol together you dork"
- honestly, it was endearing being adored, worshipped even. from handwritten poems, to a little mini batarang necklace, and all the weapons your heart could desire
- and for all his dork-tendencies, dick knew a thing or too about hand placement...
- "put me down richard" .. "you literally fell into my arms" .. "i would've landed on my feet" .. "sure princess, but aren't my arms a little better?" he'd tease, sweeping you bridal style out the back door of the gala you two had just rescued
- it was somewhere in between the gift giving, rooftop dates, and stolen glances that jason realized he might want -slightly, just a tiny bit- more.
- okay; he wanted you all to himself.
- but he's always been shit at explaining it
- where dick was obvious and flirtatious, jason started subtle: always inching closer to you, keeping a longing gaze set on your every move-even if it meant tripping himself up in battles- you noticed he would sooner get shot than let you catch a scrape
- and just like dick's coddling, it got annoying
- "jace i've been on the team for months, i think i can watch out for myself" .. "i know, i protect the people i care about" his response was almost a whisper, and before you could pry further, he disappeared, replaced with a familiar cheesy grin "hi y/n! wanna catch a movie tonight?" .. "uh, one sec dick! i need to check on jace"
- but jason was never anywhere to be found. every time he let you in, he disappeared just as quick.
- when you started toying with new weaponry jason was there, you still got butterflies remembering the way he pressed himself against you while fixing your form, his calloused fingertips lighting fires as he subtly adjusted your grip on your gun
- "jay is this right?" .. "mhm your grip is perfect, but the recoil will get you, slide your leg backwards to brace for the impact of firing" .. the minute his hand touched your thigh a shiver ran across your body, against your shaking will .. "oh, sorry i didn't mean to-" .. you cut him off "no it's good, you're good" but before you could turn around to unpack the cloud of tension in the room, jason cleared his throat and gruffly said "fire" ruining any chance of an emotional conversation. three perfect shots to the targets, and with a satisfying nod he was gone once again
- so when dick asked you out on a real date, to a restaurant whose menu alone gave you anxiety at the thought of ordering, you realized you had to give jason the ultimatum
- but for once in his (second) life, jason was way ahead of you.
- "you said yes to dick?" jason was sitting at your desk when you entered your own room, overly dramatic but it was jason todd after all.
- "do i have a reason to say no?"
- "you hate fancy restaurants. you need like a week to plan what you'll order otherwise you'll just be stressed the whole time"
- you rolled your eyes, but jason wasn't finished: "and you hate movies, sitting in one place watching a film you probably haven't heard of, pretending to enjoy the nuance"
- he wasn't wrong. "whatever jace, that doesn't-" .. "i can tell you what's gonna happen. he'll order a wine too sweet for your taste, and talk to the waiter enough to make you want to crawl under the table. then after a perfectly lovely dinner he'll take you to a rooftop to 'show you the sights' and you'll have your first kiss. but you hate the city skyline, it reminds you you're far from home. you like the sound of the ocean and the rusting of the forest. you like something real."
- your heart was in your throat. but you needed something more: "say it jason. don't tell me the future with dick. fucking say it."
- jason stood up, closing the distance between you, eyes now desperate and wild: "say what? that i've loved you since the minute i lost you? that i feel like ive known you forever? that i don't need to learn to love you like he does, i was built for it? that i feel like i was made for you? how do i put it in a few useless words"
- "you just did jay." you whispered, letting him lock his lips in yours with a smile.
- "please go break richard's fucking heart and come home to me." he grumbled, to which you agreed, letting dick down softly and promising to set him up with one of your friends in return for his kindness- a deal which he wouldn't let you forget
- years later, it was more of a household joke, dick claiming he was the catalyst to your and jason's lovestory. to which jason wholly despised, but you never minded giving dick a little credit
