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AAAAH

Ugh hes just so—ugh 😍😍

I love him <3

Hi! I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if you could do a fic with Edmund Pevensie and very shy reader? Thanks!

Prima Donna ~ Edmund Pevensie

Ahhhh, thank you so much for requesting! Shy!reader is a new one for me, so I hope you like it (even though it took me forever to finish it)

Word count: 2.3k

“Whose fabulous idea was it to throw this dinner?” Edmund grumbled, wrestling with the buttons of the wretched jerkin Susan had told him to wear. “I’d like to throw them a dinner in the royal dungeons.”

“It was yours, if I recall correctly.” Peter stood beside him, the perfect picture of composure. “Shall I warn the dungeon master of your impending arrival?” 

“I merely suggested that relations with Calormen could be improved by allowing the opera tour to come through Narnia,” Edmund protested, still trying to get the buttons to cooperate. “Nowhere in there did I say anything about hosting a banquet in their honor, and certainly I didn’t say a thing about myself having to attend.”

Lucy laughed from her place on Edmund’s bed. “Ed, if you’re not going to go to the opera tomorrow, it’s all the more important that you attend the dinner.”

“Pete isn’t going tomorrow either,” Edmund said, with a perfect imitation of the pout his little sister used to sport when asked to do the dishes back home.

“And Pete’s going to dinner.” 

 Edmund frowned and did not deign to answer her, returning to the confounded jerkin. 

“You know, in Calormen, the opera season is the height of court,” Lucy said, sliding off the bed to stand beside Peter. “Everything of note happens at the opera, all marriages arranged, alliances formed, grievances aired, it all happens at the opera.” 

Edmund snorted. “The fact that the attendees don’t go to the opera to watch and listen to the opera itself should tell you something.”

“Oh, Edmund,” Lucy said with a sigh, shaking her head. “Have you no appreciation for the arts?”

“Now, now,” Peter stepped forward. “Ed is a great connoisseur of art.”

Lucy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh, really?” 

“Well, swordfighting is an art, is it not?” 

The two burst into giggles, and Edmund scowled. “Shut up.”

“Ready?” Susan asked, floating into the room in the flowing, graceful way of hers. “They’ve just arrived.” 

“Ready,” said both Peter and Lucy.

“If I have to be,” Edmund grumbled. 

“You’d better be,” Susan said. “Because the director will be seated beside Peter, and the prima donna will be beside Edmund.”

“What is a ‘prima donna’, and why do I have to put up with it?” Edmund demanded. 

“The prima donna is the main female singer in an opera,” Lucy said, clearly exasperated. “Honestly, Ed, do you never listen when I’m talking?”

Edmund opened his mouth, ready to defend himself when Susan cleared her throat. “We don’t have time for this. Now, smiles on.” Susan turned and walked out of the chamber, Peter and Lucy close on her heels.

“I’m not scared to meet the Calormens,” Edmund muttered to himself as he tried to multitask walking and trying to keep his jerkin from flapping like a flag in the wind. The small clasps slipped through his fingers, and he cursed. “I won a war and had to lead a country at the age of 10! Prideful divas don’t compare to the Witch.”

Edmund swallowed his pride and looked up, intending to ask one of his sisters to come to his aid when he saw he was alone in the corridor, save for a servant girl lingering at the end of the hall. Her plain, Narnian clothing and the jug of water she carried indicated her to be a servant, but the way she carried herself…

Heat bloomed in his cheeks. Had she overheard him?

He straightened his back. “Are the arrivals from Calormen waiting?” The woman’s eyes flicked up to Edmund’s crown with a little apprehension before she nodded. “Can you help me with this?” he asked. “I cannot get these blasted buttons to button.”

The woman didn’t say anything, but set her pitcher down on the nearest windowsill and came forward, dexterous fingers accomplishing what he couldn’t with ease and efficiency. 

“Thank you.” Edmund straightened his jerkin, still feeling morbidly embarrassed. She was unfairly pretty and clearly new to Cair Paravel. He didn’t know her, he would’ve remembered her, for sure.  “Er…what’s your name?”

The woman blinked, momentarily meeting Edmund’s eyes with a startled expression. “Y/N,” she said in a mellifluous tone. Her eyes kept darting around, never staying long on Edmund or anything else. Was she uncomfortable? Or was he keeping her from something important? 

If Susan were around, she would’ve ordered Edmund to dismiss the girl so she could carry out her duty, but he couldn’t squash the urge to talk to her more. “Have you ever been to Calormen, Y/N?” 

“Yes, your majesty.” Her quiet voice was so endearing that Edmund couldn’t keep himself from smiling. 

“What was it like there?”

She looked up, nervously pulling at her fingers. “Hot.” 

Edmund laughed, and the smallest of smiles flitted across her lips. “Thanks again for your help.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Um…as you were.” And before he could embarrass himself anymore, he took off. 

Hopefully the next time he ran into Y/N, he was composed and in possession of the wit he was so famous for. 

He passed the horrid purple curtains Susan insisted be hung over the windows of the banquet hall, trying to get himself back under control before he joined his siblings. 

“Ah, Edmund,” Susan said, grabbing Edmund’s arm and pulling him forward towards the group of dark-skinned people dressed in the odd fashion of Calormen. “This is Lalnon, the esteemed director of the show Lucy and I will see tomorrow evening.” Susan indicated the man in the front who wore a glittery coat and upturned shoes. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Edmund said, forcing a smile and extending a hand to the director. “My royal sisters cannot wait to see the show, they’ve been talking about it nonstop.”

“Thank you,” the director said in a heavy Calormen accent before pushing past Edmund’s hand and walking over to the table, clearly done with the conversation.

Edmund tried not to roll his eyes as he turned back to the others in the group. Why did the creative types have to be so sullen and withdrawn? If Edmund had to be here and be polite, the least the guests could do was acknowledge how very polite he was being. 

Another Calormen man stepped forward with a bow. “I’m Ishdu, I’m the conductor. I lead the orchestra and instruct the singers.”

The siblings all nodded with regal airs, offering smiles.

The conductor brought forward each member of the crowd, outlining their names and their role in the show. Instead of following the director’s lead and seating themselves at the table, they awkwardly stayed standing, bumping into each other to allow certain members to the front of the group for their moment of recognition. 

Edmund bit the inside of his cheek, wishing he could be anywhere other than here. Could he come up with some sort of excuse that the Calormens and his siblings would believe? 

Ishdu, who was still talking, gestured to the group with a grander flourish than he’d yet used. “I’m also delighted to introduce our prima donna.”

Edmund steeled himself, trying to prepare himself for some overweight, gaudy woman to come trotting through the crowd to receive her demanded praise. But when the crowd parted, there was no such woman.

Edmund’s mouth fell open as none other than Y/N, the woman who’d helped him with his buttons, came forward and swept into a deep curtsy. “Your majesties.”

“You’re the prima donna?” Edmund asked before he could help himself, earning a glare from Susan.

For a split second, a shy smile flashed on Y/N’s face, but it quickly left as she said: “Yes, your majesty.” 

How could she be from Calormen? Why was she wearing Narnian fashion when everyone else in her group wore fashion from their own country? And what had she been doing in the corridor with a water jug? And why had she helped him with his buttons instead of announcing herself?

Edmund tried to form words, but she was scrambling his brains, even though she was doing nothing but shifting, looking as uncomfortable as he felt.

Shooting an odd look at her brother, Lucy stepped forward to rescue the situation. “Y/N, we’re so glad you’re here, let me show you where you’ll be sitting.”

With a glance at Edmund, Y/N followed his sister further into the room, smiling to humor his sister’s conversation, leading the other performers towards the banquet table. 

Susan’s hand clamped down on Edmund’s arm, pulling him towards her and Peter. “What was that?” she hissed. “That was not being hospitable!”

Edmund buried his face in his hands, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. “I mistook her for a servant.” He half-heartedly hoped they wouldn’t hear him, but his brother’s guffaw quickly dashed that sentiment.

“You did what?!” Susan almost shrieked.

“What was I supposed to think? She was in the corridor, wearing Narnian clothes and carrying a pitcher of water!”

“What did you say to her?”

“I asked her to help me with my buttons,” Edmund mumbled, causing Peter to laugh harder.

“What are you, twelve?” Susan snapped before massaging her temples. “You’d better do some damage control during dinner, before it’s irreparable!” With that, Susan walked in her floating way over to the banquet table to take her seat. 

Edmund sent his older brother a hopeless look. “How on earth can I fix this?”

Peter clapped a hand on Edmund’s shoulder. “You’re the witty one, I’m sure you can come up with something.” Then Peter went to sit beside Lalnon, the director, leaving Edmund to trail behind him.

Y/N was already seated, with her hand neatly folded in her lap on top of her napkin. The glimpse of her delicate fingers served as a reminder of how easily and contentedly she’d helped him.

He felt hot as he finally took his seat beside her. “Y/N,” he immediately began, “allow me to extend my sincerest apologies for my mistake.”

“Unnecessary.” Y/N took a dainty sip from her wine goblet, but the way she avoided his gaze made him nervous.

“It is necessary. I swear, I never meant to offend you in any way.”

“No offense,” Y/N promised.

Edmund winced. “Not even when I called you a prideful diva?” 

She didn’t answer, leaving Edmund to wonder if she really was offended or just didn’t feel like talking. But the silence that stretched on made Edmund’s discomfort rise, and he refused to let it go on. “So…” he said, searching for something, anything to say, “I hear Calormen is hot.”

The tiniest of chuckles broke through Y/N’s lips, but she still didn’t say anything. 

“Why were you in that hallway?” he asked. 

“Lalnon insisted he be allowed to wash his feet before setting foot in the banquet hall, and the servants looked frazzled already.”

Edmund cast a glance in the director’s direction just in time to see him sniff the bite of food on his fork and then promptly set the fork down on the plate. “But you’re one of the guests of honor. Why would you risk missing an introduction with the kings and queens?” Edmund asked, finding it hard to believe that someone as beautiful as her would prefer to notice than to be noticed.

“As it turns out, I got to meet one of the kings anyways,” Y/N said with a sideways smile. “I even got to help him with his buttons.”

He gaped at her.  “Er…yes, well, I guess you did, didn’t you?” She turned back to her meal, but Edmund had lost all interest in eating. Instead, he propped his arm up on the table and rested his chin on his hand. “How long have you been performing?”

“I’ve been the prima donna for a year and a half, your majesty, but I’ve been a part of the opera company for as long as I can remember.”

“What does it mean to be a prima donna?” He remembered what Lucy’s answer was, but he wanted to hear it from Y/N.

Y/N lowered her fork. “Being a prima donna means the primary female roles fall to me.”

“That’s quite the privilege,” said Edmund, wondering what it must feel like to know that she would always have the opportunity for center stage. 

“And quite the responsibility, your majesty.”

Edmund furrowed his brows. “Why’s that?”

“If a show goes poorly, there’s only so many ways to split the blame.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t more blame fall on the writer rather than the prima donna?” 

“Well, sure, but when the writer and the prima donna are the same, it gets complicated.”

It took a moment for Edmund to understand what she was saying. “Wait, you write the operas too?”

Y/N nodded. 

“Did you write the opera you’re performing tomorrow night?”

Y/N nodded again.

Her shyness endeared her to him. All he wanted was for her to talk, to share more of herself with him, but she wasn’t. “What is it about?”

“Love,” Y/N said, and the spark in her eyes made Edmund go a bit speechless. “Most powerful thing ever.”

Edmund felt his heart bounce in his chest, as if it was reminding him of its presence. “L-love?” Edmund stammered.

She nodded, and her eyes went faraway. “The opera is a story of a young man and woman who do whatever they can to be together.” Her distant smile was dazzling. “Their parents don’t approve because the young woman is a priestess-in-training at the temple of Tash, and priestesses swear never to marry.” An adorable crinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “So the young man’s father sneaks a venomous snake into a bouquet of flowers and gives it to the young woman, pretending it’s from her lover. The snake bites her, and she dies, leaving the young man heartbroken…” 

Y/N trailed off, lowering her eyes to the napkin in her lap. “Sorry,” she said with a bashful chuckle, “I just told you the whole plot for act one when you probably have zero interest.”

Edmund stared at her, certain she’d just said more words than all her previous words combined. “No, don’t apologize.” He took a breath. “You love what you do.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Edmund nodded.

“Sorry,” Y/N said again, ducking her head.

“No, don’t apologize, it’s a good thing. In fact, I envy you.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying Edmund in a way that made him feel exposed. “Does the king of Narnia feel wasted in the life he’s in?”

Edmund blinked, unsure how to answer such a question. “He feels wasted at big parties where he’s expected to be charming,” Edmund mumbled. 

Y/N’s chuckle made Edmund smile. “Well, hopefully, you won’t feel that way at the opera tomorrow,” she said, picking up her fork once again. 

Lucy, sitting across from Y/N, looked up. “Oh, no, Ed’s not–” Lucy started to say, but Edmund kicked her under the table.

“I’m sure I won’t,” Edmund said with a smile.

Lucy looked confused. “But you said–” 

Edmund stomped square on her toes, and Lucy let out a little yelp. “I will be at the opera,” Edmund said slowly, hitting every syllable as he turned back to Y/N. 

He’d only been trying to make sure Lucy got the point, but Y/N’s face broke into the biggest smile he’d seen from her all evening. “Yeah? You’ll be there?”

Edmund smiled back. “Yeah, I will. With flowers.”

TEXT MESSAGES I THINK EDMUND WOULD SEND TO HIS SIGNIFICANT OTHER

Let's pretend that the left globes are his

In Narnia's metaphor, Edmund isn't Judas Iscariot. He's us.

Edmund's betrayal isn't eating the Turkish Delight or even liking the Witch. That, and the effects of the Turkish Delight that follow, are his temptation.

His actual betrayal comes when he's seen evidence of the Witch's evil (at Tumnus's house) and heard all about the Witch's tyranny and the goodness of Aslan (from the Beavers) and he still chooses to go over to the Witch alone.

Of course the deck is stacked against Edmund! Of course he's being deceived and manipulated! Of course he's just a child! That's how sin works!!! Haven't you read Screwtape???

Edmund's sin is easy for us to excuse, but it is still inexcusable. That's the whole point. It is petty and small and childish and still wrong. Just like so much of our sin.

this actually is rewiring my brain as we speak

The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe

By C. S. Lewis

Who allowed my man Carl Grimes to be SO FINE

LOOK AT HIM

The Pevensie children are too old for their age.

Their mom notices, at the dinner table. She sees no nagging children, no stupid fights. She sees Lucy eating and speaking with perfect manners, Edmund analysing the economy and war with concerning skill, Susan being gracious but poised, like a diplomat.

Their father sees it in Peters eyes the first time they get into a fight. When he moves to punish Edmund for speaking out of turn, Peter calls him out on it. When his gaze meet his eldest son's, he's leveled by the war he sees behind it, the tensed muscle in his arm, the knuckles white around his knife. He's seen that before, in other soldiers. He doesn't know how to react.

Other children notice, too. Talking to all the Pevensie kids at the same time is like being the only one left out of a secret, and the way they touch and tease each other speaks of a history far deeper than their polite demeneor lets on. And when they walk they fall in line, as if there is a natural hierarchy between them.

The first time anyone picks a fight with Edmund, Peter comes home with a three week suspension and blood around his mouth. He looks more alive than you've seen him in weeks.

When Susan gets back in the pool after Narnia, she wins all the contests. Coaches can't explain how to beat her, because they don't understand how she's doing it, either. She seems to almost disappear when underwater.

Lucy, always gay and golden-haired, starts dancing, and never misses a step. She moves with an elegance that no 10 year old should have, and all the girls want to be friends with her

Edmund soon becomes the best student in his faculty. He always seems to know the right thing to say, and teachers laud his ability to think through complex problems. His mouth does get him in trouble sometimes, but the boy seems uncatchable, always talking his way through the cracks. And if not?

No one actively fears Peter, but everyone is a little scared of him sometimes. He's tall for his age, sure, but there is something else, some other air that seems to give him an authority far beyond what's normal for a teenage boy. He's nice enough, but teachers can't stand it, and bullies learn very quickly that pissing him off means missing teeth and black eyes.

The Pevensies are not quite inhuman, but not fully mortal, either

Legally Blonde (2001) dir. Robert Luketic

“english isn’t my first language sorry for any mistakes” —proceeds to write the most beautiful work of art ever created with grammar ten times better than an english professor

me, a supposed writer, when i can’t find the very specific scenario i made up in my head in any fanfic: am i- am i supposed to write it myself??

some gifs of robbie i made 💌

WAR OF THE WORLDS (2005) dir. Steven Spielberg

This. Oml its insane to think about

'no one understands me' STOP. 8 BILLION ALIVE PEOPLE. 15 THOUSANDS YEAR OF HUMAN HISTORY. SOMEONE HAS FELT WHAT YOURE FEELING

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS ( 2003 ) ↳ dir. Donald Petrie

Heath Ledger as Patrick Verona 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU (1999)

Heath Ledger as Patrick Verona 10 Things I Hate About You, 1999

If someone painted me I’d get down on one knee no questions asked 💍😍

i want a guy like xavier thorpe i don’t care if he’s obsessive i want that… especially if he’s gonna draw or paint me <3333

that’s like literally sO FUCKING HOT

oOMGGG

Eddie x bookworm!Reader angst-to-fluff, where Eddie is always picking on Reader because he has a crush on her, but she thinks he’s just being mean. Like he’ll say “read anything good lately, bookworm?” because he genuinely wants to talk to her about what she’s reading, but she assumes he’s teasing her like everyone else. And then a fluffy ending where he actually has a real conversation and admits that he likes her? Love you, bb! @munson-blurbs 💚

Eddie would love bookish girls like us, Bug! We’d be his favorites and everyone else would be jealous hehehe. I loved this request and I hope you enjoy!

Words: 2k

The library is supposed to be your sanctuary. It’s supposed to be where you can go and be with the books, spending time picking out the perfect one before settling down in a chair to see what new adventure awaits you within the pages. But he’s here again. The metal head who thinks it’s fun to pick on you. It’s no secret that people at school are constantly calling him a freak, so he obviously knows what it’s like to be teased and picked on. So why does he do it to you?

The paperback in your hands is pretty small, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to hide your face behind it, hoping Eddie doesn’t notice you. But you know it didn’t work when you hear the chair on the opposite side of the table from you being pulled back and someone drops down into it.

“Hey, bookworm.”

Taking a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath behind the cover of the book, you lower it and give Eddie the most unfriendly smile you can manage.

“Edward.”

“Don’t call me that,” he says, wrinkling up his nose.

“Don’t call me bookworm,” you retort.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Eddie says.

You ignore him and go back to reading. Well, pretending to read anyway, but really waiting for him to get up and leave.

“Whatcha reading?”

Slowly, you lower the book down enough where you can peer over the side of it where it clearly shows the title.

“Little Women,” you answer anyway.

“So, like, girls?”

“Sure.”

“What’s it about?”

“Eddie,” you say with a sigh. You lower the book down and slide your bookmark into the page you left off on. “What do you want?”

He leans back in his seat and frowns at you as he laces his fingers behind his head.

“To know what your book is about,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “What do you really want?”

The bell rings and you don’t give him time to answer your question before your things are back in your backpack and you’re out the door.

Luckily, you don’t see Eddie the rest of the day. The next day, you’re not as lucky. As you're getting the books you need out of your locker, you see Eddie coming down the hall out of the corner of your eye. Hurrying so he doesn’t have the chance to come and tease you, you swap out your things and clutch what you need to your chest. You hardly make sure your locker is properly closed before you’re turning away and walking quickly down the hallway, hoping he won’t spot you.

When you step into your French class, you finally release the breath you’ve been holding in your chest. Head down so no one else will notice you, you open your French notebook and turn it to a clean page for the start of class.

Someone drops down in the seat next to you, but you don’t look their way until you feel them leaning into your personal space. You’re shocked when Billy Hargrove is there, so close to you, an easy smile on his lips.

“Hey, smart girl.”

You’d bet good money he’s calling you that because he doesn’t know your real name.

“Um, hi,” you say. There’s a group of girls on the other side of the classroom who are whispering to each other as they watch the two of you.

Billy’s tongue pokes out against his top lip as he looks at you through his thick eyelashes. It’s a look you’ve seen him give dozens of girls around school. He wants something. And you know it’s not you, so that leaves only one other option.

“You’re really good at this French stuff, yeah? Well, to tell you the truth, I’m struggling a little bit. Do you think there’s any way you could help me out with that? I’d really appreciate it.” It’s a good thing you’re sitting because his smile is enough to make your knees give out.

“I’m not really a tutor,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. It’s the truth, but you’re also pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to understand your French because he’d make you a stuttering mess just by looking at you.

“Anything I can do to change your mind?” Billy asks, tilting his head. His voice is so sultry it should be illegal.

“I-I don’t think so.”

Billy tsks and shakes his head.

“Well, damn. Let me know if you change your mind, sweetheart.” He knocks his fist against your desk before going back to his own seat.

The teacher walks in and everyone takes their seats, one of the girls who was whispering about you taking her seat right behind you.

“You’re not as smart as everyone says you are,” she leans forward to whisper in your ear.

Mrs. Shay has her back to the class so you take the opportunity to turn around to face the girl.

“What?”

“For a nerd, you’re pretty dumb. Billy Hargrove was willing to spend time with you and you said no. Tell me, how many guys actually want to be around you? Let alone ones that look like Billy.”

You quickly spin back around so she can’t see the tears forming in your eyes. She’ll only be meaner if she sees she gets a reaction out of you. It’s hard to concentrate for the rest of the class, both interactions replaying in your head the whole period.

Lunch is next and you can’t bring yourself to go into the cafeteria full of students. It’s a nice day out so you decide to go sit outside and eat your sandwich in peace. You’re looking forward to picking up your spot in Little Women as you settle on the grass, back resting against the brick building, but come up empty after looking in your bag.

“No,” you whine to yourself as you double check for the book. Still not there. You must’ve left it in your locker. Alone with just your thoughts and your sandwich, the lunch period seems to go on forever. You get up a few moments before it’s over and go to your locker to grab your novel in case you get a chance to read it in any of your afternoon classes. But it’s not there either. You slam your locker door closed and knock your forehead against it. Where the hell did your book go?

“Hey! Bookworm!”

You don’t need to look up to know who’s calling for you. There have been many times in the past you’ve been grateful your locker is right next to the girl’s room, and this is another one, as you slip in, acting like you didn’t hear Eddie.

Once the bell rings, you wait a minute for the halls to fill with students before joining the sea of teenagers. A quick glance around and there’s no sign of Eddie. You don’t press your luck though and make a beeline straight for your biology class.

The end of the school day can’t come fast enough. Heading to the library after the final bell is like being a salmon swimming upstream as everyone makes for the exits. A sigh leaves your lips once you’re safely inside and find a table in the corner to hide yourself at. Unfortunately, you’re only allowed a few peaceful moments.

“There you are, bookworm.”

It feels like the last straw. You groan and drop your head down to the table, but Eddie still pulls out the seat across from you and plops down in it.

“I’ve been trying to give this back you.” There’s a slide across the table and you pick your head up to see your tattered paperback of Little Women. “You dropped it in the hallway this morning. I tried calling for you but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“Oh,” you say, stomach sinking with guilt. “Thank you.” You’d just come to expect the worst from people, so Eddie’s act of kindness comes as a surprise.

“No problem,” Eddie says. He leans forward on his forearms and smiles at you. It’s such an open and kind smile that it makes your head feel a little fuzzy. You’d never noticed how pretty Eddie is before. His dark eyes watch you and your cheeks heat up under his gaze.

“You know,” Eddie says. “I don’t think I could’ve forgiven Amy.”

“What?” you ask, face scrunching in confusion.

Eddie nods his head towards the book on the table between the two of you.

“Amy. She burnt Jo’s manuscript. That’s pretty shitty. And I’m pretty sure Laurie is in love with Jo.”

“Oh.” You look down at the cover of Little Women, your fingers coming up to ghost over the edges. “You’ve read it?”

“I started to,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Just don’t tell O’Donnell I was reading that in class today instead of listening to her drone on and on.”

“You were reading it today?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He looks down at the table in front of him and knocks his shiny silver rings a few times on the wood. “You didn’t tell me what it was about yesterday, so I decided to find out.”

Thinking back to Eddie finding you in the library yesterday, you remember him asking about what you were reading. You’d assumed it was some ploy to make fun of you, but it seems he was genuinely curious. The guilt tightens your stomach even further. You’re not sure how to apologize without admitting to him you’d assumed he was being an asshole.

“Um, do you want to finish the book? See how it ends?” You extend it to him and Eddie’s head snaps up to look at you.

“Really?” he asks, sounding more excited than you’d expect.

“Sure,” you say. “I’ve read it three times already so I’m in no hurry to finish it. Go ahead.”

Eddie’s face lights up in a grin and you mentally shake yourself for never noticing how absolutely adorable he is before.

“Thanks,” he says. He takes it from you and holds it in his hands like it’s precious and made of glass, not a book that looks like it’s weathered many storms. “Maybe when I’m done we could talk about it?”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he says, avoiding your eyes. “Maybe we could get coffee or something? Or, pizza if you don’t like coffee.”

You stare at him for a moment before responding.

“You want to hang out with me? Voluntarily?”

His face pinches into a frown as he meets your eyes again.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asks.

“I just…” You sigh. “You’re always calling me a bookworm. I figured you were picking on me like everyone else does.”

“Oh.” His face falls and he quickly shakes his head. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that bothered you so much.” He sets the book down and rubs his hands over his face. “I guess I was just teasing. I’m not good with emotions and feelings.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Ugh,” he groans, but there’s a shy smile on his face. “You know how in, like, third grade, how boys will sometimes pick on girls they like?”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod, clearly missing the hidden message in the question.

He huffs a laugh and gestures to himself.

“Guess I’m about as mature as a third grader.”

Your eyes widen and Eddie can’t help but chuckle in amusement at the look.

“You’re saying you like me? Is…is that what you’re saying?”

“You’re supposed to be the clever one here,” Eddie says with a smirk.

“And you’re…you’re serious?”

He frowns at this and leans in closer towards you.

“I would never joke like that. I know what it’s like to be picked on. It fucking sucks. I’m not about to inflict that on someone else. Especially someone as cute as you.”

Heat blooms on your face, so warm you’re sure you must look like a tomato. Eddie sits up, straightening in pride that he had that effect on you.

“Um, okay,” you say quietly. “Well, finish that book and we’ll go talk about it over pizza.”

“Like…a date?” Eddie asks in a hopeful voice.

“Yeah, a date.” You can’t help the giddy smile that comes to your face.

“Shit, I better get started then.” Eddie opens the book and leans back in his seat. You giggle, thinking he’s joking, but you see his eyes start to actually scan the pages as he reads. Taking advantage of his distraction, you let yourself look over him. His frizzy hair hangs at his shoulders, bangs pushed to the left side of his forehead. His long body reclines in the chair as he reads, his tongue poking out of his pretty lips. He’s beautiful.

You can’t wait until he’s finished with the book. Then he’ll understand what you mean when you say you’d love to be the Jo March to his Friedrich Bhaer.

honey!! number 11 on the prompt list is so steve coded, don’t ya think??

it so totally is 🥰 11. back hugs

steve h x gn!reader. good ol' pining besties <3

****

"Robin," you sigh. "You're overthinking it."

"Signals, Y/N. People have signals. A hand on your wrist, a secret smile. Signals! Now: was Vickie sending me signals? We have to explore all possibilities. But mostly, the answer is probably no. She just wants to hang."

"She asked you to brunch. People our age do not go to brunch."

"Brunch is classy!"

"Brunch is a breakfast date," you scoff. "Brunch is I want to get a cat with you."

"Well, I think—" Robin groans, glancing over your shoulder. "Oh, God. Heads up. Loverboy, twelve o'clock."

Before you can turn, you're being swept into a warm hug from behind. Steve's cheek presses to yours, his chin tucked in your neck. The tip of his nose is cold from outside as it brushes your jaw. Your heart haywires.

"Steve!" you squeal, his arms around your waist. "What're you doing?"

"You're gonna love me," he says into your ear.

Already do.

"Am I now?"

He walks around to face you.

"Yup," he says, popping the 'p'. "Look at these."

Steve holds up two slips of paper. Tickets to Bruce Springsteen at Soldier Field.

"Holy shit!" you cry, and throw your arms around him. He catches you with a laugh.

"These must've cost a fortune! How did you get them? I thought they were all sold out."

Steve shrugs. "I know people. So, interested?"

He knows it's all you've been talking about (and lamenting over when the tickets sold out in three minutes). Bruce Springsteen is one of your favorites.

"You didn't—Steve," you gasp in awe. "You really didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to. Consider it an early birthday present."

"Then I want you to come with me," you declare.

"Wh—me?"

"Who else would I bring?" you scoff.

"Someone who actually knows Springsteen songs?"

"You know enough of his hits. I mean, if you really don't want to go..."

"No!" He shakes his head. "No, Y/N, obviously I'll go. I just didn't want you to be embarrassed when I'm the only person there who doesn't know Glory Days."

"Well, that's why we're gonna listen to Born in the USA everyday until the concert," you grin. "Get you prepped."

Steve groans. "Can't believe you're giving me homework."

You turn to put the tickets in your bag. Steve crowds you as you do, chin on your shoulder. He's always affectionate with you, loose with his touches and pets.

Robin looks at you, brows to her hairline.

"It's fun homework," you say, ignoring Robin with all your might. "We can listen to the tapes in your car 'cause you've got the fancy sound system."

"That why you're friends with me?" Steve asks, arms curling around your belly. "Just for perks?"

"No comment. But the concert tickets have definitely moved you up to best friend status," you grin.

"Where was I before?" he squawks.

You pat his cheek. Steve pretends to grumble for another moment before slipping away. Instantly, you miss the warmth of his embrace.

"If you're done clinging to Y/N," Robin starts. "The new releases need to be shelved."

Steve throws her an eye roll but goes, giving you one last smile. You return it sheepishly. Robin watches you like a hawk.

You finally relent when Steve's far enough away.

"What is it now, Robs?"

"Signals," is all she says.

"Concert tickets is not a signal, Robin."

"Oh, it's something. Steve's music taste is whatever's on the radio."

"Not true! He listens to Queen and Fleetwood Mac and AC/DC and—"

"Because of you," Robin huffs. "It's you, Y/N, it's all for you. And you're both so deeply in denial you think it's just friendship things."

"He's just..." You watch Steve stack the videos on the shelf.

The enamel pin you got him a few months ago is on his FV vest. It's a bumblebee that says bee mine! You'd thought it was cute and fun and that Steve would like it. He wears it everyday, even if it doesn't match his outfit at all.

You look at Robin, your heart in your throat.

"Signals?" you squeak.

She nods.

"Now you're getting it."

I’m not one for violence but if I don’t get a third book in the Willa of the woods series I just might…

When you very very rarely find content for your favorite books/series so you decide to make your own… :)