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argylemikewheeler · 3 years

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July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he wished some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift. Fucking off and being a better piece of shit son just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So don’t call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was sure his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um, puzzles to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we can’t . So, that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is more than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially his familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green dash barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded cool in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like everyone was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I have to show you all my inventions! Camp was the best four weeks of my life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa! Girlfriend ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just Steve that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s super smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I just saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the Chief now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not... looking at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car could speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was upset that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.” Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since no one else in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright-- Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they weren’t dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected: his sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike-- just Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he really was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly: do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re never early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t have to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy. Doctor doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t too comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just was . Rather than being cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in: In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole… thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything to forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but instead seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to obscure the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well are you seeing someone, Jonathan? -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will needed to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little understanding between best friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too everything to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the disgusting amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress. Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No-- no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s nothing . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even see us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I meant what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I meant because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

#stonathan #jonathan byers x steve harrington #byeler #will byers x mike wheeler #byler #finally reposting in a way that isn't a random post with a link alksdja #prompts #my fics

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

Note

If Bella was a boy (with Bella's gift. And he would be Edward's singer). What would change? What do you think?

So, I gave a fairly detailed response to this already. The long and short of it being that, depending if Beauford’s the right kind of guy, he and Edward will essentially end up in a romantic relationship neither realizes is romantic. Then Edward eats Beauford at some point.

But, since we’re here, I suppose we can enter imagination land and get into some more details.

Caveat that I haven’t read Life and Death and have no desire to, so we’re actually ignoring some strange alternate universe canon that never made much sense anyway. Shocking, I know, and very unlike this blog.

Beauford Swan and a Kid More Messed Up Than Even Bella Swan

In order for our love story to even start, Beauford has to be the kind of guy that Edward’s into (or can project that he’s into). Well, we know Edward’s into Carlisle (he projects pretty much an idealized version of Carlisle’s personality onto Bella and actively wants to look like Carlisle as to him Carlisle’s is the face of holy perfection while Edward looks like a demon) and given what he says he likes of Bella’s personality we can extrapolate from there.

Edward’s not going to be into an Emmett or anyone remotely resembling Mike Newton. He’s going to be into a quiet, kind, misunderstood, sensative, intellectual who probably looks some level of frail and in need of protection. Essentially, what he saw in Bella, subverting the Madonna complex he has for her a bit (Beauford will be a kind of Madonna, sort of, but not quite so blatant).

So, we have Beauford, who looks a lot like male!Bella and by that I mean he keeps her pale skin, her big dark eyes, and general look about her that she could break with the slightest contact. Basically, he’s a very pretty guy the likes of which typically comes from a shojou anime. He’s also likely still debilitatingly clumsy.

So, you have this guy who’s awful at sports, as in each time he tries he probably ends up in the ICU. Is an intellectual in that he reads old books, an odd amount of Jane Austen at that, but isn’t actually an artist or writer. In fact, other than reading, he has no real hobbies. Has a larger than life mother who constantly needs looking after. And has nothing in common with his peers.

As bad as Bella had it, I posit Beauford would have had it worse. He’s not going to get along with 90% of boys until... probably college. He’s always picked last in kickball, shares 0 interests with most other boys, and is probably ruthlessly bullied for all of this and more. Worse, being so pretty, he’s going to attract a lot of romantic attention, especially from preteen girls who are very into that look and Beauford’s sensitive artistic nature. This is going to get him so much shit from other guys.

Add on top of this Bella’s original difficulty socializing and I imagine Beauford is just as depressed if not more so.

Fast Forward to Forks

Beauford comes to Forks for a similar reasons to Bella, because he felt like a third-wheel in Renee and Phil’s relationship and that his mother was better off without him. I can also see him just not knowing how to act around Phil, who probably expects a stepson who’s more... sonnish. Beauford’s not going to play catch with dad in the yard and I can see Beauford wanting to avoid all of that entirely.

He enters Forks and has a vaguely similarish reception to Bella. Only, there are some key differences.

I imagine Mike, Tylor, and Eric quickly sour on Beauford as he goes from being potentially cool new bro to a guy that can pick up every girl in this school. He’s like the Cullens, but less incestuous and creepy and therefore a thousand times worse. They desperately don’t want Beauford sitting at their lunch table where he can potentially pick up all the babes.

In other words, Mike is the new Lauren, and Beauford knows it. But it’s either eat with these guys or eat in the bathroom, and Beauford’s not at that level of desperation yet.

Jessica’s probably into him, having been into Edward (another pretty, sensitive, guy), but unlike Bella I imagine Beauford has a little better social intelligence in that he has seen this game before and he knows where it leads. So, he desperately, actively, doesn’t flirt with anyone. Which makes him a terrible conversationalist, and he just comes off as really weird.

Beauford, therefore, actually is a Cullen 2.0. You don’t want to be a Cullen 2.0 (Bella is the only one in that school who thinks the Cullens were in any way popular).

I imagine Edward notices this, plus Jessica’s interest, and gives a Nelson laugh from across the room. Now someone else can have the joys of Jessica Stanley’s lust. Though he does notice he can’t read Beauford’s thoughts, which is strange.

Like Bella, Edward undoubtedly thinks Beauford is at first highly overrated, just like all the other mindless teenagers in Forks, and rather plain (from his narration, Edward likes blondes and lighter eyes).

The Rest

Biology happens, it’s a disaster, Beauford has no idea what he did to get Edward to loathe him so much but this time Mike isn’t in any way sympathetic. Instead, Mike just can’t believe he and Cullen seem to agree on something for once.

Edward flees to Alaska, decides he won’t lose to Hamburger, and comes back to do damage control. And we start mirroring canon a lot here. Edward has varying conversations with Beauford, is intoxicated by his very scent, and starts projecting an almost saint like personality onto him. Edward grows increasingly obsessed, starts creeping into Beauford’s room at night to protect him from spiders, etc.

The difference being that Edward is utterly convinced that what he and Beauford share is the highest platonic ideal of friendship. They are platonic soulmates, all other friendships pale in comparison to them, they are intellectual peers and artists.

This is even when they still go to the meadow, Edward kidnaps Beauford in Port Angeles for Italian dinner (despite Beaufrod not having been nearly raped without Edward’s intervention), Beauford is invited to the Cullen house, and more.

Beauford, being Bella levels of oblivious, also has no idea this is a romantic relationship. Likely, what he feels at first and is driven by is a strong sense of kinship with Edward. As Edward is also an intellectual outsider hated by the male half of the school. Beauford’s been there, bro.

However, like Bella with Alice, he appreciates small details of Edward’s vampiric physical appearance, enjoys staring at Edward’s perfect face, and really digs that vampire smell.

I imagine, beyond what happened in Twilight things like the following occur: Edward constantly sketches Beauford in unintentionally (but secretly intentional) erotic positions with no clothes (this is art!), Edward leers at Beauford changing in his bedroom because “we’re both men”, Edward insists on discussing Beauford’s future bride with Beauford and imagines the most perfect woman in the world while also imagining smashing her head in like a melon.

But I imagine most of the Twilight plot points happen. The difference being that everyone is very confused on why these two can’t admit they’re dating. Rosalie probably bringing up very valid points of “Edward, if you want this guy to go date someone else then you can’t monopolize his life” and Edward telling her to stop being so petty and jealous of Beauford’s beauty. Aro, I imagine, just dies in New Moon and has no idea what to say when Beauford returns from the dead because it’s not, “Oh look, the lovers reunited! Ah, right, I forgot, they’re just friends. Yes...”

The other difference being, as I strongly suspect that without Renesmee Edward would never have turned Bella (Renesmee really forces that issue as Bella actually dies before Edward turns her), that he would have eventually eaten Beauford as Alice predicted.

But he’d be so delicious.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #bella swan #beauford swan #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #edward/bella #anti edward/bella #edward/beauford #anti edward/beauford #meta #headcanon #opinion

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songbirdstyles · 4 years

Text

sparks

summary: you’re a music journalist assigned to covering one of harry styles’ gigs, and he’s absolutely smitten with you. (part one.)

warnings: slight fluff, excessive liberties taken about music journalism; smut in later chapters, angst in later chapters

word count: 8.2k

inspo.: almost famous - cameron crowe; sparks - the who; hello, i love you - the doors

You’d never truly gotten a big assignment before - sure, you’d gotten a few pieces here and there detailing local LA bands that you knew would never live to see more than 100,000 monthly listeners on Spotify, and they mostly ended up buried by your higher-ranking coworker’s higher end stories on the front covers - and, for the most part, you’d honestly been fine with it. You’re fresh out of college, the newest recruit to your company and your colleagues who are sent out to tour with big bands and artists have been here for years, some even decades, and you suppose they deserve the opportunities more than you, don’t they?

You work your way up, your boss had told you the first day you’d started working, following him around like an eager puppy as he showed you the office. Eventually - if I’m impressed with you - you’ll get something big.

It’s enough for you. Small bands playing in hole-in-the-wall clubs and restaurants may not be the exact thing you’d envisioned when you’d set your sights on being a music journalist but it’s worked out well for you so far, hasn’t it? You’ve made friends - even dated the lead singer of an underground rock band who cheated on you hardly two weeks into the relationship - and your portfolio is slowly building, stacked with exposés and detailed recounts of small gigs that you’d watched from backstage. Eventually, you’ll leave this company and move on to something bigger, like Rolling Stone, and your career will take off until you’re practically the face of music journalism.

And, really, those dreams have carried you through college and the first year of your career, putting your all into every article and every piece just so your boss can tug you into his office one day with a rarely-seen grin to finally tell you -

“I want you to write an article on Harry Styles.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in the cushy office seat that your boss has for guests in his office. It’s a facade that you’ve learned to acknowledge, because, no matter how much he makes it look like he appreciates guests in his office, you know he regards you as nothing more than an interloper, even if he’d invited you there to begin with. “Harry Styles?”

“You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?” Mike asks, light shining off his bald head, and your mouth opens and closes a few times uselessly.

“Of course I have!” You push yourself to sit up straighter in your seat, staring up at your boss with shock written in every feature of your face. You, writing about Harry Styles? God, you nearly want to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming. “Write an article about - about what?”

Mike scoffs in that pretentious way that makes you hate ever having to talk to him, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “He’s coming to do a few shows along the West Coast. You can go to one or two - talk to him a bit, talk to his band - you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“With small bands, sure - Tacocat and - and the Mystery Lights -” You swallow thickly, and Mike stares down at you in your seat like he’s unimpressed with your enthusiasm, or lack thereof. And it’s not that you aren’t executed - but, Christ. Going from bands performing in underground clubs to Harry Styles is like going straight from crawling to flying a fucking plane and you’re not sure if any of your experience with the musical locality in LA could prepare you for that. “I mean, that’s huge, Mike.”

“It is huge,” Mike confirms, crossing his thick arms over his chest, leaning against the desk before you as though he’s immune to sitting in his seat behind his desk like a normal boss. “Do you not want to do it? Because Melissa, you know - she’d love to, was going on and on about it last week -”

“No!” Your cheeks flush at the volume your voice raises to, and if you didn’t know better you could swear you see the ghost of a grin on Mike’s face. “I want to, Mike, I really want to - it’s just crazy.” There’s a pregnant pause between the two of you, your boss nodding smugly down at you as you struggle for words, before you ask the question burning the tip of your tongue with its desire to be heard. “But - why me? I’m sure you have people more qualified for it -”

“Easy,” Mike says, cutting you off and you’d be annoyed in any other instance but you’re too desperate to hear his answer. “Look, Harry’s a young guy. Younger than anyone else our people have interviewed - I think he’ll respond more to a young, pretty girl like yourself than someone older than him.”

Well, that makes sense, you suppose. The only coworker even close to you in age is Melissa, and she’s pushing 30 as it is. You’re 23 - graduated college just over a year ago, and by far the newest recruit this company has taken in years - but you had always imagined that was the main reason you wouldn’t get many big articles, and here it’s the main factor in you getting what will surely be the highlight of your portfolio once you apply to Rolling Stone. An interview with Harry Styles - God, they’ll probably foam at the mouth when they see it, and a grin spreads across your face as you think of it.

“Is that a yes?” Mike questions, blonde eyebrows raised high and nearly disappearing into his scalp.

“Of course,” you respond without another moment of hesitation, and you push yourself to stand, office chair rolling behind you with the force, and it hits the wall behind you with a soft thump. “Yes - of course - of course.”

“Great.” And he crosses to the other side of his desk, pushing aside a few loose papers and folders on his desk, and you clutch your hands in front of your stomach as you watch him, practically bouncing up and down with uncontained joy and fear bubbling inside of you. The last time you’d felt like this was the first time you got a real assignment - more than just ranking songs and discussing new album releases - and you’d been sent to a strip club to cover a gig from an up-and-coming band. Back then, you’d never expected to ever feel more excited over anything in your life, and yet, here you are, eight months later, fighting back the urge to burst into joyful tears. “They come in a week - I’ll send you the address - if you need help with your questions -”

“I’ll ask Francine,” you finish the same advice he gives you every time you’re assigned an article, referring to your oldest coworker - a little old woman who’s been with the company since the 70s. She’s always been more than willing to help you with your assignments but this - you need to do this by yourself. “Thank you so much, Mike, this is - this is great.”

“Don’t let me down,” he says, pointing his finger at you, and you nod furiously. “I’m trusting you on this - it’s a big opportunity.”

“I won’t disappoint you,” you promise, holding up your crossed fingers just to show him how much you mean it, and you know it’s the truth - you’ll make this piece the best damn one this company has ever seen if it’s the last thing you ever do.

The night begins a bit - rocky, to say the least.

For one, you couldn’t decide what to wear, even after spending nearly a half hour trying on every variation of clothes in your closet and tossing them onto the floor of your studio apartment when they didn’t satisfy your needs. In the past you’d worn to gigs what you’d wear if you were a simple concertgoer, albeit a bit more modestly, but you can’t decide what you would wear to a Harry Styles concert if you got the regular chance to - and you’d never even dreamt that it would happen in the first place -

Well, you peruse your closet intently and land on a pair of patterned flare pants and a long sleeve sweater. It only seems fitting for the chilly weather outside, and you fold a shirt into your bag in case you need to change if it gets hot backstage. You’re not dressed to impress, necessarily - you’re dressed to get a job done, as Mike would always say, but how could you be expected to not attempt to impress Harry Styles? It’s a preposterous idea. You’re sure anyone would understand.

Journalism pass - phone - keys - deodorant - when you’ve checked your bag over three times to ensure you have everything necessary you finally leave, locking your door shut behind you and ordering an Uber to take you to the concert.

You hadn’t anticipated Uber and Lyft being absolutely overloaded with patrons due to the concert just a half hour away and you need to be there by 6:30 at the very latest to ensure you get in and can at least talk to Harry before he goes on - a quarter of your questions are geared towards how he feels pre show and you can’t get pre show questions after the show - that’s barbaric. But the minutes inch closer to 5:30 and your Uber driver is still ten minutes away and your heart beats so fast against your chest you think you might vomit right into the street in front of your building -

You’re in the car by 5:45. It’s not ideal, and you know you’re cutting it close, but hopefully you’ll be there before the soundcheck ends. It’s always an ideal time to take photos, watching the band warm up and check mics, and with a piece like this, you need all the opportunities for pictures you can get.

And traffic is horrible - you suppose that’s also to be expected, and your Uber driver curses in a language you can’t recognize as cars cut him off on the highway and if you were a different person, you’d recommend a shortcut he takes, but he doesn’t look like he wants to hear a single word come from your mouth. He had given you a dirty look when you entered the car, and that’s enough to make you shut up and pray for the entire car ride that you make it on time.

6:27. Mike would piss himself if he knew how close you cut it, and you hop out of the car with a speed you didn’t even know you could muster, pushing past the buzzing crowd standing in front of the main entrance. The hoard of people seems to have a steady heartbeat, pulsing with excitement much like your own, and you can’t help but smile as you make your way around the group, goosebumps cropping up over your skin as your teeth chatter in the coldness. For a moment you fear that the directions to the backstage entrance that Mike had given you were total bullshit - but then you see the door, blocked by a burly security guard that glowers at you as you walk up to him like you’re something sticky beneath his shoe.

“Hi!” you call, breath exploding in a white cloud in front of you in the cool night air. The security guard smells so strongly of booze that you need to try harder than you’d care to admit not to scrunch your nose - you cough softly. “Let me - um - find my pass - I’m with Autoamerican, the magazine?”

Fingers grab onto your journalism pass, deep within your bag, and you tug it out, flashing it to the security guard with a slightly nervous grin. All of the gigs you’d been to before hadn’t even had backstage doors - to get backstage, you just had to climb onto the stage and walk behind the wings - but this is a fucking stadium, not just a measly club, and a big one, at that. In your youth you’re sure you could recall your dad watching a football game that occurred in this very stadium - funny how life turns out, sometimes.

“Autoamerican?” the security guard questions, bringing his face closer to your badge as the wafting smell of alcohol increases, and he raises his eyebrows with a scoff. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh.” you pause, feeling your teeth beginning to chatter in the cool February air. You’re not quite sure what to say - you’d assumed Mike had called to arrange the entire thing, hadn’t he? And this is the time you’re supposed to be here - “well, we’re not as big as Rolling Stone magazine, but - we’ve done interviews with The Cure, The Smiths - even Zeppelin, at one point -”

Your voice trails off into silence. He doesn’t care. He’s looking at you like you’re some innocent teenage girl, trying to bribe your way backstage so you can bombard the artist and not a fully grown woman here on business, goddammit. And you’re not sure what to say - he doesn’t believe you, clearly, and you hadn’t anticipated that even as you listed all the ways tonight could go wrong.

“Look, kid,” he begins, and that really has your blood boiling, eyes narrowing to glare at him. “We get this all the time. I’m a journalist - I’m with the crew - it’s a bunch of bullshit. Now go to the front with your general admission tickets like the rest of them -”

“I have a pass - I’m a journalist!”

“Sure -”

“I can call my boss if you want proof!”

And before you can reach into your bag to search relentlessly for your phone to follow through on the promise like you intend to, the door the man is guarding suddenly swings open, nearly hitting the guard in the ass as it opens out. You take a step back as dim light from inside floods the darkness, and a man steps out of the doorway, his eyes darting between you and the security guard.

“Are you with Autoamerican?” the man questions, raising his finger to point at you as though he could be speaking to anyone else. You nod furiously, and you hold up your journalism pass again just to prove it. “You can come inside, then - c’mon, Steve, she’s got a pass, for God’s sake -”

And you can’t resist flashing the guard a smug smile as he steps to the side to let you inside, rolling his eyes so far back into his head that all you can see is a strip of white.

The man lets you inside and the door shuts behind you, and you nearly knock straight into a second security guard standing by the door inside, as though trying to stop people from going out. And, well - you’ve been backstage at more concerts than you could count but this is certainly bigger, better, bustling with people carrying equipment and makeup artists and more people you couldn’t possibly identify. You’re half inclined to reach into your bag and grab your notebook to jot down exactly what you’re seeing so you can make sure to include it in the article, but you have a distinct feeling you’ll never forget it.

“I’m Jeff,” the man tells you, already setting off through the people, and you’re quick to follow, trying to maintain your pace beside him. After a second of walking in silence you realize he’s waiting for you to say yours - you clear your throat and introduce yourself, and he sends you a smile. “The band just finished their soundcheck, if you’d like to have a word with them before they go on - what’s the article about, anyway?”

Jeff shoulders the two of you through lingering groups of people until you emerge into a small hallway lined with doors, and you can hear bustling noise coming from the one closest to you - holy shit, is that Harry?

“Um - just about the shows, the tour, how everything’s going. My boss basically told me to do what I want with it, so I’ll have a better idea once I speak to the band.” It’s the loosest instruction you’ve ever been given for a piece - you’d expected a clear cut outline - but perhaps with an artist this big, Mike trusts you to know what to write. “It likely won’t be anything too personal, but I’d love to get a chance to speak with Harry before and after.”

“Sounds great,” and you can tell he’s stressed - you wonder if he’s always anxious before his client’s shows, or if there’s something special about tonight that has him worried - and then he reaches past you, twisting the doorknob closest to you and holding the door open for you to enter before him, and you give him a gracious smile before walking in.

The room isn’t as crowded with people as you’d expected but they’re bustling with energy - a woman and a man, holding a guitar, lean against the wall with each other - two other women sip water bottles, laughing loudly amongst each other - another woman leans above someone, their body hidden from view except for their legs, covered in silk, floral printed pants -

Your breath catches in your throat as Jeff shuts the door behind you both, and the sound of the door clicking shut draws far more attention to yourself than you’d expected - it seems like every pair of eyes lands on you and Jeff, and you’d decided on being a music journalist to keep away from being the center of attention. You’ve always preferred being behind the scenes, a bit, at least until your career progresses until you’re a household name for music journalism, and now -

You feel very much in the scenes, eyes on you as Rhiannon plays in the background.

And then Jeff is tapping you on your shoulder, leading you around the room to the small groups of people lingering - you shake hands with Mitch and Sarah, the couple against the wall, and the rest of his band, and they’re so nice your smile feels like it’s going to break your face in half. You’ll need to interview them at some point - nothing too intense, and you may not even need to, if Harry’s answers are satisfactory enough - and you can already feel yourself building a strange sort of rapport with the band, their kindness rubbing off on you until you practically glide beside Jeff to the woman bent over Mr. Floral Pants, whose identity you’re fairly certain you’ve already deduced.

It doesn’t make it any more surprising when the woman steps aside where she’s carefully applying powder to the man’s face, and then Harry fucking Styles is staring up at her with a smile and an outstretched hand, suit jacket matching the floral pattern of his pants. His curls are carefully slicked back from his face, skin matte with the powder the woman resumes applying to the side of his face that isn’t turned to you, and you swallow your shock before reaching to shake his hand, Rhiannon turning into Hello, I Love You, playing from a source you can’t identify.

“Nice t’meet you,” Harry says when you’ve told him your name and the magazine you work for - Jeff had already mentioned it, but it is customary to repeat it to whomever you may have to interview. “Y’know, I love Autoamerican - told Jeff, s’the only magazine I’d let interview me backstage. Don’t usually allow it.”

“Really?” your stomach flips as Harry stops bouncing his arm, but it takes just another half second for him to untwine his hand from yours - you’re sure it’s because the makeup artist fretting above him is using her thumb to wipe off powder from his nose, but it still makes your heart thump faster against your chest. “I assumed most people haven’t heard of it - it’s nowhere near Rolling Stone.”

“I love it,” he insists, dropping your hand, and he looks so casual, as if this interaction isn’t blowing up your entire life, and you’re brought back to the many moments you’d spent as a teenager fawning over him in his One Direction days - God, this feels like a dream, and you’re half inclined to pinch yourself in case it is. Maybe you’ll wake up in Mike’s office to him giving you another shitty underground LA band to interview. “The interview with Sublime s’great - read it all the time.”

You swallow thickly, grin spreading wider across your face, and before you can open your mouth to tell him about Francine’s go-to story about how Eric Wilson had flirted with her while she interviewed them for the story, Jeff interjects - “Steve hadn’t even heard of it.”

“Steve’s an idiot,” Harry starts, and you giggle - his lips lilt upwards just a bit. “Hope he wasn’t hasslin’ you ‘bout it.”

“Just a little,” you say, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder just as the makeup artist drops the powder back into the apron slung around her waist, and her manicured nails tilt Harry’s head around for a moment before she seemingly deems his makeup satisfactory before leaving, sending you a tight lipped smile as she goes. “I’d love to ask you a few questions before the show - nothing too heavy - and then I’ll observe the concert and how everything goes, ask a few questions after.”

“Sounds great,” Harry responds, lifting his fist with his thumb up and you didn’t think your heartbeat could grow any faster or louder but you suppose today is just proving you wrong time and time again. “D’you need t’record m’answers? S’a bit loud in here.”

The truth is, you’re sure you’ll have this entire experience engraved in your brain for years to come - you’ll remember every word he utters for you until your dying days - but it is more practical to have a recording. You swing your bag off your arm and open it, digging through the jumbled mess of items inside until you find your phone, and you hold it up with a nod. “Yeah - there isn’t anywhere a bit quieter, is there?”

It takes a minute of bustling - Jeff tells you two instructions to go down the hall into another room where you may find more silence - and Harry promises, accent thick and eyes rolling, to be back in twenty minutes or less, if tha’s enough time for you, ma’am, and you try to trick yourself into thinking the burn flushing up your cheeks is due to the heat of the room.

Down the hall is another door that Harry opens for you, letting you walk in first. It’s a small room, clearly meant for storage, and he shuts the door behind the pair of you. There’s - luckily, or perhaps unluckily - just enough room for you two have at least a few feet between you, and he leans against the wall with an air of casual elegance you couldn’t hope to achieve as you scroll through your phone to search for the voice recorder app.

“Hope this s’good enough - is it?” Harry inquires, leaning his head closer to yours, and you nod. “Good - wish there was a nicer spot for you, but -”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interject, smiling up at him, and he grins back, and your stomach churns violently. You almost feel like you could vomit - when he goes on, you’ll go and have a bit to eat at the table set up with foods that Jeff had wheeled you past when you arrived. Eating seems to solve more of your nerves than you’d care to admit, and you feel like you’re nearly 95% nerves right now. Your fingers fiddle with the voice recorder app, adding a title to the recording while entirely too focused on the sounds of Harry’s breathing above you, and you can practically fear his eyes boring into your face before you press record.

And, for the most part, it does go smoothly. Harry introduces himself with an ease that only comes with years of practice, so much time spent being interviewed that it must feel like as much of a second nature to him as interviewing is to you. He’s charming and charismatic - flirtatious, even - making jokes and adding lines that you make a mental note to be sure to include in your final piece - whatever direction you go - and you can’t say you’re bothered by the way he leans closer to the phone, and thus closer to you, in order for his voice to be heard more on the recording when occasional noise bustles in from outside.

You don’t need to look at the questions you’d spent weeks laboring over - every question you inquire derives directly from his answers like he’s practically feeding them to you, and then you’re interviewing him so naturally, you could nearly fool yourself into thinking it’s an organic conversation between friends.

What’s his process to prepare for shows? Well, listening to Fleetwood Mac and eating finger foods, of course - he loves mozzarella sticks. Does Fleetwood Mac make you less nervous for shows? No, he doesn’t get too anxious before shows, now that he’s out of the band. He just loves Fleetwood Mac - he could listen to them at any time of the day. What do you think makes your solo career less anxiety-inducing than being in the band? Different fans let him be himself more. There’s less pressure to be someone he isn’t - do you think he could’ve worn a floral printed suit at a One Direction concert?

And, in the end, twenty minutes hardly feels like it, and by the time Harry tilts his head over the screen of your phone to check the time, you could nearly convince yourself that you’d merely spent a minute with the heartthrob, and it pains you to stop the recording.

“How’d I do?” he questions, cheeky smile indenting the dimple in his cheek, and you feel like you need to dip your face in ice once he goes on stage - your face hasn’t felt anything less than piping hot since the first moment he rested eyes on you, and his kind-bordering-on-flirtatious nature only makes your skin heat more under his gaze.

It isn’t as though you’d have it any other way, though.

“Perfect,” and you send him a smile. “I’ll watch the show - probably eat a bit, too, if I’m being honest - and maybe ask you a few questions. How many shows are you doing in LA?”

Harry reaches past you, grabbing the doorknob and opening the door for you once more, and you slip out with a small smile as he follows, face twisted in what’s clearly a show of being in deep thought. “Four. An’ a few more on the West Coast ‘fore we move out - reckon you’ll need t’come t’a few more?”

“Depends.” He looks at you curiously as the two of you make your way back to the room you’d been in before, and when you enter, it’s clearly in a more prominent state of preparation for the show - there’s more bustle and movement between every band member and Jeff, who looks entirely relieved to see you two come in as She’s a Rainbow thumps softly, volume clearly turned down on whatever produces the music. “If I feel like I’ve got enough material from this show, then that’ll be it - I usually just do reviews of specific gigs, and this is a lot broader - so I really don’t know.”

Harry nods, and you feel a flutter in your heart at how intently he seems to be listening to you, like he really cares, and you’re sure it’s a facade - he probably has a million other things on his mind as Jeff descends upon the both of you, whisking him away as he calls goodbye! to you - but still. When was the last time you’d felt listened to? By Mike, or by the security guard outside, or even from your own parents when you try to convince them over and over that you have a plan, that your degree wasn’t a waste of time when you could’ve been a doctor -

Well, Harry’s a gentleman, you decide, sliding your phone into the back pocket of your flares as you reach in your bag for your notepad. You can tell they’re preparing to go on soon and so you descend against the wall, grabbing your pen from deep inside the confines of your bag to scribble the essential notes of what you’ll need - it’ll make it easier when it’s time to write, rather than listening to the entire 20 minute interview again to try and find the important sections to include.

His responses to your question still burn fresh in your mind, and you began scribbling your bullet points on the small notepad in your hands. It’s decently easy to block out the chatter of the room you’re in along with its music, volume turned down further until it’s hardly audible, and it really is a skill you’ve mastered, though you suppose you’ve had to - trying to take notes for articles about gigs occurring in buildings so small that their noise reverberates off of every surface has made you a master in tuning out noise surrounding you.

You are aware, and acutely, at that, when the band starts exiting through the door beside you. They don’t look nervous, returning your encouraging smiles with ones of their own, and you watch them pour out the door with confidence practically radiating off of them. Well, that’s something to mention, isn’t it? Most of the bands you’d interviewed were practically vomiting with nerves -

Harry takes up the rear, fingers running through his slicked back hair, and you can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or if he’s simply trying to let his curls fall in front of his eyes more. Jeff walks in front of him, giving you a smile as he leaves, and the singer stops beside you.

Your breath just about catches in your throat as you look up at him, and he’s staring down at you with a decidedly ambiguous look in his eyes, and you smile at him. “Good luck out there.”

“You’re gonna come and watch?”

You nod. “Eventually - I’m gonna eat something first, finish my notes. Maybe give myself a tour of the backstage in case I decide to include it.”

“Sounds good t’me,” Harry says, but he doesn’t make a motion to leave, and then his eyes roll down your body and is he fucking checking you out? Because - no - that’s crazy. That would cement into your brain the knowledge that this is a dream, and not reality, because there’s no fucking way Harry Styles is checking you out, eyes roaming from your eyes to your stomach to your - “I like your pants. Where’d you get ‘em?”

Ah. Of course. Fashion icon, he is, inquiring about the pants you’d chosen specifically because they looked like something he may like. “These?” You glance down as though you’d forgotten what pants you’d donned, as though you hadn’t spent hours in front of your closet envisioning what outfit you could wear to impress him. “I think they’re from Zara. Got them a couple years back.”

“They’re pretty.”

“Why, thank you -”

“Harry!”

Jeff’s voice calling from outside the room snaps you both out of your conversation, a slightly embarrassed grin spreading across Harry’s face that you’re sure is mirroring your own. His cheeks are tinged pink and he clears his throat.

“Sorry - gotta go - make sure y’try the mozzarella sticks, ‘kay? They’re good,” Harry tells you, and you grin, drumming the pen clutched between your fingers against the notepad in your hands.

“Will do,” you reply, and then you lift your hand and point to the door, raising your eyebrows with a smile. “Go break a leg - and then be ready to talk about it when you’re done!”

He doesn’t say anything else - just gives you a thumbs up and slips out the door, and you can hear his frenzied apologies to Jeff as their voices fade away, surely preparing to get on stage and sing his heart out and blow the fucking stadium away, but you can hardly focus on it. Because - God, you really don’t want to sound like a narcissist - but he was joking around with you, complimented your pants, and he did technically check you out, even if it was just to see your pants.

Was he flirting with you?

Surely not. No, that would be absurd. He’s probably just bored - maybe entertaining random people backstage is his way of dealing with his nerves.

That makes a bit more sense.

When you glance back down at your notepad, the page half filled with scribbled bullet points of things you’d sworn to remember, and when you click your pen open to continue your list, you find that you can’t quite think of anything else to write. All you can think about is the mozzarella sticks waiting for you, and then standing in the wings to watch him sing his heart out to a crowd of adoring fans that you, at one point, would have killed to be apart of -

You shove your pen and pad back into your bag with a determined spin of your heels. Food first - contemplation second.

~~~

The show is - needless to say - amazing.

You’d feasted on slightly-cold mozzarella sticks that were, even in their lowered temperatures, immensely good, and clearly garnered all the affection Harry had for them. The food table was nearly completely empty, crew members repeatedly coming up to fill plates with vegetables and snacks, and so you simply gathered the last three sticks of celery once you were done with your sticks before taking a leisurely stroll along the backstage area. Celery firm between your teeth, you pulled out your notepad and your pen once more and jotted notes of what you could possibly include in the article to jog your memory later -

It takes a while, admittedly. You don’t want to leave anything out, and eventually you have two pages filled with notes in your handwriting that would surely be illegible to anyone else who happened upon them - and, sure, your pages are small, but still. Two pages is a lot, and you’re sure most of it won’t even make it into the article but you don’t want to risk forgetting any important information.

A trip to the bathroom - perusing the food table again to pick up the last few carrot sticks - and the show is nearly halfway over, so you decide it may be time to slip into the wings and watch. Take notes, possibly, but mainly just listen and absorb the music and the atmosphere and exactly how the fans react to his every move. That’s what the people want to know, isn’t it? It’s what you would want to know - so you slip past the lingering groups of people into the wings of the stage, where you get a clear view of Harry and his band, singing his heart out to a tune you know to be Kiwi.

It’s ear splitting, truly, in a way that none of the other gigs you’d witnessed had been. But it sounds good - better than good - and he’s as charismatic on stage as he is off, waggling his eyebrows during the more suggestive lines and undoing the button of his suit jacket, and the latter garners a deafening scream from the adoring fans in the crowd.

No, you won’t need to take notes, at least not yet. You’ll remember this forever, won’t you? Watching him work the crowd like he was born to do it, like it’s a second nature and you’re sure it is, at this point. It’s all you can do to stand there, watching him, and you’re sure you look no different from the other fans in the crowd, your eyes wide and lips parted in absolute awe of him -

His head turns to the side, briefly, as if he can sense your eyes on him above anyone else’s. In reality you’re sure he’d simply turned his head to flick a sweaty curl out of his face but it’s never a bad thing to dream right? And your gaze locks for just a moment, his eyebrows raising when he sees your face, and heat burns at your cheeks before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his right eye shuts in a quick wink before he’s turning back to the crowd as if his attention had never left them.

Shit. You nearly drop your damn carrot. God, he’s a fucking tease, and you’re not even sure he knows it - that this experience will never leave your brain for as long as you walk this Earth, watching him wink as he stared into the depths of your fucking soul, clad in a gorgeous suit with his gorgeous hair and -

Harry truly is a sight to behold, and you’re more than content to watch him forever.

Forever ends up being another half hour or so before you’re made entirely too aware of the fact that you have to pee - not insanely bad, but enough to make you shift uncomfortably from side to side before sighing, turning and making your way further backstage in your search for the bathroom. In your determined tour of the backstage you’d forgotten to search for the restroom, and you wander about for nearly five whole minutes before getting to it -

You do your business. There’s not much more explanation needed.

It’s when your washing your hands, though, water freezing cold against your palms, that you become slightly aware of a myriad of noises occurring outside the restroom. At first you choose not to focus on it, shoving your hands beneath the air dryer to ease your soaking, cold hands, and the noise of violent air assaulting your palms drowns out the scuffling sounds from outside.

When the dryer turns off, and you reach down to wipe your damp hands on your pants, the noises haven’t stopped. And, sure, no one could expect it to be completely silent backstage, but whatever you’re hearing isn’t the normal laughter and chatter and muffled music that you’re used to hearing -

It sounds like someone is fighting, and your hand freezes in its place on the cool metal doorknob. You lean forward, scrunching your nose as you plainly try harder to hear what’s happening -

But, Hell. You have a job to do - you need to get back to the wings to watch the remaining few minutes of the set before Harry leaves and, subsequently, returns for the encore, and you’d intended to write with detail about his closing repetition of Kiwi. So you grab the doorknob, swing the door open and step out, and freeze nearly immediately once you’ve exited.

There is a fight - not as violent as you’d expected - as the security guard from inside scuffles with Steve, who looks positively wasted in a way you’ve come to know all too well, doing gigs in LA. His face shines with a sheen layer of sweat, skin glowing in the artificial light, and his fists move slowly to pummel into the other security guard’s back. It’s, truthfully, a bit pathetic to watch - he isn’t putting up much of a fight against the guard trying to hold him, and your mouth parts with poorly-concealed confusion at the display in front of you.

You’re not sure what to say - or do - or think - standing in the doorway of the bathroom as you watch the poor excuse of a fight, Steve nearly toppling to the ground as the other guard tries to contain him.

“Come on, Steve - don’t be like this -”

Then the other security guard looks up and sees you, and the expression on his face nearly makes you burst into laughter, but you contain it with a bit more difficulty than you’d like to admit. He looks annoyed, like he’s absolutely done with his coworker, and also slightly embarrassed. Clearly, he’d dragged Steve into the hallway containing the bathrooms with the hopes of nobody seeing either of them, and you’ve interrupted his bid for privacy desperately. “Sorry, ma’am,” the guard says, grabbing one of Steve’s flailing fists in his hands. “Don’t mind us - he’s drunk - just trying to contain him.”

You’re doing a damn good job, you want to say, but you bite back the retort with a small nod and a whisper of a smile on your face, walking with your back to the wall past their display in the hopes of Steve not seeing you. He hadn’t been particularly nice to you when you’d first seen him and you can tell he’s in a much more heightened state, now - he’d been drunk when you’d seen him before and you can tell it’s only gotten worse.

Maybe you should’ve told Jeff the guard was drunk?

Well, it’s counterproductive to dwell on the past.

You’re not so lucky, though - you’ve barely made it down five steps down the hallway before Steve lifts his head, pupils blown and skin even stickier looking than before, and he gives you the same disgusted look as though you’re something his dog had left on the grass. “Hey - hey - Jim - do you know who that is?”

And the other security guard - Jim - just rolls his eyes. “No, Steve, I don’t - stop making a fool out of yourself.”

“She works at - at - Eat to the Beat - Parallel Lines - what is it?”

Do you answer him? You don’t quite know. You just swallow thickly, forcing yourself not to don the smile that’s urging its way onto your lips as you hear roaring screams from the crowd that alerts you to the fact that, if Harry isn’t done with his set yet, he’s close, and you need to watch the end. “Autoamerican. Those are all good albums, though.”

“She’s snarky - get off of me, Jim -”

In Steve’s final bid for freedom his legs kick out, and his sneakered foot knocks into your ankle, and it’s certainly not hard by any stretch of the definition but it’s enough to catch you off balance, his toe hooking into the loose fabric around your ankles as he brings his foot back to kick again. One kick did it, though - you tumble to the ground, legs flying out from under you until you land on your ass on the hard floor, your bag slipping off your shoulder, and its contents scatter across the ground.

Fuck. That hurt, more than you’d care to admit, as you brace your elbows behind you to stop your head from knocking into the ground. Your ass hurts and you can see Steve’s leg bracing backwards for another kick, and you push yourself backwards so his foot merely pushes against the air.

You can already see Jim opening his mouth to desperately say sorry when a set of footsteps interrupts his apology - you don’t have to look to your side to see who it is, the smell of expensive cologne wafting before him like an introduction. You practically feel him before you see him.

Your name falls off Harry’s lips entirely too easily, like he’d been looking for you in the overtly small window of space he has before he has to go back on stage - his hair is messy and his skin is sweaty and he bends down next to you with such sentimentality in his eyes - you almost feel like a child again.

“Are y’okay?” Harry questions, and his hand rests on the small of your back and warmth seems to seep through your body from its spawning point, palm moving in circles against your sweater so gently you can tell he’s scared to go much harder. “Wha’ -?”

For his eyes had just landed on the sight in front of you - Jim managed to pull Steve up, the latter clearly coming to his senses at least a little bit, and his eyes narrow at the sight of you on the floor and subsequently widen as he sees Harry next to you.

“Wha’ happened?” And you can hear anger quivering under his voice like boiling water, ready to overflow, and you instinctively reach up to press your hand against his forearm - you do it to your niece all the time when you can tell she’s on the verge of a tantrum and it always works on her - but she is five, and Harry’s twenty years her senior, so, needless to say, the motion doesn’t do much to soothe him. “Fightin’ back here, kickin’ her - you’re s’posed t’be security guards!”

“It’s okay, Harry -”

“S’not okay -”

And then there’s another set of footsteps jogging over to you, and you look up to see Jeff -

“Har, you need to get back out -” but you can see the confusion set into his features as he stands over the scene, eyes flickering to you and Harry on the floor to Jim and Steve, the former having settled the latter into a fairly calm position. The scent of alcohol is strong and you can practically watch as Jeff smells it, his nose crinkling. “Is he drunk?”

“He is drunk, an’ got into a fight wit’ -”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, squeezing Harry’s arm again as you push yourself to stand, attempting not to wince at the pain in your ass as your muscles tense. He’s looking at you like you’ve just been hit by a car instead of having a mild scuffle with a security guard, eyes wide and concerned, and you shake your head at him. “Didn’t get into a fight, Harry - he accidentally kicked me. It’s really fine - you need to go back out, anyway.”

“She’s right,” Jeff insists, reaching down to tug Harry up as his eyes bore into the sight in front of you, Steve slowly calming himself down until he’s simply red in the face and reeking of booze. “Come on, Har - you need to get on.”

But Harry’s already bending down again, grabbing your pen and your notebook and your phone (you can see a crack in the screen that most certainly hadn’t been there just a mere ten minutes ago) and you could nearly laugh at the display he’s putting on, shoving your items back into your back, if Jeff’s demeanor wasn’t bordering on murderous as he drags Harry up again. You reach down and grab your bag, now fully stocked again with all of the items that had clattered out, and you give the tussling security guards one final fleeting look before following Jeff and Harry as they make their way down the hall.

“Y’sure you’re okay?” Harry questions, slowing his pace so you can jog beside him, much to Jeff’s lingering annoyance as he brings his fingers up to rub at the space between his eyes. “Y’should know - tha’ doesn’t usually happen -”

“I get it,” you tell him.

“No, really.” You’ve reached the wings of the stage, and Jeff leaves the pair of you alone to descend on to where the band stands, clearly waiting for the cue to go on. Harry runs a hand through his hair, and he looks oddly exasperated and you wish you could get it through his head that it really isn’t a big deal - “Someone will take care of the guards, okay?”

“Don’t fire them,” you insist, even though you’re sure he has no say in it. “Not Jim, at least.”

“Jim -?”

“The sober one.”

“Oh.” He pauses, dropping his hands to his sides. “I can’t make any promises.”

“Just try.”

“Will do.”

There’s another brief second of silence before you nod towards the stage where he’s needed - the few lowly minutes between the end of the show and the encore has come to an end, and you’re sure people are beginning to wonder if he’s not coming back. “Go on, Har. There’s people waiting for you.”

“M’going!” And he isn’t going, just staring at you with his brows furrowed, and you raise your own with a confused stare. “Are y’gonna come t’any more shows?”

You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you contemplate your answer. “Well - maybe. If I need more information.” “You should,” he tells you, and you tilt your head to the side. “Look, I don’t want your only impression of m’shows t’be that they’re violent an’ crazy.”

“I don’t think -”

“Jus’ one more? In two days. I’ll send you th’address. I really want you t’come -”

Before you can process the request Jeff has stepped forward, hooking his arm in Harry’s and practically dragging him towards the stage, and you watch him prance back in front of the audience like it’s his God given purpose and perhaps it is. You’ve never quite met anyone like him, you don’t think, and you’d certainly had a perception of what you’d imagined him to be like based on the insane amount of time you’d spent obsessing over his band when you were younger -

Your mouth feels suddenly dry as you watch him begin, and the music seems to reverberate beneath your skin, and suddenly - without having to think about it much at all, really - you know it won’t take much convincing on his part to get you back for a second night.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles series #harry styles drabble #harry styles one shot #im sure im going to regret starting this as a series and not trying to make it one long piece #but honestly??#im working on another fic right now so i just want the beginnings of this to be out there #i hope u enjoy

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sunflovverharry · 4 years

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Nightcap - Harry Styles one shot

a/n: hello again I'm back with another one shot and this time it's bouncer!h which I'm so excited for!! I wasn't going to post this yet, but seeing as I won't get the next chapter of my fwb series out tomorrow I thought I'd give you this :)) If you like it, please like and reblog and also message me if you want to talk about bouncer!h or any of my other fics, enjoy xx (also I had no idea what to call this fic so ended up with nightcap but i don’t think i like it)

Pairing: Bouncer!h + y/n

Warnings: Language, alcohol, smut, mutual pining

Word count: 6k

Summer was over and junior year was right around the corner. Starting it off with a bang, y/n and her friends decided to go to Mike’s after pre-gaming, ending up pretty tipsy before heading out. The line wasn’t too bad, but it was clear a lot of college kids coming back this weekend had the same idea as you had. It was still warm outside and y/n had her favorite leather skirt on (knowing she’d regret the decision when she’s sweating on the dancefloor) and an off the shoulder ruffled white top. Thankfully she went with a pair of comfortable but trendy sneakers knowing she would most likely end up walking home after dancing the night away.

The group found themselves at the front of the line after only five minutes and y/n flicked through her little purse hanging off her shoulder to find her ID. When she found it her eyes went straight to the bouncer standing in a pair of tight black jeans and a t-shirt with the bar’s logo to the right along with a flashlight in his hand so he would be able to see the ID’s easier. His face wasn’t clear to see from the way he was looking down at someone else’s ID, but she could tell his face was clean from any stubble. She didn’t know how old - or young - he was, but nevertheless she was attracted to him.

When the person in front of her got checked y/n was already raising her hand to hand him her ID. It didn’t seem as if he’d noticed her in the line as his brows raised slightly before he caught himself and showed her a tight-lipped smile. He quickly took a look at the ID in hand before handing it back and letting her pass him with another small smile. No words exchanged between the two except the handful of shy, awkward smiles. Y/n had heard him say ‘thank you’ or ‘next’ so she took it that he was a bit too shy to get words out in case he’d fuck up before he could actually do something - just like her.

Y/n hadn’t managed to get him off her mind for the remainder of the night, continuously sneaking looks behind her to see if he was walking past or standing in the doorway. More often than not she couldn’t get a glance of him before he walked outside again to handle the line of people wanting to get inside before they close just to grab a beer or a couple shots before going home to someone for an afterparty.

Harry had himself been darting his eyes to where she had been sitting most of the night whenever he went to the toilet or changed assignments with other bouncers to check on how it’s going inside. Before she could catch him in his staring - caring more about making sure her silhouette will stick to his mind than kicking out the overly drunk people - he turned around to hide behind a wall or go outside again. He didn’t have the confidence to know she was looking back or to do anything about it if she caught him, instead wanting to hide from it - her.

The night was over for y/n around two in the morning, wanting nothing more than to go home and heat up the leftover pizza from her dinner and jump in the shower to wash off the sweat she’d worked up to while dancing. What happened wasn’t much different from her wishes, except for what happened in the shower. She was unable to get the bouncer off her mind, replaying her thoughts of how good he looked when she first saw him at the front of the line along with the smile he gave her. It led to her bringing her favorite dildo with a suction cup in the shower, attaching it to the wall so she could pretend she was getting pounded from the back - by the bouncer.

A month later Mike’s was the regular spot for y/n and her friends on every Tuesday - since there were no classes on Wednesdays - and Saturday - the usual party night. Harry worked almost every time they were there and after the third time of checking y/n’s ID he now let her walk straight inside the bar - her friends still had to show their ID though. He always gave her a smile while showing her she could go inside by moving his arm towards the door - y/n always saying a small ‘thank you’ with her smile getting bigger for every time he led her inside.

She badly wanted to catch his attention and get a conversation started, though not having a clue what to even say, ‘Hi, would you wanna go home with me?’. It would not only be embarrassing for her if she got turned down, but she also wouldn’t be able to show her face at Mike’s again. Maybe it’s a good thing she hasn’t made contact, not knowing how he is. Yes, she’d love a fuck, but not from a fuckboy who gets around with a different girl every weekend.

Weeks later October was in full swing and y/n was getting frustrated with how she and the bouncer - who she now knows as Harry after finally getting the courage to ask him what his name was just last week after downing a good couple vodka redbulls - still hadn’t gotten anywhere. Not that she knows he wants the same as her at all, but with how they act towards each other - smiles that have escalated to smirks and grins over time, small hi’s and how are you’s when they walk past each other during the night.

The third Tuesday of the month y/n was at the bar like usual with her friends. She had gone to the bar to order another beer and Harry slowly walked over when he saw her standing alone, wanting to spike a conversation though unsure of what he’d actually say. In his mind she was out of his league - a gorgeous figure with hips even he was jealous of, a university student (he’d figured out when she accidentally showed him her uni ID instead of her license the second time she went there), a tight knit group of friends she seemed close with and the most alluring and seductive shiny blue eyes he’s ever seen.

She didn’t seem like the type to be interested in a twenty-five year old bouncer who still doesn’t quite know what to actually do with his degree and lives in his parents basement. It’s not like he’s never moved out, but after a year out of uni and still not happy with his choice in career, he decided it was best to move back home and get a job there while figuring his life out. After three years he still isn’t sure where his life is taking him, but he’s sure it could be a lot worse.

Y/n noticed him creeping up beside her in the corner of her eye and thought this might be the one chance she had to get to know him and had to let go of her own insecurities about him not actually being interested. He’s been avoiding her it seems like for the past two months, only opening up the tiniest bit since the first small smile she got that august night so she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want to get to know her, or fuck - which to be honest was most of what she was interested in.

“Hi stranger.” She was hoping for a smile back at least - maybe more if he felt courageous - but something in her told her she’d get more. Only a second later she got her answer.

“I guess we are strangers, with the exception that I know your birthday.” He saw the clear surprise on her face; was it from him replying in a full sentence or him remembering her birthday after only looking at her ID not even a handful of times? He wasn’t sure. Letting out a silent laugh before letting go of the shock of his sort of joke she took a sip of her beer as she pondered how she could respond with the hint that she wanted to get to know him a little bit at least.

“You want to grab a beer with me when your shift is over? We can play truth or truth.” She didn’t know how he’d react to her wanting to talk to him on what might seem a personal level. Hopefully he’d accept the offer and tell her he’d be back soon.

“Sure. If you want to meet here again in twenty I should be off the clock.” His smile was encouraging and it excited you that the first step was taken. If he only wanted their maybe coming relationship to be friendly then she’d deal, but there is no way she would be the one to turn him down.

Y/n nodded. They stared at each other intensely for a long time, their eyes locking and smiles couldn’t be fought off their faces as he started walking backwards until he finally broke contact and turned around going back to work. She was thrilled to have finally made contact, unsure of who to say took the first step really and eager to see him in a casual way when he’s not working, though they’re still at the place he works. Surely everyone knows him here and that made her sort of intimidated. They couldn’t run off or be completely alone because there would always be someone keeping their eye on him - other bouncers or bartenders.

Her friends had decided to call it a night only a couple minutes before she were to meet Harry again, so she found a stool at the bar and ordered two beers for them to indulge when he got back. The beers were sat in front of her only seconds before Harry made himself known with a soft hand to her shoulder. Turning around to get a look at who touched her, she was pleasantly surprised - Harry stood in his work clothes still and she didn’t quite know if she liked it or if she had hoped he’d wear something else. She was glad his arms were showing still, the tattoos a major part of what had her attracted to him in the first place.

From the moment Harry got a beer in him he seemed more relaxed and she even managed to get a boisterous laughter out of him once when she told him about a childhood story. Y/n found that his personality made her more attracted and interested in who this man was, hoping for a ‘yes’ when she asked if he’d like to come home with her.

She hadn’t had sex in a long time, knowing it would be useless when she wasn’t attracted to anyone. They wouldn’t make her cum and she would end up having to fake it. After a couple of times it got old and she figured making herself cum was fine until she found someone she liked. Harry was much like y/n in that aspect, though his last time wasn’t as long ago - more like a month compared to y/n’s eight. Neither spoke about it on the short walk home, their fingers connected as if they were a couple who had been on a date that went a little too far into the night. She told him her apartment might be a little messy as she hadn’t found a good outfit right away - to which Harry retaliates with a ‘you’ve looked amazing every time I’ve seen you at the bar’.

They hadn’t actually spent more than five minutes at the bar - enough to finish their beers - before heading out. It was clear they had the same intentions from when he said yes to coming home with her at three in the morning to when he connected their lips right as he heard the front door shut. Y/n couldn’t help but moan at the impact of her back hitting the door and his lips working hers with a fervor she’d never experienced before.

If the way his lips worked and his hands groped just the right places had anything to say for how he’d work in the bed, she wouldn’t have any complaints. Heavy breathing and moans from the both of them were loud before they got to her bed, laying her down beneath him and pulling her jeans down her legs while she pulled his shirt off him. They didn’t spend much time getting to know each other's bodies, but enough to figure out what the other liked and disliked. Harry found the spot between her neck and ear she mewled from when he kissed and y/n; the spot right beneath the laurels tattooed on his skin he shuddered from when she lightly grazed before reaching further down.

When he finally slid into her she arched her back and he closed his eyes trying to keep from busting already. It was quick and hasty and intense but they silently agreed that it was incredible and when they both came and it was over round two and three weren’t far between. There was no question of staying the night, y/n only lifting the sheets up and dragging him with her.

Y/n woke up to an empty bed - there was no Harry beside her or holding her like he had been when they fell asleep early in the morning. If this was a romance novel there might’ve been a note saying sorry for leaving her on ther fridge or something along those lines, but there was nothing. Almost like he wanted to forget it happened, but she couldn’t know what went through his mind at the time. It wasn’t like she could be angry or upset by him leaving without word either, not knowing him too well or having any relation to him except knowing him as a bouncer at her favorite bar.

Though what Harry did was a dick move, she didn’t want to tell anyone about their night (or morning), it was her memory to have alone. Part of it was because she knew they’d all see him again and there was no reason for her friends - or her - to be malicious towards him. From the small conversations she’s had with him and how shy he originally was, there is no way he had intentions to make her feel small. Or he put on a front for her to make her think he’s a good guy.

Y/n soon finds out there’s no reason to dwell on the subject, instead putting her head in a book to give herself away to a fantasy world where everything seems to be a little too perfect for her liking. Sure, she enjoys reading about a perfect world, but in the end she could never imagine it being her life. With her over-the-top parents and siblings that she barely speaks to; she’s glad she’s made it to university where she can care for herself only (and her friends, but mainly herself).

****

After two weeks away from Mike’s, y/n is back with her friends, ready to get so far gone she won’t remember how she got home. Yes, it’s been one of those weeks for her - absolutely awful with a breakdown over midterms at least once every day. Already having had a few beers at home, she was starting to feel it when they got to the line. She wasn’t trying to look for if Harry was standing at the front checking ID’s like she normally would do. Tonight was about letting loose and having fun with her friends - if Harry wanted to talk he could initiate it.

Harry wasn’t at the front of the line ready to let her through without seeing her ID, just like every other time, this time it was someone new who looked at every single ID for a little longer than necessary y/n thought. Finally getting inside the bar, they grabbed the closest table to the bar that wasn’t already occupied.

Our first round of drinks that consisted of cocktails, beers and shots for everyone was quickly over. Most of them downed the shot before our drink of choice wanting to get smashed as quickly as possible making the night end rather quickly (with some of the group getting kicked out most likely). The group weren’t known to get kicked out, but when they had the mindset of getting absolutely plastered it was definitely happening. Y/n hoped Harry wouldn’t see it if it ended up being her getting told to leave - if he was there that is.

Hours later the clock had barely hit midnight and y/n had taken one shot too much for her to be sane any longer. Her thoughts of leaving Harry alone and making him be the one to contact her if he wanted went out the window and she was on a mission to get him alone - mostly to ask if he’d wanna come home with her again because she was horny. In times where she was this horny there was no way she wouldn’t do anything about it, either finding a man to satisfy her (which seldom happened) or getting her toys out to make her come (which always worked).

She had seen Harry doing his round to check if anyone needed a talking to or get kicked out not too long ago and she hoped he was still walking the floor as it’s much harder to get him to herself if he’s checking ID’s. She pretended to walk towards the toilets but her eyes didn’t stop flickering about to see if Harry was in sight hoping to catch his curls above everyone dancing.

If she’s being honest, it wasn’t hard noticing him - hands in his pockets and brows furrowed in concentration to see if everyone is still doing alright - standing by the lower left corner, only a few meters from the toilets. She walked toward him with determination and it was easy doing so because he hadn’t noticed her yet and it was clear her liquid courage was helping some.

“So.. were you going to talk to me?” Harry only noticed her when she started talking, way too distracted by looking at the people on the dancefloor. It didn’t necessarily surprise him that she took initiative to talk to him and to be quite frank, he wasn’t sure he had the nerve to start up a conversation with her. Of course, he wanted to talk to her to explain why he left her the morning after they had sex, but after she didn’t show up at the club for two weeks he thought she was angry with him. Maybe she still is and he is not one for confrontation.

“I was going to, but then you didn’t show up here for a while so I thought you didn’t want to talk.” He forced his eyes to stay on hers while waiting for her to say something. It was nerve wracking, but if they were to continue bumping into each other at the club he didn’t want there to be any conflict between them - no matter how big or small it is.

“I’m not mad, just wanted to get everything out in the open I guess. I mean, I get that we were just hooking up, trust me I’m not looking to date you, but it’d be nice to have some mutual agreement even if it was a one time thing or if it happens again - which I won’t be opposed to if I’m honest.” The wicked smile on her lips told him she was thinking back to that night just over two weeks ago where their bodies touched and longed for the others. It was a good fuck, he admits as he, too, thought back to their night spent together in her bed.

“Okay. If you want to wait until I’m done at around two we can do a repeat of it?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, eyes widening at the forwardness he usually doesn’t have (especially not with pretty girls). Y/n only nods his way before leaving him alone to grab another drink with her friends. He had a hope that she wouldn’t drink too much so she would still be able to go through with their unspoken plans for the night.

Harry was holding y/n up by her thighs, fucking into her against the wall in her living room. She wasn’t holding back letting him know how much she liked what he was doing and it wouldn’t surprise her if the moans and high pitched sounds she was making could be heard outside her apartment. In the moment she didn’t exactly care about letting people know she was having the time of her life; getting fucked by someone she was attracted to and who was - in some insane way - better than her dildo. That much was clear after the first night they shared together and she could only hope he had the same thoughts about her.

They had left the bar hours ago heading straight to her apartment. Clothes were tugged off and strewn across the floor and their naked bodies worked perfectly together to please the other. It was as if they were made to please each other, Harry knowing exactly what to do to make her feel good and he wasn’t afraid of asking what she wanted or needed. Y/n was (in Harry’s eyes) an expert on giving blowjobs - sucking him off like she could read his mind thinking about everything he liked. Her tongue skillfully dragged downwards on his cock to suck his balls while her hand continued its motion up and down, her thumb circling on his head. He was in heaven and had to pull her off before he’d shoot his load in her mouth before he could get a taste of her.

Over the next two months they continued hooking up - usually after Harry ended his shifts at the bar and y/n was more than ready to get out. Her friends knew something was up between them after the third time not leaving when they left. The fact that she was eyeing him every time he passed them was a dead giveaway, too, as she isn’t normally one to give guys ‘the eye’. They hadn’t brought it up or told her they knew after Caleb caught them making out in one of the back corners. Though Harry was embarrassed to have been caught doing something he probably shouldn’t have been doing while at work, Caleb only laughed and whipped around to walk back to their group. Y/n had told him it was fine and they wouldn’t care, but he quite clearly noticed the whole group would stare at him when he was close over the next few weeks. It was uncomfortable for him, but he came to terms with it knowing what they were actually doing was private and between only the two of them.

They had gotten to know each others bodies - what they respond to and how to tell they’re about to cum - over the time they spent together. Though they never extended their time with each other, always keeping it to going home - mostly to y/n’s place except if Harry’s parents are gone - and fucking. If it’s only one round or the whole night depended on if they were doing things the next day, but there had only been a handful of times they kept to one round. One of them always managed to keep the other going for at least another round which then turns into hours of them enjoying each other.

Y/n was asleep when Harry called her; his shift at Mike’s was over and he wanted nothing more than to see y/n. He knew she wasn’t at the bar as he would’ve seen her either in line or inside, probably trying to sneak off somewhere secluded to make out during his break. It had become a regular thing for them to sneak off suddenly, her friends understanding she was with Harry if they couldn’t see her. Y/n felt as if there were magnets pulling them together, not able to withstand the urge to be with him. She never thought of it to be anything more than what it is - he is the best she’s had and she doesn’t want to let go of it any time soon.

Harry on the other hand was starting to think what if there is a reason behind them not being able to keep away from each other for more than a couple of days? Christmas break was just around the corner and he knew y/n would be gone for almost a month and he wanted to see her as much as time allowed them to before she left to go to the other side of the country. He knew time would pass slowly when he had two weeks off work and she was gone. Sure, spending time with his family and friends is nice and all, but to be quite frank he’d rather spend it in bed with y/n.

When y/n finally answered her phone Harry didn’t even give her time to say hello before asking if he could come over to which she of course said yes. He always wonders if his parents notice him not coming home from work until early morning or after breakfast. He’s sure they do because his car isn’t in the driveway and they’ve told him they hear when he opens and locks the door at night. Right now though, he couldn’t care less about his parents having questions, all he wanted was to bury himself in y/n making her moan out in ecstasy.

Y/n will be the first to admit that he did just that. He had her writhing beneath him, shaking from the multiple orgasms he gave her, screaming so loud the neighbors might be worried for her safety and the smile so wide on her lips didn’t fall once. She was happy to let him take her for the rest of the night into the morning, hopefully leaving giving a smack to her ass just like she enjoys in the bed. Harry knew this and whenever she wanted him to give it to her on her stomach he smacked her asscheeks till they turned red and his handprints were visible. It wasn’t unknown between the two that he reveled in it, too, saving the image for whenever he couldn’t have her and had to revert to his hand.

“I want you to cum on my ass, please.” Y/n was as carefree in bed as she was out, never scared to tell him what she needed or ask him to change it up. Harry on the other hand, was still holding back a bit, the introvert in him hesitant to do anything in case he would mess something up. Y/n could tell he was coming out of his shell more as time went on and they continued hooking up, sometimes taking the reins and telling her exactly what he wanted or needed to get off. She remembered one specific time she gave him a blowjob he voiced his needs and she grinned at him so wide until he came in her mouth - You’re going to keep your hands behind your back until I’m close and then you’re going to swallow my cum.

Harry didn’t hesitate to pull out and have her turn around to lay on her stomach, she bucked her hips up against his cock in anticipation for what he’d do. She knew he loved her ass, always grabbing onto it when they were making out, she was riding him, or when she was on her stomach for him. His hands found their way to her cheeks, grabbing one in each hand and spreading them to ease into her.

It was six-thirty in the morning and it didn’t surprise them that they had been fucking on and off for almost four hours as it happened most times they met. Maybe they should be worried they’re fucking too much and becoming addicted to each other, but honestly Harry thinks that ship has sailed a long time ago. He was addicted to her but there is no way he’d ever tell y/n.

****

A month later and Christmas break was coming to an end. Y/n had spent most of her time away thinking about Harry. It had been lonesome without him. She was used to seeing him a couple days a week at least and now they hadn’t spoken a word to each other over the break. Really, it wasn’t that weird, because they never texted or called about anything except if Harry’s working or if he could come over. It was quite clear they weren’t friends as they didn’t know anything except surface things about each other. Y/n thinks maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they did become friends..

Harry himself had tried his hardest to keep y/n out of his head, only ending up with a hard on whenever he thought of her too long and having to leave the party to take care of himself. It was almost embarrassing having a crush on someone who continuously made him feel like a boy in middle school by getting boners whenever he couldn’t keep her out of his mind. He would never tell anyone about what they had been doing for the last few months, too shy to even talk about his sex life with his friends, but if this is how it’s going to continue he needs to at least grow some balls and talk to y/n.

Sure, he wasn’t opposed to continuing hooking up with her without talking about his possible feelings, but in the long run he knew it’d only hurt him more than making him happy. Even just hanging out without doing anything sexual would please him, getting to know her on a friendly level. Staying the night and being able to pull her closer to him and place a kiss on her temple before falling asleep spooning after fucking her raw would make him feel better about it than what they’re doing now - sleeping on opposite sides of the bed pretending to not know the other is there.

He’s been thinking that he’s using y/n for what she seems so happy to give him, but it has to be like that for her as well, he thought. She has to know they’ve been using each other and there might be a chance it would lead to something more for at least one of them, if not both, but Harry doesn’t want to be miserable if she doesn’t reciprocate his thoughts or feelings. Deciding it’s not worth dwelling over without talking to her first, he gets in his car and drives over to her place knowing she had come home earlier that day.

He stood outside her apartment door for some minutes to collect himself and know that being honest with her is what’s best for the both of them even if it goes sideways. The fact he was about to see her - and possibly fuck her - again after a month of nothing was also nerve-wracking.

There was no better time than the present and y/n opened the door only seconds after Harry knocked. With a lovely smile on her face and glowing eyes, it looked like she had needed the time away to relax and get back into her groove before the new semester. He couldn’t help but smile back, thinking about how he doesn’t ever want her smile to fade.

It didn’t surprise him that when he got inside and closed the door behind him she pulled him in for a kiss, already clawing at his jacket to get it off. Of course, Harry wanted nothing more than to give in to her lips and soft hands and continue until all their clothes were off and he could see the naked body he’d been dreaming about, but he had to talk to her first. He pushed her hands off of him and moved to create the smallest bit of space, not wanting her to think something’s wrong.

“Sorry.. I just have something to get off my chest if that’s alright?” Harry’s heart was beating a million miles an hour and y/n’s wasn’t far from that either. Immediately she came to the conclusion that he didn’t want to hook up anymore and she wouldn’t have the chance to get to know him like she decided she wanted to while she was away. It’s obvious they couldn’t keep playing games for forever, but she liked what they had going on - though she imagines she wouldn’t hate it if they were more than acquaintances. Hanging out a little longer, getting to know each other - more than knowing their favorite positions at least - and cuddling before going to bed. It didn’t sound awful.

“I’ve missed you over the past month, y/n.” She looked up at him, not meeting his eyes as they were fleeting all over the place not knowing where to place them. He certainly wasn’t confident enough in himself to place his eyes on hers, though he saw her wanting them to meet so she could be sure he wasn’t speaking nonsense. “You know I’m not good at speaking up, but I couldn’t keep this to myself as it concerns you as well. It’s alright if you don’t want to grow our acquaintanceship, but please don’t string me along.”

There was clear vulnerability in his quavering voice and y/n found it admirable how Harry had the courage to talk to her about his feelings, unlike her who was planning on keeping her thoughts to herself, for the time being at least. Now though, there is nothing keeping her from letting him know how she couldn’t want anything more than to advance their relationship to something more to see how compatible they are. They barely know each other and it might be a miss, but they owe it to themselves to at least try.

As Harry still wasn’t looking at her, he couldn’t see the smile getting wider by time. Y/n brought her hand up to his chin to guide his head in her direction. Closing the space between them, she put her lips on his, placing a delicate kiss on his lips - quite unlike the kisses they normally share.

“I missed you too, Harry.” He enclosed his arms around her waist, bringing her as close to him as he could without squeezing her too hard. She heard him sigh into her neck, content with how the conversation went, she presumed.

For the rest of the evening, they laid in her bed talking and getting to know each other, in more ways than one. It was intimate - like nothing Harry had ever experienced before - and when night came there was no way they would separate. Though y/n still had a week left before college started up again, Harry had work and it was clear they wouldn’t be able to spend that much time together. Tonight was their only night together before it was time to get back to reality, which is why she decided to go home with Harry. She’d only been there a handful of times over the course of their months hooking up, mostly because he didn’t want his parents to get in his business. It didn’t really matter this time, only caring about spending time together.

****

Hope you enjoyed my take on bouncer!h and I’d appreciate it if you reblogged to get my writing out <3

Last fic: FWB series chapter 1, chapter 2

#harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles ff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fiction #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles x y/n #writing

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olderthannetfic · 3 years

Note

Hi! I'm really impressed by how calmly you've been replying to asks about upsetting topics. Mind if I share a different pov? It's cool if you want to be done with the subject, but if it's okay, here it is: even though it's true that people already know csa is bad, there might be some rationalizations or confusion about where to draw some lines, and abusers can use stories that push those lines to groom children. However, what we need to do about it is not count on our ability to eliminate every one of those stories and any other pedo propaganda, but instead make sure everyone knows where to draw the lines and that those rationalizations are bs, so they can see that it's pedo propaganda and not be fooled. I know people won't agree on all the lines regarding exact ages and age differences that are acceptable, but there are other things that slip through the cracks, like pretending the age of consent is only relevant to some sex acts and not others (incorrect in most countries, and even then it's just a different age of consent for different acts, there are no sex acts that have no age of consent), or that if it's non-sexual it can somehow exist as an acceptable romantic relationship (incorrect, that's not a relationship). And having that information is useful both in cases of for real pedo propaganda and in cases of darkfic that was written to be creepy and wrong on purpose but the reader might not recognize that.

This comes up a lot. Really, really a lot. And the arguments are extremely repetitive, as are the asks going "You haven't thought about this, have you?" that I see waiting for me in my inbox, yet again. When I'm ready to tap out (or just get busy with RL) I usually just stop answering asks for a while.

Here's the thing: a lot of people look at this only in terms of potential victims and an audience that doesn't understand what it's being exposed to. I agree that it's important to protect people.

However, these kinds of conversations always erase another, much larger group: people who are making or consuming dark art because it is meaningful or hot or fun for them. To me, it comes down to that infamous 1995 Time Magazine cover:

From a boingboing writeup:

"In 1995 Time magazine published a cover story about online pornography that gave grandstanding politicians an excuse to try to censor the Internet. The politicians would have succeeded, if it weren't for the efforts of civil libertarians, especially Mike Godwin, who was staff counsel at the Electronic Frontier Foundation at the time."

I was 14 when this fight as going on. It sounds like a long time ago, but people who built AO3 were mostly teens or college students or young professionals, and we remember this fight vividly.

I was already in fandom, reading some racy Mulder/Scully porn, and elsewhere on the internet reading snuff erotica and other things far worse than most fanfic.

(And yes, I do go hunting on AO3 when people tell me they've seen something nasty in the woodshed. There's some pretty out there stuff if you search really hard, but it still almost never reaches the heights of anything I read on Usenet as a teen. AO3 is really tame as porn goes.)

When I was a teenager forming my understanding of art and ethics and this bullshit scaremongering happened, the US had a conversation. The topic was this:

Is it worth sacrificing adults' entire lives and spaces in the service of protecting children?

On the conservative douchebag side, we had the argument that children might be there because it's a general space.

On the winning side--the winning side so far because this fight is never over--was the idea that it is not reasonable to expect public spaces to conform to what's appropriate for the kindergarten classroom. Children are not the default, and they do not set the tone for spaces that are not specifically for them.

So these were my formative teen years: do we get an internet where we can be adults? Normal adults who are allowed to have fantasies or discuss our queer sexuality or breast cancer or whatthefuckever! Or is the internet a gated playground with foam over all the play structures because we are obligated to think of the children at every moment of every day?

I agree with you that some actual abusers use arguments of the type you describe and that it's important for our youth to understand what those arguments look like.

I have yet to see even a single AO3 fic I thought was actually espousing any such thing, let alone a significant number. This simply isn't an accurate representation of most of the fic that these endless fandom wanks are about.

AO3 does allow you to make an account if you're 13 and up, but it was built by a bunch of adults for other adults. It's very writer-oriented. Its mission is saving art. That's not a space that can or should be primarily concerned with the subset of readers who can't contextualize what they're looking at.

The way to help those readers might be by people who want a clean archive making one or by making an AO3 collection of vetted stories. Much more likely, the only thing that will help them is fighting purity culture and getting some real and useful sex ed into their country's educational system.

You've made some very good points, anon, but they're not very relevant points to the fandom debates about AO3.

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two-sides-samecoin · 2 years

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holy shit dude, leave byler fans alone!! stop putting your "aggressive byler fan" stuff in the tag because we do not care. if you want to criticize constructively then that's okay, but, you're not doing that, you're just blatantly shitting on us and being rude in our tag. you are the one being aggressive here.

and i'm sorry to break it to you but having a same-sex couple in a show like stranger things actually would be groundbreaking and it's ignorant af to say otherwise. yes, obviously, other forms of media exist. LGBT people have always known this because we have to actively search for niche media in order to find representation.

a ship like byler being canon in a show as famous and mainstream as stranger things is something we never ever get and it would mean the world to us, especially because unlike 99% of mlm ships, the byler fandom is majority queer people. we're not the straight girls fetishizing the ship, we're actual gay and bi people who want to see people like us represented on-screen.

you being asexual doesn't give you the right to speak on all queer people, especially not gay or bisexual people...so maybe don't do it? keep your passive aggressiveness and rudeness to yourself.

Okay I see why I’m being annoying and aggressive but also I put the aggressive fans for a reason!!! Because I’m not including people who just vibe with it. Literally a lesbian character exists and y’all ignore her. Also I get that me saying my sexuality is annoying but I’m also kind of trying to make a point that people like me don’t get any rep. Legit someone saying that they were asexual in ‘sex education’ was an amazing thing for us. Which also ‘sex education’ is a huge hit in Netflix and it has black gay representation so there’s also that. But it was so big for asexual people because we don’t get anything. Meanwhile half the shows who do get queer representation only talk about people who are gay and the main popular ones. I didn’t even know asexuality was a word that I could use until like maybe 6 months ago. (I’m in college rn so I feel like that should tell you something). And I’m not being the voice for other queer rep. Saying that this ship is groundbreaking is making one big generalization of queer people. I have talked to my friends so many times (who are queer) who just don’t give a shit about byler at all. Because they don’t agree that it is good representation. So I do know from experience that some people don’t consider it groundbreaking. Also while this isn’t the topic people who are on the ace spectrum and other sexualities get shit compared to gay and bi and lesbian people. I legit have seen stories on tumblr saying how some people aren’t even welcomed in pride parades. And while that’s in real life and this is a show it’s still important because that’s how people get treated. It’s also common for people on the ace spectrum to actually define what it means to be ace instead of people just knowing. I really am a chill person but this is why saying byler is groundbreaking hurts me personally. Because people actually have gotten so much representation meanwhile others are left in the dust. It just hurts me seeing the fandom I love talk about this ship as if it’s some savior and worship it so hard that I feel alienated. That I feel like I’m somehow wrong for just wanting them to be friends and for friendship (which has been the main theme since season 1) to be the main theme. Instead I’m meet with ship wars and gross accusations that I’m somehow the enemy. Also I’m not trying to weaponize sexuality. Im just trying to be myself and be open about it because so many other people get to be open about their sexualities online so why can’t I? Why can’t I say that it hurts me that I barely get any rep? Why can’t I say that to me saying byler is revolutionary is doing more harm than good for my mental health?? Because seeing mike and will be friends to me is more groundbreaking than a ship. To me seeing two boys who are vulnerable with each other and love and care about each other because they are friends is something that I find more groundbreaking than a stupid fucking ship war.

#answered ask #personal #anti byler #also fuck it #byler #so y’all can see how annoying some of y’all are #because seriously this is gross!#also you were talking about byler so I don’t understand why I can’t tag that

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

Note

Hey Steph!

Any chance you've got any fics where John and Sherlock come out publicly (an AU or just canon)? For some reason I just adORe the tension

Anyway, thanks for everything you do on your blog, it's hugely appreciated!

Hey Lovely!!

Ahhhh Hmm I thought I had a list for this but apparently not, oof.

Here’s what I can offer you with my tags in my bookmarks and MFL’s! Feel free to add some, y’all if you have any I missed!

COMING OUT

See also:

Homophobia / Sexuality / Pride || [John’s Sexuality]

John’s Friends Find Out About Sherlock

John’s Internalized Homophobia

Ex by Itsallfine (T, 1,248 w., 1 Ch. || Angsty Fluff, Love Confessions, Coming Out, Exes, First Kiss, Fake Relationship, Getting Outed) – One night, in the midst of their post-case high and on the cusp of something more, John and Sherlock run into John’s ex. His ex-boyfriend.

Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid) (M, 10,862 w., 10 Ch. || For a Case, Gay Bar, Pining, Coming Out, Slow Burn) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he's NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won't change anything between them. And then it does.

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (M, 49,513 w., 84 Ch. || S4 Fix-It, Epistolary, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Parentlock, Past Abuse, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, Questioning Sexuality, Mental Health Issues / Therapy, Angst, Happy Ending) – John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly, seek healing, and find the truths that matter most. An epistolary post-s4 fix-it fic. Now complete. (This fic is rated T except for one very clearly marked and easily skippable chapter, which is rated M.) Part 1 of The Pieces that Fall to Earth

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (E, 156,714 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Hollywood / Actor AU, Secret Relationship, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Romance, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Pining) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? Part 1 of Performance in a Leading Role

MARKED FOR LATER

About Being Gay by A_Candle_For_Sherlock (G, 1,088 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, First Kiss, Romantic Fluff, Older Rosie) – Rosie looks up from Sherlock’s picture book about poisonous plants, gives Sherlock a look and asks, 'Are you gay, Sherlock?' and Sherlock, without missing a beat, just says 'Yes,' and continues drinking his tea, and Rosie says 'Ah,' and goes back to her plant book, and John nearly doubles over in the corner.

A Regular not at all Terrifying-for-unknown-reasons Conversation by Dodoa (T, 5,506 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock, Unilock, Best Friends, Coming Out, Self-Discovery, Dialogue Heavy, Self Acceptance) – Sherlock is trying to work something out and goes to John for help. John might not have all the answers, but he's determined to help.

Still alive by LoLecter (M, 8,375 w., 1 Ch. || Teenlock AU || Trans!Sherlock, Suicide Attempt, Overdose, Friends to Lovers, Coming Out, Bisexual Character, Fluff, Transphobia, Asshole Parents, Big Brother Mycroft) – Sherlock has known he was transgender for a while now and he decides to come out to his parents, but they react badly and Sherlock end up trying to kill himself only to be saved by his best friend John who doesn't know anything about Sherlock being trans.

Isolated by CarmillaCarmine (G, 8,549, 6/7 Ch. || WiP || Quarantine From Virus, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Bi-Panic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Coming Out, Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Kissing) – Due to an ongoing pandemic, John and Sherlock find themselves isolated at 221B.

Who I Really Am by agirlsname (T, 13,067 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE [1] or [2] || Post S4, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Grief/Mourning, POV John, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending) – You don't tend to give up your heterosexual privilege without a fight.

Coming Out by LiviKate (M, 13,439 w., 5 Ch. || Teenlock, Homophobia, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Oral Sex, Drunk John, Bisexual John, Teen Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Reconciliation, Arguing) – John has had feelings for his best friend for a very long time. Feelings he knows will never be returned. When John goes out to drown his sorrows in booze and girls, he finds himself falling into bed with a man for the first time instead. John doesn't expect Sherlock to think much of it, as he had never cared either way about people's sexualities. But when Sherlock finds out, things go downhill quickly, leaving John confused and alone. Can the two friends come back together after such an explosive coming out? If they do, will it be like before? Or might it be so very, very different?

Straight Boy Pain by Glenmore (NR, 18,257 w., 10 Ch. || Coming Out, Pain, Romance, Birds, Sexuality) – Sherlock is in pain. Billy Kinkaid, the Camden garroter and best man Sherlock knows, diagnoses it. Ademar Silver, a male prostitute in south London, attempts to treat it. Lestrade, kindly Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard, doesn’t notice it. Eventually, John Watson, healer and registered medical doctor, cures it. And a beautician called Penny paints Sherlock’s toenails.

The Lying Doctor by pagimag (E, 44,285 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Fix It, Hurt/Comfort, Past Alcohol/Drug Abuse, Anger Issues, Depressed John, Watson Siblings, Coming Out, Bi John, First Time, Dom/Sub Undertones, Parentlock, Internalized Homophobia, Past Child Abuse, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John's relationship is fragile after the events at Culverton Smith’s hospital. John struggles with guilt and anger issues. During a case he decides to visit his aunt, which leads to an unexpected development. He’s forced to reevaluate ingrained behaviours, confront long lasting issues and question how he leads his life.

In Bed by Ellipsical (E, 46,922 w., 12 Ch. || Autofellatio, Vibrators, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Liminal Identities, Christmas, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Fingering, Jealous John, Therapy, Flirting, Texting, Fluff, Sherlock’s Violin, Anal, Est. Rel., Semi-Public Sex, Harry Watson, Communication, Coming in Pants, Spitroasting, Double Penetration, Dirty Talk, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, Happy Ending, PTSD John, Coping Mechanisms, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – It’s almost Christmas, John thinks, and this, this is bullshit. The epilogue to Guilty Secrets. Part 2 of Guilty Secrets

NO! by Tildathings (M, 50,043 w., 36 Ch. || Homophobia, Bed Sharing, Military Uniforms, Past Abuse, Jealous John, Stalking, Violence, First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Pillow Talk, Coming Out, Sherlock’s Past, Shower, Cuddling, Grief and Sorrow, Hugs, Character Death) – Sherlock has been in a coma in over 8 months after he overdosed on the plane at TAB, during which time Mary and Rosie were killed by Vivian Norbury. This story starts 3 weeks after Sherlock has woken up. John is asking to move back to Baker Street.

What have you done? by Tildathings (M, 63,940+ w., 17/? Ch. || WiP || Interenalized Homophobia, John’s Family, Coming Out, Sherock/OMC, Hugging, Suicide, John Deduce’s, Nightmares, Love Confession, First Date, Bed Sharing, Psychiatry) – John have been invited by Sherlock on a pub night?! Sherlock said to him at Monday that Greg and Mike wanted him to come with them on a pub night. Sherlock is afraid that he would do something wrong socially left alone, so could John come with him? When John arrives at the pub Two Broken Hearts he sees Sherlock talking to a man.

A Change of Heart by SosoHolmesWatson (E, 65,436 w., 20 Ch. || Post-S4 / Canon Compliant, Jealous Sherlock, Past Abuse, Parentlock, Dev. Rel., Idiots in Love, Suicidal Sherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Mollstrade, Coming Out, Love Confessions, Big Brother Mycroft, John’s Childhood, POV Alternating, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Hand Jobs) – After all they have been through, after all the heartbreak and desolation, John and Sherlock want to make their way back to each other, still convinced that friendship is all that can exist between them. Will there be a change of heart? Part 1 of the The Pains of Growing series

Worst Kept Secrets by Sherlock1110 and sherlockian4evr (M, 61,515+w., 8/? Ch. || WiP || Engagement, Coming Out, Angst and Feels, Homophobia, Idiots in Love, Big Brother Mycroft, Fluff, Scars, Weddings, Honeymoon, Playing Pirates, Parasailing, Archaeology, Paintball, Swimming, Golf) – For the prompt: What if the thing Mycroft did to upset Mummy... was to come out? What if, as a teenager, Mycroft decided to tell his family that he is gay, and his parents disowned him for it? It's okay now, he runs the British Government, he IS the British Government, but there's still that tiny part of him that wants his parent's acceptance, especially now he's found the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Part 4 of the Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff series

Sacré Coeur by Mamaorion (M, 95,235 w., 27 Ch. || S4 Fix It Rewrite, First Kiss, UST / RST, Eventual Happy Ending, Coming Out, Holmes Family, Marriage Proposal, Husbands, Healing, Evil Mary, Beekeeping, Caretaker Sherlock, Mind Palace, Alzheimer’s Disease, Protective / Big Brother Mycroft, TD-12) – In this s4 fixit, John must piece together the gaps in his altered memory if he and Sherlock are to face the terror that has plagued Sherlock since childhood. As they untangle the web, seven years of hidden love ignite.

Full Court Press by MissDavis (E, 126,123 w. || College Basketball AU || Unilock, Masturbation, Homophobia, First Kiss / Time, Oral/Anal, Coming Out, Switchlock, Blowjobs) – Sherlock Holmes has accepted a scholarship to play basketball at the College of St. Bartholomew's. He expects to be their star player and turn the team's losing record around. He does not expect to fall in love with the team's captain, a certain scrappy point guard named John Watson. Or: Sherlock is the team's best shooter. John is the team's best ball-handler.

Nine and a Half Weeks by CumberCurlyGirl and Kameo (E, 175,094+ w., 35/? Ch. || WiP || American AU || Different First Meeting, Daddy Kink, Bottomlock, Anal Plug, Riding Crops, Spanking, Light Bondage, Anal/Oral, Aftercare, Posh John, Virgin Sherlock, Homophobia, Sugar Daddy John, Rimming, Coming in Pants, Light Dom/Sub, Past Sherlock / Victor, Light BDSM, Public Sex, John in a Kilt, Vibrators, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is about to graduate from high school in midwestern America. Despite his intelligence, his prospects are bleak due to poverty, an indifferent, alcoholic father and poor choices. One day, at work, he sells a riding crop to a handsome blonde Brit and his life is changed. He doesn't know what hit him - until he does. This is a story of a journey to love and self-acceptance and explores many themes along the way: drug abuse, grief, coming out, age difference, consent. Lots of sex but so much more.

Of Ice and Men by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 176,906 w., 20 Ch. || Olympics AU || Paralympics, Prosthesis, Disability, Established Relationship, Threesome - Johnlockstrade, Angst with Happy Ending, Coming Out, Secret Relationship, Asexuall Sherlock, Pilot John) – Greg wants Sherlock to win his first Olympic Gold medal. Sherlock wants John to win his first Olympic Gold medal. John wants Greg to come to bed wearing all four of his Olympic Gold medals, and you didn't really think this would be that terribly serious after reading that title, did you? Bundle up, it's a Winter Olympics OT3!

Radioactive Trees In A Red Forest by Maribor_Petrichor (E, 280,251 w., 73 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S4, Suicidal Ideations, Alcohol / Rx Drug Abuse, Coming Out / Bisexual John, Seizures, Past/Referenced/Implied Child Abuse, Hallucinations, Rehab, Celibacy, Sobriety / Relapse, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Psychological Trauma, Nice /Not Anti-Mary, John’s POV, Parentlock, First Time, Angst, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending) – John Watson is what happens when a man can no longer see a reason to go on. John Watson is what happens when a man starts to let go. "It is what it is." John Watson is what happens when what "it is" becomes too much to bear. This is a story of the life, death, and resurrection of John Hamish Watson.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #coming out #my fic recs #sexuality fics #mindless-octopus

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years

Text

The Perfect Bad Boy (Pt. 14 of 18)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: Working as a lifeguard in the Hawkins Community Pool, you try to fit in after moving from New York. Things were going pretty well when you notice you've been under someone's stare. Billy Hargrove, Hawkins' bad boy, has been staring at you since day one. You never intended to have anything to do with him, judging by the reputation he has. But Billy won't leave you alone, determined to show you his feelings are different this time...

As if your heart flooding you with confusing feelings wasn't enough, there are weird, strange animals lurking in the woods... But those have to be just part of the wild live of the woods surrounding Hawkins... Right?

<- Previous part (13)

Next part (15) ->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

Hunt and Destroy

“Alright... A lot of new words and names...” You mutter, looking at the floor between your feet. It's late now, and Eleven has been talking for over an hour. The story is long and you had to stop her to ask a few questions. More than a few, actually. Everything sounds like a very strange story, the weirdest, something nobody could come up with. To prove it, Eleven turned the TV on with her mind, skipping through the channels before turning it off again. But you didn't need any proof. You know what you saw and it was very, very real. “Upside down, Demodog, Demodorden...”

“Demogorgon. With a G.” Dustin corrects you, smiling. How can he be smiling?

“Demogorgon, ok.” Nodding, you take a deep breath and stand up. “So... What's the plan?” You ask, pacing around the living room.

“Well, we need to gather the whole party for this,” Max says and the others nod.

“I'll talk to my mom and Hopper,” Jonathan speaks out. “We have to do this as soon as possible so... tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Can it be here?” You're not sure if you can make this demand, but right now, being anywhere else after dark is too much. The sunlight is your protection since it's deadly to the... Demo-something. It burns them. They like it cold, said Eleven.

“Sure.” Jonathan answers and you offer him a small smile in return. “Could it be by five? Before the sunset.”

“Yeah. We can sneak out of the pool again.” It shouldn't be a problem, and if Anthony is there, you could pretend to be sick.

“Tomorrow is our day off.” Billy reminds and you take a deep breath, running a hand through your hair. You completely forgot that.

“By the morning them. Maybe we'll get something figured out we can start working on through the rest of the day.” Mike suggests and the whole party agrees. “We should get going though. It's late.” Mike gets up from his spot on the floor.

“Wait.” Mike can't possibly be for real now. “You're not gonna head home now. With those things out there.” They're getting closer to the town, and it means they'll hang around all night. “It's dangerous. You should stay.”

Most of them agree easily, chattering among them. Max seems excited, but Mike exchanges a look with Nancy. “I don't think our mother would let us crash at Billy's place.” She says with an apologetic look.

“Oh.” You know why. Billy told you where he was going to when the Mind Flayer almost got him... Or better saying, who he was going to meet. Mrs. Wheeler. You did felt weird back then, and it sure makes you feel weird now, but whatever he did before, you left it where it belongs. In the past. “Just call and tell her you'll be crashing at my place.”

“Yeah, man. C'mon. Slumber party.” Dustin cheers, smiling, and once again you can't understand why they aren't terrified. Guess they're just used to it. But how can someone get used to monsters lurking around?

“Alright, then.” Mike agrees, making his way to the phone.

“They didn't get it yet,” Billy whispers in your ear.

“They didn't get it.” Repeating, you wrap your arms around his neck. “I'm really trying not to freak out right now.” The words come out of your mouth, rolling out your tongue.

“Let's go to the bedroom so you can rest and we can talk.”

“Ok...”

“Alright. It's done.” Mike comes back with his sister, gesturing at the front door. “Should we get going?”

You and Billy exchange a look. They really didn't get it. “Uhm... So that's it, guys.” You start, taking Billy's hand and pulling him with you. “You can crash either here or Max's room. First to wake up makes breakfast.”

“Wait. You made me lie to my mom?” Mike asks as you move further into the hall.

“(Y/N) is living here.” Max ends the mystery, and you can feel her massive eye roll.

“Holy shit.” You hear Dustin and Steve mumbling as you get inside the room.

Billy lets you shower first, and as you wait for him, you look through his college books. Everything seems very complicated. Your fingers run through one of the pages, taking in the many numbers, but not really reading anything. Your mind is too far away right now. The scene keeps playing back, over and over. The... Demodog, as the kids call it, its face opening up, the guttural noises it made. You wish it was just a nightmare, but everything seems very, very real.

Billy's sudden touch makes you suck in a sharp breath, shaking a little. “Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.” The feeling is quickly replaced by the usual warmth he makes you feel. Safety and comfort.

“It's ok, I'm just... How is it possible that the kids seem to be so fine with it?” Turning around, you lay your head on his chest as he pulls you close.

“They've been through a lot. They know how to deal with it and you don't have to participate if you don't want to.” Billy touches your face, fingers caressing the soft skin of your jaw. “I'll do anything to keep you safe, you know that right?”

You do. But staying out would not only make you a coward, but it would mean one less person to help them do whatever they're planning to. And, whatever this thing is, it had a part in messing with Billy's life. With Max's life, and all her friends. It's kind of personal. And, if Billy is in danger, you want to be there to make sure you'll do anything to save him. “I want to do it. I just need time to... Process everything.”

“You won't be alone. And I'm not talking only for myself, but for everyone else too.”

“Ok.”

“Now come. You need to get some sleep.” Billy pulls you to the bed, and, instead of laying beside him as usual, you decide to crawl on top of him.

“Am I crushing you?” You ask as you lay your head on his chest, smiling to feel his strong arms around you.

“Haven't you noticed the weight I can lift? You're nothing compared to it.”

Closing your eyes, you feel as he places a kiss on the top of your head. You've never been like that with Billy, literally on top of him, and it's good. Today, more than ever, you need to feel safe. Protected. And he's the only one who makes you feel this way. “I'm so happy we don't have to go to work tomorrow.”

“Me too.”

Pulling yourself up, you move upwards until your face is close to his. “Do you think the kids are talking about us?” Despite your mind being apparently stuck reminiscing the same moment, the terror in your chest, you try to change the subject. Hopefully, it'll keep you from having nightmares tonight.

“I'm sure of it.” As he speaks, a noise of glass shattering reaches us. “Max!” Billy yells at the top of his lungs, startling you. “What the hell!”

“Stop yelling.” You giggle, playfully slapping his shoulder.

“Just a glass, Billy,” Maxine answers from somewhere in the house.

“Better clean this shit up!” He shouts again.

“Shut up!” You whine, lowering yourself on him a little. “Or else I'll have to make you and it won't be nice.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, that usual smirk making its way to his lips. “Oh, and how exactly wouldn't it be nice?”

Yeah, you didn't really give much thought before making the threat. “Okay then.” Smirking, you close the distance between you until your lips are brushing on his before you sit up abruptly, a hand covering his mouth. “See? I told you it wouldn't be nice.” He opens his mouth under your hand, and you feel his teeth biting your skin. “Billy!” You complain, taking your hand away from his mouth. “I can't believe you bit me, you jerk.”

“You got what you deserved.” He suddenly pulls you down, making you lay next to him. “Now, quit playing around and sleep, princess. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“Kiss me goodnight then. To keep the bad dreams away.” You ask him softly, melting into the slow, warm kiss he gives you.

It doesn't help with the nightmares though. Twice that night you wake up, a breath caught in your throat. You struggle not to let Billy notice, snuggling closer to him.

You're more than happy when morning finally comes. The house is so damn loud, and breakfast in a mess. You like it though, the craziness distracting you from yesterday's events. The rest of the party is here by nine, thanks to the urgency of the matter. And then, after everyone is fed up and the dishes are clean, which took half an hour since nobody wanted to do it, everyone sits in the living room to talk.

And you just can't seem to keep up with it. The boys speak fast, Hopper yells, Joyce tries to calm him down, he argues with Eleven, which is like his daughter, you got that, and then he argues with Mike. Nancy and Jonathan always check with each other before saying something, Steve always finds the flaws on the kids' plans, pointing out the many ways it could go wrong, and Dustin often gets into some kind of argument with him. There are a hundred different ways things could go wrong. A thousand ways you could die. Running a hand through your hair, you hold onto Billy's biceps, laying your head on his shoulder. You're the only one who didn't say anything since the conversation started. There's just nothing you can help them with, you'll just stick up to whatever plan they have.

What they know for sure that these Demodogs are here because some of them must have been left behind in some kind of incubation period until it started growing again.

“So that's it. Hunt and destroy.” Lucas says, nodding to himself.

“Yes. We don't know exactly how much time we have until they start going full Demogorgon, so we should start acting now.” Mike states. “Immediately.”

As if something was lit up, everyone starts moving. “My place in one hour, everyone,” Hopper says and suddenly the crowd disperses, the house once again silent.

You're still in the same place you were, on the couch, legs crossed, eyes on the floor. “Hey. You ok?”

“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, you stand up. “So. Hopper's place. One hour.” Saying this more to yourself than to him, you get up and pace around the living room. “Should we take the baseball bat?”

“Steve has one far more fun than that. You'll like it.” You can tell Billy is keeping his voice nice and soft, trying not to push you over the edge with everything that's going on. “(Y/N), you don't have to go. You know that, right?”

“I do. But I'm going anyway.” Walking over him, you tiptoe to place a kiss on his lips. “Those kids are so brave. I don't want them to think I'm the weak link.”

“Alright, but we stick together. No exceptions.”

“I agree.” It does make you feel a lot better.

In the next hour, you and Billy shower and get ready. You make sure to wear short jeans and a light shirt so you won't feel too hot. The plan is trying to find the Demodog's nest. This part has to be made during the daylight, to make sure no attacks will happen, so you have no choice but to walk around the woods under the sun. Billy makes sure to shove a lot of water on his backpack, using literally every bottle he found in the house. And Max gathers some snacks for the day.

You reach Hopper's place at the same time Nancy, Jonathan, and Mike does, realizing it's also Joyce's place. The party is gathered in front of the house, a big map of Hawking on the ground. Beside it, a pile of some random stuff that you guess will be the... Weapons you'll use. Just in case.

Hopper is the one to assign everyone a place to start, the area they'll have to cover, and where they'll have to stop. There are lines drawn over the map, and you hope Billy has everything memorized because you don't even know where is where. Then, the groups are separated. Billy of course says he'll take you and Max. And Lucas, much to his dismay, will come along too. When people start taking stuff from the pile, you immediately get what Billy mentioned earlier. There's a baseball bat with nails on the top. Smiling, you take it.

“That's so badass.” You mutter, looking at Billy. “This will be my weapon of choice.”

“Hey. That's mine.” Steve exclaims, reaching out his hand.

“Not anymore, buddy.” You sass at him, swinging the bar and hitting the air.

“But–”

“She's good with the bat, trust me,” Maxine says and you nod. Some people have an interrogation on their faces, and Steve keeps staring at the three of you, as if waiting for further explanation.

“We have an inside joke.” Lowering the bat, you turn to look at Billy.

“Restricted to the Hargrove family,” Billy states, taking one the radios from the pile and starting the make his way to the car. “And Max.”

“But what about me?” You feel a little set aside by his affirmation, wondering what he meant. It's impossible that he's ignoring the fact that you were there that day. “I'm in the joke too.” Whining a little on purpose, you follow him.

“You still only notice half of things.” Billy winks at you as he gets inside the car, and after Max and Lucas get in the back seat, you get in as well. “I know you know what I meant.”

“Maybe I didn't.” Billy has this way with you. You were expecting the first sensations to fade, but they didn't. He still makes you nervous, the butterflies on your stomach doesn't seem to grow immune to him. And part of you is still scared of the things you think he means. You did got what he said, but it's safer to just pretend you didn't, right?

The short drive is filled with chattering. The kind of chattering you didn't want to hear since it's all about the Demothings. You stop by the woods, and Max and Lucas will be the ones responsible for the map since they have a compass.

And so the ‘hunting’ starts. You're glad it's not a real hunt though. You remember when you invited Billy for a trail with your friends, but walking through the woods feels different now. Before, you had only the normal wild animals to worry about, not some monsters that came out of the gates of hell. But you try to keep in mind that the sunlight means protection, so you'll safe. For now.

“Billy, can you make sure we'll have enough daylight to make the way back to the car?” You ask him, putting your hair up on a ponytail.

“I will, don't worry.” He moves closer, taking your hand in his. “We'll be ok. Just focus on trying to find anything unusual in the woods.”

“Sure.”

Billy doesn't let go of your hand until you stop to eat something. Lucas and Max start arguing a lot when you resume your walking, complaining about the directions. Billy is clearly pissed, not very fond of the idea of his little sister dating. It's cute the way he keeps staring at the young couple, paying attention to whatever they're saying. You wonder if Billy ever thought about having kids.

Wait. What the hell? Step back, you tell yourself. Too soon for that.

At some point, a fresh breeze starts blowing, and you couldn't be more thankful for it. Letting your hair down, you run a hand through it out of nervousness.

“I'm telling you, we have to go West now,” Lucas says.

“Yes. First West then North.” Maxine takes the map from his hands, taking a look at it. “It's obvious if you think about it. Just look. Try using your head for a moment.”

“Are you calling me dumb?”

“Yes!”

“Alright, both of you.” Billy intervenes, his voice with a tiny hint of anger. “Will you two make a goddman decision or will I have to?”

This will be interesting. Billy and you have been walking a couple of feet behind them, so as he moves ahead, you stand there, crossing your arms. The breeze brings a soft sound, that looks like the sound the pools make when it's windy. Following it, you spot water, only about ten feet away. Leaving the guys behind to their fights, you make your way there, making sure there are no big trees hiding you from their sight. When you get there, you bend down, putting one hand on the freshwater.

“(Y/N)!” It's Billy's usual yell, the one he always uses to scare the shit out of you. “Do you want to give me a heart attack?” When you turn around to look at him, he's already close by, Maxine and Lucas coming right after.

“Sorry, but I found this lake.”

“Lover's lake,” Max says, sitting down on a rock, eyes on the map.

“Lover's lake?” You repeat, crossing your arms and looking at Billy. “Why haven't you ever brought me here?” By the name, you think it would be a nice romantic date. And you remember by what you saw on the map, the lake is shaped like a heart, the reason for the name.

“Oh, you're new here. Sometimes it slips my mind.” He puts he bag down, safely away from where the small ripples reach. “People usually come here to... You know. So I thought that if I brought you and then you found out what really happens here you'd come to the wrong conclusion about my feelings for you.”

That's a very good explanation. And it makes you feel... Special. Different. “Thank you, then. For... Having this in mind.” As you speak, you take off your white shoes, all dusted by now.

“What are you doing?” He asks, an eyebrow raised when you look up at him, using his arm for balance to take off the other shoe.

“I'm using the Lover's Lake to something else than making out.” You start walking backwards, into the water.

“Whoa, look at what (Y/N)'s doing,” Lucas says, and you give them a glance. Max giggles, putting the map down.

“Try to drown Billy, would you?”

“I'll do my best.” When you stare back at Billy, he's already in the water.

You move back until your feet stop touching the bottom, so you start swimming further away. The freshwater is a blessing, washing the hot day from your skin. For a moment, you decide to leave the worries behind, just for a couple of minutes. Billy is quick to reach you, and you're suddenly aware of the kids staring. “We have an audience, keep that in mind.” You tell him when he pulls you close, strong arms encircling your waist.

“Were you ever kissed underwater?”

“No.” Your smirk matches his as you take a deep breath and push yourself down.

The kiss is a mess. You have to focus on holding your breath through the process, what makes you laugh, throwing bubbles on Billy's face. You manage to reach the bottom, your back hitting the rocks as Billy floats on top of you. But eventually, the oxygen you were saving is over, so you push him away and swim back up, laughing when you reach the surface.

“What a chaos.” You burst out when he comes back up as well. “We suck at underwater kisses.”

“I think I swallowed some water,” Billy says, coughing a little.

It only makes you laugh harder, removing the hair glued to your face. Swimming closer to him, you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hey! Mr. and Mrs. Hargrove! Let's get moving!” Lucas shouts, making you roll your eyes.

You burst into laugh again when Billy flings you over his back, carrying you back to land.

And the walking restarts, with Max and Lucas constantly arguing and Billy trying to make them stop. The good thing is that it distracts you. And the bad part is that it distracts you from searching around for any signs of a Demothing nest. Your eyes scan through the woods, among the trees, looking for–.

“Holy shit!” Lucas exclaims and then he jolts away, running, followed by Max. You and Billy exchange a look before rushing after them.

Before you can ask what was that, you see it. A huge hole on the solid ground. It would fit a car in it. The thing goes down, in a slope, and then it keeps going until it makes a turn left. It's clear it doesn't belong to any kind of wild animal. It's not natural. A low, guttural low snarl reaches your ears, and you involuntary gives step back.

“Call them. Them then we found it.” Lucas says, taking a pencil and making a mark on the map.

The moment Max takes the small radio, you hear static. “Everyone listen up.” Steve says, more voices talking behind him. “We found it. A freaking hole in the ground. It has to be–”

“That's it.” Eleven's voice cuts him off. “We found it too.”

It was supposed to be just one.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Head back now. Everyone.” Hopper says and Max turns the radio off.

This is far worse than you thought.

@chloe-skywalker @dpaccione @dreamin-of-dacre @funeral-7 @uncookspaget @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @halloweenbitch2764 @redlovett @multific @shinydixon @nikkixostan @clockworkballerina @nope-thanks

#imagine billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy stranger things #stranger things imagine #imagine stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #dacre montgomery x reader #dacre montgomery imagine

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kendallroydefender · 4 years

Text

New beginnings (Billy Hargrove x reader)

A/n: this is set after season 3. I do not agree with some of his actions in the previous seasons but they shouldn’t have killed him off (maybe they didn’t who knows)

He was save. You actually did it. Only a week ago you had gotten the codes through the phone, finding out Billy had not only survived but was now trapped in the upside down was a big surprise for all of you. You had told your friends Steve, Nancy and Robin as soon as you discovered the messages he’d been sending and with the help of Max, Dustin, Lucas and Mike you found a way to get him out of there. El and Will didn’t knew about these events since they moved, although Nancy told Jonathan about it. Now you sat in the back of Steve’s car next to Billy with Robin in the passenger seat, Nancy drove the Kids home before meeting you again at the cabin Hopper used to life in (wich was a whole different story but Murray tried his best to get his contacts to get Hopper back from Russia). The ride was almost silent nobody knowing what to say. You looked at Billy who stared out of the window in his thoughts, he seemed so small and lost. His eyes catched yours and you offered him a small smile, the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips too. As soon as you arrived at the cabin you brought him to Hoppers old room telling him to take a shower and change into some of Steve’s clothes. Nancy came back soon with some Pizza for you to eat, y’all decided to stay at the cabin together for a few days to figure things out. It was new seeing him so silently, almost shy. You only knew Billy from seeing him at school and then from what happened with him and the mind flayer. The evening went on almost as quiet only a little bit of chatting in the group since you wanted to let him talk to you about what he had encountered whenever he was ready. When it was time to sleep you laid down on the couch with Robin, Nancy slept on the retainer and Steve on Elevens old bed with the door open. Everybody seemed to fall asleep pretty fast but you couldn’t sleep. At some point you sat up and saw on your wrist watch that it was 2 pm, you let out a small huff before getting up to get a glass of water, as you passed the other bedroom you saw that light was shimmering under the door and you knocked softly before peaking your head in. Billy layed on the bed lifting his head and looking at you "Come in.“ he said and you did as he said, closing the door behind you. He shuffled making space for you on the bed. "Can’t sleep either?“ he asked and you nodded "Guess you neither?“ you asked before adding "Sorry of course you haven’t. Who would after... it all..“

"Haven’t had a good night of sleep in some time.“ he said quietly "It was like being trapped in an nightmare, it- I-" You saw tears glimmer in his eyes "Hey it’s okay.“ he looked at you and your heart broke, he looked absolutely lost and broken, you didn’t knew what happened but suddenly your arms went around him and pulled him close, his arms held you tight as he silently cried into the crook of your neck. With your left hand you softly played with his hair. After minutes he sat back up again "sorry.“ he mumbled and you reached to take his hand in yours "You don’t need to apologize.“ he shook his head "No sorry for everything you had to go through to help me and for being such an asshole back then.“ "Yeah you kinda were a dick but you saved us too remember? If you hadn’t sacrificed yourself in the mall last summer it would have been way worse.“ you said and gave his hand a squeeze "Thank you..“ he cleared his throat before asking "Was it you?“ You didn’t knew what he meant "Huh?“ "Was it you who got my messages?“ it clicked with you "Yes.“ "Thank you.“ he smiled at you again and you felt a blush rise to your cheeks "You don’t need to thank me Billy.“ you said "But I want to. I was a douche but I want to change and you could have just ignored the messages.“ you shook your head "And leave you in the upside down? No we all know that it’s an nightmare, no one deserves that." He smiled "Not even the ex keg king Hargrove?“ he asked and you chuckled "Not even him.“ You two just smiled at each other for a moment, hands still interwined. You ended up talking to him for another hour or so before you fell asleep on his bed. Billy looked over at your sleeping form, you looked peaceful wich calmed him down a lot. He felt safe with your hand in his, a feeling he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. He fell asleep shortly after you.

You woke up from the sun shining through the window. Opening your eyes you saw that you were curled into Billy, who rested next to you, legs entangled and his arms around you. And you couldn’t help but smile, he stirred in his sleep before his eyes fluttered open slowly. "Sorry.“ he said again beginning to release you but you stopped him with laying your hand on his upper arm. "No more apologies.“ you smiled at him. Someone knocked on the door and before Nancy‘s head appeared you

and Billy made some space between you. "Hey we made something to eat if you want to.“ she said and you nodded and got up after she left again "Ready?“ you asked and Billy nodded following after you. You all ate and you felt that Billy was more at ease today. "Soo the kids are coming over today again.. if that’s... alright?“ Steve asked, he was still a little unsure of the whole situation and how to act, a year ago Billy and him would fight everytime they saw each other and now they were eating eggs together. Billy looked up for a second before he nodded, he then looked at you before reaching out for your hand under the table "I- uhm thank you all. For what you did.“ it was quiet for a moment THE Billy Hargrove was saying thank you and it seemed honest. "Well we did more dangerous things.“ Robin said jokingly remembering her and Steve’s encounter with the Russians last summer.

The day went by, the kids came over and Billy and Max had some time alone to talk, they seemed closer, Billy was really trying to be better. You slept on the couch when you heard someone scream, sitting up you saw that Nancy was also awake. She pointed towards the door of Hppers room "I got it.“ you said and hurried towards the door. Inside it was dark, Billy was still asleep but he tossed and turned, letting out small whimpers. Your heart sank and you sat down at the edge of the bed "Hey, hey Billy. It’s okay.“ his eyes opened and he looked at you with panic in his eyes for a few seconds before he recognized you and memories of the last few days rushed back to his mind. He wrapped his arms around your middle and you put your chin on top of his head "I‘m here, you’re safe.“ you said softly while stroking his hair once again. You laid back down pulling him with you, you drew circles onto his shoulder while he slowly drifted back to sleep. After that night you slept in his room every night. The others catched on the way your behavior towards him had changed, always encouraging him or squeezing his hand assuringly. His demeanor also changed a lot, he lost most of his old ways (a little bit of the cockiness was still there, we’re talking about Billy Hargrove here) and his new weariness slowly faded in these days. Nancy soon had to return to college and Steve, Robin and you took turns working at home video with the two taking more shifts so you was mostly at the cabin with Billy, wich not only made you happy but also made Steve glad not to have to stay alone with his ex enemy. It was almost winter but you sat outside of the cabin with Billy a cup of tea in your hands and a blanket around your shoulders. The close proximity now something normal to you, but it still made your heart flutter none the less. "How long will we stay here?“ he asked, shrugging you answered him "I don’t know, we haven’t thought that far.“ a small chuckle left his lips "We wanted to get you here safe first and then figure something out.“ you laid your head on his shoulder "I can’t go back to my family“ he cleared his throat before mumbling "My dad would probably kill me. He thought I ran away, max said.“ "You don’t have to, we will find something.“ You told him "You will be fine, it’ll take some time probably but everything will be okay.“ you added, you felt his arm wrap around your shoulders pulling you closer "I know I will. As long as you’re there with me.“ he said softly. You looked up at him, a smile on both of your faces, suddenly you were overly aware of how close your faces were. You could feel his breath on your face and you saw his eyes wandering to your lips before he came closer, his lips ghosted yours as he stopped and waited for your permission, you cupped his cheek and closed the gap. You inhaled sharply and your heart did Saltos in your chest. You broke away when you needed air but he rested his forehead on yours, still holding you close. You laid your hand on top of his and said "I will be there. Whatever is going to happen you will have me.“ and he smiled pecking your lips once more.

#billy hargove x reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove

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princess-of-the-corner · 3 years

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Winx Club Reboot: How would the first 2 episodes go? I know that you mentioned some of it before but I mean something more complete instead of bits.

Okay here we go!

Since I decided to bump them up to college age because that makes more sense to me, it starts with a 'going away to college' party. Bloom's Earth Friends have all been accepted to their dream schools, and are leaving the next day. Bloom laments on how she doesn't know what to do yet, despite getting acceptance letters, and decides to take a year off to help her mom in the flower shop and think about what she wants to do with her life.

Like in Canon, on the way home she runs into Stella being attacked by Ghouls. Side note: I am kinda dropping Knut from being the Trix's lackey. I like him enough, but he's a little redundant so I'm just jumping to having him already as Alfea's janitor/handyman.

Anyway! Bloom can't just sit back and watch, so she jumps into the fight. Mostly using a tree branch, but also managing to tap into some Magic.

Afterward, Stella doesn't faint but starts talking casually to Bloom asking things like 'Where are you from?" and 'Are you going to Alfea or Cloud Tower?'. Bloom confesses that she has no clue what Stella's talking about.

We get exposition on other worlds with Magic. And how Earth doesn't have Magic. The only Magic people here would be tourists like Stella. So for Bloom to have been living here... it's weird.

Bloom takes Stella back home, and they explain the whole 'Magic is real and Bloom has powers' thing to her parents. Her parents believe it a little quicker in this version, but they keep giving one another A Look™.

Stella tells them that they can kill two birds with one stone. Bloom needs some kind of training with her Magic, so going to Alfea(or Cloud Tower) is a good idea. And there are people there who might know what's going on.

Instead of Canon's Troll Fight, Stella takes them all to Alfea, Yes all of them because that 'barrier that keeps non-Magic people out' is so stupid in a world where literally everyone is Magic.

As I was saying, she takes them to Faragonda's office and explains 'hey I was on Earth and found this girl with Magic. Don't know what to make of that so help???',

Faragonda is very curious. A Magixae on Earth? How could this have happened. Especially as she can feel that Bloom is quite powerful.

She asks if Bloom is adopted, and Bloom's like 'yeah but why does that matter?'. Stella catches on and guesses 'Oh. So maybe when you were a baby your parents were from somewhere else and took a vacation to Earth. They died somehow, and the local Authorities thought you were a normal Earth baby and put you in their system!".

It makes sense.... except why is this the first time Bloom has used Magic? She should've just instinctively done things like any Magixae, but she never exhibited powers until today.

Her parents give each other that look again, which makes everyone go 'okay you two clearly know something so spill!".

Mike confesses that while they told Bloom she was adopted, they didn't tell her the whole story and let her think they just got her from the system the normal way. Here, he confesses to how he found her in a burning building, completely unbothered by the flames. He always thought he was going crazy but now...

Faragonda is even more curious about this now. This wasn't an accident. Bloom was hidden on Earth. Put somewhere she would be found by decent people, with her powers Sealed until something Magic(Stella) ran across her. Who did this and why? Was it a good reason or something nefarious?

Faragonda makes a deal. Bloom can come to Alfea and learn to use her Magic and hopefully find her origins. All she has to do is keep her grades up, and update Faragonda on what she learns.

Episode 2:

Bloom moves into the dorm rooms and meets Tecna, Musa and Flora. God those names kill me.

After some dodging of questions, eventually Bloom talks about the 'yeah I'm from Earth and didn't know Magic existed until like. Yesterday.'. Which throws them all for a loop.

Tecna comments on trying to guess where Bloom's from through her attributes, but Bloom's Domino traits are still under a Glamour for now so she doesn't get anything conclusive.

The girls decide to give Bloom a tour of the surrounding area, some exposition to the Audience, and help her out. Like, one fun thing is that there are so many unfamiliar foods! And fashions too!

Bloom gets separated at some point and accidentally hears the Trix talking about Stella. She's a little sus because they sound like they're mean and planning something so she follows them.

They end up in a fight. Well. Bloom can't transform and the Trix are third years at Cloud Tower so they absolutely demolish her until the rest of the Winx show up and help out. They're still out-powered but they managed to get away because the Trix ain't gonna commit several murders downtown right now.

There's some discussion from the girls on how Bloom is.... very behind when it comes to Magic. She's baby your honor! But yeah literally she has no experience or knowledge of how a lot of things should work. So they start discussing plans to help her catch up so she isn't falling behind too much once classes start.

And that's the first two episodes basically!

#winx club reboot project

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calpalirwin · 4 years

Text

Lunchtime Disaster

A/N: A thing for mostly @philthepegacorn.

Trigger Warning: ? Bigoted bullshit that in no way reflects my own views. If you’d rather not read it, that’s what the warnings for. Don’t come bitching to me for writing it because A.) I warned you and B.) this fic largely isn’t for you 😊

Word Count: 1.5k

And away, and away we go!

You were so excited about getting ready for lunch to see your old childhood friend, that you didn’t hear the first knock on your door. Or the impatient three thumps that followed a few moments later. Or anything beyond the music blaring from your phone as you exited the bathroom and found Michael standing in your bedroom doorway, arms crossed over his chest. So, you did the natural thing: you screamed.

Michael’s hands went up to plug his ears while you continued to shriek, “Michael! What the fuck?! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

“You should really learn to lock your door.”

“You should really learn to not barge into people’s houses!”

“I knocked for one thing. For another, you knew I was coming over today. Didn’t you?”

“I-” you faltered, your eyes wide and mind racing with your plans. Were you and Michael supposed to hang out today? How had that slipped your mind?

Michael sighed, crossing the room to sit down on your bed. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Michael, I am so sorry!” you apologized, sitting down next to him. “I must have mixed up the times, I just… Faith called me saying she’s in town, and I guess I got too excited to see her again, I forgot about any other plans I had. I’m so sorry.”

“Faith? Your high school best friend, yeah?”

“Yeah! And…” you trailed off to check the time on your phone. “I really need to leave before I’m late meeting her. But I will call you when I’m done, and we can hang out after? It’s just lunch, it shouldn’t take too long,” you tried to make amends as you got up, grabbing your bag.

“Lunch? I like lunch. Any activities that involve eating really.”

You laughed, pausing in the doorway. “You wanna come with?”

Michael grinned as he got up and skipped over to you, interlinking his arm with yours. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Michael listened to you chatter away about how excited you were to see Faith again on the short drive over to the restaurant. About how she had been your best friend growing up and stupid college and time made the two of you grow distant. “Oh, I’m so excited!” you said for the millionth time as you pulled into a parking space. In addition to getting to see Faith in you didn’t know how long, you also had some news you wanted to share with her.

“I can tell,” Michael teased you.

You smacked his arm, giggling as you did so. “Fuck you. You didn’t have to come.”

“And do what with my day instead? Not eat?” he asked as you both got out of your car.

“Is that the only reason you came with me? To get food?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s the only reason. But definitely like 90 percent. The other 10 is because I’m your new best friend, and Faith is your old best friend. So I should probably meet her.”

“Who said you were my best friend?”

He staggered dramatically as he pulled open the door. “The guys warned me. They said ‘Mike, watch out for Y/N, she’s only your friend to get close to the dogs’ but I told them they were crazy. Turns out they were right all along. I’m wounded. Truly.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, scanning the restaurant, spotting Faith at a table. “Oh, there she is! Faith!” you waved.

The woman turned her head to the sound, spotting you and smiling brightly. “Y/N!” she called out, waving you over.

The two of you crashed into each other for a tight hug as you both let out a small squeal of glee at being reunited, Michael standing awkwardly just a step behind you. He cleared his throat when he thought the greeting had gone on long enough. Faith peeled herself off of you to look up at him. “Oh? And who are you?”

“Faith, this is Michael. Michael, this is Faith,” you introduced.

“Oh?” Faith asked again with a slight lilt that came from wanting to ask if you were just friends or more without directly asking.

“Just a friend,” Michael clarified, understanding what wasn’t being said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Faith smiled at him.

As lunch started, and you and Faith started up a conversation, you began to wonder like you often did how the two of you had drifted apart. What with endless ways of staying connected, it was crazy to you that you hadn’t stayed in better touch. But after she came back from excusing herself to the restroom, you quickly remembered why. “What’s up?” you questioned, noticing her face pinched in disgust.

“It was a fuckin’ gender neutral bathroom…”

“That’s probably really helpful for single parents,” Michael commented offhandedly.

Faith shot him a look. “Yeah, but like make a single use family restroom for them then. Don’t make the existing bathrooms gender neutral. That’s gross…”

Michael pulled a small face, but shook his head and went back to his food. “Okay…” he muttered under his breath.

You, however, didn’t show as much restraint. “What’s so gross about gender neutral restrooms? It’s a restroom.”

“Yeah, but…” Faith looked around before leaning across the table and talking in a hushed voice. “This is how it starts.”

“How what starts?”

“The bending over backwards to make everyone feel safe. It’s a bunch of shit. There’s already equality with there being a men’s restroom, and a women’s restroom.”

“Which is great. For those who identify that way.”

Faith snorted. “As if there’s any other way to identify.”

Your skin felt like it was on fire with the level of rage boiling inside you. You definitely weren’t going to tell her your news now. “Well… It’s like Mike said. It’s great for single parents to have access to gender neutral restrooms.”

“Oh, I bet. But you could just make a separate restroom for that. But for everyone else? Just pick a restroom.”

“I don’t think it’s as easy as that.”

“Oh sure it is! Either you’re a boy, or you’re a girl.”

“But there are people who identify as both…”

Faith snorted again. “Please. That’s almost as bad as bisexuals. It’s an excuse not to make a choice, really. Or a way to be cool. Because bottom line, end of the day, you’re one, or the other.”

“Interesting…”

“What? You think I’m wrong?”

“I think…” you said, keeping your voice tightly controlled, “that your viewpoint is a closed-minded one.”

“Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion. This one just happens to be mine.”

“That it is.”

“Anyway!” Faith decided before launching into a new story, but you couldn’t focus on anything beyond the gnawing feeling in your stomach. When the time came for the three of you to leave, you could almost weep with relief.

“I’m not sure I like your friend so much,” Michael murmured once you were safely tucked away in your car, and Faith in hers.

You let out a loud laugh. Then kept laughing until it turned into sobs, your body heaving as you hunched over your steering wheel. Michael’s hand reached over to gently rub up and down your back. “It’s alright,” he soothed, not quite sure of what else to do.

“No it’s not!” you blubbered, adjusting just enough to look at him, tear tracks down your face. “She hates me!”

“How does her being a bigot translate to her hating you, exactly?”

“She hates people like me, Mike!” you continued to wail, your tears now leaving wet spots on his shirt as you clung to him for dear life.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you to him. “Hey, slow down. What are you talking about? People like you? Are you…?” he let the question hang in the air.

“Bi? Yes,” you hiccuped.

“No, I knew that. I meant your identity.”

“Yes, I’m non-binary…” The confession fell from your lips, and while the word flooded you relief at finally saying it to someone else, Faith had tainted the experience even though she wasn’t here to witness it. “And now you hate me too, don’t you?”

“Aw, c’mon Y/N. I could never hate you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I love you too much to ever hate you.”

That shocked you enough to choke on the next cry. “You… what?”

“I-” Michael stumbled, his face bright red. “I meant like as friends I love you.”

“Oh…”

“I mean… I’m in love with you too. But I was kinda saving that confession for another time. When you’re less… distraught.”

You looked up at him with your eyes puffy and red from crying, the tears making your lashes stick together. “You’re in love with me?” you whispered.

He chuckled softly as his thumbs brushed away the tears still on your face. “Of course I’m in love with you. Why wouldn’t I be? And no, I don’t care if you’re in love with me back. I mean… I do. But it’s not gonna change anything for me if you don’t. Because you’re you. And there’s nothing you can do, or be, that would make me not love you.”

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#lunchtime disaster #michael clifford #michael clifford fic #michael clifford x reader #5sos #calpal irwin

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dissident-vedder · 4 years

Text

- fame ( 𝐄.𝐕. )

ADD YOURSELF TO MY TAGLIST!

you are a famous child actor that eddie has had a crush on ever since he could remember. now that you are a young woman in your twenties filming for the movie 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑠, maybe it was fate that brought you two together.

A/N - layout by @adoresobs! i don’t know, this may suck.

acting had been your passion. ever since you were five years old, you graced the screens of many tvs and movie theaters, going from playing an artist’s daughter on sesame street in 1973 to one of the older orphaned teenagers on the musical annie to a lifeguard on baywatch. your character on the show was taken off due to filming conflicts; they had written her so she got an opportunity to go to college with a full-ride scholarship. all throughout your nineteen-year acting career, young eddie had watched every movie and show you were in, his crush on the [y/r] woman that glorified every monitor you were on.

when he was nine years old, he began rewatching sesame street just because you were on it. his friends at school made fun of him, but they just didn’t understand. they didn’t understand his need to see you on his tv screen, to hear you speak. he began watching baywatch when it came out in 1989 just because he heard you were on it. and he was mesmerized by the way your body fit into that swimsuit, the way you looked so perfect when you ran despite them always putting it in slow motion, the way your hair bounced everytime your foot made contact with the sand. he was in love with every inch of you.

in 1991, when he heard that you were no longer going to be on baywatch, he was disheartened. his favorite actress saving people after they did something he loved to do was addicting to him. he longed to be in their spot. but then he heard that it was due to filming conflicts, and knew immediately that it was because you had other things coming out. when he and his band released their debut album, ten, he hoped it got big enough for them have their names be heard around the world. he hoped you listened to their music, hoped that you loved his voice and the lyrics he wrote, loved the music videos.

close to his birthday in 1991, he heard that you had an interview with david letterman, and he was going to watch it. he had to. he flipped to the channel it was on and waited for you to come onstage. when you were introduced by letterman, the audience cheered as you walked out onstage in a black loose minidress with spaghetti straps, your hair done in the latest style as you waved to the camera, smiling widely as you got nearer to letterman and gave him a hug. it was short, quick, and you say down immediately once the two of you pulled away. the interview went on as usual, david asking you if you had any upcoming projects, you answering them vaguely, and you recounting stories from the photos he showed, laughing at the funny bits, blushing when you got to an embarrassing detail that involved you, and nodding to show you understood the question you were being asked. “have you been eyeing anybody as of now?” letterman asked. “you’ve been single since you debuted in acting back in 1973, and now you are a twenty-three year old woman, and no sign of a lover!” the audience chuckles at him.

“um. . .” you laugh a little. “i haven’t been seeing anybody, i’m a busy person, so i don’t have much time even for myself, let alone somebody else. but god. . .” you rubbed your elbow, a telltale sign you were a bit nervous. “eddie vedder from the band pearl jam is really cute. i wouldn’t mind meeting him.”

“that’s who your eyeing?” letterman asks. you nod, and eddie feels his heart swell in his chest. you knew who he was. you knew his band, you listened to him, watched his interviews. “yeah,” you defend, “i like energetic guys with blue eyes and long brown hair. he’s cute.” someone in the audience whistles and cheers, causing you to laugh. “he is! i’d love to meet him someday.” eddie’s palms begin to sweat, his eyes widen and he begins breathing heavily. he was your type. you liked him.

“have you listened to their album?”

“i’m sorry?” You turn your attention back to letterman.

“have you listened to pearl jam’s album?”

“yes, i have!” you nod. “it’s amazing!”

“what’s your favorite song?” letterman organizes the pile of notes in his hand, the rhythmic sound of the pat, pat, pat sounding loudly through eddie’s tv speaker. you click your tongue, leaning back in your chair, hands holding on to the armrests.

“oh, god, that’s hard,” you thought for a moment. “it’s a tie between oceans, garden, and black.” your hands tap against the rests three times — left, right, left. “it’s hard to choose, he’s got such a dreamy voice!” you chuckle, trying to calm yourself down as the small weepings of your crush begin to come out of you. they’ve done some interviews for their album and a few live shows, which you’ve watched as much as you could in order to see the frontman, loving the way he was so energetic and full of happiness.

the rest of the interview went by in a blur for you and eddie, and he went to bed, your face imprinted on the backs of his eyelids as he fell asleep.

a few short months had passed before eddie and the rest of the band were asked to come on-set to act out their very few scenes, not knowing who else, other than matt dillon and chris cornell, were going to be there. you were off-camera, readjusting your jean jacket sleeves as matt and the others were getting ready for the restaurant scene. eddie was sitting across from matt, on the edge of the seat, sharpie in hand as he listened to what jeff was reading about the fictional band, citizen dick. you noticed him, hair tucked behind his right ear as he said one of his only lines, “a compliment for us, is a compliment for you.”

cliff, matt’s character, begins to object, when you were given the clue to get on-set and sit next to matt, as you were playing his childhood friend, ruby. eddie’s face showed momentary shock as you sat on matt’s left thigh — as was scripted — and took a sip of the coffee from his cup. “i’m guessing you all read the news article about you, huh?” you restated the line you read over and over in your home and in the dressing room, your arms crossing in front of you and you begin leaning on them, forearms pressed against the wood.

“yeah,” matt placed his hand on your hip, sensing that you had gotten a little wobbly and was making sure you didn’t fall. “this negative energy just makes me stronger.” you chortle into the cup, “sure.” the watch your character wore began beeping, alerting you to act as if you were rushing. “i have to go, see you all later!” a chorus of deep, male, “bye!” follows you as you walked over to the diner’s door and walk out. the director yelled out, “cut!” and all of you knocked out of character.

standing in line to grab a quick lunch, you eyed the crowd, in search of the frontman of the grunge band, quickly recognizing him by his bandmates, his blue eyes frantically looking around. once he spotted you looking at him, his cheeks flare up, heat rushing into them as he looked back to his friends. he wanted to come up to you and talk, but he was just too shy, too flustered to make any real conversation, let alone any small talk. if only he had the confidence one of his former classmates had, then he would make conversation, ask you out on a date and just overall be with you. noticing his hesitation, you planned to talk to him later when he was away from his bandmates just so he was at ease in some form and they weren’t around to make fun of him; you could at least do that much for him.

“eddie!” you called out as he walked away from your direction, not noticing you sitting on one of the couches in the lounge area, standing up from the comfortable cushion to make your way over to him. he paused midstep, recognizing your voice instantly, heartrate picking up at the thought of you talking to him, hearing your footsteps coming closer to him. clenching his hands in his jacket pockets, he takes a deep breath before facing you, blue eyes wide as he eyes your figure coming closer to him, a reassuring smile sketched on your lips. “are you alright? you look a little nervous,” you stated, eyebrows furrowing as you noticed the somewhat deep breaths the frontman took.

“yeah,” he blushes deeper. “y-yeah, i’m fine.” he clears his throat. “what are you doing here?”

“i work here,” you chuckle lowly, crossing your arms across your chest. “but are you okay, really? remember, i’m an actress. i can tell when someone is acting or not.”

so you saw through his lie, he noted. “um. . . i’m just nervous to be around you, that’s all.”

“why?”

“’cause he has a crush on you, that’s why!” mike’s voice calls out through the studio, causing eddie’s blush to become deeper and to spread across his ears, his head bowing to hide his face.

“really?”

a nod. you took a step forward, reaching forward to take the cook county native’s face in your hands, moving it so it faced you, a small smile on your lips, reassuring and warm. “you want to take this somewhere your bandmates wouldn’t interfere?”

another nod.

“okay, come on,” you took his hand in yours, leading him through the many corridors and crew members to what was your dressing room, a private place that was rare nowadays. “sit anywhere you’d like.” there was the makeup chairs you sat in every single day, multiple times a day, a sofa in the corner of the room, and a director’s chair with your last name stamped onto the back. he took the sofa, hearing you lock the door behind you, giving you and him more privacy. “i’m sorry your friend did that,” you said as you made your way to the makeup chair, one foot still on the floor while the other was resting on the crosshatched wood pieces between the legs of the chair. you did it to give him the space he possibly needed, but to eddie, it seemed like you were avoiding him. his heart broke even more.

“i should’ve expected that, if i’m being honest,” he chuckled, trying to get rid of the embarassment that settled deep in his bones, but you still saw the blush that was slowly creeping away.

“they still had no right to do that,” with this, you stand up, make your way across the room, and sit down next to him, taking his hand in yours. they were warm; rough at the fingertips at the many years of playing guitar. you could feel the small calluses that were healing, the small imprints of the guitar strings, telling you that he had been playing recently, locked away in some small room. you sighed, “today is your last day here on set. i didn’t get to spend enough time to know you, but i got to talk to your bandmates.”

he nods, “yeah, i guess time works in mysterious ways.”

“but it doesn’t have to. how about i take you out to dinner?”

shocked, his head snaps up, peering into your [y/e/c] eyes, round and hopeful. “really?” you nod, laughing when you see his smile widen. “yes, really.”

“i’d love to!”

TAGLIST:

@stateofloveandvedder @state-of-love-and-lust @honeysympathy @grossgold @sea-sxns @d-arknecessities

#eddie vedder #eddie vedder icons #ed vedder #eddie vedder smut #eddie vedder imagine #mike mccready #stone gossard #jeff ament #matt dillon #pearl jam imagine #pearl jam #pearl jam fan #pearl jam fanfiction #imagine eddie vedder

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