magical-reid

[magical-reid]

could i pretty please request prompt #18 with spencer reid and a forensic scientist reader? would be super duper cool if she was part of the bones (tv show) crew, as i’ve always thought them and cm should have done a crossover. thanks!! ❤️

The Science of Luck

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 1K

Prompt: 18: "I thought I had the worst luck, until I met you"

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid, a staunch skeptic of luck, finds himself questioning his beliefs after an encounter with a clumsy forensic scientist, who joins the BAU team on a challenging case. Despite their initial bickering and contrasting expertise, the two begin to form an unlikely partnership while investigating a serial killer, leading to a surprising and potentially life-changing connection.

Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t believe in luck. Probability? Sure. Coincidence? Of course. But luck? That was just a cognitive bias humans relied on to explain randomness.

Yet, as he stood ankle-deep in Virginia mud, his pristine pants ruined, watching as yet another forensic scientist nearly slipped and took out an entire evidence table, he found himself reconsidering.

“I thought I had the worst luck,” he muttered, barely dodging a flying clipboard, “until I met you.”

The forensic scientist in question—you—wobbled but managed to right yourself before disaster struck. You shot him a glare as you readjusted your Jeffersonian ID badge. “Not my fault this crime scene is a swamp. And it’s not luck, it’s physics. Slippery surfaces, unstable ground, and a lack of proper traction—”

“That sounds an awful lot like an excuse for bad luck,” Spencer countered.

You huffed but couldn’t argue. You were a forensic scientist, not a field agent, and being thrown into an active crime scene with the BAU was not in your usual job description. You were used to working in the pristine, controlled environment of the Jeffersonian Institute—not chasing serial killers through the backwoods of Virginia.

And yet, here you were.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It all started with a body—or rather, bodies. Multiple skeletal remains had been discovered in various locations across the D.C.-Virginia border, the work of a particularly meticulous serial killer. The BAU had been called in due to the pattern of abductions matching an existing profile, but given the advanced state of decomposition, the FBI had reached out to the Jeffersonian for forensic assistance.

That’s how you ended up here—cold, wet, and questioning all of your life choices.

Agent Hotchner, ever the professional, barely batted an eye at the tension between you and Reid. “Dr. (L/N), thank you for assisting us. Dr. Brennan recommended you personally.”

You straightened your back. Temperance Brennan doesn’t recommend people lightly. “I specialize in isotopic analysis and forensic taphonomy. If your unsub is moving bodies across state lines, I can determine where they were before they ended up here.”

Hotch nodded approvingly. “That would be extremely useful.”

Reid, however, still looked skeptical. “That’s assuming there’s a pattern in the body disposal locations. If the killer is deliberately choosing random drop sites—”

You crossed your arms. “Then I can still tell you about the soil composition, insect activity, and post-mortem damage, which could help narrow down a timeline. It’s basic forensic science, Doctor Reid.”

A small smirk twitched at the corner of Hotch’s lips as he turned away. “Work with Dr. Reid and see what you can find.”

You and Reid stared at each other for a beat too long before sighing simultaneously.

“Fine,” you said.

“Fine,” he echoed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Jeffersonian, you had the advantage. This was your turf, your lab, your meticulously organized work environment. And Spencer Reid—despite his genius—was a little out of place.

“Don’t touch that,” you warned as he hovered near a set of isotopic samples.

“I wasn’t going to,” he shot back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You raised a brow. “I literally just watched you reaching for it.”

“It was a reflex!”

“Uh-huh.”

Despite the bickering, you had to admit—Reid was sharp. He picked up on patterns even before you finished running tests, and while his knowledge of forensic anthropology was limited, he had an uncanny ability to connect seemingly random details.

Together, you started to piece together the unsub’s movements. The isotopic analysis revealed that the victims had spent time in an area with a unique mineral composition—suggesting an underground water source near limestone deposits.

Reid’s encyclopedic brain immediately pulled up a connection. “There’s an abandoned mining town about twenty miles west of the last body dump site. It was shut down in the 1980s, but the underground aquifers match your analysis.”

Your eyes widened. “If the bodies were stored there first, that could explain some of the inconsistencies in decomposition rates.”

He nodded excitedly. “Exactly. We need to check it out.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The abandoned town was eerie. Old buildings, rusting equipment, and an unsettling silence. You were with Reid, Morgan, and Booth—because of course Booth had insisted on coming along.

“What are the chances the unsub is actually still here?” you asked, glancing around nervously.

“Statistically?” Reid started, but before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.

“DOWN!” Morgan shouted, pushing you behind cover as bullets ricocheted off the crumbling brick walls.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled for safety. “I am so not cut out for this!”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Booth muttered, drawing his weapon.

Reid, crouched beside you, looked equally shaken but determined. “Stay close to me.”

“Not like I have many options!”

A tense firefight ensued, but the BAU and Booth’s tactical skills won out. The suspect was apprehended, and the nightmare was over.

Mostly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Jeffersonian, you were still rattled. Lab work was one thing. Nearly getting shot was another.

“You okay?” Reid’s voice was softer than usual.

You exhaled. “I will be. Just… not used to being a target.”

“Statistically speaking—”

“Reid,” you warned.

He smirked. “Right. Not helping.”

There was a beat of silence before he hesitated. “For what it’s worth… I think your bad luck might just be situational.”

You gave him a look. “Says the guy who gets kidnapped at least once a year?”

His lips quirked. “Fair point.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Guess we’re both unlucky then.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But… maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I mean, we did solve the case together.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying we make a good team?”

Reid shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile. “I’m saying… maybe luck isn’t the worst thing. As long as you have the right person to balance it out.”

You studied him for a moment before smirking. “Are you flirting with me, Dr. Reid?”

His ears turned red. “W-what? No! I mean—maybe? I just meant that—”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you were unlucky. But if it meant crossing paths with Spencer Reid?

Maybe, just maybe… luck wasn’t so bad after all.

[magical-reid]

A George Weasley x Reader

The “I can’t remebe the last time I laughed like this”

But it’s then making everyone think their dating even though it’s just two platonic idiots

Just for Laughs

Pairing: George Weasley x Implied Gryffindor!Reader

Word Count: 500

Summary: A playful joke between two friends in the common room spirals into a hilarious ruse, with George and the reader pretending to date to the bewilderment of their friends. Ultimately, the truth comes out, but the laughter and chaos they cause make the whole charade worth it.

It started as a joke. A fleeting, ridiculous idea whispered between you and George one lazy afternoon in the Gryffindor common room.

“Imagine if everyone thought we were dating,” George had mused, idly flicking Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans at your head.

“Why stop at imagining?” you had grinned, catching one in your palm. “Let’s give them a show.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Great Hall was the perfect stage. You slid onto the bench beside George one morning, dramatically stealing a piece of toast from his plate.

“Darling, you know how I feel about you taking my food,” he sighed, loud enough for those around you to hear.

“You love me too much to stop me,” you shot back, smirking.

Fred nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. Across the table, Lee Jordan’s eyes widened. You and George? Since when?

A few days later, George draped his arm over your shoulder as you both strolled through the castle. When Angelina asked if you were coming to Quidditch practice, George answered for you.

“Sorry, love, we’ve got plans, don’t we?” He turned to you, eyes glinting with mischief.

You sighed dramatically. “Oh yes, a terribly romantic evening of watching you test new joke products on first-years.”

Angelina’s jaw dropped. “You two are serious, aren’t you?”

“Deadly,” George said solemnly.

Keeping a straight face had never been so difficult.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until the night of a Gryffindor common room party that the whole thing nearly came undone.

Fred had challenged you to a game of Exploding Snap, and George had settled beside you, watching with amusement. The room was loud, filled with laughter and the occasional bang from the game. At some point, you and George had gotten into a debate about who could pull off the best prank.

“Admit it,” you teased, nudging him. “I had Filch convinced his cat was talking to him for a solid hour.”

George snorted. “That was good, but remember when we switched Snape’s tea for Pepperup Potion? I swear, I’ve never seen someone’s ears steam like that.”

The two of you erupted into laughter, doubled over, tears in your eyes. The kind of laughter that made your ribs ache and your stomach hurt.

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this,” you gasped between breaths.

George wiped at his eyes, grinning. “Me neither, love.”

It was then you realized how closely everyone was watching. Fred and Lee exchanged glances. Angelina raised an eyebrow.

You and George looked at each other. And then, at the same time, burst out laughing again.

“Alright, alright,” George said, raising his hands in surrender. “We’re not actually dating.”

The room fell silent for half a second before it erupted into groans and exasperated sighs.

“I knew it!” Fred threw a pillow at George. “You absolute gits.”

“You mean I wasted two galleons betting on you?” Lee complained.

“Honestly, I’m more disappointed than surprised,” Angelina muttered.

You and George just grinned at each other. Maybe you weren’t dating. But the joke? That had been absolutely worth it.

[magical-reid]

Between the Lines (Part 3/Final)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Genre: Slow Burn

Time Line: Season 4 Timeline (but Eddie gets a happy ending!)

Warning: This was originally going to be one part so I hope there's no weird cuts

Summary: When Eddie Munson pulls you out of your shell, neither of you expect it to mean everything—until Hawkins turns against him, and you’re the only one still by his side. Through the chaos of the Upside Down, near-misses, and a battle for survival, Eddie realizes he can’t lose you—and this time, he’s never letting go.

Word Count: 3K

Part 1 / Part 2

Eddie still hadn’t let go.

His fingers were wrapped around yours, tight, trembling, like if he let go for even a second, you might disappear. His breath was uneven, chest rising and falling too fast, his pulse hammering against your palm.

He was spiraling.

And you couldn’t let him.

“Eddie,” you murmured, voice low, steady.

His grip tightened.

You took a slow step closer. “Look at me.”

Eddie shook his head.

Like he couldn’t. Like if he looked at you, really looked, he’d have to face it.

So you made the choice for him.

You reached up, your free hand brushing his cheek, guiding him gently, forcing his eyes to find yours.

And when they did?

Something broke.

Because Eddie Munson was terrified.

Not of this place. Not of the monsters outside.

But of losing you.

“I can’t—” His voice cracked. His fingers dug into your skin. “I can’t—”

You swallowed hard. “You can.”

Eddie laughed. A breathless, wrecked thing. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You tried to smile. “You’ve mentioned.”

He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how to do this.”

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

Eddie’s eyes flickered over your face, like he was memorizing you, like he was terrified this was the last time he’d ever get to.

Then—softly, brokenly—

“Hold on to something good.”

Your heart stopped.

Because there it was.

The truth.

This wasn’t just about the Upside Down. Wasn’t just about surviving.

This was about you.

You, who had been the one thing he hadn’t expected. You, who had let him pull you in, who had reached back when he was too afraid to.

You, who had made Eddie Munson realize what it felt like to be wanted.

And now, when everything was falling apart, when there was no more time to pretend—

He finally admitted it.

Your chest ached.

Because you needed him to know.

You inhaled sharply, then—without thinking, without overanalyzing, without giving him time to run—

You moved.

Stepped forward, pressed up onto your toes, and kissed him.

Eddie froze.

Then he broke.

His hands grabbed you, desperate, pulling you in, holding on. His lips crashed against yours, messy and needing, like he was trying to memorize you, like he couldn’t stand the idea of letting go.

Because he wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t let go.

Not when the kiss broke. Not when your foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing hard, the weight of everything hanging in the space between.

His hands were still on you—one curled around the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist like he was afraid to loosen his hold. Like if he did, you’d slip through his fingers.

And you? You weren’t letting go either.

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, full.

Then—Eddie exhaled, a breathless, almost disbelieving sound.

And he laughed.

Not loud. Not forced. Just a quiet, shaky thing, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You swallowed, chest tight. “What?”

Eddie shook his head, barely pulling back enough to look at you. His thumb brushed over your cheek, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing you.

Then—softly, almost helplessly—

“I’m so fucking gone for you.”

Your breath caught.

Because it wasn’t just an admission.

It was everything.

The way he’d been looking at you for weeks. The way he had pulled you into his world without meaning to, the way he had fought this—fought himself—until he couldn’t anymore. Now he was done fighting.

Your fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer. “Then don’t go anywhere.”

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then he kissed you again.

Softer, this time. Sweeter.

Like he was promising something.

Like he was all in.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The others found you minutes later.

Steve groaned. “Oh my god—seriously? Now?”

Nancy ignored him, stepping forward. “We have a problem.”

Eddie sighed, still very much holding onto you. “Oh, great. More problems. I love problems.”

Robin frowned. “We think Vecna knows we’re here.”

Eddie stiffened.

Your stomach dropped.

Nancy’s expression was grim. “We need to move. Now.”

Silence.

Eddie exhaled sharply. Then—reluctantly, reluctantly—he pulled away, his fingers brushing yours one last time before he turned to the group.

And just like that, the moment was over.

But as you followed them out of the trailer, as the storm in the distance rumbled louder, as you felt the wrongness in the air watching—

Eddie reached for you.

Slipped his fingers between yours.

And held on.

Eddie didn’t let go.

Not when the group started moving, slipping through the trees in a tense, breathless silence. Not when the sky overhead rumbled, deep and wrong, a storm of red lightning flashing through the thick clouds.

Not when Vecna’s presence pressed against the air, like a weight settling over your chest, thick and suffocating.

His fingers were wrapped tightly around yours, calloused and warm, his grip unyielding.

Like he was afraid to loosen it.

Like if he let go, something would take you from him.

Nancy led the way, flashlight beam cutting through the dark. Robin and Steve followed close behind, whispering back and forth about their next move, about what the hell they were supposed to do now.

But you barely heard them.

Because Eddie was still holding your hand.

And every so often—just for a second, just barely—his thumb brushed over your knuckles, like he needed to remind himself that you were still here.

Still with him.

Your stomach tightened.

Because it was hitting you now—really hitting you.

This wasn’t just about getting out of here.

This was about Eddie.

Eddie, who had spent his entire life being overlooked. Who had convinced himself that no one ever stayed, that nothing good ever lasted.

And now, after all of it, after the fights and the fears and the almosts

He was finally holding onto something.

You weren’t going to let him lose it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You reached the clearing near the gate.

Nancy hesitated, lifting her flashlight. “We should be close.”

Eddie exhaled, squeezing your hand once before finally—reluctantly—letting go. “So, uh. What’s the plan, exactly?”

Robin huffed. “Oh, you mean besides the don’t die part?”

Steve sighed. “We get back through the gate, find Dustin and the others, and figure out how the hell to kill this thing.”

Eddie snorted. “Right. Easy. Love that for us.”

Nancy frowned. “We just have to get across the clearing.”

You didn’t like how she said just.

Because the clearing?

It wasn’t empty.

The flying creatures—the bats—were swarming.

Dipping and shrieking, circling the clearing in an endless, twisting pattern of teeth and wings.

Your stomach dropped.

Robin swallowed hard. “Okay. I vote not dying by demon bat.”

Nancy tightened her grip on her gun. “We run.”

Eddie stared at her. “Through that?”

Nancy exhaled. “We don’t have a choice.”

Steve pulled a rusted metal lid from the ground—a makeshift shield—before glancing back at the group. “We go on three.”

Your pulse hammered.

Eddie shifted closer, his fingers brushing yours—just barely, like he wanted to grab your hand again but didn’t trust himself to hold on too tight.

Like he knew he wouldn’t let go.

Steve took a breath. “One.”

The bats shrieked.

Eddie’s hand curled into a fist.

“Two.”

Your heart pounded.

Eddie glanced at you, just once.

And then—

“Three!”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Through the dirt and the wind, through the screeching and the chaos, you ran. Steve swung his makeshift shield at anything that came too close. Nancy fired into the dark, guiding the group forward, her face hard with determination.

Robin stumbled, nearly going down—but Eddie grabbed her, shoved her forward before she could fall behind.

He was right beside you.

Breath hot, fingers skimming yours but not grabbing, like he was forcing himself to let you run on your own.

Like he wanted to hold on but couldn’t.

Then—

A shriek.

A sharp, sudden pain—

And something ripped into your side.

You choked on a gasp.

Because shit, it hurt.

A flash of pain, white-hot and searing, knocking the air from your lungs. You stumbled, your legs giving out beneath you—

And Eddie caught you.

“No—”

His arms wrapped around you, the momentum knocking you both to the ground. The world spun.

Bats dived from the sky, closing in—

Eddie’s arms tightened.

And then—

Steve’s shield slammed into the ground beside you, knocking a bat out of the air. “Get up!”

Eddie hauled you up.

Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think.

Just grabbed you, one arm around your waist, pulling you forward.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You made it through the gate.

Fell through the crack in reality, hitting the ground hard, gasping for air.

Robin tumbled beside you, Steve and Nancy scrambling up behind her.

But Eddie?

Eddie was on you before you could even move.

“Hey—hey—” His hands were everywhere, searching, pressing, checking—his fingers skimming over your ribs, sticky and wet, pulling back to reveal—

Blood.

Your blood.

Eddie’s face went white.

You tried to sit up. “I’m—”

Eddie pressed down, keeping you still. “Don’t—don’t move, okay? Just—shit—just breathe—”

His hands shook.

His eyes flickered up to Steve, panicked. “She’s—fuck—she’s bleeding, Harrington, what do we—”

Steve was already moving, pulling off his jacket, pressing it against your side. “She’s okay—you’re okay,” he said, voice tight, rushed. “It’s not deep. Just—just a scratch.”

Eddie let out a wrecked breath.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t let go.

Didn’t breathe until your fingers curled around his wrist.

Eddie’s gaze snapped back to you.

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to steady.

“I told you not to go anywhere.”

Eddie let out a broken, relieved laugh.

Then he dropped his forehead against yours.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t let go.

Not when Steve pressed his jacket against your side, trying to slow the bleeding. Not when Robin and Nancy hovered nearby, whispering about what to do next. Not even when you winced—his grip only tightened, like he could keep you together by holding on.

Your head was spinning, the pain sharp but distant, like your body hadn’t fully caught up to what had happened yet. But Eddie?

Eddie felt it all.

You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his breath shook, in the way his fingers curled against your skin like he was desperately trying to keep himself from breaking.

Like if he let go for even a second, this whole thing would slip through his fingers.

And you couldn’t let him think that.

So you reached up, slowly, brushing your fingers against his cheek.

His breath hitched.

Your voice was quiet, weak but firm. “I’m okay.”

Eddie laughed.

A breathless, wrecked thing, like he didn’t know whether to believe you.

“You almost weren’t,” he whispered.

Your chest tightened.

Because that was it. That was what had shaken him.

Not the monsters. Not the gate.

But you.

The idea of losing you.

You swallowed. “But I am.”

Eddie exhaled sharply, like he was trying to believe you, trying to let the words sink in.

Then—without warning—he dropped his head against your shoulder.

His arms wrapped around you, careful but firm, like he needed to feel you there, solid and real and alive.

His breath was shaky against your neck.

“I can’t—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I can’t do this without you.”

Your heart ached.

Because Eddie Munson, the boy who had spent his whole life expecting people to leave—

Was asking you to stay.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath.

Then—softly, desperately—

“Promise?”

You tightened your grip on him.

“I promise.”

Eddie exhaled.

And for the first time since stepping into hell, he finally—finally—let himself believe it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t move.

Not even when the others shifted around you, whispering about what to do next, about getting back to Hawkins, about what comes after.

Because right now?

Right now, you were the only thing that mattered.

His arms were still around you, careful but unrelenting, like if he let go, the world might take you away. His breath was uneven, his heart hammering against yours, the weight of what almost happened settling between you both.

And you felt it.

The fear. The helplessness.

The absolute certainty that Eddie Munson would never recover if he lost you.

Your fingers curled against the fabric of his jacket, grounding both of you. “Eddie,” you whispered.

He inhaled sharply.

But he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t lift his head.

Just held on.

“Give me a minute,” he murmured, voice raw. “Just—just a minute, okay?”

Your chest ached.

Because this wasn’t for you.

This was for him.

For the boy who had spent his whole life expecting people to leave. For the boy who had never been given something good without it being taken away.

For the boy who had spent weeks trying not to want you—only to realize he couldn’t survive losing you now.

You exhaled softly.

Then—without hesitation, without fear—you wrapped your arms around him.

Holding him this time.

Eddie’s breath hitched.

Like he hadn’t expected it.

Like he hadn’t realized how much he needed it.

Then, slowly, carefully, he melted into you.

His grip tightened. His fingers curled against your back. His forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

Like he was memorizing you.

Like he needed this moment to be real.

And you let him have it.

Because Eddie Munson had never had something worth holding on to before.

But now?

Now he did.

And he was never letting go.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie hadn’t let go of you in over an hour.

Not fully, anyway.

Even after the bleeding had stopped. Even after Nancy and Steve had agreed that you were okay. Even after the group had packed up and started moving again, heading back to Hawkins, back to whatever came next.

His hand was always on you.

A steadying touch at your back when you stood. His fingers brushing your wrist as you walked side by side. His knee pressed against yours when you sat down to rest.

Small things.

Things that no one else would notice.

But you noticed.

And every time?

Your chest ached.

Because Eddie Munson, who had spent weeks keeping you at a distance, who had convinced himself that letting you in would be a mistake—

Was holding on to you like he couldn’t survive letting go.

And you weren’t going to let him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The group made it back to Steve’s house just before dawn.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

No one spoke much as they filtered inside, exhaustion heavy in the air.

Robin and Nancy crashed on the couch. Steve disappeared upstairs, muttering something about needing a shower before he “lost his goddamn mind.”

But Eddie?

Eddie didn’t let you out of his sight.

Even now, as you sat on the basement couch, his fingers were curled around yours, his grip tight. His leg bounced restlessly, his face unreadable, like his mind was still stuck back there.

Stuck in the almost.

The what if I lost you.

You squeezed his hand.

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then—quiet, wrecked—

“I need you to say something.”

You frowned. “Like what?”

Eddie huffed a breathless, almost helpless laugh, shaking his head. “Like—fuck, I don’t know. Tell me I’m losing it. Tell me this whole thing isn’t real. Tell me I didn’t just—” He stopped, running a hand through his curls. “Tell me I didn’t just fall for you in the middle of a goddamn horror movie.”

Your stomach flipped.

Because there it was.

The thing he had been holding back. The thing he had fought for so long.

But now, after all of it—after the running, the fighting, the fear—he wasn’t fighting it anymore.

You swallowed hard. “Eddie.”

He stilled.

Slowly, hesitantly, his eyes lifted to yours.

And you saw everything.

The fear. The exhaustion.

The need.

And, most of all, the certainty.

Because Eddie Munson wasn’t running anymore.

Not from you.

Not from this.

You exhaled. Then—softly, steadily—

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

Eddie’s breath hitched.

Then, before he could say anything else—before he could overthink or panic—you reached up, fingers curling in his jacket, and pulled him in.

And when his lips met yours?

It wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t panicked.

It was steady.

It was certain.

It was a promise.

Because this wasn’t about almosts anymore, this was real.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie kissed you like he meant it.

Like he had been meaning to for weeks, like it had been building and building, waiting for the moment he finally let himself have it.

And now that he had?

He wasn’t letting go.

His hands slid up, fingers tangling in your hair, his grip careful but firm, like he was grounding himself in you. Your fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer, until there was no space left between you, until his breath was your breath, until the only thing in the world was this.

Not the danger. Not the running. Not the things waiting in the dark.

Just you and Eddie.

And when he finally—reluctantly—broke away, he didn’t go far.

Just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, his heart hammering beneath your hands.

Silence stretched.

Then—soft, wrecked, real—

“I think I’m in trouble.”

Your chest ached.

Because you knew what he meant.

This wasn’t just some heat-of-the-moment thing.

This was Eddie Munson, falling for you, completely and irreversibly, in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse.

And you weren’t going to let him do it alone.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling tighter in his jacket. “Then we’re both in trouble.”

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then—before he could second-guess it, before he could panic—you kissed him again.

And this time?

Eddie melted.

Because there was no more pretending.

No more almosts.

No more running.

Just you.

Just this.

And when the world finally stopped falling apart—when the danger was over, when Hawkins was safe again, when Eddie Munson wasn’t a fugitive anymore—

You knew he’d still be holding on to you.

Because this?

This was real.

And Eddie Munson?

He wasn’t ever letting go.

[magical-reid]

Between the Lines (Part 2)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Genre: Slow Burn

Time Line: Season 4 Timeline (but Eddie gets a happy ending!)

Warning: This was originally going to be one part so I hope there's no weird cuts

Summary: When Eddie Munson pulls you out of your shell, neither of you expect it to mean everything—until Hawkins turns against him, and you’re the only one still by his side. Through the chaos of the Upside Down, near-misses, and a battle for survival, Eddie realizes he can’t lose you—and this time, he’s never letting go.

Word Count: 5K

Part 1

The moment in the basement never left you.

Even after Eddie disappeared upstairs to answer the phone, even after Steve and Robin came back with Nancy, even after the pieces of this nightmare started clicking into place—you couldn’t shake it.

The way Eddie had looked at you.

Like he’d seen something he hadn’t been ready for.

Like he’d felt something he didn’t know what to do with.

And the worst part? You felt it too.

Now, you sat on the basement couch, legs tucked beneath you as everyone whispered about Vecna, about gates, about the upside-down things you barely understood. But you weren’t really listening.

Because Eddie was sitting across from you, pretending to be focused on the conversation, but his leg was bouncing, fingers twitching against his knee.

And every so often—just for a flicker of a second—his eyes would land on you.

Like he was making sure you were still there.

Like he wanted to say something.

But he never did.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

That night, when everyone was settling in—Nancy and Robin taking the upstairs couch, Steve muttering something about needing his own bed, thanks—you found yourself back in the basement with Eddie.

Just the two of you.

Again.

He stretched out on the couch, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting against his stomach. You were on the floor with a blanket wrapped around you, curled up in the corner like you were trying to take up as little space as possible.

It should’ve felt normal.

But it wasn’t.

Because Eddie hadn’t looked at you since you came downstairs.

And you hated that you noticed.

You cleared your throat. “You okay?”

Eddie huffed a laugh, staring at the ceiling. “I mean, let’s see—I’m wanted for murder, I just watched a guy levitate and snap like a twig, and now I’m hiding out in Steve Harrington’s basement like some stray dog.” He turned his head, finally meeting your eyes. “So, yeah, y’know. I’m great.”

You tried to smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “At least the couch is nice?”

Eddie snorted. “Yeah. Fancy as hell. Figures.”

Silence stretched between you. Not awkward, but heavy. You could feel it again, that same tension from before. The thing neither of you were acknowledging.

And maybe it was because you were exhausted, or because Eddie looked so damn tired—but you spoke before you could stop yourself.

“You can talk to me, you know.”

Eddie blinked.

You swallowed. “If you need to.”

He exhaled, staring at you for a long moment.

Then—carefully—he shifted, swinging his legs off the couch so he was sitting instead of lying down. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers clasped together as he studied you.

“You always this nice to murder suspects?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You hesitated. Then, without thinking, you answered honestly.

“Just you.”

Eddie froze.

His fingers twitched. His breath hitched, just slightly, but you caught it.

And suddenly, the air felt too warm.

You hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to make it sound like—like more. But Eddie’s face had shifted, something unreadable behind his eyes, something that made your pulse hammer.

Like he knew.

Like he was realizing it too.

You were about to backpedal, about to say never mind, about to run

But then, Eddie did something you didn’t expect.

He sighed. And then, before you could stop him, before you could even process it—

He reached out, just for a second. Just long enough to hook his pinkie.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie’s fingers barely brushed yours.

It wasn’t an accident.

It wasn’t like the times before, when he’d grabbed your wrist in a panic or held your hand without thinking. This was intentional. Deliberate. A quiet, cautious reach.

And you didn’t move away.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

His pinky hooked around yours, just barely—so barely that if you pulled away, if you pretended it hadn’t happened, maybe he wouldn’t stop you. Maybe he’d let it slip between you like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Eddie swallowed hard. His eyes flicked up to yours, like he was checking, like he was giving you time—and for a moment, just a single, fragile moment, you thought he might actually say something.

Might acknowledge this thing that had been hanging between you for days.

Might say I see it too.

Then—

Footsteps upstairs.

The creak of a door.

A voice.

“Eddie? You awake?”

Steve.

Eddie jerked back like he’d been caught, yanking his hand away and rubbing it over his face like he could erase the last thirty seconds from existence.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Your stomach twisted.

Steve clomped down the basement stairs, oblivious. “Dustin just called. Said they’re coming back in the morning with an actual plan, which—about damn time.” He frowned at you both, standing at the bottom of the stairs with his arms crossed. “You guys good? You look weird.”

Eddie let out a too loud laugh, shaking out his hands. “Pfft—yeah, man, totally. Just, uh, processing my tragic fall from grace. You know how it is.”

Steve gave him a look, but didn’t push. “Right. Well, try to get some sleep. This whole shitshow’s just getting started.”

He turned and disappeared up the stairs, leaving you and Eddie alone again.

But it wasn’t the same.

Because Eddie wouldn’t look at you now.

He stayed on the couch, legs stretched out, fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. The easy, quiet moments from before were gone, replaced by something tense and unfinished.

You wanted to say something.

Wanted to ask if he’d felt it too.

But instead, you swallowed hard, curled up tighter in your blanket, and let the silence swallow you both.

Because Eddie Munson had almost crossed the line.

And he’d pulled back.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie avoided you the next morning.

Not obviously. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But you noticed.

Noticed how he kept his distance. How he cracked jokes with the others, threw himself into whatever half-baked plan Dustin was explaining, but never once looked directly at you.

Like if he did, something might break.

You hated it.

The worst part? You didn’t know what to do. You weren’t used to this—to whatever this was. The shift. The weight of the thing sitting between you, unsaid but there.

Before, it had been easy.

Eddie had always been the one pulling you in, closing the space, making you feel seen when you never expected to be. But now?

Now he was holding himself back, and you didn’t know how to pull him back in.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hours passed. Plans were made.

You barely kept up.

Nancy and Robin went off to investigate Victor Creel. Steve and the kids left to gather supplies. That left you and Eddie alone again, waiting in the basement for word from the others.

It was the first time you’d been alone since last night.

And Eddie still wasn’t looking at you.

You sat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, watching as he paced—fidgeting with his rings, drumming his fingers against his thigh.

Finally, you broke.

“Are you mad at me?”

Eddie froze.

Then, slowly, he turned to face you. “What?”

Your throat was tight. “You’re acting weird.”

His fingers twitched. “I’m always weird, sweetheart.”

You frowned. “Eddie.”

Something in his face cracked at the way you said his name. But he just ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Look, it’s—it’s not you, okay? It’s just—”

He stopped himself, shaking his head.

Your chest ached. “Then what is it?”

Silence.

Thick, heavy, unbearable.

And then—quiet, reluctant—

“You scare me.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

Eddie huffed, pacing again, rubbing the back of his neck. “You—this—whatever the hell is happening here—” He gestured wildly between you. “It’s throwing me off, okay? Because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

Your pulse hammered. “What do you mean?”

Eddie let out a dry laugh. “I mean—I’m me, and you’re you. I’m loud, and ridiculous, and a goddamn trainwreck, and you’re—” He stopped, looking at you. “You’re not.”

You swallowed hard. “That’s not a reason to avoid me.”

Eddie ran both hands down his face. “Jesus Christ.” Then, suddenly, he was in front of you, dropping onto the couch beside you, close enough that your knees nearly touched. “You don’t get it,” he muttered.

Your breath caught. “Then tell me.”

Eddie let out a slow, shaky breath. He was looking at you now. Really looking at you, like he was seeing the weight of what this had become—what it had always been.

Then, voice rough—almost helpless—

“I don’t know how to not want you.”

The world stopped.

You swore your heart forgot how to beat.

Eddie’s expression flickered, like he regretted saying it, like he wanted to shove the words back in his mouth and pretend they’d never happened.

But they had.

And there was no taking them back.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, slowly, carefully, you reached out—mirroring what he had done the night before.

Your fingers brushed his. And this time? He didn’t pull away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

Your fingers were barely touching—just like last night, just like that first tentative reach that neither of you had acknowledged. But this time, there was no pretending it hadn’t happened.

Because he’d said it.

I don’t know how to not want you.

And you hadn’t run.

Eddie’s breath was uneven. His fingers twitched against yours, like he was debating something, like he was right there—

And then, quietly—almost brokenly—

“This is a bad idea.”

Your heart clenched.

“Why?”

Eddie huffed a dry laugh. “Do I really need to list the reasons?”

You swallowed. “I want to hear them anyway.”

Eddie finally looked at you, really looked at you, his dark eyes full of something you couldn’t quite name. “Because I’m not safe to be around right now,” he said, voice rough. “Because I’m a goddamn fugitive, and the entire town thinks I’m a murderer. Because I’m probably not making it out of this in one piece, sweetheart.”

His fingers curled slightly around yours, like he shouldn’t be doing it but couldn’t help it.

“And because,” he added, voice quieter now, “if I let this happen—if I let myself happen—I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

Your pulse pounded.

Because that was it. That was everything.

This wasn’t just him hesitating because of the situation. This was him. Eddie, who had spent his entire life being too much, too loud, too big for the world around him. Who had probably convinced himself that if he wanted something too much, if he held on too tightly, it would slip through his fingers.

He was scared.

Scared of you.

Scared of this.

And something inside you snapped.

Before you could overthink it, before he could talk himself out of this any more, you moved.

You turned your hand over, fingers slipping between his, fully holding him this time.

Eddie inhaled sharply.

“Then don’t stop,” you whispered.

For a second, just a second, you swore the entire world stopped spinning.

Eddie was looking at you like he didn’t know whether to run or pull you in. His fingers tightened around yours, his breathing uneven, his eyes flickering down to your lips—

And then, suddenly, there was a noise upstairs.

Eddie flinched.

You both jerked back like you’d been caught doing something forbidden, breaking apart just as Steve’s voice drifted down the stairs. “Hey, Munson, you decent?”

Eddie ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. Then, before you could say anything—before you could pull him back in—he was on his feet.

Like he was escaping. Your chest ached. Because it had almost happened. Almost.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie avoided you.

Again.

Not in a way that anyone else would notice—he still talked to you, still joked, still acted like himself—but you weren’t stupid.

You saw the difference.

The way he never let himself sit too close. The way his fingers twitched when yours were near, like he wanted to reach for you but wouldn’t let himself. The way his eyes flickered down to your lips when he thought you weren’t looking—

And the way he always looked away.

Like he was forcing himself to forget.

Like he was trying to pretend that what happened in the basement hadn’t meant anything.

It pissed you off.

Because he could run from this all he wanted, but you knew the truth. You’d felt it. The weight of his hand in yours, the way he had frozen when you told him then don’t stop.

So fine.

If Eddie Munson wasn’t going to stop running, you were going to make him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The opportunity came later that night.

Steve had taken the others out to gather supplies. It was just you and Eddie in the basement again—alone, like the universe was handing you this moment on a silver platter.

And you weren’t going to waste it.

Eddie was sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine, pretending to be totally fine. But you saw how his knee was bouncing, how his jaw was tight, how he kept glancing at you like he was waiting for you to say something.

So you did.

“You’re doing it again.”

Eddie stiffened. “Doing what?”

You turned to him, arms crossed. “Pretending.”

Eddie let out a dry laugh. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

You ignored his sarcasm. “You’re acting like nothing happened.”

Eddie’s fingers twitched on the magazine. But he didn’t look at you. “Because nothing did.”

Your chest tightened. “You don’t believe that.”

He flinched.

And that was it. That was the final straw.

Because you were done letting him run from this. From you.

So, before he could say anything else, before he could throw up another bullshit excuse, you moved.

You crossed the room and stood in front of him, close enough that his knees brushed yours. Close enough that he had to look at you.

He did.

And oh, he was panicking.

You could see it in the way his throat bobbed, in the way his fingers gripped the magazine now like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

And then, softly—

“Say it.”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

You exhaled. “Say it didn’t mean anything.”

Eddie’s mouth opened—then closed.

He looked wrecked.

Because you both knew he couldn’t say it.

Not without lying.

Not without breaking.

Silence.

Thick, unbearable silence.

Then, finally—almost defeated—

“You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

Your breath caught.

Eddie exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face like he was mad at himself. “I can’t—” He stopped, shaking his head. “This isn’t a good idea. You know it’s not a good idea.”

Your chest ached. “Why?”

Eddie let out a broken laugh. “Are you kidding? Because you deserve better than—than this.” He gestured at himself. “I’m a goddamn mess. I have nothing to give you. And even if I did—” His voice cracked. “We might not make it out of this.”

Your throat was tight. “Eddie—”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t get it. If I let this happen—if I let you happen—I won’t be able to let go.” His voice was raw now, barely above a whisper. “And I can’t lose you.”

God.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Because this was it.

This was Eddie Munson, who filled every room he entered, who talked too much and laughed too loud and made you feel something you’d never felt before—

And he was terrified.

Not of dying.

Not of the monsters.

But of loving you.

So you made the choice for him.

You reached out, fingers curling around his—gently, firmly—and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t do anything except sit there, fingers curled around yours like he was afraid that if he let go, this whole thing would disappear.

His breathing was uneven. His eyes were locked on your hand in his, like he couldn’t believe it was real.

And then—soft, raw, barely above a whisper—

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Your chest ached.

Because he meant it.

He wasn’t pushing you away to be cruel, wasn’t trying to hurt you—he genuinely believed that this was a mistake. That you’d wake up one day and regret this, regret him.

And you couldn’t stand it.

So you did something reckless.

Something you’d never done before.

You moved closer.

Slow, deliberate—so there was no mistaking it, no pretending it was an accident. You shifted until your knees brushed his, until you were close enough to see the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers tightened around yours.

Then, carefully—so, so carefully—you reached up with your free hand and touched his face.

Eddie froze.

Your fingers barely grazed his cheek, but it was enough. Enough for him to feel it. To feel you.

You swallowed. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened.

For a second, he just stared at you—like he was searching for something, waiting for you to hesitate, to take it back.

You didn’t.

So he broke.

The tension snapped all at once.

Eddie moved, his hands coming up to cradle your face as his lips crashed into yours, desperate and messy and so overdue that it made your head spin.

He kissed you like he was starving for it. Like he had been holding this in for weeks, fighting it, running from it—

And now he was done running.

His fingers curled into the back of your sweater, holding on like he was afraid you might slip away. His rings were cold against your skin, a contrast to the warmth of his hands, the heat of his mouth on yours.

And god, he kissed you like he meant it.

Like he was terrified of losing you.

Like he never wanted to stop.

By the time you broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, hands still tangled in each other’s clothes.

Eddie let out a shaky breath. Then, barely above a whisper—

“…Shit.”

You huffed a breathless laugh, hands still fisted in his shirt. “Yeah.”

Eddie pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes flickering over your face like he was still trying to believe this was real. “You’re sure about this?” he murmured.

You didn’t even hesitate.

“I’ve never been more sure.”

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then he smiled—soft and real and so full of something you couldn’t name—

And pulled you in again.

Because this time? There were no more almosts.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t let go.

Not when Eddie kissed you again, slower this time—like he was memorizing it, like he couldn’t believe this was real. Not when his fingers curled into the back of your sweater, keeping you close, like he was afraid you might disappear.

And not when he finally pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed, staring at you like you’d just rewritten the entire goddamn world.

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy and electric.

Then—Eddie exhaled sharply, letting his head drop forward until his forehead pressed against yours.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

Your breath hitched.

Because he meant it.

This wasn’t just some heat of the moment thing, wasn’t just because the world was falling apart around you.

This was Eddie.

Who had spent weeks making space for you, coaxing you out of your shell, watching you when he thought you weren’t looking.

Eddie, who had tried to hold himself back—who had been terrified of wanting this too much, of wanting you too much.

But now?

Now, there was no more pretending.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, grounding yourself. “Then don’t fight it.”

Eddie’s breath stuttered.

And then—god—he laughed.

A real, genuine laugh.

It was a little breathless, a little wrecked, like he couldn’t believe you, like he didn’t know what the hell he had done to deserve this—but he wasn’t fighting it anymore.

When he finally pulled back enough to look at you, his expression had softened, the lingering tension in his shoulders gone.

His thumb brushed against your jaw, slow and reverent, like he was still convincing himself you were real. “Yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded.

Eddie inhaled sharply—then let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Fuck it.”

Then he kissed you again.

Softer this time. Sweeter.

And god, he kissed you like he meant it.

Like he was all in.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t let go.

Not after the kiss. Not after he whispered a breathless fuck it against your lips, like he’d finally surrendered to something he’d been fighting for too long.

And not now—when reality came crashing back down around you.

Because the moment was over. The heat, the weight, the soft, desperate edges of whatever had just happened between you—gone, replaced by the sharp edge of the real world.

Because upstairs, the front door opened.

And Steve’s voice called down.

“They found another gate.”

Eddie’s grip on you tightened.

Not in fear. Not in hesitation.

But because you both knew what this meant.

This wasn’t just about surviving anymore.

It was about going back in.

About fighting something that had already taken too much.

Eddie inhaled sharply, then finally—reluctantly—pulled back. His hands slipped from your waist, his fingers brushing yours for just a second before he clenched them into fists.

His walls were back up.

Not because he regretted it.

But because Eddie Munson had just let himself want something.

And now he was terrified of losing it.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to pull him back in. To tell him this didn’t have to change anything. That you weren’t going anywhere.

But you didn’t have time.

So instead, you reached for his hand—one last, fleeting touch before heading for the stairs.

And Eddie?

He let you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The living room was tense.

Nancy had spread out a map on the coffee table, her finger tracing a path across Hawkins. Robin was pacing, arms crossed, while Dustin and Lucas sat on the couch, whispering furiously between themselves.

Steve was the first to notice you. His brows raised slightly as he glanced between you and Eddie—like he knew, like he could see whatever had shifted between you.

But, to his credit, he didn’t say anything.

“Alright,” Nancy said, exhaling. “We found a gate.”

Robin ran a hand through her hair. “And guess where it is.”

You frowned. “Where?”

Dustin sighed. “Skull Rock.”

Eddie swore under his breath.

Of course it was Skull Rock.

You knew the place—everyone did. It was an old Hawkins legend, a giant rock formation deep in the woods that the high schoolers used for bonfires and sneaking around.

And now?

Now it was another crack in the world.

Eddie scrubbed a hand over his face. “So, what’s the plan? We just walk up to this thing and hope it doesn’t eat us alive?”

Nancy’s jaw tightened. “We’re going to investigate it first. See if there’s a way through.”

Steve frowned. “And if there is?”

Nancy didn’t hesitate.

“Then we go in.”

Silence.

Eddie shifted beside you. His fingers brushed against yours just barely, like he was still checking, like he needed to feel you there.

You weren’t sure if he even realized he was doing it.

But you did.

And you curled your pinky around his, just for a second.

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then—softly, just for you—

“I hope you know what you’re doing, sweetheart.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I do.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Skull Rock felt different at night.

You had been here before—once, years ago, when some older kids had dragged you along to a bonfire you spent the whole night trying to disappear from. But now, with the woods stretching into endless darkness, with nothing but flashlights cutting through the trees, the place felt wrong.

Like it was holding its breath.

Like it was waiting.

Eddie was next to you. Close, but not touching. Not like before. His hands were shoved in his jacket pockets, his shoulders tense. But you caught the way he kept checking for you—his flashlight lingering on you just a second longer than it needed to, his body shifting toward yours whenever something rustled in the distance.

Like he was ready.

Ready to step between you and whatever was coming.

You weren’t sure if you hated that or loved it.

Nancy led the way, keeping her voice low. “It should be just up ahead.”

Steve sighed. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Robin huffed. “Oh yeah, I love voluntarily walking up to an interdimensional horror hole. Super fun.”

Eddie let out a quiet chuckle. “See, this is why I like you, Buckley. You actually get it.”

Robin smirked. “Aw, does that mean I’m your favorite now?”

Eddie nudged her. “Don’t get cocky.”

You didn’t say anything.

Because, even though he was joking, even though the others were still them, still making cracks about how screwed you all were—you felt it.

The shift.

The way the ground almost seemed to hum beneath your feet. The way the air felt wrong, thick with something heavy and watching.

And then—

Nancy stopped walking.

“Shit,” she whispered.

Your stomach dropped.

Because there it was.

The gate.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It looked worse than the last one.

It was jagged and angry, cracked into the side of Skull Rock like a wound that refused to heal. Red light pulsed from its center, flickering between the torn edges like a second heartbeat.

Like something breathing.

Steve sighed. “Well. That’s terrifying.”

Dustin took a shaky breath. “So… who’s going in first?”

Silence.

Then—Eddie.

“Me.”

Your heart stopped.

Everyone turned to look at him.

Nancy frowned. “Eddie—”

“I’m serious.” His voice was steady. “I—I need to do this. I can’t just sit back while the rest of you risk your lives.” His hands were clenched at his sides. “I’ve been running this whole time. It’s gotta stop somewhere.”

Something in your chest ached.

Because you knew what this was.

This wasn’t just about the gate. This was Eddie. Eddie, who had spent his whole life being the outsider, the coward, the guy everyone assumed would cut and run.

And now?

Now he was ready to walk straight into hell just to prove that he wasn’t that guy.

Your stomach twisted.

Because you couldn’t let him do it alone.

You swallowed hard. “Then I’m going with you.”

Eddie’s head snapped toward you. “What? No—”

You held firm. “I am.”

Eddie stared at you. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t.” Your voice was steady. “Don’t tell me to stay behind. Not after everything.”

His jaw clenched.

And you knew.

Knew that he wanted to fight you on this, knew that part of him wanted to keep you safe—but he couldn’t.

Because you weren’t letting him do this alone.

Because you never would.

Eddie exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

Then—soft, quiet, resigned—

“You’re really something, you know that?”

You tried to smile. “You’re just figuring that out?”

Eddie huffed a breathless laugh, shaking his head. Then, before he could second-guess himself—

He reached for your hand.

And held on.

Nancy looked between the two of you, her face unreadable. Then, finally, she nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “We all go together.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The last thing you felt before stepping through the gate was Eddie’s grip tightening around yours.

The last thing you heard was his voice, low and certain—

“I’ve got you.”

Then—

Darkness.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Falling through the gate felt like drowning.

One second, you were gripping Eddie’s hand, the world tilting as the gate pulled—the next, you were crashing onto cold, wet ground, air ripped from your lungs.

You barely had time to get your bearings before—

“Ow, Jesus—”

Eddie hit the ground beside you with a thud, landing hard on his back. He groaned, rolling onto his side, curls falling into his face. “That was not fun.”

Steve landed next, swearing as he hit the dirt. Robin and Nancy followed, a tangle of limbs and gasps as the group scrambled to their feet.

Then—silence.

Because you weren’t in Hawkins anymore.

You were in the other place.

The Upside Down.

The sky was wrong—dark and swirling, red lightning flashing in the distance. The trees were twisted, the air thick and wrong, filled with a low, humming noise that made your skin crawl.

And the worst part?

You weren’t alone.

Steve gritted his teeth. “Shit—”

Because the creatures were here.

Not demogorgons, but something worse.

Flying things—winged and hungry, their shrieks echoing through the air.

Nancy inhaled sharply. “Bats.”

Robin gaped at her. “Bats? You’re calling those things bats?”

“Move,” Nancy ordered.

No one argued.

You ran.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The woods were a blur.

Branches whipped past your face, your lungs burned, and Eddie was still holding your hand.

He wasn’t letting go.

Not when the creatures shrieked behind you, not when Steve shouted for everyone to move faster, not even when you stumbled over a tree root and almost went down.

Eddie caught you, yanking you back up.

“Not today, sweetheart,” he panted, gripping you tighter. “You and me? We’re making it out of this.”

Your heart pounded.

Not from fear.

But because he meant it.

Because Eddie Munson, who had spent his whole life running, who had almost let himself believe he wasn’t worth saving—

He was fighting for this.

For you.

You didn’t stop running until you reached the trailer park.

The other trailer park.

Eddie dragged you inside his trailer, slamming the door behind you. The others followed, panting and swearing, backing away from the windows as the shrieking outside grew distant.

Silence.

Then—Steve exhaled. “Okay. That sucked.”

Robin wheezed. “That really sucked.”

Nancy leaned against the counter, catching her breath. “We need a plan.”

But you barely heard them.

Because Eddie hadn’t let go of you yet.

His hand was still wrapped around yours, tight, his breathing uneven. His skin was cold, his fingers trembling slightly—like the adrenaline was wearing off, like it was hitting him all at once.

Slowly, carefully, you squeezed his hand.

Eddie exhaled sharply.

And when he looked at you?

You saw it.

Not fear.

Not panic.

But realization.

That he couldn’t lose you.

That he wouldn’t.

Not here. Not like this.

Not ever.

Part 3

[magical-reid]

Between the Lines (Part 1)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Genre: Slow Burn

Warning: This was originally going to be one part so I hope there's no weird cuts

Time Line: Season 4 Timeline (but Eddie gets a happy ending!)

Summary: When Eddie Munson pulls you out of your shell, neither of you expect it to mean everything—until Hawkins turns against him, and you’re the only one still by his side. Through the chaos of the Upside Down, near-misses, and a battle for survival, Eddie realizes he can’t lose you—and this time, he’s never letting go.

Word Count: 5.4K

Hawkins High’s cafeteria was a battlefield. Jocks and cheerleaders occupied the best real estate, their laughter bouncing off the walls, while the outcasts huddled in their usual places, dodging judgmental stares. You, however, had perfected the art of blending in—head down, nose in a book, quietly existing on the fringes where no one paid much attention.

Or at least, that’s how it used to be, until Eddie Munson had noticed you.

It started small. A few glances from across the room, his dark eyes flicking toward you whenever he was in the middle of an exaggerated monologue for Hellfire Club. Then came the nods in the hallway, casual, like he was acknowledging an old friend instead of someone who barely spoke.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was because you sat behind him in English, quietly scribbling notes while he ignored assignments in favor of doodling song lyrics in the margins of his notebook. Maybe he saw you watching his campaign speeches in the cafeteria, not judging like the others but listening, even if you never had the courage to join.

Or maybe Eddie Munson was just the kind of person who noticed people that the rest of the world ignored.

“Y/N, right?”

Your brain short-circuited. Eddie was standing in front of you, talking to you.

You had been preparing to leave the library when he appeared like some chaotic apparition, rings glinting as he drummed his fingers on the table. The question was casual, like he wasn’t shattering your entire routine by acknowledging your existence.

“Uh—yeah.” Your voice came out quieter than you wanted, and you mentally kicked yourself.

Eddie grinned like you’d just said something hilarious. “Knew it. I don’t forget a face.”

That wasn’t true. You’d heard him confidently call Dustin “Darwin” once and insist Steve Harrington’s name was actually “Stan.” But you let it slide, because your brain was still stuck on the fact that Eddie Munson was talking to you.

“You’re in Ms. O’Donnell’s class with me,” he continued, rocking on his heels. “You always look like you wanna be anywhere else.”

You did. English was a nightmare when participation counted, and your voice never seemed to work properly when put on the spot. But you hadn’t realized Eddie noticed.

“I, uh—I like the books,” you admitted, gripping the strap of your bag. “Just… not the talking part.”

Eddie’s smile softened. “Yeah, that tracks.” He cocked his head, studying you in a way that made your stomach flip. “So, if you’re into books, what’s stopping you from joining Hellfire?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I see you watching,” Eddie said, smirking as he leaned in conspiratorially. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You’re always listening when I’m giving my grand, Shakespearean-level speeches in the cafeteria.”

Your face burned. Had you been that obvious?

Eddie’s grin widened at your reaction. “So, you like stories. You like fantasy. That tells me you’d probably love Dungeons & Dragons.” He paused, then added dramatically, “And yet, you never come sit with us. Tragic, really.”

You fiddled with the hem of your sweater, struggling to find words that wouldn’t make you sound ridiculous. You had thought about it. More than once. But joining Hellfire meant attention, meant speaking up, meant being looked at. And that terrified you.

Eddie seemed to sense your hesitation because his voice turned softer, teasing but not unkind. “Tell you what—I won’t force you. But if you ever get tired of being a background character, there’s a seat at the table for you.”

You swallowed hard.

A part of you wanted to say no, to retreat back into the safety of anonymity. But another part—the part that secretly loved fantasy worlds and the idea of being part of something—held onto Eddie’s words a little too tightly.

Because Eddie Munson had noticed you.

And maybe… just maybe… you wanted to be noticed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You thought maybe Eddie would forget.

People talked all the time—offhand invitations, casual offers that didn’t really mean anything. You figured that’s what his words had been in the library. A moment of whimsy, a fleeting thought from someone who didn’t actually expect you to take him up on it.

But Eddie Munson wasn’t most people.

So when Friday rolled around, when Hellfire Club took over the cafeteria for their weekly game, Eddie saw you.

You were sitting in your usual spot, book open but unread, fingers fidgeting with the worn edge of the page. You could hear them—the boisterous laughter, the dramatic voices, the excitement of a world unfolding in dice rolls and storytelling.

And then, his voice.

“Still in the background, huh?”

Your stomach flipped before you even looked up. Eddie was standing in front of you again, hands braced on the table, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You blinked, unsure what to say. You hadn’t expected him to follow up.

“Not even a little curious?” he pressed, tilting his head, his curls falling into his face.

You hesitated. Of course you were curious. But curiosity meant risk—meant walking into a world where you couldn’t just blend in, where you’d have to speak, to engage.

Eddie, as if sensing your internal debate, softened his approach. “Alright, new deal. No commitment, no pressure. Just come watch. Sit at the table, listen in. You don’t have to say a word.”

Your fingers tightened around your book.

It was a trap. A cleverly disguised one, because you knew Eddie wanted you to speak, to participate. But the offer was tempting. No pressure. Just watching.

You exhaled. “Just watching?”

Eddie grinned. “Scout’s honor.”

You seriously doubted Eddie Munson had ever been a Scout, but still…

You nodded.

His eyes lit up like you’d just agreed to marry him. “Hell yeah, okay—come on.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, Eddie grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the Hellfire table. His rings were cold against your skin, his grip firm but not forceful, like he half-expected you to change your mind and run.

You didn’t.

Instead, you let him pull you into the chaos.

Dustin, Mike, Jeff, Gareth—faces you recognized but had never spoken to—glanced up in mild surprise as Eddie dragged you into a seat beside him. “Alright, gentlemen, we have a guest,” he announced, spreading his arms like he’d just unveiled a great prize.

Dustin looked delighted. “You recruited someone?”

“Not recruited,” Eddie corrected, slinging an arm over the back of your chair. You tensed at the proximity, and he must have noticed because his voice dropped into something softer. “Just watching tonight.”

The others accepted this without question, diving back into their game, and you found yourself quietly observing as their campaign unfolded. The excitement, the stakes, the way Eddie controlled the room with his voice alone.

And maybe, just maybe, you started to see what he saw.

Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t just watching from the outside. You were there, included, and Eddie Munson had made sure of it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You hadn’t meant to come back.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

But the next Friday, when Hellfire Club met again, you found yourself hovering just outside the cafeteria doors, heart hammering, fingers twisting in the fabric of your sweater. You weren’t sure why you were hesitating.

Eddie had invited you. No—more than that. He had wanted you there. And nothing bad had happened last time. No one had forced you to speak. No one had laughed at you.

So why were you so nervous?

You were debating whether to turn around and flee when—

“Well, well, well. Look who’s lurking.”

Your stomach flipped. You knew that voice.

Eddie.

He was leaning in the doorway like he’d been waiting for you, dark eyes filled with mischief, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk—too warm for that.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Eddie chuckled. “Y’know, for someone who’s really good at making herself invisible, you are terrible at sneaking.”

You huffed, heat creeping up your neck. “I wasn’t sneaking.”

His grin widened, like he was delighted to hear you defend yourself. “No? What were you doing then?”

You hesitated. “…Thinking about coming in.”

He tilted his head. “And what’s stopping you?”

You bit your lip. Everything. The usual anxieties, the weight of being seen, the fear of looking ridiculous. But saying that out loud felt impossible.

Eddie, as if sensing your internal war, took a step closer. Not enough to be overwhelming—just enough that his voice dropped into something softer, something meant just for you.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he said, his tone light but real. “It’s just a game. Just us nerds sitting around a table, rolling some dice. No stakes. No pressure.”

You wanted to believe that.

And yet—

“You’ll sit next to me again,” Eddie added, like it wasn’t a question but a promise. “I’ll help you if you want. And if it sucks, I’ll personally walk you out and never bother you about it again.”

Your heart clenched.

It was such an Eddie thing to say. Loud and dramatic and yet… sincere. Because he meant it.

And somehow, that was what made you move.

You swallowed hard, then nodded.

Eddie lit up like you’d just made his entire week. “That’s what I’m talking about. Come on, shy girl, time to throw you into the fire.”

He didn’t grab your wrist this time. Just walked beside you, slow enough that you could change your mind if you wanted.

You didn’t.

The guys greeted you like last time—Dustin practically beaming, Mike offering a nod, the others grinning like they had already accepted you as part of the background.

You liked that.

You sat down next to Eddie, your pulse still racing, fingers tightening around the hem of your sweater. The energy around the table was different tonight—higher stakes, more tension.

“Perfect timing,” Eddie declared as he sat down beside you. “We’re entering the final stretch of tonight’s campaign. And you—” he tapped a ringed finger on the table in front of you “—are going to roll for us.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “One roll. No character sheet, no stats—just luck. Our fearless warrior here—” he gestured to Dustin “—is in a tight spot. He needs backup. So, we’ll leave his fate in the hands of the newcomer.”

Your palms started sweating. Everyone was watching. Waiting.

Eddie saw your hesitation and leaned in, voice just above a whisper. “You got this. Just pick up the die and let fate decide.”

You took a shaky breath. Then, before you could overthink it, you reached out and grabbed the twenty-sided die in front of you. It was cool in your palm, heavier than you expected.

You let it roll.

It bounced across the table, spinning, spinning—

Then landed.

A natural twenty.

The table exploded.

Dustin shot to his feet. “Are you kidding me? That was a critical hit!”

Mike groaned, throwing his hands up. “She’s got beginner’s luck!”

Even Jeff and Gareth were laughing, clapping their hands as Eddie threw his head back, cackling like a maniac. “Oh-ho-ho, I knew it! I knew you had it in you!”

You blinked at the die, then at Eddie. “…That was good, right?”

Eddie grinned so wide it was blinding. “Good? That was legendary.”

And for the first time that night—maybe even the first time ever—you felt it, the feeling like you belonged.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Something was wrong.

You felt it before you understood it—an unspoken shift in the air, like the entire town of Hawkins had been holding its breath. It started small. Missing posters appearing overnight, whispers of kids seeing things that weren’t there, an electricity in the air that made your skin prickle.

Then Chrissy Cunningham died.

And Eddie Munson disappeared.

You heard the rumors before you heard the truth.

Murder. Occult rituals. Hellfire Club being a satanic cult. The kind of garbage Hawkins thrived on, spinning stories to explain away the things it couldn’t understand.

But you knew Eddie.

You knew the boy who noticed people when no one else did, who made space for you at his table without asking for anything in return. The boy who smirked at your shyness but never mocked it, who pulled you into the fire without letting you burn.

And there was no way Eddie Munson was a murderer.

Which was why, when Dustin Henderson pulled you aside between classes, frantic and breathless, you didn’t hesitate.

“You trust Eddie, right?” he asked, gripping your arm, eyes darting around like someone might be listening.

“Of course,” you said, heart pounding. “Where is he?”

Dustin hesitated. Then, after a sharp exhale, he said, “Come with me.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie was hiding in Reefer Rick’s boathouse.

Dustin, Lucas, and Max had already found him, but now it was a waiting game—figuring out what the hell was happening, what had killed Chrissy, and how to keep Eddie from getting thrown in jail for something he didn’t do.

You barely had time to process before you were climbing through a boatyard window, heart in your throat, stepping into the darkened boathouse where Eddie was pacing like a caged animal.

He looked different. Smaller, somehow. His usual bravado was missing, his eyes wide and darting like he was waiting for someone to kick down the door and drag him away.

But the moment he saw you, he froze.

“…Shy girl?”

Your chest ached at how raw his voice sounded. “Hey, Eddie.”

He blinked like he wasn’t sure if you were real. “What—why—?”

You stepped closer before you could second-guess yourself. “Dustin told me what happened. I don’t believe any of it.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath. His shoulders slumped, just slightly, like he’d been bracing for you to look at him differently.

“You should,” he said, voice hollow. “You didn’t see what I saw.”

He told you then.

About Chrissy. About the impossible, horrific way she died. About the thing that had killed her—something wrong, something that shouldn’t exist.

And you believed him.

Because this was Hawkins. And in Hawkins, monsters were real.

You sat down beside him, slow and careful, like approaching a spooked animal. He looked exhausted—shaken down to his bones.

“You’re not alone, Eddie,” you said softly. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Eddie let out a wet, breathy laugh. “Shit. Never thought you’d be the one telling me that.”

You smiled, just a little. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And for the first time since you walked in, something in his eyes steadied.

He swallowed hard. “…That a bad thing?”

Your pulse jumped.

You weren’t sure how to answer, but for the first time, you didn’t feel like running away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t leave, maybe you should have. Maybe it would’ve been safer to let the others handle this, to go home and pretend that Eddie Munson wasn’t sitting next to you in the dark, shaking from something that had shattered his entire world.

But you stayed.

You weren’t sure if it was because of the way he looked at you—wide-eyed and uncertain, like he was afraid you might vanish—or because, for once, you weren’t afraid to be seen.

Eddie had spent weeks pulling you out of your shell. Maybe it was your turn.

Outside, the others were whispering, trying to piece together what was happening to Hawkins. But in here, in this dimly lit boathouse where the air smelled like damp wood and old cigarettes, it was just you and Eddie.

He ran a hand through his tangled curls, exhaling sharply. “So, uh. What’s the verdict?”

You frowned. “On what?”

“Me,” he said, glancing at you sideways. His voice was forced light, a poor attempt at humor. “You sticking around because you believe me, or because you think I need a babysitter?”

Your chest ached at the way he said it. Like he was bracing for you to say the wrong thing.

So you answered carefully.

“I’m here because I want to be.”

Eddie went still.

His fingers curled against his knee, the rings glinting in the dim light. You had never seen him like this before—quiet. Uncertain. Eddie Munson filled spaces with his voice, his energy. But now, he just sat there, studying you like he wasn’t sure what to make of you.

“That’s new,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You swallowed hard. “What is?”

“You,” he said, tilting his head. “Not running. Not hiding.”

You hesitated. “You never let me.”

Eddie’s lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but for once, he didn’t. He just… watched you.

A strange, fragile thing settled between you. Something delicate, something that hadn’t been there before.

But before either of you could break it—

Thud.

You both jolted.

The noise came from the lake outside, something heavy moving through the water.

Dustin’s voice cut through the quiet. “Shit—guys, something’s out there.”

Eddie tensed beside you. His hand brushed yours—instinctive, unthinking—but it sent a jolt up your spine all the same.

You barely had time to process it before the world turned upside down.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The first thing you felt was Eddie’s hand gripping yours.

It wasn’t a hesitant touch, wasn’t careful—it was instinct, a desperate hold on to me as something big, something wrong, churned beneath the surface of the lake outside.

The others were scrambling, Dustin pulling at the tarp-covered windows, Max whispering a frantic what the hell was that? But all you could focus on was Eddie.

His fingers were locked around yours, cold from fear and the damp air, his rings pressing into your skin. You weren’t sure if he even realized he was holding onto you like that.

And you weren’t sure you wanted to let go.

Then the water exploded.

Jason Carver’s idiot friend—Patrick—had been out there, chasing after the other jocks. But now he was—lifted—yanked into the air like a puppet on invisible strings. His limbs snapped, his jaw wrenched open in a silent scream, and his eyes—

They caved in.

It was Chrissy all over again.

The second Patrick hit the water, Eddie yanked you back, shoving you behind him like he was the one protecting you. It was a ridiculous thought—what could either of you do against something like that?—but it made your throat tighten all the same.

Dustin swore. Lucas was shouting. And Eddie— Eddie was shaking.

His breathing had gone shallow, his entire body locked up. He looked like he was about to fall apart, like the walls were closing in on him.

And without thinking, without overanalyzing, you reached for him.

“Hey,” you whispered. Your fingers brushed his sleeve, just barely, but his head snapped toward you like you’d pulled him out of a dream.

His eyes found yours. Wild, frantic.

But yours were steady.

“You’re not alone,” you told him, voice firm despite the way your pulse was hammering. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

For a second, he just stared at you.

Then, slowly, his breathing evened out. His fingers flexed like he wanted to hold onto you again, but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded.

And that was enough.

Dustin’s voice cut through the tension. “We need to go.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your wrist—not as frantic as before, but still firm, like he was making sure you were real—and pulled you toward the door.

And as the six of you ran into the night, you realized something:

This wasn’t just Eddie pulling you out of the shadows anymore.

This time, you were pulling him back, too.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t stop running until your lungs burned.

Dustin led the way, weaving through the trees like he’d done this a hundred times before, Max and Lucas close behind. But you barely noticed them—your entire world had shrunk to the feel of Eddie’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, his grip still tight like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers.

He only let go when you reached the edge of the forest, doubling over to catch his breath. His hands found his knees, his wild curls falling into his face, his breath coming out in short, frantic bursts.

You wanted to say something—to do something—but before you could, Dustin spoke.

“We need to get Eddie somewhere safe,” he said, glancing over his shoulder like he expected half of Hawkins to come crashing through the trees. “It’s only a matter of time before the cops start combing the woods.”

Eddie let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Great. Just what I need. Another reason for the whole damn town to be out for my blood.”

Lucas frowned. “We could take him to my house. My parents aren’t home.”

Max shook her head. “Too risky. Carver and his goons probably already checked there.”

Dustin’s face lit up. “Steve’s house. His parents are home, but they’re clueless. He’s got a big basement—perfect for laying low.”

Eddie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Harrington? Seriously?”

Dustin crossed his arms. “Dude, do you have better options?”

Eddie opened his mouth, then closed it. He had nothing.

You hesitated. You’d been quiet this whole time, still rattled by what had happened at the lake, but you couldn’t ignore the tension rolling off of Eddie in waves. He was still breathing too fast, still shifting like he was barely holding himself together.

And something about it hurt.

“…He shouldn’t be alone,” you said softly.

Eddie’s head snapped toward you.

You felt all four pairs of eyes on you, but you ignored them. Instead, you focused on Eddie, who was watching you like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You swallowed hard, then pushed forward. “I mean—it’s just, you’ve been alone this whole time, right? Running. Hiding. And now you don’t have to.” Your fingers twisted in your sweater. “If we’re laying low, I can stay with you. Just until we figure things out.”

Eddie blinked, mouth slightly open, like his brain was buffering.

Dustin grinned. “That’s actually a great idea.”

Eddie made a strangled noise. “I—what—are you guys just making plans for me now?”

Lucas shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Max smirked. “Welcome to the club, Munson.”

Eddie threw his hands up in exasperation, muttering something under his breath, but when his eyes flicked back to you, something in them softened.

You weren’t sure if it was the way you’d said he shouldn’t be alone or the fact that you’d offered to stay, but something shifted between you.

And despite everything—despite the fear, the danger, the unknown—he gave a short, tired nod.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But if Harrington tries to make me use his shampoo, I’m out.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Steve Harrington’s basement was nicer than you expected.

It wasn’t dingy or unfinished like Eddie’s trailer—there was carpet, old furniture, and a couch that looked way too expensive to be shoved in a basement. But the best part? It was hidden.

Which meant Eddie could finally breathe.

You sat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as the others argued upstairs. Something about supplies, about Nancy and Robin meeting up with them later. You weren’t really listening.

Because Eddie was pacing again.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his rings catching the dim light. He’d been quiet ever since you got here, chewing his thumbnail, his movements jittery and restless.

You exhaled. “Eddie.”

He didn’t stop. “This is insane. I’m hiding in Steve Harrington’s basement. This is actually my life right now.”

You hesitated. “It won’t be forever.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You sure about that?”

No. You weren’t sure about anything.

But you hated seeing him like this.

So you did something you never would’ve done weeks ago.

You reached out and grabbed his hand.

Eddie froze.

His skin was warm, the metal of his rings cold against your fingers. You hadn’t really thought about it, hadn’t planned it—just acted on instinct, pulling him back to you the same way he had done for you.

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and startled.

You swallowed hard. “You’re not alone, Eddie.”

His breath hitched.

For a second, neither of you moved. Your fingers were still curled around his, but you didn’t pull away. And neither did he.

Then—slowly, carefully—his grip tightened.

Just barely. Just enough to hold on.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “God. You really don’t scare easy, huh?”

You huffed a soft laugh. “I do. Just not around you.”

Eddie went still.

Something shifted. The air between you thickened, the weight of your words hanging there, unspoken but understood.

His fingers flexed against yours.

And then—

The basement door swung open.

You jumped, yanking your hand back as Steve clomped down the stairs, arms full of blankets. “Alright, Munson, you’re officially our problem now. Make yourself comfortable.”

Eddie didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stood there, watching you like he was seeing you for the first time.

And something in your chest ached.

Because you both knew that something had changed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t sleep.

Eddie didn’t, either.

The basement was quiet now—Dustin, Lucas, and Max had left, Steve had finally gone to bed, and the house above you was still. The only light came from a dim lamp in the corner, barely illuminating the space between you and Eddie.

He was sitting on the floor near the couch, leaning back against it, one knee bent, fingers twisting at his rings. You were curled up on the cushions, pretending to read a book you’d found on Steve’s shelf.

You weren’t actually reading it.

Because Eddie was acting weird.

Not loud, not animated, not filling the silence like usual. He was… watching you. Not constantly, not in an obvious way, but in these small, flickering glances, like he was trying to figure something out.

And it was killing you.

Finally, you broke the silence. “You’re staring.”

Eddie startled slightly, caught in the act. “Uh—what? No, I’m not.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat, shifting. “Okay, maybe I was. But only ‘cause I’m still trying to wrap my head around something.”

You hesitated. “What?”

His fingers drummed against his knee. He didn’t answer right away, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say it out loud.

Then, finally—soft, careful—

“You stayed.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You could’ve left,” he said, watching you intently now. “Back at the boathouse. When you found out what I’d seen, what was happening—you could’ve run. Hell, most people would’ve. But you didn’t.”

Your throat tightened. “Neither did you.”

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. “I didn’t really have a choice, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent something warm through you, but you ignored it. “That’s not true,” you said, voice softer now. “You could’ve run from us. Stayed hidden. But you didn’t. You let me find you.”

Eddie’s expression flickered. Like that hadn’t occurred to him.

Silence stretched between you. The air was thick, heavy with something unspoken.

Then, he exhaled.

“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “This is weird, right? Like—weird weird?”

You frowned. “What is weird?”

He hesitated. Then—“Us.”

Your breath caught.

Eddie must’ve seen something in your face because he backtracked immediately, hands flailing. “Not weird bad! Just—not what I expected? Like, I thought I had you figured out—shy, quiet, probably wanted nothing to do with a guy like me—and then boom, you’re here, riding this whole nightmare out with me, and I’m just—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s messing with my head.”

Your heart was pounding.

Because you felt it too.

This thing between you. The way it had shifted, deepened. The way Eddie was looking at you now—not just like you were a surprise, but like he was seeing you differently.

Like he didn’t want you to be just another quiet observer in his life.

Like he wanted more.

You swallowed hard. “Eddie.”

He went very still.

You could feel the air shift again, thick and warm, something dangerous curling between you.

If you said something now, if you acknowledged it—

The line would be crossed.

But before you could open your mouth—

The phone upstairs rang.

Eddie jumped like he’d been electrocuted.

Then, almost immediately, he was on his feet, shaking off whatever had just happened like it hadn’t stolen the breath from both of you. “That’s probably Henderson. We should—uh—we should see what’s up.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

But as Eddie jogged up the stairs, leaving you standing there, hands curled into fists—

You knew that this wasn’t just in your head, and you knew that Eddie felt it too. And sooner or later, one of you would have to stop running from it.

Part 2

[magical-reid]

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[magical-reid]

Hi I’m sorry to bother but I wanted to know if you have read or seen a fic with Bucky and he has a girlfriend he hasn’t told anyone about but him, nat and Sam so they meet her

I'm not the best person to ask for recommendations, but I'll make you what you're looking for! I hope you like it!

Secrets and Surprises

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 900

Summary: Bucky has been keeping his relationship with you a secret from most of the team, only confiding in Sam and Nat. But when the truth finally comes out, it’s not at all how he imagined.

You stretch up on your tiptoes, reaching for a coffee mug from the top shelf in Bucky's apartment. The morning light filters in through the kitchen window, casting soft shadows on the floor. Just as your fingers graze the handle, you feel a pair of strong hands settle on your waist, pulling you gently against a broad chest.

“Morning, doll.” His voice is husky with sleep, and you feel the warmth of his breath against the side of your temple as his lips brush lightly over your skin.

You smile softly, turning to face him. “Morning,” you murmur, your fingers still on the mug as you give him a teasing smile. “I was going to bring you coffee in bed.”

Bucky’s eyes gleam with mischief as he leans casually against the counter, his arms folding across his chest. “Sweet of you, but you know I can’t stay in bed when you’re up.”

You roll your eyes playfully and hand him his mug. “You’re too soft for me, Barnes.”

He lets out a chuckle, his usual steel-hard exterior slipping as his gaze softens. “And you love it.”

It’s true. There’s something endearing about seeing the once-feared Winter Soldier, a man who had faced battles that would break most people, now wrapped around your finger. But it still made you laugh, watching him melt in ways only you had seen.

As you’re about to tease him more about it, his phone buzzes on the counter. Bucky glances down at it, and his expression falls slightly.

“What’s up?” you ask, sensing the sudden shift in his mood.

“The team. Steve’s calling a meeting.”

You arch an eyebrow, setting the coffee pot down. “You gonna tell them about me?”

Bucky hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. His expression is conflicted, but not out of shame. It’s more complicated than that. After everything he’s been through, he wanted something untouched by scrutiny, a part of his life just for him. He’d only let Sam and Nat in on the secret—because, well, they weren’t easily fooled.

“I will,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a hint of regret. “Soon.”

You nod, your heart understanding his need for space. You’re not in any rush to share this with the world.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later, the day unfolds in a way you never anticipated. You're sitting at your favorite café, sipping your latte, when your phone buzzes with a text from Sam.

Sam: Come to the compound. Trust me.

You furrow your brow, looking at the message. Sam was never cryptic without a reason.

Without hesitation, you gather your things and head to the Avengers Compound, curiosity gnawing at you. When you arrive, FRIDAY greets you smoothly, letting you in without question. That’s a red flag in itself—Bucky must’ve given her clearance to let you in.

As soon as you step into the common room, a silence hits. The entire team is there, staring at you.

Natasha’s smirking, her arms crossed, while Sam’s wearing a grin that could rival a Cheshire cat’s. And Bucky... Bucky looks like he’s about to burst into flames, his face turning slightly red as he meets your gaze.

“Uh…” you start awkwardly, shifting on your feet. “Hi?”

Steve’s eyes narrow, his expression shifting from confusion to suspicion. “You have a girlfriend?”

Wanda’s jaw is slightly dropped, and Tony raises an eyebrow. “I thought Bucky was sneaking out for midnight brooding walks… but no, turns out he’s been sneaking out to you?”

Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Okay, before anyone starts—yes, we’re together. Yes, I was going to tell you all. No, I didn’t because…”

“Because he’s a secretive little punk,” Sam cuts in, clearly enjoying the moment.

Bucky glares at him. “Not helping, Wilson.”

You suppress a laugh, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “So… surprise?”

Natasha leans back, a satisfied grin on her face. “About time you met them. I was getting tired of being the only one who knew.”

Clint raises a hand. “I have one question. Why were we left out?”

You glance at Bucky, who shrugs sheepishly. “Didn’t want you all scaring her off.”

Tony gasps dramatically, hand over his heart. “Us? Intimidating?”

You snicker, shaking your head. “Maybe just a little.”

The room erupts into overlapping conversations, questions firing off from all directions. How long have you been together? How did you meet? Why the hell did Bucky think he could keep a secret like this from a team of superheroes?

Bucky pulls you closer, his arm wrapping around you, a sign of both protection and reassurance. “Guess the secret’s out.”

You grin up at him, squeezing his hand. “Told you they’d find out eventually.”

Sam slaps Bucky on the back with exaggerated force, clearly enjoying the drama. “Man, you really thought you could keep a secret from us? Rookie mistake.”

Bucky groans in frustration, but you just laugh, feeling more at home with these people than you expected.

This definitely wasn’t how you envisioned meeting the Avengers. But looking around, at Bucky, at all these people who had been through so much and yet still felt like family—this was perfect.

[magical-reid]

The Bucky Barnes Cake Conspiracy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (implied) Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 800

Summary: When Wanda convinces you and Natasha to do the “Hear Me Out” cake trend, you think it’s just harmless fun. That is, until every single one of your picks is a different version of Bucky Barnes, the entire Tower gets involved, and Bucky himself finds out in the most humiliating way possible—via Wanda’s viral video.

It started as a joke.

A harmless, ridiculous joke.

And then it spiraled into something much, much worse.

“I’m just saying,” Wanda said, shoving her phone in your face as the three of you wandered through the grocery store, “we should do it.”

Natasha glanced at the screen. “Oh, the ‘Hear Me Out’ cake trend? That’s dumb.”

“Exactly!” Wanda grinned. “Which makes it perfect for us.”

You furrowed your brows, watching the TikTok she’d pulled up. The trend was simple: buy a plain cake, decorate it with pictures of celebrities or characters you found attractive, and then justify your crush by sticking ‘Hear Me Out’ in the middle.

It was stupid. But also hilarious.

“I’m in,” you said.

Natasha groaned. “Fine. But I’m not helping if this turns into another Tower-wide disaster.”

Wanda hummed, already making a beeline for the bakery aisle. “Oh, it definitely will.”

Back at the Tower, you sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter as Wanda set up her phone. The cake—a plain white-frosted one you’d grabbed from the store—sat in the center of the table, looking all innocent. It had no idea it was about to be used for nonsense.

“Okay,” Wanda said, grinning. “Time to put down our picks.”

Natasha went first. She taped a photo of Keanu Reeves onto a skewer and stuck it into the cake. Classic. No one would question it.

Then Wanda went. Pedro Pascal. Another solid choice.

And then you—

“Y/N,” Natasha deadpanned. “Are you serious?”

You hesitated, mid-skewer placement. “…What?”

Wanda started cackling.

Because instead of picking three different people like a normal person, you had, without realizing it, picked three different versions of Bucky Barnes.

One was a picture of him in his tactical gear, scowling like he was about to murder someone (hot). Another was of him in a hoodie and jeans, looking all soft and domestic (also hot). And the third? The one that really sealed your fate?

It was a close-up of his metal arm.

You winced. “Okay. I see how this looks—”

“This looks like a confession,” Wanda said gleefully, already zooming in on your picks.

“Oh my God,” Natasha muttered, running a hand down her face.

“I panicked!” you hissed. “I wasn’t thinking—I just grabbed the first ones that looked good!”

Wanda was shaking with laughter. “Oh, babe. This isn’t panic. This is obsession.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the counter. “I hate you both.”

The video went up on Wanda’s account that night.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By the next morning, it had one million views.

And the Tower was in absolute chaos.

Clint greeted you at breakfast with a slow, knowing grin. “So,” he said, spreading cream cheese onto his bagel, “should we start calling you Mrs. Barnes, or—?”

You threw a banana at his head.

Sam nearly fell off the couch laughing when he saw the video. “You put the metal arm?” he wheezed. “Oh, you’re down bad.”

Steve, who had clearly been dragged into this nonsense against his will, just gave you a long, unimpressed look over his coffee. “You could’ve just told him, you know.”

Tony, of course, had the most Tony reaction possible. “This is the most effort I’ve ever seen someone put into a crush. If I had known Bucky was your type, I would’ve set up an HR department just to make this more scandalous.”

You wanted the Earth to swallow you whole.

But the worst part?

Bucky.

Because by some miracle, he hadn’t seen the video yet.

Which meant you were living on borrowed time.

It happened later that night.

You were curled up on the couch, pretending to read a book but mostly trying to avoid eye contact with the entire human population, when Bucky strolled into the common room.

“Hey, doll.”

Your stomach flipped. “Hey.”

He sat next to you, arms stretched out over the back of the couch, his face unreadable. For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought—maybe he doesn’t know.

And then—

“So,” he said, far too casually. “You like my arm that much, huh?”

Your entire body locked up.

Your soul left your body.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I—what—who—?”

Bucky chuckled. “I saw the video.”

You shut your eyes. “Kill me.”

He hummed, like he was thinking about it. “Nah. ‘Cause then who’s gonna take me on that date you clearly want?”

You choked. “What—”

Bucky turned to face you fully, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “If you wanted me so bad, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked.”

Your entire brain short-circuited. “I—That’s—You—”

Bucky leaned in, voice low. “Next time, maybe write my number on the cake instead.”

You exhaled sharply, heart hammering. “Are you—Are you flirting with me?”

His grin widened. “You tell me.”

You stared at him. Then at the door. Then back at him.

Finally, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “Fine. But if we go on a date, I’m making Wanda pay for it.”

Bucky laughed, eyes warm. “Deal.”

[magical-reid]

Yours, Whether You Know it or Not

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Setting: Falcon and the Winter Soldier Timeline

Word Count: 1K

Summary: You’ve been running missions with Sam and Bucky for a while now, and everything was fine—until John Walker started showing up and taking an interest in you. Bucky isn’t having it. Not because he’s jealous. Definitely not because he’s jealous. He just doesn’t trust Walker. Right?

Unwanted Attention

You weren’t sure how long you’d been walking, but you knew Bucky was beside you—silent, brooding, and absolutely vibrating with tension.

Again.

It had started a week ago. After the whole Flag Smashers fiasco in Munich, John Walker and his annoying sidekick, Lemar, had started appearing more often. They were always just there, cocky and insufferable, flashing that stolen shield like they had any right to it. But that wasn’t what had been bothering Bucky the most.

It was Walker’s interest in you.

Ever since you’d first been introduced, Walker had made it painfully obvious that he found you attractive. The first time, it was a comment—something about how you were “too pretty to be running around with these two grumps.” You’d rolled your eyes, but Sam had snickered, and Bucky had muttered something under his breath that you hadn’t quite caught.

Then, it became touches—a hand on your lower back, a brush of fingers against yours when he handed you something, a lingering grip on your wrist after a mission. It was all casual enough that you couldn’t really call him out on it, but you weren’t an idiot. Walker was testing boundaries. And every time, Bucky got pissed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

At first, you thought it was just his general hatred for Walker. But then you noticed other things.

Bucky started standing closer. His arm would “accidentally” brush against yours when you were walking. He’d place a firm hand on your back before Walker could, guiding you away without a word. And, most notably, whenever Walker so much as looked at you, Bucky’s jaw would tighten, his fists clenching like he was barely keeping himself from decking the guy.

Which led to this moment right now.

You, Bucky, and Sam were walking back to the safe house after a tense meeting with Walker and Lemar—one in which Walker had, yet again, spent way too much time trying to get your attention.

“You don’t have to act like I’m gonna drop dead if he talks to me, you know,” you said finally, breaking the silence.

Bucky didn’t look at you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on.” You stopped walking, turning to face him. “Every time Walker so much as breathes in my direction, you look like you’re about to rip his throat out.”

Bucky scoffed, looking away. “I just don’t trust him.”

Sam, who had been trailing a few steps behind, smirked. “Right. That’s what this is about.”

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam just shrugged.

“Man, you’re jealous,” Sam said. “It’s written all over your grumpy little face.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“You’re so jealous.”

“I—” Bucky cut himself off, taking a deep breath like he was trying to calm himself. “He’s an asshole.”

“No arguments there,” you said. “But if you don’t like him flirting with me, there’s a pretty easy solution, Barnes.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours. “Yeah?”

You smiled innocently. “You could just tell me why it really bothers you.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, blue eyes dark and unreadable. Then, with a sharp shake of his head, he muttered, “Let’s go,” and kept walking.

Sam sighed. “Man, you are hopeless.”

You didn’t disagree.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A Game of Possession

The next time you saw Walker, things escalated.

It was supposed to be a simple recon mission—stakeout, gather intel, get out. But, as always, Walker found a way to insert himself where he wasn’t wanted.

“You know,” Walker said, sidling up beside you, “we’d work a lot better together if you ditched these two and joined Lemar and me.”

Bucky, who was standing just a few feet away, tensed immediately.

You sighed. “Not interested.”

“Come on,” Walker pressed, flashing that annoyingly charming smile. “I’d take good care of you.”

Before you could retort, a heavy, warm weight settled around your waist.

Bucky.

His metal arm wrapped around you in an unmistakably possessive gesture, tugging you snugly against his side. His fingers splayed against your hip, and when he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous.

“She’s already taken care of.”

The air went thick with tension. Walker’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered.

“Oh yeah?” he challenged. “By who?”

Bucky’s grip tightened. “Me.”

Your heart stopped.

Walker raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Didn’t peg you for the type to settle down, Barnes.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do.”

Walker let his gaze linger on you for a beat too long before smirking. “Alright, alright. No need to get your vibranium arm in a twist.”

And with that, he strolled off.

Bucky didn’t move. Neither did you.

Finally, you found your voice. “So. That was… something.”

Bucky let out a breath through his nose. Slowly, his hand eased away, though his fingers brushed lightly against your side before leaving entirely. “Sorry.”

You turned to look at him. “Are you?”

He hesitated. Then, in a rare moment of honesty, he admitted, “No.”

You bit your lip, heartbeat unsteady. “So… am I actually taken?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Do you want to be?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you stepped forward, closing the space he’d left between you.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you murmured.

Bucky swallowed hard. His eyes flickered to your lips. His fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to touch you again.

Before either of you could do anything about it, Sam’s voice rang out from across the way.

“Hey, lovebirds! We’ve got work to do!”

You pulled back, trying not to grin. Bucky just sighed.

“This is your fault,” he muttered.

You smirked. “If you say so, boyfriend.”

Bucky groaned, but the tips of his ears burned red. And you had a feeling that, jealous or not, he wasn’t going to let the title go.

Not anymore.

[magical-reid]

Harmony in the Ice Cream Aisle

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Setting: Stranger Things Season 3, Scoops Ahoy

Word Count: 500

Summary: While working a slow shift at Scoops Ahoy, you discover that Steve, your seemingly laid-back coworker, has an unexpectedly incredible singing voice. What starts as a fun, spontaneous duet between the two of you slowly evolves into a quiet but meaningful ritual, with Steve’s voice offering comfort and support on your toughest days.

The first time you hear Steve Harrington sing, you almost drop a scoop of Rocky Road onto your shoe.

It’s a slow Tuesday evening at Scoops Ahoy, the kind where the mall is half-empty, and the only people coming in are bored teens trying to snag free samples. You’re cleaning the counter, humming absentmindedly, when Steve—leaning dramatically against the register—joins in.

Not just joins in. Actually sings.

And the thing is… he’s good. Like, really good.

You stop mid-wipe and stare at him. His voice is warm, smooth, a little playful. The kind of voice that belongs in a band, not stuck behind an ice cream counter wearing a sailor’s hat.

“What?” he asks, mid-verse, brows raising as he catches your expression.

“You can sing?” you blurt out, as if he’s just revealed he can juggle flaming torches.

Steve shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Yeah? I mean, it’s not like a thing or anything.”

“No, Steve, that is definitely a thing,” you insist. “How have you been hiding this? I demand an explanation.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Never really thought about it. I just—” He gestures vaguely. “Sing sometimes.”

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, but now you have to sing with me on our slow shifts. It’s a requirement.”

And that’s how it starts.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The next time the store is dead, you hum a tune under your breath while stocking the cones, and Steve jumps in without hesitation. You trade lines, laughing between verses when he gets overly dramatic, clutching his heart for the high notes. It turns into a game—picking songs, seeing how long you can keep it going before a customer ruins the moment.

But then, one night, it becomes something else.

It’s a particularly rough shift. Your chest feels tight, and the walls of the mall seem too close, the hum of the fluorescent lights too loud. You’ve been feeling off all day, a nagging kind of anxious you can’t shake.

Steve notices—because, of course, he does.

You don’t realize he’s watching you until you hear it.

Soft at first. A familiar melody drifting through the air. His voice—calm, steady, there.

You blink, looking up from where you’ve been staring blankly at the cash register. He’s leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, singing just loud enough for you to hear.

“You good?” he asks gently, still keeping the melody going.

You exhale, some of the tightness in your chest easing. “Yeah. Just—” You gesture vaguely. “One of those days.”

He nods, like he gets it. And maybe he does.

“Alright,” he says, tapping his fingers against the register. “I’ll keep singing. You jump in when you feel like it.”

And so you do.

His voice weaves through the air, something solid, something safe. And when you finally find your voice again, it’s not just singing. It’s a lifeline.

From then on, it becomes your thing.

Steve doesn’t make a big deal out of it, doesn’t push when you don’t want to talk about why your hands are shaking or why you suddenly look like you want to disappear. He just sings, no questions asked.

And every time, without fail, he pulls you back.

One verse at a time.

[magical-reid]

Return of the Date (A New Hope Part 2)

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Popular!Reader

Word Count: 1.7 K

Summary: After Stiles unexpectedly scores the game-winning goal in a crucial lacrosse match, his reputation at school shifts, and your friends start pushing you toward him as a potential date. What starts as a reluctant agreement leads to a surprisingly fun evening, where you discover Stiles' sweet, genuine side, and before you know it, you're seriously considering a second date with the awkward yet endearing boy.

Part 1

The first date had been… unexpected. Not in a bad way, but not in a way you’d ever imagined. Stiles Stilinski, the guy who’d always been on the periphery of your social world, had somehow managed to surprise you. His awkward charm, his surprising chivalry, and—admittedly—his endless Star Wars knowledge had left you thinking about him far more than you wanted to admit.

So when he’d texted you a few days later asking if you’d want to go out again—just the two of you this time—you’d surprised yourself by saying yes.

“Okay, so I was thinking,” Stiles began as he pulled into your driveway on the night of your second date, “that since we did the whole group thing last time, this one should be more low-key. You know, something chill.”

You climbed into the Jeep, glancing over at him. “Like what?”

“Well,” he said, drumming his fingers nervously on the steering wheel, “there’s this spot just outside town. It’s kinda dorky, but I think you’ll like it.”

That was all he said before pulling out of your driveway, leaving you both curious and slightly apprehensive.

The “spot outside town” turned out to be an old drive-in theater that had been revamped into an outdoor movie night spot. A large screen stood in the middle of an open field, surrounded by cars, lawn chairs, and blankets. A few food trucks lined the edges of the lot, serving everything from popcorn to burgers.

“They’re playing a double feature tonight,” Stiles said, a mix of excitement and nerves in his voice. “The first one’s Back to the Future, and the second is The Empire Strikes Back.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to hold back a smile. “Of course it’s Empire Strikes Back.”

“Hey, if you’re going to do a second date, you might as well make it legendary,” he said, grinning as he parked the Jeep.

Stiles had thought of everything. He pulled a plaid blanket out of the back, along with a cooler filled with snacks—because of course, Stiles Stilinski would never settle for just popcorn.

The two of you settled onto the blanket, the sounds of the pre-show advertisements humming in the background. As the first movie started, Stiles kept sneaking glances at you, clearly trying to gauge how you were feeling.

“You’re staring,” you said without looking away from the screen.

“I’m not staring,” he protested, though the way his cheeks flushed under the glow of the screen gave him away.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “I just… I wasn’t sure you’d actually want to come. After the first date, I mean.”

You turned to him, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the corner of the blanket. “I don’t know. You’re just… you. And I’m… me. This isn’t exactly a fair match.”

Your heart twisted at his words, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out and nudged his shoulder. “Hey. Give yourself a little credit. The first date wasn’t that bad.”

His face lit up, the doubt in his expression fading slightly. “Wasn’t that bad? Wow, Y/N, don’t get too sappy on me.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face was hard to hide.

The first movie flew by, the two of you sharing a bowl of popcorn while exchanging quips about Marty McFly and Doc Brown. By the time The Empire Strikes Back started, you’d moved closer, your shoulder brushing against his.

“You’re going to hate me,” you whispered halfway through the movie, your voice low so as not to disturb the other viewers.

“Impossible,” Stiles said immediately, his eyes glued to the screen.

“I’ve only seen this once,” you admitted, biting your lip.

That finally made him turn to you, his jaw dropping in mock horror. “What?!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. “I mean, I know it. Everyone knows it. But I’ve only actually watched it once.”

Stiles shook his head, feigning deep disappointment. “This is worse than I thought. I have my work cut out for me.”

“Oh, please.”

“No, no,” he insisted, his tone playful. “I’m serious. I can’t date someone who’s only seen The Empire Strikes Back once. This is a crisis.”

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He paused, as if considering your point, before breaking into a grin. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and the moment they did, his eyes widened in panic. “I mean—uh—”

You blinked at him, startled, before breaking into a laugh. “Did you just call me cute?”

“Maybe?” he said, his voice pitching up nervously.

You leaned closer, smirking. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

That shut him up.

By the time the movies ended and the lot started clearing out, you found yourself lingering, neither of you quite ready for the night to end.

Stiles leaned against the hood of the Jeep, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he glanced at you. “So, uh… did you have fun?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “It wasn’t bad.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “Not bad? Y/N, you’re killing me here.”

You laughed, stepping closer. “It was fun, Stiles. Really.”

His face lit up, and for a moment, you felt the same warmth that had surprised you on the first date.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I’d really like to do this again.”

You smiled, letting the silence stretch between you before nodding. “I think I’d like that, too.”

His grin was wide and unguarded, and as he opened the passenger door for you and climbed into the driver’s seat, you realized something you hadn’t expected:

You were looking forward to the next one.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Beacon Hills High wasn’t exactly known for its subtlety when it came to gossip, and your relationship with Stiles Stilinski was proof of that.

It started small: a few people noticing the two of you sitting closer during lunch, walking to class together, or laughing over something only the two of you understood. But then, Stiles—Stiles, of all people—had decided to hold your hand in the middle of the crowded hallway between third and fourth period.

It was like setting off a firework in a quiet room.

By the time you made it to your next class, you could feel the whispers following you like shadows. And you didn’t need superhuman hearing to catch what people were saying:

“Wait—Y/N and Stiles? When did that happen?”

“Is she, like, okay? What’s going on here?”

“No way. That has to be a dare or something.”

“Honestly? Kinda cute.”

The lunchroom the next day was worse. You’d barely made it halfway to your table when you caught Jackson Whittemore’s unmistakable voice cutting through the chatter.

“Hold on,” he said loudly, standing up and gesturing dramatically as you and Stiles walked past. “Am I hallucinating, or are you two actually a thing?”

You paused mid-step, sharing a glance with Stiles. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but you straightened your shoulders, gripping his hand tighter.

“Not hallucinating,” you said simply, giving Jackson a tight smile before continuing toward your usual spot.

But Jackson wasn’t done. “No, seriously,” he called after you, ignoring Lydia’s warning glare. “Is this some kind of joke? Like, am I being punk’d?”

“It’s real, Whittemore,” Stiles said, his voice firmer than anyone expected. “Deal with it.”

Jackson stared, caught completely off guard. “Huh,” he muttered, sinking back into his seat. “Weird.”

At your table, Lydia and Allison were grinning like Cheshire cats.

“You guys are so cute,” Lydia said, leaning her chin on her hand. “It’s almost disgusting.”

“Almost,” Allison added, smirking. “But not quite.”

Stiles groaned, slumping down in his seat. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”

“Oh, honey,” Lydia said, her tone dripping with amusement. “It’s already a big deal.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a warmth to their teasing that made you smile. “You guys are the worst.”

“And you love us for it,” Lydia quipped, winking.

The comments from the lacrosse team started during practice that afternoon. Stiles had barely stepped onto the field before one of the guys clapped him on the back and said, “Dude, you’ve gotta teach me your secret. How the hell did you pull this off?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Stiles stammered, his ears turning red. “She… likes me?”

“Yeah, why though?” another player chimed in, earning a sharp look from Scott.

“Hey, leave him alone,” Scott said, though he couldn’t quite hide his grin. “It’s not that shocking.”

“Yes, it is,” Jackson muttered from across the field.

Coach Finstock chose that moment to stroll by, his whistle swinging around his neck. He stopped, squinting at Stiles before glancing at you, standing by the bleachers waiting for practice to end.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Coach said, his voice loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Stilinski, how did you manage to score the prettiest girl in school? Did you blackmail her or something?”

Stiles froze, his face turning bright red. “No, Coach!”

“Hmm,” Coach said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Whatever it is, keep doing it. Maybe it’ll improve your game.”

The team burst into laughter as Stiles groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

By the end of the week, the buzz around your relationship had reached a fever pitch. Some people were genuinely happy for you, while others—Jackson included—still couldn’t wrap their heads around it.

“Seriously,” Jackson said one day, cornering Lydia in the hallway. “You’re telling me this isn’t a prank? A long con? Some kind of social experiment?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Get over it, Jackson. They’re happy. Isn’t that enough?”

“For who?” he shot back, crossing his arms. “For you? For me? I mean, come on. Stilinski? Really?”

“Yes, really,” Lydia said sharply, her voice leaving no room for argument. “And for the record? They’re adorable together.”

The truth was, you’d been bracing yourself for the judgment. Stiles wasn’t like the other guys in your social circle, and you knew some people wouldn’t understand what you saw in him. But none of that mattered when you were with him.

He made you laugh when you least expected it. He listened when you needed to vent. He treated you like you were the only person in the room, even when the entire school was watching.

And when he walked you to class, carrying your books and rambling about his latest Star Wars theory, you couldn’t help but think:

Let them talk.

Because at the end of the day, you wouldn’t change a thing.

[magical-reid]

A New Hope

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Popular!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: After Stiles unexpectedly scores the game-winning goal in a crucial lacrosse match, his reputation at school shifts, and your friends start pushing you toward him as a potential date. What starts as a reluctant agreement leads to a surprisingly fun evening, where you discover Stiles' sweet, genuine side, and before you know it, you're seriously considering a second date with the awkward yet endearing boy.

The roar of the Beacon Hills High crowd was deafening, the stands alive with the kind of energy only a last-minute victory could bring. The lacrosse team had done the impossible—beating Devenford Prep in the final seconds. But the biggest shock of the night wasn’t the win.

It was who had secured it.

Stiles Stilinski.

The guy who spent more time warming the bench than actually playing had somehow been in the right place at the right time, scoring the game-winning goal. As the team hoisted him onto their shoulders and the crowd erupted in cheers, you stood on the sidelines with your friends, more baffled than anything else.

“Stiles Stilinski?” you muttered under your breath. “Seriously?”

But over the next few days, the school seemed to be collectively rewriting its perception of him. Suddenly, he wasn’t just the “weird” kid who couldn’t stop talking or tripping over his own feet. He was the underdog hero, the quirky player who’d saved the day.

That was how you found yourself sitting at your usual lunch table, staring blankly at Lydia Martin as she grinned at you like she’d just hatched a foolproof plan.

“Okay, hear me out,” Lydia began, leaning forward conspiratorially. “You and Stiles. It’s perfect.”

You blinked, fork hovering over your salad. “Come again?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Lydia said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You and Stiles. A date. Trust me—it’ll be fun.”

You frowned, shaking your head. “Lydia, he’s… not really my type.”

Lydia’s grin didn’t falter for a second. “You don’t have a type. And Stiles is sweet. Funny. Smart.”

“And kind of adorable,” Allison chimed in, smiling. “In that awkward-but-endearing way.”

“He’s also the weird kid who used to do that thing with the Jello during lunch,” you reminded them, raising an eyebrow.

Lydia waved a dismissive hand. “That was, like, freshman year. He’s changed. And honestly? You need someone who’ll actually treat you well. Stiles is exactly that kind of guy.”

“And if I say no?” you challenged, though your tone lacked conviction.

“Then I’ll remind you that I covered for you during that Chem lab incident,” Lydia said sweetly, her smile sharp. “Remember?”

You sighed. “Fine. One date. One.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The day of the date came faster than you’d expected, and before you knew it, Stiles was pulling into your driveway in his blue Jeep. You hesitated before climbing in, giving yourself a mental pep talk. This was just a group hangout. You could survive one night.

“Uh, hi,” Stiles greeted when you got in, his nervous smile immediately betraying how much this meant to him. “You, uh… you look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you replied, startled by the sincerity in his tone.

The drive to the diner was mostly quiet, though Stiles kept stealing glances at you like he couldn’t believe you were there. When you arrived, the rest of the group was already waiting at a booth near the back.

“Hey, you two!” Lydia greeted cheerfully, sliding over to make room.

You took the seat next to her, and Stiles sat across from you, flanked by Scott and Jackson. It wasn’t long before the group began its obvious—and borderline embarrassing—campaign to talk Stiles up.

“He’s basically the reason we won the game,” Scott said casually, nudging Stiles with his elbow.

“Not to mention he’s got this, like, weird savant thing with math,” Allison added.

“And he’s surprisingly good at trivia,” Lydia said. “He’s the reason we didn’t lose that trivia night at Jungle.”

Stiles was practically squirming in his seat, his cheeks flushed with a mix of pride and embarrassment. You leaned back, taking it all in with a raised eyebrow. “You guys are really going all in on this, huh?”

Lydia grinned. “Just trying to make sure you know what a catch he is.”

For his part, Stiles seemed determined to live up to their praise. He opened every door for you, pulled out your chair before you could even reach for it, and insisted on paying for your milkshake—despite your protests.

“You really don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said firmly, holding his ground. “It’s… I don’t know. The right thing to do?”

His earnestness caught you off guard. Most guys you hung out with didn’t bother with stuff like this, let alone insist on it.

At some point during the night, Lydia grabbed your arm and dragged you toward the bathroom, Allison and another girl following close behind.

“So?” Lydia asked the moment the door shut. “What do you think?”

You crossed your arms, shrugging like it was no big deal. “What do I think about what?”

“About Stiles,” Allison clarified, leaning against the counter. “You’re, like, actually having fun, right?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t lie,” Lydia interrupted. “You were smiling when he told that ridiculous story about Scott falling off the roof. And you’ve been laughing at his jokes.”

“I smile all the time,” you argued weakly, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Not like this,” Lydia said knowingly. “You like him, don’t you?”

“I—” You hesitated, looking between the girls as they stared you down. “He’s… different. I didn’t expect this.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

You bit your lip, unable to answer.

Back at the table, Stiles was in the middle of an animated Star Wars discussion with Scott and Jackson.

“And, like, there’s no way anyone can say Greedo shot first. It’s just—”

“Actually,” you interrupted, your voice cutting through the chatter, “the debate exists because Lucas changed it in the Special Edition. In the original 1977 release, Han shot first. That’s why people were so mad.”

The table went silent.

Every head turned toward you, and Stiles stared at you like you’d just solved the world’s greatest mystery.

“You… know that?” he asked, his voice almost reverent.

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the attention. “What? Just because I don’t wear a Star Wars shirt doesn’t mean I don’t know stuff.”

Stiles blinked, then blurted out, “Marry me.”

The table erupted into laughter, but you couldn’t stop looking at him—or the way his face lit up when you smiled back.

“Maybe ask me on a second date first,” you teased.

The grin that spread across his face made it clear: he absolutely would.

Part 2

[magical-reid]

could you please do 2 and 28 for Sebastian please, thought it might be interesting because of the time period. Thanks.

A Debt of the Heart

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Word Count: 900

Prompts: 2: “If there was ever anybody meant for me, it’s you.”

28: “You owe me.” “I owe you $20 not a day of pretending to be your partner to get your parents off your back.” 

Summary: After being reluctantly roped into pretending to be Sebastian's partner to impress his demanding parents, you find yourself enduring an evening of awkward questions and forced affection, much to your embarrassment. Despite the humiliation, Sebastian's unexpected sincerity later in the evening reveals a deeper, more genuine side of him, leaving you both confused and drawn to each other in a way neither of you anticipated.

The crisp autumn air rustled through the golden-leaved trees surrounding the Sallow family estate in Feldcroft. A soft mist clung to the hills, the sun just beginning to burn it away. You had arrived earlier than anticipated, suitcase in hand, cursing the letter from Sebastian that had dragged you away from your peaceful weekend at Hogwarts.

“Pretend to be your partner, Sebastian?” you said, exasperation evident as you stood on the threshold of the cottage. He had opened the door, his trademark smirk faltering ever so slightly when he saw the glare you were giving him.

“You owe me,” Sebastian said, leaning casually against the doorframe, as though his request was entirely reasonable.

“I owe you twenty Galleons, not a day of pretending to be your partner to get your parents off your back,” you hissed, your voice low in case Anne or his uncle Solomon overheard.

Sebastian winced at the sharpness in your tone but quickly regained his composure. “Oh, come on. Twenty Galleons hardly covers the number of times I’ve saved your life. Let’s call it interest.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but he stepped aside, letting you into the cozy yet slightly cramped Sallow home. “And what exactly do you expect me to do? Hold your hand and gaze lovingly into your eyes?”

“Would it kill you to try?” His grin returned in full force, mischievous and infuriating.

The truth was, Sebastian’s parents were visiting from the continent for the first time in years. And with his mother’s sharp tongue and his father’s endless questions, Sebastian had resorted to desperate measures. They had long since given up hope that he would “settle down,” but when his last letter home mentioned a “significant other,” they had demanded to meet the mysterious person.

That’s where you came in.

“You could have asked literally anyone else,” you muttered, setting your bag down near the hearth. Anne, seated in a rocking chair by the window, shot you a knowing glance but said nothing.

“Anyone else?” Sebastian scoffed, pulling you aside as Anne chuckled softly. “And miss out on seeing you squirm under my parents’ interrogation? Never.”

You were about to retort when the door swung open, and in strode Mr. and Mrs. Sallow, both clad in dark traveling cloaks.

“Sebastian!” his mother exclaimed, her voice warm but commanding. Her eyes shifted to you almost immediately, sharp and calculating. “And this must be the one we’ve heard so much about.”

You swallowed hard, plastering on a polite smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Sallow.”

The day wore on, filled with tea and polite conversation that felt anything but casual. Sebastian sat closer to you than necessary, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he leaned in to make some cheeky comment. His parents asked endless questions: How had you two met? What did you see in their son? Were you planning a future together?

You were mortified. Sebastian, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying himself, especially when you stumbled over your answers.

By the time dinner rolled around, you were exhausted, sitting beside Sebastian at the long wooden table as candles floated above, casting a warm glow.

“Thank you for indulging us, my dear,” Mrs. Sallow said, eyeing you with an unreadable expression. “I admit, I was beginning to think Sebastian would never find someone. He’s always been… selective.”

“Picky,” Mr. Sallow corrected, chuckling. “But it seems he’s made an excellent choice.”

You forced a smile, feeling your cheeks heat under their scrutiny. Beneath the table, Sebastian’s hand found yours. You turned to glare at him, but his expression was surprisingly soft. He gave your hand a small squeeze, his usual arrogance replaced with something genuine.

Later that evening, as the house grew quiet and the Sallows retreated to bed, you cornered Sebastian in the kitchen.

“This has been humiliating,” you hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“I think you handled it brilliantly,” he said, grabbing your hand to stop your poking.

“Don’t try to charm your way out of this.”

Sebastian’s smile faltered, and for a moment, he looked serious. “I mean it. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

You sighed, tugging your hand away but not entirely angry anymore. “You owe me more than twenty Galleons after this, you know.”

“I’ll pay you back,” he promised, a teasing lilt returning to his voice. “With interest.”

You rolled your eyes, turning to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“If there was ever anybody meant for me,” he said quietly, “it’s you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Turning back, you found him watching you, his usual smirk gone, replaced with a sincerity that made your heart skip.

“Sebastian…” you began, but he cut you off.

“I mean it. And not just for tonight.” He took a step closer, his gaze locked on yours. “Maybe you’ll hex me for saying this, but I don’t think I’ve ever cared about anyone the way I care about you.”

You were silent for a long moment, unsure how to respond. Finally, you gave a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You really are insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin returning. “But I’m your insufferable idiot, aren’t I?”

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, though you didn’t protest when he leaned in closer, his hand brushing yours once again.

For all his flaws, Sebastian had a way of making your heart race—and somehow, despite everything, you knew you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[magical-reid]

Hidden in Plain Sight

Pairing: Lip Gallagher x Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: Lip who has always avoided comfort, begins to unravel emotionally after a quiet, intimate moment with a girl who brings calm into his chaotic life. As their secret relationship grows, the weight of hiding it becomes unbearable, leading to a moment of honesty that frees them both from the fear and tension of living in secrecy.

Lip Gallagher had never believed in the concept of comfort. In the Gallagher world, comfort was a luxury—one that didn’t exist in his universe. But then, she showed up. She was different. Calm in a way that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could find a little peace.

It all started the night she led him into her bathroom for a bath. Lip had laughed at first. A bath? He was a Gallagher, for God’s sake. He didn’t do baths. He did survival, did self-reliance, did fighting through each day like it was the last. But she had her way of convincing him.

"You’ll love it," she had teased, running the water with a familiar ease, as if this was something he’d done his whole life.

"Seriously?" Lip had said, eyeing the oversized tub like it might swallow him whole. "You’re joking, right?"

"Nope. You need to relax, Lip. Trust me."

At first, it was awkward. He sat at the edge, arms crossed, trying to look like he was too cool for something this soft. But as the steam filled the room, as the lavender scent slowly settled around him, something inside him softened. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been carrying, how tight his body always was, until it began to unwind under the warm water.

"Alright, this isn't terrible," Lip muttered, looking over at her as she sat beside him, a knowing smile on her lips.

She leaned in closer, her voice almost a whisper. "See? You don’t always have to fight, Lip."

He chuckled, something between disbelief and real affection in his eyes. "It’s just... weird. But, yeah. I could get used to this."

And so began the unraveling of the walls Lip had carefully built around himself. That moment in the bathroom was only the beginning.

It had been weeks since that night. Things between them weren’t official, but everyone could feel the shift. Lip didn’t talk about it—hell, he barely let himself think about it—but there was no denying it: he was starting to care. More than he’d allowed himself to care for anything in a long time.

The secrecy, though, was killing him. It wasn’t about shame. He wasn’t ashamed of her. It was fear. Fear that if it came out—if the chaos of his family got wind of this—they’d tear it apart. Everyone had an opinion, and no one held back. And if it went wrong... He couldn’t bear to imagine it.

Still, he loved the thrill. The sneaking around. The stolen glances when no one was looking. The quiet moments when they’d slip into each other’s rooms before the sun came up.

One night, after an exhausting day full of Gallagher-family drama, they found themselves at yet another one of their infamous parties. Music blasting, people arguing, Fiona reigning over the madness like the queen she was. But Lip couldn't focus on any of that. His eyes kept finding her across the room—her quiet smile, the way she rolled her eyes at his brothers. He couldn't help it; he was drawn to her in ways that made him forget about everything else.

Debbie nudged her, breaking her from the trance. “What’s up with you? You’re blushing like crazy.”

She laughed nervously, trying to play it off. "Just hot in here."

But Lip, never one to let an opportunity pass, caught her eye from across the room. His smirk was obvious, and as he passed by, his fingers brushed the small of her back. The brief contact sent a jolt through her, making her heart race.

Debbie raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?”

She shifted uncomfortably, forcing a smile. “Just drop it.”

But Lip wasn’t done. He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her with amusement. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, and she knew he was enjoying every moment of this teasing.

Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore. Excusing herself from Debbie and Kev, she slipped into the bathroom for a breather. But before she could close the door, Lip appeared, stepping into the pantry with a grin that made her pulse spike.

“Lip!” she hissed, looking over her shoulder. “Are you insane? Someone’s going to see us!”

“Nah,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I’ve been watching you all night. You drive me crazy.”

She rolled her eyes, trying to maintain some composure. “You’re the one who keeps staring.”

His smile widened, and before she could protest, he stepped closer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was slow, deliberate, and it made her breath catch.

“Relax,” Lip murmured, his lips brushing against her temple. “I’m not going to do anything. Just wanted a minute with you.”

Before she could reply, the sound of someone calling his name from the kitchen broke the spell.

“Better get back before they send in a search party,” she said, her voice breathless.

Lip gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before stepping back. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

She waited a few moments after he left before slipping out herself. The entire encounter had left her dizzy, conflicted. She was falling for him, but the fear of getting caught, of losing it all, was starting to suffocate her.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that night, someone suggested a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Her stomach sank. The thought of being locked in a tiny room with Ian of all people made her want to hide under the couch cushions. But when the bottle landed on Ian for her turn, she couldn’t hide her panic.

Lip’s jaw clenched. She could see it—how much he hated this, hated that their relationship was still a secret, hated that someone else was about to be close to her.

“Well, go on,” Fiona teased, not sensing the tension in the air.

Ian, ever the good sport, shrugged and held out his hand. “Guess we’re doing this.”

The bathroom door slammed shut behind them, and the awkwardness was immediate. They both stood there for a long moment, not quite sure what to say.

“So... you and Lip?” Ian asked, breaking the silence.

Her heart stuttered in her chest. “What?”

Ian smirked, clearly amused by her feigned ignorance. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve known for months. Lip’s not exactly subtle.”

Her face burned. “Does everyone know?”

“Nah,” Ian shrugged. “Just me. Maybe Fiona. But don’t worry, I won’t say anything. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”

“Sweet?” she echoed, confused.

“Yeah, sweet. In a Gallagher kind of way.”

Before she could respond, someone banged on the door. “Time’s up!”

She and Ian stumbled out of the bathroom, met by the chorus of teasing from the others. When her eyes met Lip’s, his expression was unreadable—though she could see the fire behind it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By the end of the night, the secrecy was weighing on her like a lead blanket. Sitting beside Lip on the couch, her hand resting on his knee beneath the blanket, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lip,” she whispered, leaning in closer to him.

He tilted his head, looking at her. “Yeah?”

“Let’s tell them.”

He frowned slightly, clearly surprised. “You sure?”

She nodded. “I’m tired of hiding. I don’t care what they think.”

Lip hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

With her heart pounding, she stood up, Lip following suit. Together, they faced the crowd of people. The music slowed, conversations dying as all eyes turned to them.

“We’ve been seeing each other,” she said, the words coming out faster than she intended.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Fiona grinned widely. “Took you long enough.”

Carl’s voice rang out in the silence. “Wait! That means those marks on Lip’s neck—”

“Yep,” Debbie chimed in with a smirk, drawing a laugh from the others.

Her face turned bright red, but Lip just laughed, pulling her closer. “What can I say? She’s got good aim.”

The room erupted in laughter, and for the first time in months, she felt a sense of relief. No more hiding, no more pretending. This—this was real.

Lip pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “Told you it’d be fine.”

And for the first time in a long while, she knew he was right. The secret was out. And the thrill of hiding had nothing on the feeling of finally being real.

[magical-reid]

In the Shadow of a Trickster

Pairing: Stiles/ Void!Stiles x reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: When the Nogitsune possesses Stiles’ body and uses his hidden feelings for the reader to manipulate her, the pack must convince her of the supernatural world and her role in stopping the trickster. After helping to defeat the Nogitsune, the reader and Stiles work through the aftermath, rebuilding trust and turning his long-held crush into a genuine, heartfelt relationship.

Stiles’ POV

The worst part about losing control of your own body isn’t the fear, though that’s definitely there, gnawing at the edges of your mind like a rabid dog.

It’s the helplessness. The way you’re forced to sit in the passenger seat of your own life while someone else—something else—takes the wheel.

And when that something decides to spend its time being everything you’ve ever wanted to be for the girl you can’t stop thinking about? That’s a special kind of torture.

I could see everything the Nogitsune did. I could feel it, too, like I was a puppet being yanked around on invisible strings. When he smiled at her, it was my face she saw. When he opened the door for her or brushed his fingers against hers, it was my hands doing it. When she leaned into him on the couch, trusting and warm and so perfectly hers, I felt the weight of her against me like it was some kind of cruel joke.

But it wasn’t me.

It wasn’t me leaning in to kiss her forehead as she laughed at something stupid on the TV. It wasn’t me running my fingers through her hair or pulling her closer during a quiet moment in the movie. It wasn’t me whispering little compliments that made her blush and smile like I was her whole world.

And yet, it was my voice saying those things. My lips pressing to her temple. My heart pounding as if it was my own reaction.

I’d wanted this for so long. Years, maybe. I’d imagined what it would be like to finally tell her how I felt, to pull her close and hold her the way he was doing now. But I never thought it would happen like this.

I’d always been too afraid. Too awkward, too unsure of myself. I thought there was no way she’d ever see me as anything more than her weird, slightly neurotic best friend.

But now, here she was, thinking it was me. Thinking I’d finally gotten over my insecurities and stepped up to be the guy she deserved.

And the way she smiled at him—at me—like I’d somehow become everything she’d ever wanted… God, it hurt.

It hurt because it wasn’t real.

Not for me, anyway. For her, it was everything she’d probably dreamed about. She had no idea that the man she thought was falling for her wasn’t a man at all. Just a parasite wearing my skin and weaponizing my feelings against me.

But how could I blame her? How could I be angry at her when all she saw was me? The confidence, the charm, the easy affection—that was what she thought I was capable of if I’d just let myself try.

I could almost hear the Nogitsune laughing inside my head, relishing in my misery. He wasn’t just doing this to her; he was doing it to me. He was rubbing my nose in all the things I’d never had the courage to do myself.

And I couldn’t stop him.

All I could do was sit there in the back of my own mind, helpless, and watch as the Nogitsune did all the things I’d spent years dreaming about but never thought I could have. Watch as he curled his arm around her shoulders on the couch, his fingers lazily tracing circles on her arm while she leaned into him like he was the safest place in the world.

I’d spent my entire life wanting to be that for her. And now, the thing inside me was using her to destroy me.

And it was working.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

I’d always known there was more to Stiles Stilinski than he let on.

Beneath all the rambling, the awkward hand gestures, and the nervous humor, there was someone… different. Someone thoughtful, protective, and incredibly sweet. I’d seen glimpses of that side of him over the years, but I never thought he’d actually let me see all of it.

Until now.

I didn’t know what had changed, but something had shifted between us recently. He wasn’t just the same dorky Stiles I’d always known. He was more. Confident. Smooth. Almost… magnetic.

At first, I’d been a little surprised. Stiles had always been sweet, but he’d never been the type to hold my hand without overthinking it or press a kiss to my forehead like it was second nature. But lately, he’d been doing those things without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And I couldn’t lie—it was nice.

It was more than nice.

It was everything I’d been too scared to admit I wanted from him.

Tonight, he’d shown up at my door with takeout from my favorite Thai place, flashing that grin that made my stomach flip. “Thought we could do a movie night,” he’d said, holding up the bag. “Your pick.”

“Did you steal my dream boyfriend checklist or something?” I teased, stepping aside to let him in.

He chuckled, the sound deeper and smoother than I remembered. “Just trying to keep you happy.”

And he did. God, he did.

We settled on the couch, his arm sliding around me like it belonged there. He was warm and steady, his fingers lightly tracing my arm as we watched the movie. Every so often, he’d lean in and say something just loud enough for me to hear, his breath brushing against my ear.

I wasn’t sure what had changed to make him act this way, but I wasn’t going to question it.

Stiles Stilinski had finally stepped out of his own way, and I was falling for him faster than I could stop myself.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

“You’re joking, right?”

The diner felt too bright, too loud, even though it was mostly empty. My hands were wrapped tightly around my coffee cup, its heat grounding me as I stared at Scott, Lydia, and Kira in disbelief.

Scott shook his head, his expression earnest. “I wish we were. But everything we’re telling you is the truth.”

“That’s… insane.” I leaned back in the booth, my heart pounding. “You’re saying Stiles isn’t Stiles because he’s been taken over by some… spirit?”

“A Nogitsune,” Lydia said matter-of-factly. She was calm, but her eyes betrayed the worry she was trying to hide.

I glanced at Kira, hoping for some kind of explanation that would make this all make sense. Instead, she nodded solemnly.

“And all of you know about this? About… supernatural stuff?” I gestured vaguely at them.

“Yes,” Scott said, his voice soft but firm. “This isn’t just about Stiles. It’s about the whole town. There’s been werewolves, banshees, kitsune—things you wouldn’t believe if you didn’t see them yourself.”

I stared at him, trying to process his words, but they felt like they were bouncing off some mental wall I’d built to protect myself from losing my mind.

“And you’re saying the Stiles I’ve been…” My throat tightened as I struggled to find the right words. “The one I’ve been spending all this time with isn’t really him?”

“It’s his body,” Lydia said carefully, her voice gentler now. “But it’s not his mind. Not his heart.”

“Then why does he…” I swallowed hard, the words feeling too raw to say aloud. “Why does he act like he… cares about me?”

The three of them exchanged a glance, and I felt a flicker of unease.

“That’s the thing,” Scott said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. “The Nogitsune is using Stiles’ feelings for you. It knows how he feels, and it’s manipulating you both. That’s what it does. It feeds off pain, chaos, and destruction.”

The air left my lungs in a rush. “You’re saying… Stiles—real Stiles—has feelings for me?”

“Yes,” Lydia said, her voice firm and certain.

“And the Nogitsune knows that,” Scott added. “That’s why it’s been so… attentive. It’s pretending to be everything Stiles has always wanted to be for you, because it knows it’ll hurt him.”

I shook my head, my mind spinning. “This is… insane. I can’t—”

“We’re telling you this because we need your help,” Lydia interrupted. Her eyes locked onto mine, steady and unyielding. “We can’t stop the Nogitsune without you.”

“Why me?” My voice cracked.

“Because he—it—has a soft spot for you,” Kira said. “It won’t see you as a threat. You’re the only one who can get close enough to distract it while we set the trap.”

“You want me to be bait?”

“No,” Scott said quickly. “We’ll be right there with you. We just need you to keep it focused long enough for us to contain it. You won’t be in danger. I promise.”

I wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry. None of this felt real. Stiles couldn’t be… possessed by some ancient spirit. Supernatural creatures couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be my life.

But then I thought about the way he’d been acting lately. The confidence, the ease, the way he seemed to know exactly how to pull me in. It had felt too good to be true because it was.

And if there was even a chance they were right… if Stiles was still in there somewhere, trapped and helpless, how could I say no?

“Okay,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll help.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Stiles’ POV

It felt like drowning.

I could see everything, feel everything, but I couldn’t do anything. I was trapped, watching as the Nogitsune paced back and forth in the school gym, a smug smirk on my face—on his face.

Then she walked in.

“(Y/N),” the Nogitsune said smoothly, his voice dripping with false warmth. My voice. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

She hesitated at the door, her arms crossed over her chest. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes darted around the room, but she stepped closer anyway.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, her voice steady despite the obvious fear in her eyes. “You’ve been… different lately.”

The Nogitsune laughed, tilting my head to the side as he looked at her. “Different? How so?”

“You know how,” she said softly. “You’ve been confident. Sure of yourself. Sweet. But it doesn’t feel real.”

For the first time, the Nogitsune faltered.

“It’s like you’re trying to be someone you’re not,” she continued, taking another cautious step forward. “The Stiles I know isn’t like that. And that’s okay. I like him the way he is.”

Something inside me cracked.

The Nogitsune’s smirk slipped, and for a moment, I felt the faintest flicker of control, like her words were enough to shake his hold on me. But it wasn’t enough.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said sharply, stepping closer to her. “This is who I am. This is who I’ve always been.”

“Then why does it feel like a lie?” she asked, her voice trembling but resolute.

Before he could respond, the trap sprung.

Scott and Kira charged out of the shadows, Kira’s sword glowing with electricity as she slashed at the Nogitsune. He roared, spinning to face them, but before he could attack, Lydia’s banshee scream filled the gym, stunning him just long enough for Scott to pin him down.

I felt the Nogitsune’s grip on me waver, and suddenly, I was there again—really there—my mind my own for the first time in what felt like weeks.

“(Y/N)!” I gasped, my voice hoarse.

She ran to me, her hands grabbing mine as Scott and Kira finished binding the Nogitsune.

“It’s me,” I whispered, my eyes desperate as I looked at her. “It’s really me.”

For a moment, she just stared at me, her eyes filled with tears. Then she threw her arms around me, holding me so tightly I thought I might break.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself breathe.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

It had been two weeks since the Nogitsune was defeated, and Stiles still hadn’t quite met my eyes.

We sat in my living room, the air between us thick with everything we hadn’t said yet.

“Stiles,” I said softly, breaking the silence.

He looked up at me, his expression full of guilt. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “For what it did. For everything it made you think.”

“It wasn’t you,” I said firmly. “I know that now.”

“But it was me,” he insisted. “It used my feelings for you, and now you probably think I’m some pathetic—”

“I don’t,” I interrupted, reaching for his hand. He froze, his eyes wide as he looked at me. “I don’t think you’re pathetic, Stiles. I think you’re brave. And kind. And… everything I’ve been looking for.”

His breath hitched. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

The silence stretched between us, and then, slowly, he smiled—a real, unguarded smile that made my heart skip a beat.

“Okay,” he said, his voice soft. “Maybe we could… start over?”

I smiled back. “I’d like that.”

And this time, it was real.

[magical-reid]

40 with stiles please!!!

I actually go this prompt twice! Great minds must think alike!

You can find it here! I hope you like it!

[magical-reid]

prompt 40 with stiles please!! not going on date due to jealousy 👀👀

Don't Go On That Date

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Setting: Post-High School | College AU

Word Count: 1K

Prompt: 40: ” Don’t go on that date.” “Why?” “You know why.” “Say it.”

Summary: When a cheesy speed dating flier catches the reader's attention, they reluctantly sign up after some persuasion from their roommate, not expecting anything serious. But when Stiles, their longtime friend, confesses his feelings just before the event, everything changes, leading to an unexpected, passionate kiss and the realization that he’s the one they’ve been waiting for.

Reader’s POV

It started with a stupid flier.

Bright pink with neon green lettering, it had been pinned to the corkboard outside the dining hall. “Speed Dating Night,” it declared, obnoxiously large hearts taking up most of the page. Someone had drawn a cartoon Cupid in the corner, his arrow poised and smug.

You didn’t even mean to take it seriously. It was a joke—something to laugh about later when Stiles inevitably made fun of you for being “the kind of person who falls for cheesy marketing.” And yet, when you mentioned it to your roommate, they immediately dragged you into a group chat to sign up.

“It’ll be fun,” they’d said. “It’s not even real dating! Just a chance to meet people!”

You weren’t buying it. But after days of relentless pestering, you caved. It was a Friday night, and you’d already resigned yourself to wearing your nice jeans.

It wasn’t until you’d mentioned it to Stiles that the whole thing spiraled.

“I don’t get it,” he said, sitting cross-legged on your bed. He was twirling your TV remote between his hands, looking far too annoyed for someone who had spent the last thirty minutes raving about how he’d finally beaten Scott at Mario Kart. “Why would you even go?”

“It’s just for fun,” you replied, rifling through your dresser. “I’m not marrying anyone.”

“But why speed dating? Don’t you already have enough—” He waved vaguely. “—people in your life?”

“Enough people?” You quirked an eyebrow, holding up a black sweater. He frowned, and you put it back in the drawer.

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

Stiles sighed like it physically pained him to explain. “I mean you’ve got me. Scott. Lydia. Everyone. You’re not—” He gestured at you, then immediately realized how insulting that could’ve sounded. “Not, like, lonely.”

“I’m not lonely.” You turned back to your dresser. “I just want to try something new. That’s not a crime.”

“You don’t need it,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear.

“Okay, dad,” you said, rolling your eyes. You tried to ignore the weird twinge in your stomach when he got up and left your dorm without another word.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Stiles’ POV

He was losing his mind.

He couldn’t pinpoint when it started—when you’d become the most distracting part of his life. Was it the first week of college, when he realized you were in his bio class and you still called him when you couldn’t figure out campus navigation? Or was it earlier? High school? That stupid road trip to Mexico when Scott told him, “You’re totally into her,” and Stiles vehemently denied it because he couldn’t possibly deal with that on top of everything else?

It didn’t matter. All he knew was that the idea of you sitting across from some idiot with perfect hair at some stupid speed dating event was driving him insane.

“Why don’t you just tell her?” Scott asked when Stiles stormed into their dorm that afternoon, slamming the door and pacing like a man on a mission.

“Tell her what?” Stiles shot back.

“That you like her.”

Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet. “I don’t—what—Scott—” He flailed. “No. That’s not—she’s not—I mean—”

Scott gave him the most unimpressed look.

Stiles groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s not like that, okay? It’s just…” He tried to find the words. “It’s stupid. She shouldn’t have to go to something like that to meet people. She’s—she’s better than that.”

Scott shrugged. “Then tell her you’re better than that.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

Your roommate let out a wolf-whistle as you stepped into the living room, turning in a slow circle for their approval.

“You clean up nice,” they said, grinning. “Watch out, speed daters. You’re about to steal everyone’s heart.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed your phone and keys. You were halfway to the door when it swung open—hard.

Stiles stood there, chest heaving like he’d sprinted across campus. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and his plaid shirt was buttoned wrong. He looked completely frazzled.

“Don’t go on that date,” he blurted, his words crashing into each other.

Your roommate let out a low whistle. “Well, I’m just gonna… leave you to it.” They slipped out before you could stop them, leaving you face-to-face with a very anxious Stiles.

You crossed your arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopping you from making a terrible decision,” he said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t need to do this,” he said, his voice softer now but no less urgent. He looked at you like you’d just volunteered for a kamikaze mission.

“It’s just speed dating, Stiles.”

“You know why.”

You tilted your head, daring him to say it. “Why?”

He clenched his jaw, eyes darting to the floor, then back to you. “You know why.”

“Say it.”

The silence stretched between you. His throat bobbed, his hands clenching at his sides. You thought, for one agonizing second, that he wasn’t going to do it—that he’d leave it hanging there forever, like an unfinished sentence.

But then he said it.

“Because I like you.” His voice cracked, and he winced like it physically hurt to say out loud. “I—I’m into you, okay? Like, really into you. And I can’t—I can’t watch you go out there and—” He gestured vaguely toward the door. “And find someone else when I’m right here.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. You couldn’t tell if you were breathing anymore, but you were definitely staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“You’re not saying anything,” he said after a moment, shifting on his feet. “Which is really not helping my anxiety right now.”

You stepped closer. “You’re right,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I am?”

“Yeah.” Your cheeks burned. “You’re right. I didn’t need to go out and meet someone. I—” You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “You’ve kind of ruined me for other people, Stilinski.”

His face lit up in that stupid, perfect way it always did when he solved a mystery or won an argument. “Wait, seriously?”

You nodded. “Seriously.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

“Good,” he said, grinning now. “Because I’ve been dying to do this.”

He surged forward, and before you could ask what he meant, his lips crashed against yours. It was messy and a little off-center, but it was perfect.

And just like that, speed dating was the furthest thing from your mind.