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eveningepiphany · 2 months ago

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only would happen to us | H.S oneshot

summary: you and harry just got stuck up on the tower bridge in london and it’s clear sometimes feelings are just too hard to ignore

warnings: smut! bandmate harry, fluff, heights, unplanned confession, making out, trying to hide it from everyone, REALLY CUTE CAR SCENE, tension, fingering, dirty talk, vague reference to choking, protected p in v sec, talk of unprotected sex, frat boy harry just being too hot.

a/n: this is a longer smutshot with a bit of plot, took me MONTHS of coming back and forth from this draft, but it’s so so cute I think you’re gonna love these two!

not heavily edited, may be some typos, just want to post it so bad and its 2am HAHA

———

A deep, almost shaky exhale passes through your lungs and out past your lips. Your own numb hands coming to your waist underneath the thick knitted sweater that hung baggy over your frame, meeting the tight harness fitted over your jeans. It was so cold outside that with each breath out, there was a pale cloud that got puffed out with it. The kind you’d see on a crisp morning while walking to school as a kid, and pretend you were exhaling a long drag of a cigarette.

It’s weird to see something such as the air from deep in your lungs in a way you never normally do. Something that is typically invisible, in the exact right conditions, can be suddenly tangible. The air you exhale always there, regardless of whether you can see it or not. But on a night like tonight it’s no longer able to be ignored.

How one individual might perceive it can be starkly different to another. What is perhaps an annoying reminder of the cold to one person— is a thrilling reminder of their state of aliveness to another.

You believe in the latter. Despite it highlighting how freezing cold you feel, it makes your heart sing. Right now, you’re alive, living in this very moment. Your breath is the very proof that you’re here, experiencing something few other people understand.

The mosaic of London city lights can be seen all around you, reflecting on the swell of water that consumes the far drop below your feet.

Gratitude floats through your mind at the tight harness wrapped around your middle, attaching to the safety line behind you. Otherwise just looking down would make you loose your balance, and that's not a fall you want to experience.

Filming music videos, you’ve learnt, is no joke. Considering you’re 200 feet in the sky above the river Thames on London’s most famous bridge.

“M’pretty sure I’ve just frozen my balls off.” Louis shivers out, earning a snort from Liam who has his hands shoved under his arms— in attempt to warm them up— beside him.

The camera crew have filmed the shots planned, and a few extras for behind the scenes footage, but everything that needed to be taken has now been ticked off, and the rest of the team are beginning to get ready for the band to come back down.

“And here i was just thinking how surreal it is to be up here,” You sigh out with sarcastic whimsy, “Louis sure knows how to put it into words…”

Niall pipes in, “Best view in the whole city and Louis is talking about his junk.”

Everyone up there let’s out a belly laugh at Niall’s quip. It’s an oddly touching moment. Just the six of you feeling like you’re on top of the world, laughing at a joke about Louis dick.

A very fitting theme for a bunch of still-teenagers, you think to yourself. Heartwarming in its own odd way that makes you smile. Eyes flitting from the skyline in front of you back to the band, attempting to take in every small detail that’s painting the wondrous view ahead of you.

You’re glad you went up first, it means you can see all their faces at once when you look to the left. The toothy grins, lit up eyes, and red, wind kissed cheeks.

Especially Harry, who beside you, looks absolutely elated to be up there. The glimmer in his eye's is possessing an emotion in your chest that's admittedly different tonight in comparison to any other.

Maybe it was just your surroundings, but you’re convinced this is the most beautiful he’s ever looked. His brown curls were tousled back from the breeze, lips flushed from the cold. The big khaki jacket cast over his broad shoulders is bundling him up, yet he was still shivering slightly.

Somehow now— even in London's coldest months—his skin still appears tan. Like if you reached out and touched it, it would thrum with the warmth of his blood. A heat you want to settle into with your entire body and soul.

Forcibly, you have to tear your gaze away from him. Reminding yourself that he is your bandmate, and one of your best friends. Not someone for you to be staring at as if there was something to be entertained.

Besides, you’ve spent months gaslighting yourself into the belief it’s simply because you work together so closely. Of course your brain is trying to tell you that there’s something there!

Hell, you’ve heard the horror stories from your girls back home. Problematic shit almost always happens when they fuck around with male colleagues at their jobs. You’ve even said to them, “Is he hot, or is it just because he’s a guy at your work?”

And while your relationship with Harry is arguably a lot more personal than just two colleagues, surely the theory still applies— you’re only so attracted to him because you both work together. That’s it…

Not at all the fact he is definitely the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen.

Shaking your head— as if the physical movement will stop the internal battle between the voices in your head, you focus your eyes back to the city. Trying to memorise this beautiful sight instead, and commit each red set of break lights, and every yellow glow of someone’s window to the mental picture you’ve taken.

You wish you could know how many people are looking at the Tower bridge right now. If they have any idea that there’s 6 idiots up the top of it. It casts a familiar, deep set of wonder over you.

Are they cooking dinner, watching tv, or staring out at the world just like you? who are they with, why are they with them?

Just the notion that all the people in that city are out there, living a life as shockingly intricate, and beautiful as your own makes your heart clench. It’s a feeling you want to hold forever.

Harry notices from next to you the look on your face. He sees this look often, he knows how deep of a thinker you are. When your lips part in the slightest bit, displaying that sense of earnest shock— and your big eyes search the scene in front of them as if it might disappear on the very next blink.

You do it at airports, in every new city you visit, and onstage too— you do it almost everywhere, come to think of it.

His own mouth slants into a warm smile, even Niall has glanced over and shared a quiet chuckle at your ability to just slip into your mind every time something unreal happens to the six of you.

“Alright— we’re gonna get you guys down one by one!” A crew member's call pulls you out of your trance. Harry is almost sad to see the captivation on your face get snapped away in an instant, making him divert his attention away from you so he doesn’t get caught staring.

Given that you were the first of them to go up, you’d be the last to be lowered down. Zayn however was the last to go up, and arguably the hardest of everyone to convince to get up here.

Despite looking like he could conquer anything, and any challenge, he is scared easily of new things. Like going on a plane for the first time, or being lifted to the top of tower bridge and held by only a harness.

“Thank god—“ he sighs a chuckle, running an anxious hand through his hair as he slowly starts to shuffle along the narrow edge you’re all standing on.

“People pay good money t'do stuff like this, is the real kicker.” Liam nudges him, earning a playful eye roll from Zayn at his dig.

“Don’ get me wrong, s’beautiful, but im out of here. Back to solid ground where I belong.” He points to the mechanism that will lower him back down to the platform underneath where the crew is, hand then coming back to cling to the X shaped beams behind you all.

From what you were all told, it’s actually for maintenance… a large steel cage of sorts. One that’s clunky on the way up and down, and can’t carry more than two bodies a time— at best.

You hear the sigh of relief Zayn lets out as he steps onto the solid metal— sliding the carabiner out of the cable holding you all to the bridge. Waving a hand down to the crew to lower the lift, shouting down to them, “good to go, thank you lads!”

Once it’s back up, Liam goes down next, smiling pridefully as he gets onto the platform. Everyone knows this is a night you’ll all never forget.

Next is Louis, who does a salute to you all, “see you all on the other side,” leaving with a wink as he unclips himself once he’s in the cage.

Niall cleared his throat to shout, “Goodnight London, I bloody love ya!”

However, this is where things start to go awry. Because the platform doesn’t come back up as you and Harry had both been anticipating… causing you to both share a confused look as the final two up on the bridge.

“What the fuck…?” The two of you hear a worker cuss in annoyance, clear to you a slight commotion is going on below. It’s a very faint murmur of concerned, and also annoyed voices, that you’re straining to hear over the wind.

But suddenly Niall can be heard, loud and clear. Whatever it is can’t be that serious, because Niall is giggling? You and Harry both are leaning your heads to try and hear properly. Eventually he sounds like he’s having a full laughing fit, followed by a loud bellow of his amused tone that echoes all the way up to the two of you, “…So they’re stuck up there?”

Your heads snap to one another, locking eyes as you realise why the platform hasn’t come back up yet. Your cold hand comes over your mouth in shock trying to cover up your dropped jaw, warm breath ghosting over the red tips of your fingers.

“Fuckin— there’s no way…” Harry frowns, shaking his head, “He has to be tryin’ t’pull one over on us.”

"Gave the team 10 bucks t'act like its broken..." He murmurs to himself, pursing his lips as his head shakes in disbelief.

A part of you wishes that was the case, but your gut is telling you that its not. That sensation confirmed when your phone starts ringing in your back pocket.

Carefully, you pull it out of your pocket and glance to the screen, gesturing it over to Harry. Georgie, a part of your management team was calling you. He was a short, wiry red-haired man in his late thirties, who had a really lovely husband that would bake the band cookies with their son, Thomas.

With a sigh, you answer the call— putting it on speaker and shuffling closer to Harry so he can hear what he says.

Shoulder to shoulder, he leans his head down to listen, curls brushing the top of your head.

“Hello?” You say as you hear shuffling behind the phone, biting your bottom lip with your teeth as you wait for Georgie to actually talk to you.

Finally you hear him clear his throat with a short apology, “Okay— Y/N, Harry?”

He asks this as if it weren't abundantly obvious you were the only two people up there for him to be speaking to. It makes Harry palm his forward with a slight roll of his green eyes, “Georgie, what’s goin’ on?”

Annoyed look good on him, you thought. The way his brows pinched together and his lips formed a harsh line, jaw clenching tightly.

“Don’t panic but—“

“Oh, fucks sake, we’re gonna die up here, aren’t we?” You immediately interrupted, free hand coming up to your mouth as you take the nail of your thumb between your teeth.

“No, No!” He repeats, and you know he’s down there tapping his foot on the ground like he always does in conversations.

He’s either genuinely confident, or doing a really good job at faking it as he states, “All is well— just a minor inconvenience, is all…”

Harry and you say nothing though, waiting for him to fill the silence with an explanation of what exactly is happening down there.

“The cage lift has… uh,” his tone falters as he tries to find a way to explain the situation, “It’s had a bit of an issue. It’s not going up— we’ve got people on the way to fix it, so don’t worry.”

“They think it’s a combination of the cold night and the fact it’s not been used in a few weeks… but I promise we’re doing everything we can to get you guys down.”

Niall and Louis can be heard laughing in the back, and you feel at ease knowing the bridge isn’t about to collapse under your feet. You’re safe, just stuck up there for a little longer than planned.

“Wait till the media gets a hold of this,” Harry shakes his head, but a tiny relieved smile cracks now he also knows what’s going on— and likely at the boys cackling through the line.

“For now, just hold tight. I know it’s cold but atleast there’s two of you up there—“ you both shoot each other a confused look, “And I’ll call you when the blokes with their big tools are here to fix the lift and send it up…”

“Right… so in the meantime we just stay up here. On the top of a 200ft ledge?” You clarify, stupefied at the situation you've landed yourself in.

“Uhm, yep… I’ll call you guys back when I know more.” He replied curtly, before bidding a quick goodbye and hanging up.

Given the height you’re situated at, you don’t waste any time tucking your phone safely back into the pocket of your jeans. Glancing over to Harry who is smiling out at the city, “At least you’ve got a bit more time to try and memorise all this, hey?”

“Or we’re living our last hours up here before we die of hypothermia…”

A chuckle comes from him, where he nudges your shoulder with his, “C’mon Y/N, I think they’d airlift us off the bridge before it came to that point.”

"Now that would be a news story about us," you slant your gaze to him, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his jacket, “And that's at least true, I'm just being dramatic considering the situation.”

His lips curve into a smile, shaking his head with amusement, “We’re gonna get the biggest I told you so from Zayn.”

The wind blows your hair in all directions as it randomly pushes a strong gust against you, making you reach up to try and tame it back down.

“Whose fucking idea was it to leave my hair down,” you complain, despite it actually being your own. Harrys own hand comes to try and brush it out of your squinted eyes, quietly humming, “y’shivering, love.”

The way he is so gently pushing the hair from your face, paired with the hushed pet name makes you look up to him, “And so are you…”

Internally, you are cursing. Cursing right now whatever greater force has planted your ass in this set of circumstances. Stuck up here, in arguably the most romantic spot you could be put into. Together. Right at the time the resolve you've tried so hard to maintain that Harry is 'just a friend', is starting to crash and burn.

“C’mere.” He says, the lilt in his accent is deep from the crisp air, casually wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling you towards him. Just the action alone makes your whole body heat up, and your praying your cheeks are already red enough to hide the blush that's creeping hot up your neck…

Your cheek meets his shoulder, nose bumping his collarbone as he tucks you in the space between his arm and his side, the hand around your waist splaying over the knit of your sweater. He smells so good, masculine… the scent woodsy, but with an undertone of warm spices. You try not to draw in an obvious inhale against the collar of his shirt.

You adored how close a connection two of you shared, but you also hated it. Hated it because there’s no hesitancy in the way his hand curls around your side and lets your body lean into his. The this is just what friends do mentality. Especially in a situation like this, where the action can simply be justified by that, and that alone. It kills you feeling him like this, warm and gentle against your cold body, and trying to pretend like it isn't currently making your insides squirm.

“If this ledge weren’t so bloody thin, I’d wrap you up with m’jacket.” He admits, looking down at you.

He cant help but unknowingly make it worse for you.

Lips forming a thin line, you try to bite back the smile that's forcing it's way onto your face. The image playing off in your mind no matter how hard you try to wipe it. Stood here, arms slid around his toned middle, meeting together at the small of his back. oh god...

Your own hands have unconsciously braced themselves on the outer edge of his jacket, gripping it for dear life as you try to calm your racing heart.

Eyes veering outwards as you look at the scene in front of you, “it’s okay... its cold, but at least its beautiful.”

His own eyes are trailing the profile of your face, heart thrumming underneath his chest as an almost welcome heat spreads through him. He’s made a mistake pulling you into him, he should’ve known he’d bitten off more than he could chew. That he’d want more, to feel more of you than he already is.

When suddenly nothing is more appealing than leaning down and nudging your nose with his, to let your head tilt for him, so he can press a warm kiss against your mouth.

“So beautiful,” he quietly parrots, but he’s not thinking about the view.

Forcing his eyes away from you, he clears his throat carefully. A tiny chuckle escaping in the silence that had enveloped the two of you as you stared out at the city.

“Only this would happen to us.” He suddenly says, and you feel him draw in a deep inhale. Confused in what context he means it, you turn your head to look up at him with a puzzled smile, “What do you mean?”

“I can almost bet a thousand bucks we are probably the first and only people t'ever have this happen t'them. Somehow I find it fitting.”

“Pretty special... if you think of it like that.” You mutter, nodding slowly.

“No one can even see us, and there's a whole city out there—“ he gestures out with his finger, “that doesn’t know we’re up here.”

A morbid laugh bubbles from your throat, "I know were not gonna die up here, but if we were, I can't really imagine what the last thing I would want to do would be." You feel his chest rumble with a chuckle, and he's shaking his head at you.

His voice is completely normal as he ponders the thought, "Well... we’re kind of limited with what we can do because of these." His hand finds the hem of his white t-shirt, peeling the material above his belly button. It's intention to gesture to the harness flush around his middle. Your eyes however... they veer to the tan skin of his stomach, and the dark tattooed ferns that adorn his hips and bracket the dusting of hair that trails up from the band of his Calvin Klein briefs. Only graced with the sight for a few fleeting seconds before it disappears behind the white fabric once again.

You almost about choke on nothing. Having to force your throat to swallow before a bout of laughter rattles out of you without you able to stop it, "The harnesses?'

Your obviously answered question makes his brows furrow, and mouth quirk into a confused sort of smile. It only makes you laugh more, hand coming up to scrape down your face as a desperate attempt to ground your brain.

But, fuck— what he just said, you're banking it was an entirely innocent comment, and that's exactly what is causing the confusion at your disheveled reaction. But he quite literally doesn't realise what insinuation you thought he was making. And that you are imagining all kinds of depraved scenes without ability to stop.

A parallel of you only a minute earlier, he begins, "What do you—"

The pang of realisation hits him.

"...oh."

His words die where they were in his voice box, stomach churning the second he clocks onto your almost guilty laugh. The sound drips with warmth as it enters his ears.

He rolls his eyes, but suddenly his cheeks feel hot as a blush spreads across them no matter how hard he tries to will it away, "That is not what I meant! Of course you would think that."

Your jaw drops in feigned offense, knocking your elbow against the side of his ribs, "What are you trying to say about me?"

You've taken a small step back from him, hand coming to your chest as a mimic of your fake shock. You know how dangerous this is getting, and quickly at that. Breaching into uncharted territory.

"That your head is stuck in the gutter." He mumbles, blinking fast as he avoids meeting eyes with you as if you'd be able to simply see the thoughts plagued in his head now.

"It is not, you're the one that worded it weird!" You tease, arms crossing. It is truly like the rest of the world has fallen away, and like you are the only two people alive right now.

"Is so," he argues passionately back, "So far in the gutter, in fact, tell pennywise i say hi."

You burst out with a laugh, trying to tuck your cold hands between your upper arm and ribcage, "Gross, Harry. I fucking hate clowns."

"And mind you, I said nothing! You came to this conclusion on your own."

"Okay Y/N, What conclusion is it tha’ I'm coming to, if y'would be so gracious to enlighten me." Checkmate.

He's smiling now, you are red, embarrassed or worked up, or perhaps a heated mixture of both.

The ball is back in your court, and you struggle to get your mouth to move properly, "I— You cant— Don't turn this back on me!"

Suddenly, he tumbles his own inner thoughts out of his lips before he can halt them, they sound with a rasp, "Darling, you're the one having deluded n’dirty thoughts 200ft up n'the sky."

God. Does this count as foreplay to the mile high club? And fucking hell, his voice sounds too deep right now. The way his thick accent rolls the words out. Its making your head hurt.

Your earlier resolve is officially gone. It's thrown itself off the ledge of this bridge and is falling the very far drop to the bottom. And you know what, pretty sure your self respect is going with it. Between the two of them, it will be loud enough to probably hear the impact they make when they hit the water at full force.

"Probably the first person to be doing that up here, too." The words are gritted out of you as your heart pounds in your chest.

You hear the inhale he takes, deep— as if he's trying to ground himself, hold back whatever is transpiring right here, right now.

"Do have even half the idea of how badly I want t'kiss you right now?"

Your head snaps from where it was, tearing your eyes from where they'd locked onto the city skyline in attempt to distract yourself from the trouble you're about to get into. A part of you deep down realises how bad this could get quickly, how absolutely irreversible this conversation is.

And that regardless if something or nothing comes of it, you are never going to function the same. Laying in bed staring at the celling you'll see his face, next time you're on stage you'll feel your stomach drop when he looks at you, when you're in a room with him you'll cease to be able to function.

His green eyes have literally pinned you where you stand, wind toying with your hair as your lips are parted in shock.

"You don't mean that..." you stare at him, shaking your head slowly. Trying to back out of this, attempting to give him a moment to throw the blanket back over what he was uncovering.

He frowns, almost offended, as if doubting him is the worst thing there is in the world. Taking a brief step forward to fully face you, "Y/N, I would have you backed up against these beams if I wasn't literally restrained from doing so."

"What— Harry, what about—" At this rate, you're mustering up any excuse to rationalise what is happening right now, "I'm pretty sure there's strict rules against this in our contracts— you know?"

"Fuck the contracts." He immediately replies, disregarding that as a point entirely. His hand coming up to brush the brown curls that have been blown in front of his intense gaze, "Could care less 'bout them, not like we haven't broken a million other things in them."

True. You can think of several things between you and the band. You're still employed, if that says anything.

"The things I would do to you if I knew no one would interrupt" He takes another step closer to you, close enough you can reach out and touch him, "then well see about me not meaning any of this."

His voice, the absoluteness in his tone makes your head spin. Resolve slipping, cracking, completely dissipating from where it was being grappled in your palms two seconds prior to this conversation starting.

You feel like you're floating outside of your own body as your hands find the bottom of his white shirt, lifting it until you can wrap your fingers around the black harness taut around his middle. Slowly, you pull it until he is forced to step closer to you.

His heart stutters at the action... it's arguably the hottest thing a girl has ever done to him— beating a tug of belt loops or a belt by a mile. This was personal.

"This is still a problem, as you said earlier." You drawl quietly. Tone void of any indicative of emotion, the only thing he gets any intel from being the blush that's deepened on your cheeks.

There's a few ticks of silence when his chin dips to follow the action that's led your cold hands underneath his shirt, the way he stares the only point of physical contact between the two of you. But god, when your stare flickers up to him and he meets it with his own— his stomach jolts. Eyes squeezing shut as his forehead drops down, hesitating before pressing ever so slightly against your own, "Y'are too much, love."

His hands sliding up to meet your jaw, your low voice echoes out a plea, "Well, it would be a waste if we didn't."

Referring to the kiss of course, it does feel like it would be a missed opportunity to surpass right now. As, in all fairness you'll never be able to have a first kiss with Harry in a more memorable place. So even if the idea is stupid, It could be justified by that alone...

You feel his chest rumble with a deep chuckle, his lips pulling into a smile, "We'd regret it... if we didn't."

"We’d always wonder.” You nod, tone bearing on certainty as the two of you knowingly come to the biggest reach of a justification you could.

His fingers coil around your jawline, and you can feel his warm breath gently panning across your skin. It makes your eyes flutter closed, feeling his thumb ghost over your bottom lip. Eliciting a shudder that runs straight up your spine, making him smile with pride.

Tipping your chin up, he brushes his mouth over the corner of your lips. Catching them just slightly, “I’d always be thinking about what your mouth would feel like against mine,”

“And then you’d just end up kissing me anyway,” you chuckle quietly, “just in a probably less cool place.”

“Mhmm,” the low hum of agreement rumbles from his throat as finally he bears his mouth down against your own. The press of warm lips against yours making your whole body sing.

Cold was no longer a feeling in you, there was only a hot tingling sensation that’s shot through your limbs as his mouth lingers in hesitation for a moment before moving to kiss lightly against the fullness of your bottom lip.

He nearly groans when you regain enough control over yourself to actively kiss him back, leaning into his touch.

The excitement spreads through you both like wildfire— you’re kissing each other on the top of a world famous bridge. Cars below, and mentionably the crew members also underneath, have no idea. No idea the fact your hands are skating up his white shirt further until you’re palming the hard slabs of muscle over his abdomen. Not even a clue that one of his hands has taking sanctuary on your hip bone, tugging your body into his.

Your mouths work against each other, tongues suddenly getting involved when he squeezes a hand along your ribs making your lips part. His warm tongue gliding into your mouth just enough for you to taste him slightly.

“Harry,” his name is whined against his mouth, nails clawing over the skin of his chest.

“Fuck—“ he bites out, tongue lulling against your bottom lip, greedily trying to taste more of you.

The action alone is enough to make your knees nearly give out, “I need—“

Your desperate words are cut off, the sound of your phone ringing bringing you both to an instant halt.

There’s a shared look, both taking in what you’ve done to one another. Left standing here with eyes half lidded and lips swollen— looking entirely, wholeheartedly, fucked.

A tortured sigh comes from you as he promptly leans back down and kisses your mouth. If it had anything to do with you, you'd let the call ring out just to have more of this. He is more sensible than that, clearly. As his hand comes to the back pocket of your jeans, sliding your buzzing phone out into his palm.

Wanting to whine when he pulls away, a part of you is battling all your logic and is begging to stay up here with him. For how long? You don’t care, forever as far as you’re concerned. Fighting the urge to just grab your phone and throw it off the ledge, purely so his hands can busy themselves on your skin again.

Harry clears his throat before tapping the accept button, hoping to god he can muster a normal sounding voice.

Georgie’s voice comes through first, less shuffling on his end of the phone this time— indicating some higher level of organisation in comparison to earlier, you assume.

“Harry, Y/N! Platforms on its way up you two, everything okay?”

“Yep, Georgie,” he nods, pursing his lips as his eyes find your to pin you with a stare, “things are good.”

A small laugh and he replies, “Well— I can’t really tell if you’re bein’ sarcastic but I’ll take it.”

“Anyway, once it’s up there we’ve been told strictly to keep it one at a time to come down just to be on the safe side so it doesn’t malfunction again.”

“Very reassuring…” Harry drawls with slight grimace, glancing over to where the metal cage is rising up.

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” he scolds playfully over the speakers, making Harry roll his eyes— but a playful smile falls on his lips.

“See you soon, thanks for saving us Georgie, I owe ya one.”

You finally lean towards the phone, “I second this, thank you.”

“Not a worry, didn’t want that much paperwork on a Friday night.” He teases, before ending the call with a quick ‘see you soon.’

Harry’s eyes return to you. Your lips part and draw in a hushed gasp as he leans back into your space. Hands slowly sliding around your middle. Making that same breath catch in the middle of your throat as he pulls you in, slowly, almost sensually as his eyes drop to your lips.

He lingers against you, a tease, you already know it.

Proving you right, he deposits your phone back safely into your back pocket, applying a few gentle taps to the swell of your ass as he leans back again.

"H." is all you can say, and at this point it comes from you as almost a whine. But it saying exactly what you want without having to even tell him.

A grin is plastered on his handsome face at the blush that’s already torn its way back through you. His bashful smirk mirroring that of two teenagers that have sneaked a kiss before going back to their friends or family.

Which is exactly what he does, struggling not to smile against your mouth as he presses warmly, firmly against you. Giving you exactly what you wanted.

Allowing you both as much time as reasonably possible to soak in the feeling before he starts to pull away, your body almost instinctually following his movement— leaning further, pecking against his mouth until he steadies your shoulders with his hands.

A soft chuckle breathily escaped him, heart nearly melting inside his chest as your wide, wild eyes stare up at him. A tiny, smile on your own mouth now, one he reaches up to thumb delicately over.

The touch is earnest and makes you nearly sink into yourself— or better yet, sink into him.

A light hum of pleasure, and then he pulls away, turning to start walking along the ledge.

Carefully, you both shuffle to where the platform is now fully stationary. As he takes a step onto it, feet planting solidly onto the metal, you see a sense of relief on his face. Hands working to unbuckle the carabiner, and his eyes flitting back to yours.

You’re staring at his hands… the way they seamlessly open the clasp. You’ve always been drawn to them, the firm tendons that run into his fingers. He catches you doing this, and whether or not he knows you’re ogling the stature of his hands, the smirk on his face is all consuming.

You roll your eyes bashfully at him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms all in an attempt to be normal about this. But struggling to come across to him as unaffected by this whole ordeal.

He is having none of it.

“M’not done with you, love. Not even close.”

And that’s the last thing he said before the platform started the trip back down. Suddenly you are alone up here once again. The moment of solitude very sobering in a situation as such.

Unbelievable to consider that if you told yourself two hours ago that by the end of the night, you had made out with Harry up here, you would’ve believed sooner that you were having hallucinations than actually thought it were true.

Your brain is going over it and over it, like a flashbulb memory, all you can think about is him, and what you’d just done.

“Fuck sakes.” You cursed, hand coming up over your eyes in attempt to quell the thoughts.

It was closest to a face palm. Your palm immediately clapped over your eyes. It’s to no use though, as even behind the darkness of shut and covered eyelids you could still see him, still feel him. The sensation of his fingers softly grazing over the skin of your ribcage, slipped tentatively underneath the knit of your sweater. The heat of his tongue lulling gently into your mouth.

M’not done with you, love. Not even close…

The sound of his voice, even if it’s simply the imagination of it in your own head, it reignited the heat in your stomach— if it ever truly went away— making it churn with heavy desire. Almost worse than earlier, now that you had to stand here and suffer through it stationary.

Dragging your heavy hand up to take place in your hair, you push the loose strands out of your face, and tug at its roots.

With now open eyes, the city stared back at you. Supplying you with a mocking silence. As if to imply, I saw what you just did. Watched you kiss someone you shouldn’t, and not even just once by any means. You went back for more even after it stopped. Got your hands and feelings involved.

You attempted to smooth your hair down, annoyed that your guilt has conjured into the city of London taking over your internal monologue. It was messy as you combed your fingers through it, but whether it was Harry or the wind, you’re hoping that— and the rest of your disheveled appearance— can be attributed to the cold and wind entirely.

Which suddenly, that cold felt so much harsher now Harry was no longer up there with you. Either it was his body heat pressed against you that heated you up, or kissing him had that much of an affect on you. Tragically, you’re ball parking that it’s a torturously attractive combination of them both.

When the platform thankfully returns up, you steal a final glance out at the Thames and London. Definitely a sight you’ll have burned into your mind for the rest of your life.

Stepping onto the platform, you felt equal parts relief and anxiety. God forbid people can sense something is different between you two… and this is not a situation you’ve ever been in before. Who knows your own capacity to hold a convincing lie about something like this.

The second you’re down all the way and the platform meets the ground, you’re greeted with a flurry of workers and people from the crew. All chorusing questions of ‘are you okay?’ to you as if you’d been up there for days without food or water.

Tamara, one of the women on the styling teams, rushed up to you with a thick black coat, shawling it over you and rubbing your shoulders, “here lovie, y'shaking like a leaf you poor thing... this’ll warm you up.”

Her lower lip pouted out in sympathy for you, her dark curls of hair casting over her eyes as she spoke “Gosh, you look so cold, the wind up there must’ve been so chilly… your cheeks are all red— and your hair's all over the place."

At least she was attributing it all to the cold wind, and wasn't immediately aware you'd just snogged with your bandmate up there. Either way the slight shake to your hands was the last of your worries, and your gaze has landed on Harry— but he was already looking at you.

His stare said it all really, the look of we have unfinished business all over his face. The tiny curve to the corner of his mouth that may go unnoticed to everyone else but you. Possibly because you had his tongue in your mouth less than half an hour ago, but still— you pick up on it all the same.

Georgie is fussing over him currently, and Harry takes a second to break the eye contact the two of you held, pausing to let out a breathy laugh as he turns to Georgie, “And surely after all this excitement we get to go back to the hotel room— no more crazy behind the scenes to film?”

Tamara’s ears perk and she overhears him, nodding as she rubs your shoulder, “we’ve already got a car down there to get you back to the hotel."

You thank god for the bridge being closed to traffic, entirely unable to imagine trying to trudge through hordes of tourists and potentially fans just to get back to a car.

Several people escort you and harry down the stairs to where a black car is parked opposite to the exit.

Tamara opens the door for you both, and you share a look before scooting into the backseats. Georgie gets into the front passenger seat, greeting the driver politely. Already clued in on the mishap on the bridge, they waste no time having a relieved laugh about you both getting down in one piece.

The heater is already cranking in the black car, heating your skin. Harry pats the middle seat with his hand, giving you a look. It lingered like an unspoken sentence in the glimmer of his green eyes, and the tiny upwards tilt to the corner of his mouth.

Next to me, it said.

Like it was less question, and more that he needed you next to him more than anything else in the world right now.

And as you’re coming to realise, this look on his face can pretty much get you to do anything. It’s only telling how far that alone could take you. So you silently settle into the middle seat, pulling the seatbelt across yourself. Buckling it in, feeling Harry’s thigh gently press against your own.

There are so many unspoken words floating in the air between you two. Things you want to say, things you want to do, all suspended above you. Making you wonder if Georgie— who is rugged up in the front seat and is apparently accompanying you both on the ride back to the hotel— can sense it too.

However, he seems oblivious despite your expectation for him to be the opposite. He pays no additional mind to you both, other her than the slight dart of his eyes to your body taking up the middle seat instead of the window seat behind him.

Your teeth are working over the skin on the corner of your lower lip as you’re driving back towards central London. Delmar, the driver whose name you’ve overheard in passing as Georgie and him acquainted, is weaving back into the thick of the cities traffic as you’re off the closed bridge.

Harry’s eyes are cast outside the window, but his hands are deciding to play a dangerous game. Simply at the fact he cannot help himself. He’s aware that Georgie is distracted, and is taking the opportunity to innocently flex his knuckles against your knee. Breaching the gap from where his hand rests atop his own. The warm city lights are cutting a deep shadow across his jaw, outlining the smirk on his side profile.

It conveys his need to touch you, that your body filling up the space next to him is not enough. Although you have to hold back an exasperated sigh at his actions, and how he is only making this worse for you, you end up sliding your hand down your thigh, slowly and carefully.

It's likely that you're just as bad as him, because you brush your hand against his— Nothing but your pinky stretched out, grazing his. Both of your eyes shifting upwards to lock with each other, then back to Georgie. A silent acknowledgment at how careful the two of you have to be right now.

Slowly, you link your pinky around his own, catching his ring finger too as he curls them against you. The delicate touch is somehow a head-spinning mix of sincere and beautiful, but also so insanely attractive.

He's smiling, a wide grin that his free hand attempts to cover as his elbow rests on the car door. Covering the dimples you wanted to take in, allowing you only the sight of slightly crinkled eyes from how hard he's smiling underneath the palm of his hand. To put it simply, right now he looks like an art piece. His chocolate curls over his forehead, and the smile on his face you know that you're the cause of. Hands brushing together, hidden between the both of you— all in the back of a car, trying to hide it like true teenagers.

It's sudden when you realise you are in the exact same state, struggling to disguise the curve of your mouth from not only Harry, but the other two people in the vehicle. Trying to press your lips together as he plays with your fingers. Hands soft and warm against yours, your eyes casting down to where they're joint together between the two of your knees. Just barely. Small enough a move to ensure you're the only two that know about it, but also enough to make your stomach churn with need.

I want his mouth on mine again, your brain chimes.

Before your brain can send you spiraling back into the memory of you two kissing, the sound of your name from the front seat cuts through it.

"Y/N, You were up there, tell Delmar what it was like!"

Snapping your gaze back to Georgie, he serves a unintentional reality check for you.

"Oh, uhm—" Shaking your head as if to clear your thoughts, you endeavor to form a coherent sentence. Harry's hand gently, and as discretely as possible, slides out of yours, taking its place back on his own thigh. If you were to look, you'd see that the smile on his face has somehow gotten wider, as if the aspect of being nearly caught out in the backseat of the car is the most amusing thing in the world.

Amplified by him listening to you stumble over your words, that too is endearingly hilarious. A true gentlemen.

However, you're now unable to find the words for what happened up there that don't relate to having someone kissing you over and over again.

"Well, you can imagine it was beautiful," A tiny, pained chuckle comes out of you, "London is... massive— from up there, y'know?"

God. You sound like such an idiot, you already know that.

The driver laughs and nods at your attempt to tell the story, voice warm and sincere as he replies, "Some things can be hard to put into words, I understand."

You take a moment to realign your thoughts, come up with anything better than 'London is... massive'.

Finally smiling back at him, you draw in a breath, trying to articulate the feeling prior to getting distracted up there with your bandmates mouth, "Well, the city lights are kind of like a warm sky of stars... Hard to believe that there's so many people in London when you look at it from that high up."

He hums at your much better description of the sight, and of course— just as anyone would, he curiously asks a few more questions.

Such as 'how long were you up there? were you scared?' All of which Georgie unfortunately does not swoop in on to steer the conversation again, as he too wants to hear the experience from you.

Delmar does eventually cast his attention to Harry's broad frame in the rear view mirror, quizzing him on his own outlook on the event, making you thankful to have a second to breath and not be skirting around the fact you made out with the person sitting currently right next to you.

He handles the questions with tragic ease— or at the very least it comes off that way— but you can hear how he is still trying not to laugh. And the way he's knocking your thigh with his every chance he gets when the eyes in the front of the car aren't on either of you.

The streets and the traffic within them get busier as the hotel the band is staying at draws close. Delmar weaving into the back lot so you can both get inside discreetly, not forgetting to thank you for the pleasurable chat. His kind words you both smile, and Harry isn't shy to also gives his gracious appreciation, "Drive was a dream, thank you mate, 'ave a lovely rest of your night."

His hand comes to open the car door, allowing him to slide out— But once he's standing, he gestured out his palm for you to take as your feet come to the asphalt below. The smirk on his face as you take it is enough to make you roll your eyes, trying to downplay the effect it has on you.

He leans discretely down to your ear, speaking only loud enough for you both to hear, "I know I will."

A wink to you, and it feels like your knees are going to give out simply where you stand. He gives it a squeeze before breaking off to shut the car door, and walk over to where Georgie is standing.

“Tamara told me they’ve got hot chocolates prepared in the foyer for you two.” Georgie informs you both, typing quickly back to Tamara on his phone before leading you both in through the back entrance of the hotel. Harry’s hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket as you walk beside him, likely to stop himself from caving and trying to grab your hand or arm in his as you walk behind Georgie.

The air is contrastingly cold compared to the warm car, which brings another bout of relief when you to get back into the heated hotel lobby.

Surely enough, a short, older lady comes out from a kitchen area upon you all entering. Promptly walking up to Georgie with a tray with 3 large cups filled with the sweet beverage. He gasps in excitement as she approaches, remarking sweetly that "Tam even got me one, what a sweetheart!"

"Bet thats the real reason y'came back with us." Harry teases, then nods in greeting to the lady holding the tray of drinks, "Thanks for these, love."

Even she looks up at him with a big grin. Reminding you of the way the elderly ladies talked about the boys when you were filming earlier for this music video. Harry— and all the others— just have that charm about them. Clearly it lacks a generational age limit. And you know what, you cant even blame her. She gets it.

"Not a worry darling's, buzz us if you all need anything else,” You give her a smile as she reaches to pat your arm, “it should warm everyone up.”

“Thank you so much.” You affirm as you clasp the hot cup from the tray.

Heading towards the posh elevator, Georgie presses the up button and is talking to Harry about tomorrow, how he has a fitting for a suit. Something about an awards show. You're struggling to pay attention, as you know all three of you are headed to the same floor. Not only does Georgie have to think you're going back to your respective rooms for the night, but if any of the other boys waited up for you two, there is no way you're going to get to be alone tonight.

Harry is busy entertaining Georgie's itinerary as you step into the elevator, his hand reaching for the '32' button on the control panel. The descent up each floor feels like it drags on forever, anticipation for how this is going to play out genuinely killing you.

When the large silver doors open to the 32nd floor, all of you walk out in tandem onto the tiled hallway. Your rooms are all pooled together at the start of the hall, meaning there’s hardly any further to walk once you’re out of the elevator.

Your own keycard for your room is in your phone case, so you reach to pop the case off and slide it out as you come to a stop outside the large white doors of your room.

"Well," You clear your throat, eyes darting between Harry and Georgie, "Glad we all survived that ordeal, I’ll see you all bright and early tomorrow."

A small buzz sounds from the sensor as you hold the card over it, a small green light flashing.

“Mhm, tomorrow.” Harry affirms casually, casting a sly nod your way from where he stands on the opposite side of the hallway. Standing outside his own room, fishing out a keycard from deep in the pocket of his jeans.

Georgie, who is happily and unknowingly pushing open his own door, chuckles at your comment, "Definitely glad, see you two in the morning."

With a small smile, he makes sure to squeeze in a a final reminder to Harry, "H, half ten tomorrow, don't forget."

The two of you have both slid inside your respective hotel rooms as Harry laughs quietly, replying to him, "Wouldn't dare."

Waiting, your free hand clutches the door. Admiring his face in the warm glow of the hall lights, and the way he keeps his eyes trained on the room Georgie was disappearing into. As you watch, you’re taking a sip of your hot chocolate when his gaze finally darts to yours as the click of a door sounds up the hall.

Now you’re just looking at each other, tension in the air thick and warm. He’s smiling as he mimics your behaviour, taking a leisurely drink from his own cup without breaking eye contact.

Given the few seconds of silence, you are certain that no one is going to disturb you, and a sense of relief washes over you. Finally. Other than the pounding of your heart in your chest, everything around you is quiet. You peak your head around the smooth rim of the doorframe, all the doors were shut, and the rooms were hushed.

By some grace of god, not only has one of your managers gone to bed without any hunch as to what’s going on, but the rest of your bandmates too. And it really is just the two of you.

Harry’s gaze is burning into with an equal grin when you look back to him. Revelling in the privilege he feels watching you step quietly back into the hall, turning your body to very gingerly tug your door closed again.

You cannot be closing the gap between you both fast enough, you’re practically running across the hall, shoes lightly clacking against the tiles to reach him before this perfect opportunity could be interrupted by a single soul. Pursing your lips as you step across the threshold of his door and the hallway, forcing back a laugh that’s bubbling in your chest at the situation.

Not wasting a second more, you invade his space. Leaning into the curve of his body where his arm is braced against the door he’s holding open.

“Hi…” Your hand reaches up to meet the back of his neck, where it cranes to look down to meet your eyes.

“Hey, baby,” he rasps, eyes fluttering as he takes you in. The black of his pupils have blown out over the mosaic of emerald green surrounding them, dilated in what can only be described as sheer anticipation. Conveying the want and need he feels without having to speak more than a word. That alone is something you can’t handle for half a moment longer, because suddenly your hand sinks into the soft curls at his nape, and you’re pulling to tug his head further down. Moulding your lips together in a single, rushed movement.

There’s no words that can do justice the feeling that explodes in your chest. Little buds of heat bloom and flower in there faster than you can keep up with, kicking your lungs into a pant as his tongue can’t help but get involved immediately— lulling over the fullness of your bottom lip. The firm press of a single kiss had promptly melted into a plethora, one after the other as your lips show no mercy against one another.

You have to physically focus to keep the cup from slipping from your grip. A nearly impossible feat when his tongue is invading the gap between your top and bottom lip, gliding into your mouth with a hum from his throat at the taste of you. Warm and chocolatey, a flavour he wants to sink in.

Harry too tastes of the warm drink, a sweet contrast to earlier— when your tongue tingled from the spearmint on his breath. Your body leans into his. More, more, more, your brain is practically begging. Naturally it causes him to stumble back as your chest is arching to press against his own. The softness of your body makes him want to groan, and his hand almost instinctually leaves its hold on the doorframe to meet the dip of your waist. Supporting your stature as he pulls you to follow each step back he takes.

With a loud slam, the door falls shut, eliciting a slight flinch and laugh from you both. Like you didn’t expect it. As if natural consequences don’t exist right now, and the world around you is falling away with every press of lips against skin. There is no actions causing reactions, except the ones happening solely between the two of your bodies.

“Oh god—“ You sputter a strained laugh, hand stroking along his jawline as your eyes dart to the now shut door. It’s thrown the room into darkness, except for the faint glow London’s city lights have provide from his window on the opposite side of the room. “So much for being discrete… and quiet.”

This lighting bought the sharp shadows back onto his face, but this time you can finally touch them— revel in them.

“You’ll be more worried about quiet later, darling.” His voice comes low against your cheek, hand on your hip. Guiding you backward until the small of your back meets the cool countertop of the kitchenette.

His words bring that familiar, pleasure-filled roll into your stomach. Drawing out a tiny whine from your throat as he smirks against your flushed skin. Placing a peck against your cheekbone, he lingers for a few seconds. Letting the warmth of his lips burn a mark into the very nerves they touch, before pulling back to take a swig of the hot chocolate between his hands. Using his free one to now guide your own cup towards your mouth.

As your big eyes look up to him, he breaks his lips from the lid to speak, “drink s’more, it’ll be a cold chocolate by the time we come back to it.”

Chuckling around the edge of the cup, you press your mouth to it and let the sweet and warm liquid trail down your throat. He watches intently, the way you swallow it down— knuckles coming to run from the base of your throat upwards, tracing along the hook of your jaw.

He has to stifle a groan at the sight of you, the way your throat bobs with your red cheeks and messy hair. It translates instead through the clench of his jaw, and fluttering shut of his green eyes. The expression makes your stomach flip, not only warm from the hot chocolate, but from the arousal that’s sparking heat in every part of your body it can tangibly reach.

“Fuck— H,” you say, turning to push the takeaway cup on the counter behind you, “You’re so fucking beautiful, look at you.”

Finally, that groan escapes him simply at your words. Furthering into something more as now both of your hands run up his white shirt. No longer stopped by the barrier of a body harness, you skate along the taut, firm muscles of his abdomen in one long stroke.

“Fuckin’ Hell…” he curses, eyes darting down to meet where your hands have slid up his shirt— again, for the second time tonight.

It’s a much more heated parallel of earlier, one he takes no hesitancy to act on. Leaning into your touch, he turns briefly to place his cup adjacent to yours on the bench top. Feeling your nails scratch along his abs, he is quick to move so he’s facing you again, planting his lips back on your own and reigniting the fiery kiss.

With two free hands now, he runs them up your hips, firmly pulling you against him as he walks you away from the kitchenette. Your feet stumble along with his long strides, brain struggling to pay attention to anything other than the drag of his hot kiss against you.

It’s clear all resolve is lost to you both, and when the backs of your knees hit the edge of the cool comforter… “Im gonna wreck you, love… if you’ll let me.” The depraved words are whispered against your lips.

His body presses you down, you have to sit now, thighs meeting the bed and your lips disconnecting. The sudden distance causes you to whine, “Harry—“

“You’re going to have to tell m’too stop.” He rasps, the heat of his palms travelling up under your sweater. However this time, they traverse higher than just your ribcage— ghosting over the sides of your breasts.

The sight is obscene on its own, despite all articles of clothing still being on. The tension around you both is crowding the air to the point your lungs are heaving to bring any oxygen left into them.

Finally, your brain manages to string a sentence together, “I won’t. I wouldn’t. I don’t think you realise what you’ve done to me.”

The urgency held in your words starkly highlights how fast your need for him has snowballed. You’ve gone from wanting just his lips, to wanting every inch of him. Needing his body pressed against yours, pressed into you. You grasp his hips and tug him to stand between your parted legs.

Once you’d done that, if that hadn’t thrown your last handful of caution to the wind, your fingers now reach for the hem of your sweater.

This was a greenlight. It was a go ahead to cross a line that you both knew shouldn’t be crossed. As it was no longer just words. Not just strung up whispers that imply a want, it was an action that affirmed it. One that drags a growl from him once your hands have shucked the knit from your body, leaving you in just bra and jeans, “pretty little thing y’are.”

“We’re making a mistake, probably,” you pant out, reaching your arms up to his shoulders, grabbing the collar of his jacket to slowly slide it off him. The thick fabric hitting the floor with a gentle thump, “but I don’t fucking care.”

“Mistake is already long done baby, we made that hours ago when we first did this.” He finally cranes down again, pressing a wet kiss against you, making you almost moan.

“Fuck it,” I rasp, “I need you Harry, I wanna do this. Don’t care how stupid we are for it.”

Breaking away from the kiss, his eyes bore down at you as his jaw forms a hard line, “You want this? Need y’to say it…”

His sentence trails off, allowing you a moment to verbalise a yes. A seek for certain consent turns you on even more.

“If it’s not already obvious,” your response comes out in a breathy, almost tortured chuckle, “I do, H.”

It’s like his expression flips. As if his gaze darkens, and now all he wants is to make you feel everything he possibly can, “Right, darling— gonna have to be quiet tonight, though.”

Tonight. God— in your head this implied a want for this to go on for more than just one night. That it’s not just a one and done situation. Your body reels at the imagery it creates in your head.

The picture that shows more than tonight, the two of you sneaking around all over again. Fucking him in his dressing room before soundchecks, in dark hotel rooms, climbing into his bunk on the bus…

And right now, somehow that’s all you want for your future.

“I can…” you nod, “I’ll be quiet if it means I get you, please.”

Your own voice sounds foreign to your ears, the plea so desperate that it comes from you in a tone you’ve simply never heard before. In response, his hands make quick work of your bra as they skate up the skin of your back to meet the clasp— shedding it off your body with a gentle groan.

He lowers you down with his arms, letting your back meet the mattress as he closely follows with his mouth on your neck.

“Already being so good for me,” he rumbles, voice so deep it has you nearly seeing stars, “will y’let me turn the lamp on baby? Want to see you, properly.”

Your heart jumps in your chest, eyes fluttering shut as you nod. He wants to revel in your body, see every reaction it has to offer— and that’s enough to have goosebumps rattle up your skin.

However, your nod alone doesn’t satisfy him.

His hands run up your waist, skirting up your ribcage as his lips instead move down. Mouthing over your clavicle, “Words, love…” making you whine out when his sucks lightly over the skin.

“Need to hear you say it.”

“Yes… yes turn the lamp on…” The words almost shudder out your chest, evoking a smirk from him against your collarbone.

“Good girl.”

His words are foreplay enough on their own with the way his sweet accent twists them out. They replay over and over again as some part of your brain registers the sound of his feet walking across the floor, and the lamp flicking on. Casting a warm glow across the room.

“Want to see you too...”

The sentence comes out of you airy, as if you’re floating. When turns around to come back to you, he audibly groans just at the sight of you. The way your skin is peppered with goosebumps and nipples perked from the cool air of the hotel room.

His steps take him quickly back to you, your eyes big as they stare up at him, hair fanned across the duvet. He reaches a hand to run lightly over your hip, “God, you are fucking divine.”

Shyly, you smile. A part feeling so out of place as you watch him looking at you. Knowing Harry is perceiving you right now— your body from the chest up entirely naked— seeing you in a way he never has before. In attempt to even the playing field slightly, you reach for the white tee that’s fitted across his chest, tugging the hem of it so he gets the hint.

As he peels it off his torso and you want to cry. The abs on his chest are in front of you, along with every inch of tan skin that’s littered in the dark ink. Secretly, his tattoos have always been something you’ve wanted to trace your tongue over. An urge you’ve been denying since he got the first one, and it’s only grown since… the idea of re-carving the lines of the butterfly that sits in the middle of his abdomen with the heat of your mouth… or perhaps lower over the laurels that bloom from the band of his jeans.

“You look so good… so beautiful, H.” Is all you manage to groan out. Your legs part instinctively as you spew out compliments, letting him step between your thighs again. Filling the space like the piece of a puzzle, he slots perfectly between them.

Wasting no time before taking his lips to your breast, kissing over you and making your back arch. Hands coming back to the dark curls on his head, lacing into them as his mouth works delicately over you.

The whimpers that are echoed around the room are enough to drive him insane. Tiny whines and pleas of his name coming from you as your hands tangle further into his hair— pulling at the soft roots. Your body is reacting to his touch like it’s lighting a fire inside of you.

“Harry— fuck—“ when he looks up to you, he sees your flushed cheeks and screwed shut eyes. That paired with the slight upturn of your brows as your hips suddenly— and desperately— grind into him is enough to make him nearly loose it. He’s unable to take it anymore, and seeing you like this is utterly corrupting him.

His kisses work a trail back up your neck and jaw, meeting your eager lips before muttering with hot breath against you, “Y’are unbelievable, love. Gonna completely ruin myself in you…”

His hands are nearly shaking as he presses his hips flush to your core.

“Ohh—“ your voice croons out as you feel him, the hardness snug between your legs. It’s incomparable to anything you’ve ever felt. Your whole body practically gives out just from that simple action alone.

He is truly going to ruin you and himself in the process.

And happily, you’ll let him.

His fingers ghost down your stomach, over your naval to pop the button of your jeans open with a single hand. Watching his plump bottom lip come between his teeth as your hips instinctively rise upwards to help him slide the tight fabric down your frame.

“That’s m’girl,” he murmurs, patting your exposed hipbone as he slips yours jeans off you. The way his pupils have blown out as he peels them below your core, eyes meeting the fabric of your panties.

“What’s all this?” Once your pants are stripped from your legs, his fingers take place gently to press between your parted thighs. Delicately drifting over the wetness that’s seeped through your already thin pair of underwear.

“T-the panties, or the state that they’re in?” You manage to croak out in amusement, tone tight as he touches over the most sensitive parts of you.

“Because arguably, both are for you.”

“For me…” He hums, “Skimpy pair of panties, and the fact y’ve wet them all the way through… both of those things are all f’me, love?”

His finger plucks underneath the seam of your underwear, yanking the lacy material forwards before letting it snap back into place. Only making you moan aloud, “Fuck—“

“It’s been—“ his thumb runs against you, firmer this time, breaking your voice, “it’s been a long night—“

To your admission he only smirks, unbuttoning his own jeans— again, all with the talent of a single hand. As his other is busy with the ministrations it’s working over your clothed core.

“Mm, wouldn’t want to drag it out any longer, hey baby?” His playful voice making you practically clench… “or should I make you come a couple of time first…”

Suddenly, he’s shucked his own jeans off and kicked them over into the haphazardly made pile of other clothes on the floor. And the simple but absolutely mouth watering pair of CK briefs is all he’s left in. His hard cock filling up the space in them, making it abundantly clear he’s working with a lot tonight.

He leans back into your ear, feeling your legs wrap around the backs of his thighs like you’re trying to mould the two of you together, “Could work over your pretty pussy with m’fingers, get it nice and wet.”

The filth from his mouth only makes you moan, tightening your legs and finally feeling the length of his cock back against your cunt.

There’s few layers between you now, and his hands meet your hips to hold you in place flush with himself, “fuck—“

“Could play with you using my mouth for a bit—“ he bites out, already struggling to regulate his breath, “reckon you’d loose it the second I got m’lips around your clit.”

Jesus Christ.

“H— please—“ your words are desperate, voice growing louder.

“Or does my pretty girl just want my cock? Is it too much for you to wait before y’have me— y’just need to be filled up now?”

You rub firmly up against him, a long drag that has him muffling a groan into your neck— teeth grazing the skin of your ear as he revels in the feeling entirely.

“Want it now,” you conclude, “can’t stop thinking about you just stretching me out.”

“God— you are such a fucking tease, y’don’t even realise it,” he growls, kicking back into action as his rough hands travel down your side to hook into your panties.

“Laying here, begging for my cock like a good girl.” The rasp in your voice only makes you more turned on… and the pet name— that in itself is enough to keep you here all night. All things he’s about to witness first hand as he steps back so he can work your underwear off your body.

“Lift y’hips up, dove, let me see your pretty cunt.”

He moans at the sight.

Your panties aren’t even off you and he’s moaning like he’s a starved man.

“Fuck, baby.” There’s a desperate sound to him as he sees your swollen cunt, green eyes raking over the wetness that’s pooled between your legs. Unblinking, scared as if you might disappear.

His own moans kick you off too, making you whine out your own plea, “God— Harry, please…”

He manages to get the panties off you, and now he’s able to spread your legs and really look at you. Hands coming between your knees to part them.

You’re a mess.

A complete and utter mess.

“Hiding this gorgeous cunt from me for so long, never knew you’d get this wet f’me.” He groans, fingers coming to your cunt and spreading you open, “puffy clit looks like it’s been wanting attention for hours, darling.”

The sensation ripples through you body, washing up your spine with a chill that he can almost see, “I— shit…” your voice shudders, “feels like it.”

“Kills me thinking you were this ready for me when we were in the car, or god— on that fucking bridge.”

He swirls his thumb over your clit, your arousal glistening on the pad of his finger. You’re begging before you can stop yourself, backs of your legs tightening around his as you groan, “Harry, please, don’t tease me.”

This pulls a chuckle from his chest, rumbling as he flicking over you gently, “M’not teasing y’baby, just enjoying you.”

His finger slowly dips inside of you, “S’this better, this what my girl wanted?”

“Fuckk…” you roll against his hand, feeling him work a second one into you at your reaction. Relishing the feeling of you around his fingers, the wetness he can’t believe he’s managed to be the cause of.

Never in a million years did he imagine the two of you would be in a situation like this, yet here you are. Breath panting out of lungs as he smirks down at you, watching your brows knit together with every slow curl of his long fingers.

Suddenly, he verbalises this, “Never thought I’d get you under me like this, that I’d get to see you all worked up for me.”

“I—“ you bite your lip as his thumb comes back to gently stroke your clit while his other fingers ease in and out of you. The pace excruciatingly slow, considering you just wanted him to flip you over and fuck you senseless— but is causing a deep winding in the pit of your stomach.

It’s another moment where your mouth and brain struggle to match up, but finally, you push out a reply, “I’ve always been denying that I’ve wanted this… but fuck.”

“Mm?” He hums, cocking a brow and urging you to keep talking with a quicker thrust of his fingers, “Care to tell me more, love, about these thoughts of yours?”

“Always pretended I didn’t, but fuck I’ve wanted to have you—“ he hooks his fingers, “B-but— fuck, Harry— I’ve wanted your cock for so long…”

His mouth is suddenly on yours, a rough and messy exchange— tongues running over lips, teeth grazing already kiss swollen mouths. It’s a kiss that you’re both groaning into, yours perpetuated as his fingers slide out from between your core.

An unwelcome emptiness to your body, especially given the pleasure it was slowly building up for you.

However, this is no longer an issue when he leans to your ear, “I have condoms, baby— just say the words.”

“Yes, yes, please—“ you croak out, hands running up his bare back before he doesn’t waste any time breaking away from you.

Trying to make it quick as you lie there awaiting his return, a hand running between your own legs in the meantime.

He comes back with a small square packet, stopping dead in his tracks as he sees the sight of you. When he thinks there’s no way his cock could get harder, he’s proved wrong when he catches glimpse of your own fingers pushed into you.

“So desperate,” he almost growls as he walks over, pushing boxers down his thighs without a second thought. A moan escaping you at the sight of his thick cock springing up, lust driving the both of you now— its deep hooks sunk into you in their entirety.

“They don’t feel the same though, do they?” He asks, eyes dark as his hand runs down the middle of his stomach to come wrap around his length and slowly stroke over it, “don’t hear you moaning like you were five minutes ago.”

“Fucking hell,” your hips feel like they’re on fire, another roll against your own hand but he’s right, “no, nothing is as good…”

“I have a feeling we’re going to fuck ourselves up here,” he pauses, taking the wrapper of the condom between his teeth and tearing it. Hand rolling it over his length— his teeth sucking his bottom lip between them at the sensitivity. His nose sighs out a breath after a moment, glancing back over to you, continuing on from what he was saying a moment prior, “tha’ no matter how hard we try we’re always gonna want this.”

His hands gesture between the two of you, and despite how many problems that idea alone could spell you, you nod feverishly, “I’ll have it… I’ll take it that way if it means I get to have you.”

With that, he’s stepping forward and taking the space between your thighs, “guess the damage is already done, anyway.”

His breath is laboured as he pulls your ass forward, cock pressed against your core.

“You tell me baby,” Harry sighs out, leaning his body over yours again from where he stands at the edge of the bed, lips grazing your cheek in a soft but heated movement, “tell me just how you want it.”

There’s an element of tenderness and care in the way the hushed words fan warmly across your face. Intimate with the way the two of you are pressed together… almost as close as you can get. One step away from being two halves that form some kind of messy, beautiful whole.

Your hands embrace the moment, sliding between your chests to cradle his jaw. A tiny laugh coming from you as his gaze flickers down to your breasts, and how they’ve pushed together from your arms. As a silent acknowledgment of your giggling at him, he rolls his eyes in faux annoyance.

And oh god, he is beautiful.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Plain and simple, the words come from your hushed voice, “Want you just like this, H.”

His lips part, looking at you.

“Want you close, just want you to fuck me.”

And how could he ever say no to that.

A hand wrapping around his cock, he carefully lines himself up with you, leaning back to kiss you as he slowly, so very slowly, pushes into you.

There’s a gasp that immediately comes from you, and a moan that rumbles from him. Shared between the fraction of space between your lips, opened both in shock and pleasure.

“Fucking hell—“ his voice is so deep as he leans his forehead to yours, hair messily cascading over it, “so tight ‘round me.”

“Harry— f— shit…” you can’t even complete a sentence, even with the litany of profanities that are echoing in the chambers of your head.

“That feel good?” He asks, hand coming to your waist as he slides further into you, finally reaching the thick middle of his cock.

“Mmm…” only able to nod, your hips are rolling on their own accord now. The slight pinch of him stretching you out, paired with that pleasurable fullness that neither of your fingers could come close to.

His body straightens up at the buck of your cunt against him, “D—fuck—dontfuckingmove—“

It feels like all the blood in his body has deviated in two directions. Firstly, into his head, making him feel so lightheaded the room is nearly slanted. And secondly, straight to his cock, pulsing inside of you so hard you can feel it.

You moan at the sensation, and at the rough clamp of his fingers around your hips— attempting to still them, “baby, don’t… just— just need a moment, or I’m gonna come before I can even ruin you…”

“Already ruined,” you pant, eyes coming to his as sweat starts to dampen your skin— a light sheen over your glowy complexion.

“So fucking filthy.” He mutters, looking down between the two of you.

His cock half pushed inside you he’s certain is the best view he’s ever seen. Better than any view from the top of a bridge, a mountain, or any other landmark in the world.

Your swollen, glistening cunt wrapped around him, already leaking arousal more arousal now he’s got his cock in you. Reacting as you’ve never been touched before.

Slowly, he manages to get himself fully inside of you, and is starting to make small thrusts— hips gently hitting against yours as he draws in and out of you. A low, intense groan escaping him with each movement. And it’s good to know it feels just as insane for him as it does for you, because right now— even with just his length rutting at such a gradual pace inside of you, you’re already melting.

Every inch of your body is tingling as his name comes from your lips in the form of a desperate moan, “Harry….”

A harder thrust, and your hands are wringing the white comforter as you legs wrap tighter around his middle.

He wants to imprint the shape of your body on this duvet, and frame the scrunches from your curled fists like art pieces. Just to know that what he did to you, and how it made you feel was entirely real. Not something he dreamed up. That the words leaving your lips are no figment of depraved imagination.

“I'm so fucking wet… I’m sorry— I'm making a mess.” You whine, body shaking. You feel out of control, every reaction coming from your body that of a primal instinct you can't wrap any element of authority over.

The sweet cadence of your voice as you shift beneath him... that in itself makes him feel like if he blinks, he’s suddenly going to wake up. Alone in a hotel room, in need of a cold, cold shower. Making his head spin, and it effortlessly swindles his sense of reality from him.

His hands splay on your hips, the hint of possessive nature in him you felt as they coil and tighten around the skin there. Anchoring where you lay as he cements himself in reality.

“No baby—“ he scolds at your apology, “y'dont 'ave to apologise. Being such a good girl f’me… feel you clenching me so hard already.”

An unbridled moan tears from your chest as he takes it upon himself to pull almost all the way out of your cunt, and then swiftly drive back into you.

“Fuckkk!” It’s a high pitched moan, the exact thing he wants to hear more of, even though the two of you should be trying a lot harder to be quiet. It still manages drags out a groan of him in response.

“Have to— shittt… have to be quiet darling…” he reminds, head tossing back as he suddenly picks up the pace between your legs.

“Feels so good, H… your cock is filling me up feels so fucking good—“

“N’ya takin’ it so bloody well,” he slaps lightly at your ass, suddenly grabbing it to cant your hips upward, “never been fucked this good, have you?”

In truth, you haven't. Never has it felt like every nerve-ending on your body is tingling, and like any more from him and you would simply break.

“N-no, Harry.” your head physically shakes, arms using any strength you have left to come behind you, and prop yourself up onto your elbows. Desperately, you want to see him inside of you, and what he's done to you.

He smirks at this, watching your eyes meet where he's stretching you out between your legs. The way your eyes flutter shut and roll back just at the sight. A visual accompanying the feeling is almost too much for you to process.

"Tha's it baby, take a look... see what I'm doing, how my cock is making y'feel so good."

A clench around his cock, and he grunts with another deeper thrust into you. Its sudden and abundantly clear that he’s starting to loose himself in you, unable to stop his mouth from spewing every dirty thing his brain produces, “C'mon, love. Beg me for it.”

“Tell me you don’t want me to stop.”

Your core is fluttering around him now, succinctly timed to each press of his cock, “Harry—“

The words however don’t come, only whines and moans as his cock pushes deeper into you with each stroke.

“Don’t make me get rough.” His tone is a sweet contradiction to his words, and he only juxtaposes them further with the feather-like touch of his fingers against your breast, "Or is that what my girl wants, wants me to get rough? Use you a little. Let me be selfish with this pussy and take it how I want.”

Curling his fingers around your breast, he squeezes gently, making you bite down on your lip to stifle the cry that was threatening to come out.

“Rough, be rough… can take it.” You pant out, arms giving out again as your back hits the mattress. Unable to support your weight, but still managing to reach up and tug his face to yours. He folds his body over yours to comply with the pull of your hands. Chest to chest, his cock is starting to slam harder into you, deeper— hitting places you were unaware of as his pelvis stimulates your clit from this new angle.

Turning to mush, the moans are bubbling out faster than you’re able to hold them back, your mouth resting parted against his cheekbone. His ears hearing each and every sound with complete pleasure.

“Shh, such a loud girl.” He says, but its hardly a scold or instruction to quieten down. It speaks more like an invitation, to let him hear more of you, no matter the consequences it could bring after the fact.

Infact, his own voice is beginning to sound strained, like another rough clench of your cunt and he's would to come straight into the condom wrapped around his cock.

You want him to come desperately. Your body perhaps wants it even more— doing things to tip him closer and closer to the edge you're both teetering on without even consciously noticing it.

Legs tightening around his waist, arms holding him as close as physically possible, nails clawing at the firm muscles of his back. As if there were a way to fuse the two of your frames together.

“God… it’s so fucking good… I feel so good.”

“Pretty girl, about to come all over my cock." He grinds out, feeling you pulse around his length, "About to wake the whole floor up, aren't you?"

The sound of him fucking you is enough— each slide of himself into your slick arousal that’s soaked both your cunt and his cock is louder than the next. But god, oh god, its hand that slowly wraps around the column of your neck that completely undoes you.

He doesn't press down, the touch is actually quite tender. But even the semblance of control it represents in your mind rips a moan from you as your core tightens, a hot budding sensation in the pit of your stomach. His slender fingers gliding up slowly— a stark contrast to the pace he's taking between your legs— thumb stroking the hook of your jaw with just a tad more pressure behind it.

Your impending orgasm feels like a pot that is just about to boil over the edge. It's making your whole body shake, "Sh— Shit! Harryyy, im gonna—"

"Mhm, baby, it's okay, i know," He whispers hoarsly into your ear, "Dont worry, y'can come, let it all go around my cock."

"Ohh— Oh god!" Your syllables draw out as you moan, eyes screwing shut as suddenly all the pressure between your hips explodes, "come with me."

The plea spills from your lips as your body clenches around him, making him moan with you. In an instant response to your words, you feel his thrusts turn messy and harsh inside you. Your name a loud drawn out whine that echoes around the room as he gives into your ask without a single question.

The two of your moan completely in sync as a shared blanket of ecstasy and euphoria casts over you both. The moment maybe lasted a minute, or really no more than two. But it felt endless, as if time and reality ceased to exist when you both finished with each other. His cock released into the condom, but his thighs stuttered against yours either way, as if he were filling your cunt with his orgasm. A groan rattling from him when your legs wrapped tighter around him, pulling him flush to you. You know he knows that's exactly what you were wishing were happening right now. Playing along with it to satiate the sick craving for it within you as you still pulsated around his length.

Expletive's are the only things coming from your mouths other than whines. Your orgasms gradually subsiding from the heated high that was all consuming to a low hum that lingers in your bones. Still, you're holding his hips to yours as if to keep him inside of you.

Logistically, a condom was the appropriate thing to do for first and very unplanned time together, but of course right now you wish otherwise.

"Fuckkk, dirty girl," He growls out finally, pressing a hot kiss to your smiling mouth, "Acting like im filling you up?"

Hand sliding up to your cup your jaw fully now, he cranes his thumb out and is pulling on your lip, waiting for your brain to slowly start working enough to generate a sensical reply.

"Is that wrong?"

"Fuck, no. it's so hot." His voice is low as he kisses you again, letting your mouths work against each other again in a sensual kiss.

"Can't help it, H," You try to justify anyways, "cock feels so good inside me, was wishing I got your come..."

“Didn’t know you wanted it angel,” he whispers in a pant.

“Mhm, neither,” you hum against his mouth, “till I just realised how good it made me feel imagining your finishing inside of me.”

"Gonna make me hard again..." He sighs out with a shake of his head, "'Nother night baby, can fill you up anywhere y'like."

Anywhere. God.

Images of his cock filling your mouth makes you shudder with need. A thing you are keenly interested in trying… and since clearly he’s insinuating this could happen again…

"Want this again?" You ask, a slightly serious tone taking over your voice as he slowly peels off you, feeling your legs loosen from around him as his cock softens.

A smile blossoms on his lips at the way your big eyes gaze up to him, "Again, and again."

"If it wasn't obvious already, love."

A blush was conjuring on your cheeks out of nowhere, "I— Okay... good. Because I do too."

"Who knows—" He begins, pausing with a slight wince as he slides out of you. There’s a lull in what he was saying for a moment, when he leans down to kiss your cheek, walking over to a bin to dispose of the used condom that was just wrapped over him.

He also goes and grabs the two take away cups from the counter, wasting no more time before coming back to you. Finally resuming his prior conversation, “Drink this and then maybe we can squeeze another round in before we have t'sneak you back to your room."

"Think we woke anyone?" You giggle, sitting up to take the cup from his hand thats gestured out to you.

"Wouldn't rule it out." He snorts, "we can worry about what lie we'll tell later, if anyone asks."

"But," he takes a small sip from his cup, still staring at you, "either way, right now, i dont care."

"I want you." His voice is certain, "So, rest of tha' is irrelevant to me."

"C'mere," Hand wrapping around his bicep, pulling him onto the bed with you. The mattress sinks with his weight on top of it, his firm frame that was only just on top of you moments before... You lean forward and peck his mouth with yours. One he doesn't want to end as soon as it does, his mouth chasing yours as you pull back far too soon for his liking. Clearly, you're in the same boat as him, unable to find it in yourself to care about anything other than him. That in this very moment as you have him, real and in front of you, he is yours. "Fuck, then. Lets just do it."

"Think we already did, love." He chuckles, letting the innuendo come out with a rasp. Unbelievable, he is.

You can only shake your head, suppressing a grin as you bring the once-hot hot chocolate to your lips. The liquid is lukewarm at best, but somehow nothing has ever tasted better— except maybe his mouth.

———

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed, this has been in the works in my drafts for SO long. pls let me know what you think! ily, thank you for your support and hopefully will post some more writing soon lovelies🤍

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shoehedd · 11 months ago

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I used a very old animation from '16/'17 possibly as a placeholder but thanks to it I was able to get this to work pretty quickly. Maybe I should use shitty placeholders more often?

Anyway it's not prince of persia levels of gameplay but having the auto mantle has opened up my level design options a little without messing with her jump height ;]

#gamemaker #plaformer #platform shooter #survival horror #horror game #shooter #game development #gamedev #devlog #shoehead #junk sec

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sexilene · 8 months ago

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jj x reader cockwarming!! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ #03 (sorry bout the spelling mistakes!)

jj often takes you with him when he goes fishing, he basically does all the work and you sit there flipping through a magazine or sunbathing. and just like all the other times, watching your boyfriend’s veins form his arms stand out as he lifts buckets of fish and what not, looking all manly. and sure he’d smell a little salty and his hands a little fishy but you couldn't care less, all you could focus on was the throb of your clit and the need to have your tired boyfriend’s dick inside you asap.

at some point he dramatically stretches and leans back on into the car seat, a joint held tightly to his pursed lips. you both are seated in the front of a dingy little truck you found for him at some junk yard car place, you had surprised him with it for his birth last year and though it needed some work jj was still entirely greatful.

jj inhales, his eyes closed while you’re seated sinked on top of him, your fingers tangle in messy blonde hair, his cock pulsating warming inside you.

“jay? please put it out…im so tired and i really wanna cum!” you whine, rocking your hips slightly. you pout and lay your cheek down onto his shoulder as he continues to hold you down with his hand on your hip. you too had been like this for about 30 minutes now, just cock warming him and you had tried to fuck yourself on his cock, but nothing seemed to work to ease the need for him to just slam you down on his dick.

“baby, how could you be tired, you literally did nothing the whole time hmm?” he coos, before inhaling again and then blowing out smoke from his nose.

“keep tellin ya, if you wanna cum, you jus’ gotta wait till papa j s’ready…” he speaks with a soft growl, squeezing the flesh of your hip. you whine again to get your point across, rocking your hips again against his. the wet sounds of your cunt and the feeling of your clenching pussy finally made him give in and help you out,

“gimme a sec baby cakes, i’m almost done” slurs, finishing off the joint and stubbing it out in the ashtray in the cup holder. he grabs your face to make you look at him, the strong grip on your jaw probably is going to leave a mark from his rings. he blows the last of the smoke out of his nose again and then pulls your face in to give you the sloppiest kiss.

“really wanna get fucked, really bad…” you pine, all these smells overwhelming your senses. the earthy saltiness of your boyfriend, the smell of his joint and the smell of your wetness…

“imma take care of you now, kay?” he smiles before his other hand finds your other hip, lifting you up effortlessly and then slamming into you from underneath. “iv’e gotchyou babe, just take it.” the force of that singular thrust has your eyes closing shut and your nails to dig into the skin of his neck.

your boyfriends cock hitting deep into your soaking cunt at a bruising pace, up and down up and down, against your sweet spot over and over again.

“like a pretty little sex doll you know that?- cept your warm…” he jokes,

your head lolls into the little spot under his jaw, drooling on his shoulder, your eyes clenched shut as you whine,

“don’t be funny right now! im- oh! you’re being mean…” the tight coil in your belly starts to snap as he continues to slam you down on his dick sloppily, your clit rubbing against his skin giving you little shockwaves of pleasure.

“m’sorry- fuck! love you, you know that….” he grunts, fucking up into you as you start to feel the way his cock starts to throb sending you over the edge. you squeal into jj’s mouth in an attempt to kiss him while you creamed all over his cock. he just continues to groan and fuck up into you through your orgasm, and eventually his.

after coming down from both your highs, you continue to sit there impaled on his dick, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. you try and sit up and move back to the passenger seat but jj hold you down on him and shushes you.

“no no angel, you wanted to cum that bad? were gonna keep goin till you can’t take it,”

#sexilene's kinktober #SL kinktober 24 #lenepilar'sobx!⋆₊ ⊹#boynextdoor!jj #sexilene.com #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank thoughts #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj outer banks #jj x you #jj thoughts #jj obx #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj mayback x reader #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank x you

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dippindaz · 4 months ago

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Would you be willing to do a Billy x Reader (Eddie’s younger sister/sibling). I just feel that Billy and Eddie would hate each other so the dynamics could be fun to play with. Is Y/n just like Eddie or quiet and a bookworm? I feel liked they’d have the same curly hair, maybe same eye colour. I listened to something similar on YT recently, thought it was cool.

thanks xx

Of course!! And I definitely think they have the same hair, no way you escape those curls.

I uh—I also got a little carried away with brainstorming an idea for this request so this is gonna be a multi-part thing now!! lol, I hope you all enjoy. (Also If you'd like this request to be executed differently as I know I went a little off the rails with it, I'd be more than happy to do it just send in another ask if that's the case :) )

Masterlist here

Mentions of drug baggies and Billy being Billy, (I think) are the only necessary warnings.

The trailer door creaked as it swung open, and Billy stepped inside without hesitation, letting it fall shut behind him. The place was dimly lit, cluttered with old magazines, half-empty beer cans, and random junk Eddie never bothered to clean up. Typical. Billy barely glanced at the mess, his attention locked on the guy slouched on the couch, counting out a handful of baggies like it was just another boring Tuesday.

Eddie barely spared him a glance. “You’re early.”

Billy shrugged, smirking as he leaned against the doorframe. “And you’re slow.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, tossing one of the baggies onto the table. “Gimme a sec. Gotta grab something from the van.” He pushed himself up with a grunt, shoving past Billy and out the door without another word.

Billy let out a scoff, but as his eyes flicked around the room, they landed on someone else—someone unexpected.

Sitting cross-legged in the recliner across the room, nose buried in a dog-eared paperback, was you. Eddie’s little sister. He’d seen you around school before, always on the outskirts, never in the thick of things. You had that same wild hair as Eddie, though without the dramatics. Quieter. More reserved. Talking was Eddie’s thing.

Billy tilted his head, a slow grin creeping onto his face.

“Well, shit,” he drawled. “Didn’t peg Munson for the type to keep secrets.”

You didn’t look up. “Didn’t peg you for the type to knock.”

Billy chuckled, stepping further inside. “I don’t. Doors open for me.” His voice was thick with arrogance, the kind that made most girls stumble over themselves. You just turned a page.

“Huh.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, studying you. “Didn’t know Munson had a sister. Guess you don’t get out much.” He did know, he just wanted to jab at you, you were sure.

This time, you did glance up, just briefly. “Or maybe you just don’t pay attention.”

Billy grinned. “Oh, I’m paying attention now.”

He let that hang in the air, watching for a reaction. Most girls at school either giggled around him or avoided him like the plague. You just seemed… uninterested.

Before he could push further, the door swung open again, and Eddie stomped back inside.

“Alright, let’s wrap this up,” Eddie muttered, tossing another baggie onto the pile. Then his eyes landed on Billy—no, on the space between Billy and you.

His expression darkened instantly. “The hell are you doin’ talking to my sister, Hargrove?”

Billy didn’t take his eyes off you. “Didn’t realize she needed permission to talk.”

Eddie grabbed the baggies, shoving them into Billy’s hand. “Yeah, well, now you know. So don’t.”

Billy smirked, slow and taunting, before finally tearing his gaze away from you. He lifted the baggies in a lazy salute. “Pleasure doin’ business, Munson.” Then, with one last glance at you, he strolled out, whistling under his breath.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Eddie spun around. “Don’t talk to him.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know who he is, Eddie.”

“Then you should know better.”

You sighed, waving him off. It annoyed you, but you were used to Eddie’s protective side. “It’s not like I’m gonna fall for him or something. He’s just a guy.”

Eddie scoffed. “Yeah. A guy who’s bad news.”

You just shook your head. It didn’t matter. A crush was harmless, right?

Harmless.

Right.

———————————————————————————

Later the next day you find yourself being dragged to the arcade with the kids. Arcades were okay, a bit too loud and overwhelming for you, but you’d go if it made the buttheads smile. The bells above the arcade door jingle as Dustin and the others rush inside, already chattering about high scores and token strategies. You’re about to follow when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Didn’t take you for the arcade type, Munson.”

You freeze for half a second before turning, already bracing yourself.

Billy Hargrove is leaning against the side of his Camaro, cigarette dangling from his lips, one arm draped lazily over the car door. The setting sun glints off his silver chain, making the smirk on his face look even more infuriating.

You school your expression. “Not often.”

Billy exhales a slow stream of smoke, eyes dragging over you with interest. “Then what’s the occasion?”

You cross your arms. “Why do you care?”

His smirk deepens. “Just makin’ conversation, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, where the kids disappeared inside. A distraction would be nice right about now. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Maybe a mirror to admire yourself in?”

Billy chuckles, pushing off the car. “That was the plan,” he admits, taking another drag. “Then I saw you.”

You roll your eyes. “Lucky me.”

Billy grins like you just handed him a prize. “Yeah, lucky you.”

You shift on your feet, debating if this conversation is even worth the effort. But Billy takes another step forward, the amusement in his eyes sharpening like he’s enjoying every second of this.

“Y’know,” he muses, tipping his head, “didn’t expect Eddie’s little sister to be so—” He drags his gaze over you, slow and deliberate. “—cute.”

Your breath hitches before you can stop it, and heat creeps up your neck.

Billy notices. Of course he does.

“Not much of a talker, huh?” he teases. “That’s alright. I like a challenge.”

You force out a scoff, hoping it covers the way your pulse kicks up. “You’re wasting your time.”

Billy flicks the ash from his cigarette, watching you like he’s already decided that’s not true. “Nah. I don’t think so.” He takes another lazy step closer, lowering his voice just slightly. “I bet if I asked real nice, you’d keep me company.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

His smirk curves into something slower, more deliberate. “Because you’re curious.”

Your stomach flips.

And he’s right.

Before you can decide whether to snap back or just ignore him, the arcade door swings open, and Lucas steps outside. He barely glances at Billy, his focus locking onto you instead.

“You coming?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

You exhale, grateful for the interruption. “Yeah.”

Billy’s smirk lingers as you turn away. “See you around, Munson.”

You don’t look back.

But even as you step inside, you can still feel his eyes on you.

———————————————————————————

You didn’t see Billy for the rest of the weekend, and though you saw him today you thankfully hadn’t talked to him. Only issue? He’s in your class. You’ve been keeping your head down, eyes glued to your notebook, willing yourself to focus. The teacher is droning on about something—probably the Cold War, or maybe Nixon—but it’s hard to tell over the sound of Billy Hargrove’s constant, low-voiced disruptions from the seat beside you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. “You don’t have to pretend to be so into this. Bet you’d have way more fun if you—”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. “Shut up, Hargrove.”

He lets out a short, amused chuckle, unfazed. “Feisty,” he muses. “I like it.”

You grip your pencil tighter, refusing to take the bait. He’d started this the second he strolled into class late and took the empty seat next to you. Just your luck. You weren’t sure if he even belonged in this class or if he just did whatever he wanted and no one stopped him.

Billy shifts again, slouching in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. “You know, ignorin' me doesn’t make me go away.”

“No, but it makes me feel better.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “That so?”

You don’t answer. Across the room, your teacher gives an exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples. “Mr. Hargrove, unless you’re going to contribute something insightful, I suggest you keep quiet.”

Billy raises his hands in mock innocence. “Just tryin’ to have a conversation, sir.”

The class snickers, but you just exhale slowly, willing the clock to move faster.

By the time the bell rings, you’re out of your seat in an instant, shoving your books into your bag as fast as humanly possible. But you should’ve known better.

Billy’s already leaning against the lockers when you reach yours, arms crossed, that same smug smirk playing at his lips.

“You always this fun, or just in class?”

You glance at him briefly, but you don’t stop twisting your locker dial. “What do you want?”

“What, can’t a guy say hi?”

You roll your eyes, pulling the door open. “Hi. Bye.”

Billy doesn’t move. If anything, he seems more amused. “Eddie put you up to this?” he asks, tilting his head. “The whole avoiding-me-like-the-plague thing?”

You huff, shoving your books inside. “No one has to tell me to avoid you.”

“Ah.” Billy nods, like that confirms something. “Right. So you just listen to every word your big brother says?”

“I have my own brain, thanks.”

“Yeah?” He leans in a little, and for the first time, you hesitate. He notices. “So what’s stoppin' you?”

You blink. “Stopping me from what?”

“From having a real conversation with me.”

You scoff, slamming your locker shut. “Maybe I just don’t want to.”

Billy studies you, eyes flicking over your face, your stiff posture, the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. He smirks—but it’s different this time. Less cocky. More… calculating.

And that’s what makes your stomach twist.

Billy Hargrove was a lot of things—reckless, arrogant, charming when it suited him—but he wasn’t aimless. If he was talking to you, pushing your buttons, keeping you on edge, it was because he wanted something. And Billy Hargrove always got what he wanted.

But why you?

That was the part that didn’t make sense. You weren’t stupid. You knew what people like him were like, knew the way he treated girls at school—like conquests, like challenges, like something to pass the time. You’d spent years keeping your head down, staying out of the drama, and ever since he moved to Hawkins, out of his orbit, and yet now, for some reason, he had decided to step into yours.

And the worst part?

A tiny, traitorous part of you didn’t entirely hate it.

Billy watches you carefully, waiting for something—a crack, a slip, a reaction he can use. When you don’t give him one, he exhales, clicking his tongue. “Shame.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What is?”

“That you’re so damn stubborn.” He takes a step back, like he’s already won something. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. Like I said, I enjoy a challenge.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past him without another word.

Billy chuckles under his breath as he watches you walk away.

You shake off the lingering feeling of Billy’s eyes on you as you weave through the crowded hallway. The last thing you need is to be thinking about him, but the interaction still clings to you, like cigarette smoke that won’t wash out.

It doesn’t help that your next class—English—feels like a blur. You’re barely paying attention as you slip into your usual seat near the middle of the room.

“Jesus, you look like you saw a ghost.”

You blink, snapping out of it. Robin Buckley is staring at you from the next desk over, eyebrows raised in amusement. She twirls a pen between her fingers, already halfway slouched in her chair. “Or, like, had an existential crisis in the hallway.”

You snort, rubbing a hand over your face. “More like the second one.”

Robin perks up. “Ooh, do tell.”

You hesitate, but before you can come up with a reason not to, the words are already slipping out. “It’s Billy.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Hargrove?”

“No, Billy Joel,” you deadpan.

Robin shoots you a look. “Okay, first of all, don’t sass me when I’m trying to provide moral support. Second of all, what did he do now?”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the desk. “Nothing… technically. He just keeps—" You pause, struggling to put it into words. "—I don’t know. Talking to me.”

Robin’s eyes narrow. “Talking how?”

You shift uncomfortably. “Like… I don’t know, like he’s testing me or something. Seeing how much he can get away with.”

Robin hums, tapping her pen against her notebook. “Lemme guess. The classic Hargrove moves? Smirking, standing too close, saying weirdly suggestive things but in that way where if you call him out, he’d act like you’re the crazy one?”

You blink. “Yeah. That’s… disturbingly accurate.”

Robin leans back, shrugging. “I’ve seen him do it before. He’s got a type.”

Your stomach twists slightly at that. “And what’s his type?”

She gives you a knowing look. “Girls he thinks he can mess with.”

You make a face. “Great. Love that for me.”

Robin tilts her head, considering you. “So… what are you gonna do?”

You exhale through your nose. “Ignore him.”

Robin snorts. “Yeah, good luck with that. He’s like a cockroach—impossible to kill and way too smug about it.”

You groan, resting your forehead against your desk. “This is so stupid. Why is he even bothering?”

Robin shrugs. “Could be a few reasons. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he wants to piss Eddie off.” She pauses, then smirks. “Or maybe he’s just got the hots for you.”

You whip your head up to glare at her. “Shut up.”

Robin grins. “I’m just saying! You’re cute, he’s an asshole—it tracks.”

You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm. “He’s not interested in me. He’s interested in annoying me.”

Robin shrugs. “Eh. Sometimes those things overlap.”

Before you can argue, the teacher calls for everyone’s attention, starting the lesson. You sink lower in your seat, pretending to take notes, but Robin’s words stick with you.

What if she was right?

And worse… what if a tiny, irrational part of you wanted her to be?

The rest of the school day drags, but you do your best to push Billy from your mind. Robin’s words still linger, though—He’s got a type. You tell yourself she’s wrong. That Billy’s just messing with you because he’s bored, because you’re Eddie’s sister, because it entertains him to get under your skin.

But then, like clockwork, he finds you again.

You’re at your locker, swapping out books, when you feel it—someone hovering just close enough to be intentional. You don’t have to look to know who it is.

Billy Hargrove leans casually against the locker beside yours, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. “Miss me?”

You huff, slamming your locker shut. “Not even a little.”

“Ouch,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “And here I thought we were bonding.”

You roll your eyes and turn to walk away, but Billy easily matches your pace, strolling beside you down the hall.

“Relax, Munson. I’ll behave,” he promises, voice lighter than before. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout.”

He grins. “True. But I’m thinkin’ maybe you don’t hate me as much as you pretend.”

You scoff. “What gave you that idea?”

Billy shrugs. “Just a feeling.” He glances down at you, his smirk shifting into something less predatory, more amused. “So, what do you do for fun, Munson? Besides avoid me, of course.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the normalcy of the question. “Why do you care?”

“Just tryin’ to figure you out.”

You steal a glance at him, expecting the usual smugness, but for once, he just looks… curious. That’s what makes you pause.

Billy Hargrove doesn’t ask questions just to ask them. Everything he does is deliberate—he pushes, he pulls, he tests the waters. And right now? He’s testing you.

Before you can decide how to respond, the warning bell rings. You pause, gripping the strap of your bag.

Billy clicks his tongue. “Guess you’re off the hook—for now.”

You shake your head, stepping away. “Whatever, Hargrove.”

But really, it wasn’t whatever. You couldn’t lie—to yourself, at least. Since the day Billy appeared in Hawkins, you’d found him attractive. How could you not? But you also knew exactly what he was. Trouble. And you had enough of that in your life. You weren’t interested in being another notch in his bed frame, another girl he’d charm just to discard.

The rest of the school day feels like a blur. You can barely focus on the lessons, your thoughts drifting back to Billy. The way he keeps popping up, his questions that always seem to lead somewhere you’re not quite sure of, the way he looks at you like he knows exactly what buttons to push. By the time the final bell rings, you’re more than ready to leave.

You grab your bag and head out the door, trying to ignore the heavy feeling of being watched. The halls are crowded with students streaming out into the parking lot, eager to start their weekends. But you don’t get far before you feel it—that familiar presence. Someone too close, too intentional.

Billy. Again.

That same infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “Well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

You exhale sharply. “Yeah, it’s almost like we go to the same school.”

Billy chuckles, pushing off the car to fall into step beside you. “Y’know I like your attitude.”

You shake your head, already regretting engaging, but it doesn’t matter, Billy doesn’t give up easily.

“So,” he says casually, hands slipping into his pockets, “how come I never see you at any of the parties?”

You snort. “Because I don’t go to them?”

“Tragic,” he muses. “You’re really missin’ out.”

“Pretty sure I’m not.”

Billy tilts his head, studying you. “Lemme guess. Not a fan of loud music? Drunk assholes?” His smirk grows. “Or just worried big brother Munson wouldn’t approve?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re obsessed with Eddie, you know that?”

Billy chuckles. “Nah. But it’s fun gettin’ under his skin.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you approach Eddie’s van. Billy follows, stepping in front of you just before you can reach the door. “Y’know,” he muses, “you keep actin’ like you don’t like talkin’ to me, but you never actually tell me to leave.”

Your lips part, but before you can find a response, another voice cuts in.

“What the hell is this?”

Eddie.

He’s standing a few feet away, arms crossed, a deep scowl etched into his face.

Billy grins. “Hey, Munson.”

Eddie ignores him, eyes locked on you. “You good?”

You sigh. “Yeah, Eds. We were just—”

“She was just enjoyin’ my company,” Billy interrupts smoothly, flashing a grin.

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, sure she was.” He looks at you again, more serious now. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

You huff, glancing between them, then finally step around Billy toward the passenger side of the van.

Billy doesn’t stop you, but as you open the door, he calls after you. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You don’t respond.

The van door slams shut behind you, and as Eddie pulls out of the parking lot, you can’t help but glance back out the window at Billy’s retreating figure. Something about the way he’s been acting lately nags at you. It’s different from how he’s treated everyone else; he’s not pushing you away, not provoking Eddie, not throwing his usual taunts.

The second Eddie pulls into the street, he lets out a sharp scoff.

“Seriously?” He shoots you a look, eyebrows raised. “Billy Hargrove?”

You roll your eyes, already exhausted. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, really?” He snorts. “’Cause from where I was standing, it looked an awful lot like he was trying to work his slimy little charm on you.”

You huff, shifting in your seat. “He was just talking, Eddie. You’re acting like I was about to jump into his car.”

Eddie groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s how it starts, dude. First, it’s just talking, then he’s got you riding shotgun in that stupid Camaro, then—” He shudders dramatically. “God, I don’t even wanna think about it.”

You cross your arms. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being smart,” he counters, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Hargrove’s a dick. And I don’t mean in a ‘he’s kind of an ass but deep down he’s okay’ way. I mean in a ‘he’s a total, no-redeeming-qualities, king-sized douchebag’ way.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, staring out the window.

Eddie sighs, his voice softening just slightly. “Look, I know you think I’m overreacting, but I’m serious, alright? He’s not good news.”

“I know that,” you mutter, because you do. Everyone does.

Eddie shakes his head. “Then why the hell were you even talking to him?”

You hesitate, fingers fiddling with your bag strap. “I dunno. It just… happened.”

Eddie exhales heavily, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” you say automatically.

But something about the way Billy looked at you lingers in the back of your mind. He was charming, you’d give him that.

The drive back to the trailer is quiet. Eddie’s hands grip the steering wheel tight, and his fingers tap the rhythm of a song you can’t quite make out. You steal a glance at him, the tense set of his jaw making it clear that he’s still fuming about Billy. You know he’s just trying to protect you, but there’s something in his posture that hints at more than just concern—he’s pissed. It’s not like he hasn't made it obvious, but there’s an edge to his anger now, a frustration that’s starting to gnaw at you too.

As the van rumbles down the road toward the trailer park, you lean back against the seat, eyes trained on the world outside the window, your thoughts still lingering on the brief encounter with Billy. What the hell was that about? He hadn’t been his usual smug self. Something about it felt different, almost… normal. But you knew better than to let that pull you in.

When the van turns into the gravel lot, you finally sit up straight, looking out the window at the trailer. The silence is thick between you and Eddie, but it��s not uncomfortable. Neither of you is really ready to talk, but eventually, Eddie pulls the van to a stop outside the trailer.

He kills the engine, then turns to you, eyes still intense. “You sure you’re good?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to come out steady.

He’s quick to catch it, though, his brows knitting together. “What’s goin’ on with you and Billy, anyway?”

You sigh, pulling the door open and stepping out into the cool evening air. “Nothing,” you say, though you don’t even believe it yourself.

Eddie’s eyes follow you as you move around the van and up the steps to the door of the trailer. You can feel his gaze on you, but when you look back at him, he’s already turning away, clearly ready to call it a night.

It’s quiet inside the trailer, the soft hum of the fridge being the only sound. Eddie slams the door behind him, and you hear the familiar clink of him tossing his keys on the counter. The normalcy of it settles over you, but your mind can’t let go of Billy. You try to shake it off, but the lingering look he gave you, his sudden charm, nags at the back of your mind.

Eddie’s voice breaks through your thoughts. “You know, if Hargrove’s gonna keep trying to mess with you, I’m not gonna sit by and watch it happen.”

You stop in your tracks, looking back at him. His expression is hard now, serious.

“You don’t have to protect me, Eddie,” you mutter, though you can feel the familiar prickling of tension creeping up your spine.

“I’m your brother. It’s what I do.” He shrugs, trying to look casual, but the anger is still there, simmering. “Just don’t do anything stupid with him, alright? He’s a real piece of work, and I don’t trust him for a second.”

You want to argue, to tell him you’re fine, but something about the way Eddie looks at you stops you. You just nod, even if you’re not sure you’ll follow through.

The truth is, part of you is curious about Billy—curious in a way that makes you uncomfortable. And for all of Eddie’s warnings, the pull Billy’s subtle charm has on you is harder to ignore.

But you can’t let it happen. Not with him.

It’d be stupid. You’re the responsible one, the careful one. Eddie’s future didn’t look the brightest, but yours was looking okay right now and you needed to keep it that way. To take care of your uncle when he was older, to make sure Eddie had a roof over his head. You didn’t have time to screw up. Which meant you didn’t have time for stupid high school romances, especially not with someone like Billy.

Eddie flops onto the couch, kicking his feet up on the table. “So, what’s on the agenda tonight? Homework? Overthinking? Staring at the ceiling and contemplating existence?”

You snort, pouring yourself a glass of water. “All of the above.”

He grins, but it fades after a beat. “Hey,” he says, more serious now. “You know I’m not trying to be an ass, right? About Billy?”

You sigh, setting your glass down. “I know.”

“I just—” He sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want you getting caught up in something you’ll regret. You’re smarter than that.”

You press your lips together, nodding. “I know,” you repeat.

Eddie watches you for a second longer, then sighs, leaning back again. “Alright, well. If you start getting brainwashed by his stupid pretty-boy hair, I’ll stage an intervention.”

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. “I thought you only considered Steve a pretty boy.” You tease.

Eddie holds up a finger as if he’s about to inform you of something major. You chuckle as he drops it back to his lap. “Touché.”

The night passes in the usual rhythm. You finish up some homework while Eddie strums lazily on his guitar, eventually getting caught up in his D&D notes. By the time you both call it a night, the house is quiet except for the low hum of the TV in the background.

But as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, you can’t seem to stop your mind from thinking about Billy. His stupid face, stupid smirk, and yes, that stupid pretty-boy hair. You’re not used to it. You’re not the kind of person who has a lot of crushes or interest in people. And it frustrates you to no end that you can’t seem to control your thoughts.

———————————————————————————

Tuesday morning feels like a repeat of yesterday, and yet, it feels heavier somehow. You walk down the hall with your books clutched tightly to your chest, hoping for a quiet start to the day. But when you turn the corner, you spot Billy. Leaning against the lockers with that infuriating, cocky smirk plastered on his face.

He looks up at you, eyes narrowing playfully as you stop in your tracks. For a brief second, he just stares, like he's trying to figure out your next move.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says, his voice too smooth for your liking. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

You stare at him, suppressing the instinct to roll your eyes. He’s not really concerned. It's just part of the game he plays. "Not interested in playing your little games today, Hargrove."

Billy chuckles lowly, pushing off the lockers to step closer to you, his gaze not leaving yours for a second. "Oh, I don’t know about that. You played them yesterday."

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just trying to go about my day,” you mutter, stepping to the side to walk past him.

But Billy’s too quick, blocking your path with a casual lean against the lockers. “C’mon, Munson. I know I’m irresistible, no point in pretending you’re not interested.”

You swallow hard, already feeling that familiar knot of frustration building. Why could he seem to read you effortlessly? “I’m not interested in anything you’ve got to say.”

Billy’s eyes glimmer with something dangerous, and he tilts his head just slightly. "Really? ‘Cause you’ve been looking at me a lot for someone who isn’t."

You force yourself not to react. He’s fishing for a reaction, and you’re not going to give it to him. "You have no clue what you’re talking about," you reply, trying to sound steady, but your heart is racing.

Billy takes a step forward, lowering his voice, as if sharing a secret. “You know, I can tell when someone’s just pretending. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think, sweetheart.” He leans in even closer, his face inches from yours. “Why don’t you admit it? You’re intrigued.”

For a moment, part of you wants to push him away, to tell him to get lost. The logical part of you. But instead, you freeze. He’s not backing down and not deterred by you brushing him off. And part of you is happy he isn’t. Part of you is almost enjoying his attention.

“I don’t care what you think, Billy,” you say, the words coming out a little shakier than you intend. "You’re not worth my time."

Billy smirks again, his eyes lighting up in that annoying, self-satisfied way that makes your skin crawl. “Sure, Princess. You keep telling yourself that.”

He steps aside, finally letting you pass, but not before his hand grazes the side of your arm. The touch sends an involuntary shiver down your spine, and it takes everything in you to keep walking. You try to shake it off as you keep walking down the hall, but you know he’s watching you, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back.

By the time lunch rolls around, you’re exhausted—mentally, mostly. You spent half the morning trying to ignore the way Billy Hargrove had been getting under your skin, and the other half pretending like he hadn’t been in your head since yesterday. It was stupid, really. You knew what kind of guy he was. And yet, here you were, letting it bother you.

You drop into your usual seat at the lunch table, across from Robin and Steve. Eddie’s already there, poking at his food with disinterest while Robin chatters about some new movie she and Steve saw over the weekend. You try to listen, but the weight of Billy’s gaze from across the cafeteria is making it difficult.

“You’ve been a little quiet today,” Robin suddenly says, snapping you out of your thoughts. She nudges your tray. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you say automatically, but even you don’t sound convincing.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.”

Eddie, who up until now has been ignoring the conversation, suddenly glances up. He follows your gaze across the cafeteria and scoffs. “Jesus Christ. Again?”

You snap back to reality, tearing your gaze away from Billy, but it’s too late. Eddie saw.

“I thought we talked about this,” Eddie mutters, stabbing a fry into a glob of ketchup.

“We did,” you reply tightly.

“And?”

“And nothing,” you huff.

Robin, sensing the shift in tension, leans in with an interested smirk. “Alright, so are we gonna pretend like Hargrove isn’t staring at you from across the room, or…?”

Steve groans. “Seriously? The dudes a dick,” He says as if you don’t know. “We knew something was up, you’ve been looking weird all day.”

“I have not been looking weird,” you argue.

Robin grins. “You kinda have.”

Eddie lets out a sharp exhale and turns to you fully. “You told me you were done with this already.”

“There’s nothing to be done with,” you snap, voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I’m not doing anything.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah? Well, he sure as hell is.”

Robin watches the exchange with an amused expression, but Steve looks a little more cautious. “Listen, I don’t like the guy either,” he says, glancing toward Billy. “But maybe let her handle it?”

Eddie looks at Steve like he just suggested something insane. “Oh, sure, let’s just let her walk straight into that disaster.”

You slam your fork down. “Eddie, enough.”

The table goes quiet.

You rub your temples, exhaling hard. “I know what he’s like. You don’t need to keep lecturing me about it.”

Eddie blinks, caught off guard by your tone. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” you cut him off. “And I get it, okay? You don’t trust him. I don’t trust him either. But I’m not an idiot, and I don’t need you hovering over me every five seconds about it.”

Eddie looks like he wants to argue, but for once, he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales heavily and mutters, “I’m just looking out for you.”

Your shoulders slump slightly, some of the fight draining out of you. “I know.”

Robin clears her throat, cutting the tension. “Sooo, we all in agreement? Hargrove is an actual demon, but it’s not our job to beat the idea into her head?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I still think it’s our job.”

Steve nudges his arm. “Let it go, dude.”

Eddie grumbles under his breath but says nothing else.

You poke at your food, your appetite all but gone. Across the cafeteria, Billy is still watching you, and despite everything you just said… you don’t look away this time.

The last bell finally rings, and you exhale, relieved to be free from the suffocating halls of Hawkins High—at least for the day. You gather your things, moving quickly to avoid getting caught up in the post-class rush, but it doesn’t take long before you feel it again.

That familiar, lingering presence.

You don’t even have to look to know who it is.

Billy falls into step beside you, hands in the pockets of his worn leather jacket, looking effortlessly smug. “You got a habit of starin’, princess,” he muses, voice dripping with amusement.

You blink, thrown off. “What?”

“Lunch,” he clarifies, smirk widening. “Caught you lookin’ at me.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you walk faster. “You’re delusional.”

Billy matches your pace with ease. “Am I?” He tilts his head, studying you. “’Cause I could’ve sworn you were watchin’ me. Like you couldn’t help yourself.”

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you keep walking, refusing to look at him. “You’re full of yourself.”

Billy hums, clearly entertained. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

You stop at your locker, spinning the dial harder than necessary as you try to keep your expression neutral. “If I was looking, which I wasn’t, it’d only be because you make it hard to ignore your obnoxious ass.”

Billy leans against the lockers beside you, unbothered. “Yeah?” His voice drops lower, smooth and teasing. “That why you’re all flustered right now?”

You slam your locker shut, glaring at him. “I’m not flustered.”

His eyes flicker over your face, reading you too easily, like he knows he’s in your head and is enjoying every second of it. “Whatever you say, Munson.” He pushes off the locker, stepping back but not leaving just yet. “Maybe next time, don’t be so obvious.”

You huff, adjusting your bag as you start to walk away, only for his voice to call after you one more time.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You don’t look back.

But damn it, you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

———————————————————————————

You’re exhausted—from school, from Eddie’s constant hovering, and most of all, from Billy’s persistence. He hasn’t done anything outright, nothing you could point to and say, see, this is why he’s trouble. But he’s there. In the halls, in your periphery, throwing casual smirks your way like he knows something you don’t.

At lunch, you’re at your usual spot with Eddie and his friends, Robin perched on the other side of the table, half-listening to Steve complain about work. You’re mostly tuned out, too aware of the weight of a particular gaze from across the room.

Billy is sitting with his douchebag friends, lounging back in his seat like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But his eyes keep flicking to you. Not constantly—just enough that you know it’s deliberate. Just enough that it’s distracting. Again.

“You spacing out or something?” Robin nudges your arm, making you blink and tear your gaze away.

“What?”

Robin follows your line of sight, eyes narrowing when she spots Billy at his table. When she looks back at you, her expression is unreadable. “Are we seriously doing this again?”

You frown. “Doing what?”

Robin leans in, lowering her voice. “Whatever weird, unspoken thing that’s happening between you and Hargrove.”

“There is no thing,” you insist quickly, too quickly.

She snorts. “Right. And Steve suddenly enjoys working retail.”

You shoot her a look, but she just shrugs. “I’m just saying—if you’re gonna go down that road, at least be smart about it.”

You don’t respond, mostly because you’re not even sure what to say. There’s no thing between you and Billy. There can’t be.

And yet, when you glance back across the room, you catch Billy smirking at you, like he knows something you don’t.

You look away this time.

The day starts like any other—school, classes, Eddie making sarcastic comments at every opportunity. But you can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting, like the inevitable pull of a current you’re not sure you want to fight anymore.

At lunch, you and Eddie are sitting with Robin, idly picking at your food when Steve Harrington appears, dropping his tray onto the table with a loud clatter.

“Alright, losers,” Steve announces, pointing at each of you in turn. “You’re coming to the game tomorrow.”

Robin groans dramatically, flopping onto the table. “Ugh, do we have to?”

“Yes.” Steve stabs a fry in her direction. “Support your school, Buckley. And besides, the team’s doing good this season. It might actually be fun.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, no. I’ve got a very important Hellfire meeting tomorrow. Sorry, big guy, but D&D takes precedence over sweaty jocks running around in circles.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Figures. What about you?” He turns to you, and you open your mouth to refuse out of instinct—until an image of Billy flashes through your mind.

You hesitate. Billy will be there.

You shouldn't care. You know that. But the thought plants itself in your brain, an unshakable little itch. You tell yourself it's curiosity, nothing more. It’s not like you’re going for him. It’s just… an excuse. A reason to see if he acts the same outside of school, if he’ll even acknowledge you when he's with his friends, when he’s not leaning against your locker and throwing smug comments your way.

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “I mean… I guess I don’t have anything else going on.”

Robin sighs, giving you a look. “Fine. But if it sucks, I get to complain the whole time.”

Steve grins, triumphant. “Deal.”

Eddie shakes his head, unimpressed. “You’re really gonna go watch Hargrove stroke his own ego for an hour and a half?”

You nudge him with your elbow. “It’s just a game, Eds. Not the end of the world.”

He mutters something about falling to the dark side, but the conversation moves on, leaving you with the nagging realization that, despite every logical reason not to, you want to see Billy play.

You don’t expect to run into Billy after school, but of course, he finds you.

You’re walking toward the parking lot when you hear the unmistakable click of a lighter, followed by the sharp scent of cigarette smoke. Turning your head, you spot Billy leaning against a tree near the edge of the lot, one foot crossed over the other, watching you like he’s been waiting.

“You stalkin’ me, Munson?” he drawls, taking a slow drag of his cigarette.

You scoff. “Says the guy who’s always conveniently around.”

Billy smirks but doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods toward you. “So? You gonna be there tomorrow?”

Your heart stutters for half a second before you recover. “The game?”

He hums in confirmation, flicking ash onto the pavement.

You cross your arms. “Why do you care?”

He exhales a long stream of smoke, eyes flickering over you like he’s assessing something. “Maybe I just like an audience.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches before you can stop it. His eyes catch the movement, and his smirk softens—just slightly.

“I’ll be there,” you admit before you can overthink it.

Billy tilts his head, looking vaguely pleased. “Good.”

He doesn’t push for more, doesn’t gloat like you expect him to. Instead, he flicks his cigarette away, pushing off the tree with an easy roll of his shoulders. “See you tomorrow, doll.”

And just like that, he’s gone, walking toward his Camaro like it was just another casual conversation.

You watch him go, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

It’s just a basketball game. It’s just curiosity.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

———————————————————————————

Friday drags, each class feeling longer than usual. You go through the motions—taking notes, exchanging sarcastic remarks with Eddie, rolling your eyes at Robin’s exaggerated groaning about having to endure the game later. But underneath it all, there’s something… off.

Billy hasn’t sought you out once.

No lingering at your locker. No smug comments in the hall. No interruptions in class with whispered teasing in your ear. It’s almost unsettling.

You shouldn’t care. It should be a relief, really. Maybe he lost interest, moved on to some other poor girl to taunt and charm in equal measure. That’s what you should want.

And yet, every time you pass him in the hall, your stomach twists just a little when he doesn’t even glance your way. He walks with his usual swagger, laughing with his friends, exuding the same effortless confidence, but it’s like you don’t exist.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. But a small part of you—a part you don’t want to acknowledge—already misses the attention.

By the time the final bell rings, you’re more than ready to leave, eager for a distraction. Robin finds you at your locker, shoving her books into her bag with a dramatic sigh.

“I cannot believe we’re voluntarily going to this thing.”

You snort. “You act like it’s torture.”

“It is torture,” she insists. “Loud gym, sweaty dudes, and an entire student body acting like they suddenly care about school spirit? Pass.”

You shut your locker, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Well, too late now. Plus we’re supporting Steve.”

Robin groans, but she follows you anyway, because despite all her complaining, you both know she doesn’t actually mind.

As the two of you make your way toward the gym, you can’t help but wonder—will Billy keep ignoring you? Or was this whole day just a setup for something else? Regardless, you didn’t like it.

#stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #stranger things billy hargrove x reader #stranger things billy x reader #stranger things billy x you #stranger things billy hargrove x you #Munson!reader #brother Eddie Munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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familyvideostevie · 1 year ago

Text

it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked.

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed.

You’ve only been open for two hours.

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns.

Your coffee shop.

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it.

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works.

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure.

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand.

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him.

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired.

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter.

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember.

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint.

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush.

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks.

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on.

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize.

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question.

You laugh. Joel looks pleased.

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders.

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot.

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee.

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him?

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

Joel stops by again.

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron.

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting.

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying.

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning. When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped.

“I’m honored,” he says.

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window.

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash.

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask.

He smirks. “Miss me?”

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy.

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck.

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy.

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise.

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one.

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw.

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear.

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him.

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone.

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place.

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says.

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day.

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags.

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is.

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.”

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles.

They both wave at you as they drive away.

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted.

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb.

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing.

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work.

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one.

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus.

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked.

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering.

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you.

And you still barely know him. But you want to.

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime?

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back.

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back.

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.”

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says.

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually.

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?”

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.”

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting.

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says.

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables.

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate.

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe.

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel.

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light.

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

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